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boyswillbebuggsorsomething · 4 months ago

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If I Saw Him, I’d Still Kiss Him - pt.1

Spencer Reid x M!Reader

Summary: After a case, the BAU has a night out at O’Keefe’s, which unexpectedly reunites Spencer with someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again

Warnings: Vaguely inspired by If I Saw Him, I’d Still Kiss Him by McCafferty but specifically the last verse (or at least that’s how it started, it really doesn’t seem like it in this one but it will come into play in the next few), cursing, drinking/alcohol consumption, kinda insecure Spencer, Spencer is very overwhelmed for the first half or so, mentions of clawing off skin to describe feeling overwhelmed, no physical descriptions for R other than looking kinda dead inside, R & Spencer’s past is somewhat inspired by Trees & Trees II by McCafferty (but that isn’t really expanded upon in this, it will be later though), probably ooc, so many commas, I think it switches from third person to second person perspective but I’m pretty sure it works?, NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

A/N: This is my first time ever writing x reader and it kind of sucks so I’ll probably rewrite it someday but I had to create this storyline. I also haven’t written any fanfiction since I was in middle school so yeah this is kind of chaotic, a lot of this was written on notes app after chugging two monsters back to back and praying it turned out okay AND IT SHOWS. Also, I fully forgot about Ethan’s existence until I started writing this so there might be similarities but I did not intend them if they’re too close. And I know this was originally going to be a fic where they go to Vegas and the reader still lives there but I hated writing the case and it turned out really horribly so now it’s this. THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU ACTUALLY READ THIS THOUGH.

Word Count: 2169

Spencer hadn’t planned to go out the night after a week-long case. All he really wanted to do was go home and rewatch Dr. Who for what must have been the hundredth time, too exhausted to even read. However, the rest of his team had other plans and he was (somewhat) reluctantly dragged to O’Keefe’s to get drinks.

A few drinks in and he was already regretting coming with them. It was crowded and just a few degrees too warm and loud in the way that only a bar can be. The lights were low to the point that he had to strain his eyes just to have an adequate amount of spatial awareness. It was all just a bit too much, and for Spencer, a bit too much really meant he wanted to claw his skin off. He tried to sit through it a bit longer out of politeness, the stubborn nagging in the back of his mind that never quite went away telling him that only one wrong move and they won’t like him anymore. Logically he knew it was untrue, the BAU was his family, but going through high school and university in the formative years of his early teens still clearly had quite an effect on him. So he sat with the team at their table, fingers drumming on the side of his glass as he tried to pay attention to whatever escapades Garcia was recounting.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone a few tables over was laughing. Loudly.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

A man at the bar was yelling, too drunk to decipher his words.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone at his table was looking at him. Asking something.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

JJ laid her hand on his shoulder and it was just the last thing he could deal with.

“Spence, you alright?”

He tensed immediately and he barely made out her question before he stood up jerkily, nodding slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I just need some air. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Alright, do you want someone to come with you?”

Spencer simply shook his head and walked away, leaving no room for questioning. Dodging too-warm, questionably drunk people, he elbowed his way to the door, muttering hushed apologies when he bumped into people and fiddling anxiously with his fingers. When he pushed open the door, the cool bite of the autumn night hit him in the face, calming him only slightly. The fist clenching his heart loosened the smallest bit as he leaned back against the brick wall and closed his eyes, taking in the deepest breath he could manage. Despite the city sounds, he began to relax. Drinking when he was this exhausted had clearly brought his tolerance for anything at all down quite a bit, and the regret of going out settled deep in his chest. He tried to ignore it though. He might hate himself in the morning, but it was on him and his inability to say no. The dark of the night enveloped him comfortingly as he closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall. Spencer still fidgeted with his hands, but not with the anxious fervor the action held within the confines of the bar, now in a soothing motion, helping him regulate his thoughts and feelings.

His peace was interrupted when a young man who had clearly seen better days stumbled out of the bar, muttering to himself in annoyance. Spencer ignored him at first, expecting him to go elsewhere. He did not. Instead, the man took his place by Spencer, slumping against the wall in an almost pitiful way. There were shadows under his eyes, the kind that comes not from a lack of sleep, but an exhaustion that makes its home deep in your bones, and there was a grayish pallor that had taken to his skin, only exacerbating the fatigued look that seemed to possess the man. Spencer attempted not to stare, but something about this guy was familiar. The slope of his nose. The shape of his lips. The colour of his eyes Spencer could swear he had seen in much closer quarters before.

He fished out a packet of cigarettes, Newports, from his jeans, as well as a lighter. The man glanced at Spencer as he placed the cigarette between his lips, to which Spencer simply shook his head. The two men stood silently against the wall, only the flick of the lighter, the soft exhales of smoke, and the sounds of the city to accompany them. The longer Spencer looked at him though, the more he felt like he knew this man. Somewhere behind his ribs he felt that ache of the past, the one you get when you look at old photographs and realise you will never be that child again. He knew this guy, he was sure of it.

He spoke up after some time, voice shaky with hesitation, “Sorry if this is a strange question, but have we met before? You seem extremely familiar.”

“Dunno, might’ve. I haven’t been living here very long,” He responded hoarsely around the cigarette, introducing himself with a slight nod and half smile, raising an eyebrow to ask Spencer to do the same.

“Uh, Dr. Spencer Reid.” Spencer smiled a hesitant, tight lipped smile, his heart beginning to race with an unfamiliar excitement as he realised he most definitely knew that name, which seemingly earned a small laugh from the man, a look of amused confusion gracing his features.

“No fucking way.”

“Sorry?”

“Spencer Reid? Really?”

“Yeah? Is- Is there a problem?”

“No, no, just- Used to know a Spencer Reid. Ages ago though, back when I was in middle school,” the man chuckled, breathing out a cloud of smoke, “He was in fuckin’ highschool though, but same age as me. Full on genius, swear to god. Shit, that’s- Wow, what a coincidence.” The man shook his head, a bemused grin across his lips as he took another drag.

Spencer paused, his face twisting together in a strange mix of joy, shock, and confusion. This man, this strange man who suddenly appeared at the same bar Spencer went to at least once a month with the team, was exactly who he thought he was. He knew him. He knew you.

“You lived in Las Vegas, didn’t you?” Spencer tried to hide the elation he felt at this sudden reunion.

“How’d you know?”

Spencer simply smiled. He might not have been the greatest at social cues, but he knew you would know exactly what he meant. And you did.

Looking at him now, you realised this stranger was most definitely the same Spencer you’d grown up with. He’d grown into his features, his eyes no longer buggy behind his glasses, his smile no longer crooked. His hair was styled neatly, no longer the whirlwind of misplaced strands he had as a child. He still fidgeted endlessly, just as he did when he was young, and he still possessed that kind nature that had emanated from him so freely years ago. Somewhat more hidden now, but there nonetheless. This willowy man was the same person as the boy you had rode your bike to school with. The same boy who helped you with your homework when you were too tired to study. Who held you when you broke down in sobs after you told him you liked boys. Who was your best friend until he wasn’t. Somehow, you couldn’t help but smile. You hadn’t seen him since you were, what? 14? A decade or so ago now. And all of a sudden he was in front of you.

“Seriously?”

He nodded, still smiling.

“Holy shit. It’s been ages! What’ve you been doing, other than getting, like, a million PhD’s and all that?” You took the cigarette from your lips, letting it burn freely as you spoke.

“Well, it’s only 3 PhD’s, two bachelor’s,” Spencer corrected without thinking, earning a small huff of laughter from you, which left his face heating up slightly, “Um, I work with the FBI now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he continued, speaking with his hands, “I’m a profiler for the BAU, or the Behaviour Analysis Unit, which actually used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created, and before that-” he cut himself off, pausing slightly as he became suddenly aware that he was starting to ramble, “Sorry.”

“Nah, I like hearing about ..stuff. That much hasn’t changed. So, what do you do as a ‘profiler’?” You said the word with exaggerated mysticism, waving your fingers slightly and grinning as his face lit back up.

“Okay, well, we analyse the behaviour of criminals in order to catch them. So, things like how they treat their crime scenes and disposal sites or even the crimes they commit can tell us a lot about what causes them to do what they do and with this we create a profile, hence the name profiler, where it will describe the suspect in aspects of appearance, past, relationships, all sorts of things, and we are able to find them and lock them up with it.”

“Oh, wow, cool. So, what are you doing here instead of doing… all that?”

“I’m here with my team, they’re inside, we just finished a case earlier today. Uh, what about you?”

“Haven’t been doing all that great recently so I wanted to drink until I wasn’t thinking about much of anything,” You sighed, punctuating your sentence with a small, bitter laugh before placing your cigarette back between your lips. For a moment, Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from your mouth. The menthol cigarette burning, the foul scent wafting around both men.

“You hated cigarettes when we were kids,” Spencer observed, crinkling his nose slightly, confusion in his tone. He knew people could change, of course he did, but you held such a disdain for cigarettes and their smoke as a child he hardly expected you to ever take up the habit.

“Yeah,” you huffed, exhaling a cloud of smoke before putting out the cigarette on the wall behind you, “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise, it doesn’t really affect me, but it is horrible for your health. Which you undoubtedly know already. Drinking as a way to forget things also isn’t healthy. It actually has detrimental effects on the mind and body in the long run-”

“Yeah, I know, Spencer,” you sighed, pushing away from the wall, “Well, I only came out to blow off some steam and to smoke, so I’m heading back in. You gonna stay out here or go back in with your team?”

He paused for a moment, usually it took him a bit more time by himself to fully relax, but surprisingly enough, your presence had seemingly worked just as well. Just as it had all those years ago.

“I’m gonna go back inside, I think,” Spencer confirmed, following you back into the bar.

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back inside. Before you split apart however, you stopped him.

“We should get together sometime. Actually catch up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah.”

“Uh, here,” you muttered, grabbing out a pen from the same pocket that held your cigarettes and lighter, promptly grabbing his wrist and scrawling out your number on his hand, “Call me sometime. Sorry if you still have, uh, that thing about touch.”

Spencer didn’t respond, he simply watched bewildered as you slipped away into the crowd. A moment spent silently standing in the crowd made him realise just how much he had missed you, the few moments you had shared already leaving him wanting more time. As far as he knew, you still lived in Nevada, but he hadn’t spoken to you since you had started highschool. The last time you spoke, you were doing.. worse than before he left for uni, but you had always refused to elaborate, all he re was a lot of rants about wanting to drop out. He always regretted not keeping in touch, but you hadn’t exactly made an effort either. It was strange though, how quickly you slipped back into such an easy familiarity in a short time span. He wondered briefly what brought you here, what made you leave Nevada for Virginia of all places. He was jolted out of his train of thought when he heard his name called, his attention dragged back to the table the rest of the team occupied where a clearly drunk Penelope was waving him over, giggling about something or other. When he sat back down, he noticed the amusement on the others’ faces.

“So,” Penelope began, wagging her eyebrows suggestively, “Who was that?”

“What?”

“The guy you were with, who was he?” She clarified.

“Oh, just an old friend. I knew him back when I lived in Vegas, believe it or not,” he explained, pursing his lips in a half smile.

“An old friend, huh?”

“Please don’t make this weird,” he groaned in half-annoyance, half-amusement.

A/N: Thank you all who read this, it really isn’t very good but I really love the character I’ve created for R and am really excited to expand upon it. The next installation of this will follow Spencer and R as they slowly build up their friendship again, and start to actually notice their feelings, and all of that good stuff.

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x m!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic

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kpopsexstories · 8 months ago

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NSFW Series: Most Memorable Sexual Experiences of TXT

That's right, following my k-pop smut series Most Memorable Sexual Experiences of NCT I'm now starting the next installment. And the new group you'll get to follow is, of course, Tomorrow x Together! If you've read my other non-NCT smut the choice is probably not surprising 😉

UPDATE: This series officially ended on October 28, 2024. You can now read all the stories below!

In the original series I posted one story per member of NCT and WayV, depicting their most memorable sexual experiences. It's fiction of course, but the goal was realistic stories and sex that isn't too far-fetched. Things that could actually have happened to our boys.

The TXT edition is no different. In this post you'll learn more about the series and find links to the stories. The series ran from Monday September 16, to October 28, 2024, with one story per member and one story featuring all five.

My Goals

➕ Each story should have a backstory/context. The stories are not super long, but there is fluff around the sex.

➕ Each story should be realistic. Though fiction, they should be sexual experiences that aren't too far-fetched.

➕ No two stories should be the same. The plot, setting as well as the sex should be unique to each story, or at least varied enough.

➕ Each story should bring a surprise or twist, to keep you interested.

➕ Stories should be relatively consistent, and loosely tied to real life. This means references to songs, plot points inspired by real life things members have said, and a consistent timeline. Each story can be set anywhere from present day to pre-debut.

Identifiers

To make it easier for you to find the stories you like I'll include identifiers at the start of each post/story:

🍆 TYPE: Refers to the sex scene and is either VANILLA, MEDIUM, WILD or UNCONVENTIONAL. No stories are "hard core" due to the criteria of being realistic (there will be no bondage, fetishes, etc.), but the "Unconventional" stories can include more than one member.

📦 CONTENT: Key words describing the sex, like Missionary (position), Riding (position), Cumshot, Jerk off, Blowjob, Outdoors, etc.

🧑🏻‍🤝‍🧑🏻 FEATURED MEMBERS: Stories might mention other members, but I've listed those that are directly involved as more than just background characters (whether sexually or not).

The Schedule

Each member got one story – their most memorable sexual experience – though Taehyun's was split in two parts. A new story was posted every Monday starting on September 16th (2024):

1. September 16, 2024 – Tomorrow x Together The five boys of TXT go skinny dipping in Hawaii.

2. September 23, 2024 – Yeonjun Yeonjun’s adopted cousin rides him in a barn.

3. September 30, 2024 – Hueningkai Huening Kai has sex on a beach with his sister’s best friend.

4. October 07, 2024 – Taehyun Pt. 1 Taehyun walks in on Soobin having sex with Jessica “Jessi” Ho.

5. October 14, 2024 – Taehyun Pt. 2 Taehyun’s dreams are realized when he has sex with Jessica Ho.

6. October 21, 2024 – Soobin Soobin spends a day naked on a yacht.

7. October 28, 2024 – Beomgyu Beomgyu loses his virginity without realizing it.

8. November 4, 2024 – Tomorrow x Together (gay bonus story) The five boys of TXT hook up with a (male) stranger in a locker room.

My Other Smut Series

Want more smut and k-pop sex stories? Check out my Master List post for an overview of all the stories I've published. Or, visit my external website Story Finder where you can browse all stories on this blog by content, idol, word count, popularity, requests, and more!

Buy Me a Coffee

Writing just a single "Most Memorable Sexual Experiences" story takes 12-24 hours of active work, including rewrites, edits and proofreading. I do this as a hobby in my spare time. Please consider buying me a coffee to support my work ❤️

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sundayworshipper · 11 months ago

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*~Orthodoxia

«Sunday x Gn! Reader»

🪦| SFW, Angst, Undefined relationship, can be read as romantic/platonic (bed sharing, cuddling)| WC: ~11K

⚰️| CW: Inspired by the song Orthodoxia by Guchiry, misplaced religious worship (fictional religion), Sunday is a priest and cult leader, Small town cult setting AU, Third person prose (reader is referred to as [Name]), Major character death, Minor character death, Murder, SH? (Sunday), Allusion to suicide, Graphic descriptions of violence, Non sexual grooming, A bird dies, Ena=God, Gopher sucks ASS, mostly Sunday angst with reader being there sometimes, English isn’t my first language, non chronological, first fic ever （╹◡╹）

Credit for the commandments to Guchiry

A/N: This is so long 💀.. There’s a few plot holes? and the writing is kinda repetitive but i spent too long on this not to post. Extra warnings, beta read but not proofread, reader char is intentionally bland, not canon compliant/OOC-ish ∩^ω^∩.

EDIT: Oh god this got much more attention than I was expecting. I am (slowly) working on rewriting it 🤍

1. God’s great grace is given to those who are completely faithful.

Sunday inhaled deeply while tugging at his pristine white glove in an attempt of straightening it. In his mind, he looked like a complete mess, completely unfit for a High Priest. His Master and founder of the One True Religion, Gopher Wood, had recently taken his last breath, finally succumbing to the horrible illness that had tormented him for years. As his adopted son, the gray-haired halovian was to take on his duties post-haste. The young man only took half a day to compose himself enough to make a public statement. He probably would have taken longer, had he actually cared to pretend to grieve.

Upon deciding he was satisfied with the state of his attire, Sunday stepped out of the sascrity, taking his place at the pulpit. The gazes of all of his Master’s- no, his own followers, locked onto him, confused and impatient to hear the reason for Mr. Wood’s absence at yesterday’s service.

The man smiled, hoping that the way it didn’t reach his eyes wasn’t very obvious. After a few moments, he just decided to close them.

The fear of rejection by his followers felt as if it was rapidly piercing holes trough his insides, however, he knew that THEY wouldn’t fail him when he needed THEM most. After all, the first ever thing taught to those interested in the religion, is that good things come to those who believe.

2. Only the high priest is permitted to take God's name in vain.

“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” An unfamiliar voice screamed from an alleyway, which Sunday was just about to pass while on his routine walk. His wings twitched, and the ones on his torso tensed. He contemplated if this even counted as a violation of the second commandment, as the use of the words ‘God’ and ‘Lord’ had less restrictions than the uttering of the true name of the one they were referring to. He also thought about the possibility that ‘God’ was the three-faced idol the next town over worshipped, that maybe one of them had snuck in. He ultimately decided that using any heavenly title accompanied by such words was disrespectful, and he’d try to steer the speaker onto the right path, be they a follower of Order, Harmony, or something else entirely.

Despite the amount of information he mulled over, he really didn’t spend long thinking before rushing into the alley.

“Are you alright?” He inquired to the person that had emitted such obscene words just moments ago. Their clothes didn’t reflect those of a citizen in this town, nor the neighboring one’s. They whipped around to face him, wearing a frightened expression.

“Ah..Huh?” The emotion of surprise seemed to overshadow that of fear. Sunday gave an amused smile at this.

“Do not be afraid. I am Sunday, messenger of Ena. I heard you…Cussing, earlier. Judging by your attire, you are a foreigner, which explains that. However, I feel as if I should inform you that such an act is quite worrisome here.” He could no longer suppress his giggle, which confused the stranger.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm..Do not worry. Mind telling me how to address you? And, if you’re comfortable, what brings you here?” Sunday stepped closer, and leaned in towards the person.

“I’m [Name].” They replied, taking a step back. After spending a moment deciding whether or not to reveal the circumstances that led up to them ending up where they did, they concluded that he was trustworthy.

Sunday listened, and considered their words carefully.

“I see. Since you have no home, would you like to live with me, for the time being? I’ll help you find a job. All I ask is that you attend church and clean up after yourself.” He offered his hand, wings relaxing.

[Name]’s breath hitched. It wasn’t like they had many choices… If they stayed on the streets, they’d most certainly die. If they went with Sunday, the outcome had a slightly lesser chance of being the same.

After thinking very carefully, they took Sunday’s hand wordlessly.

3. Those who do harm to God's messenger, the high priest, will be expelled.

As much as Sunday wished he could forget the worshippers of Xipe existed, trade between the two towns was beneficial for everyone. After the death of Gopher Wood- who refused any sort of contact and terminated the transaction of goods-, Sunday begrudgingly sent one of his trustworthy followers to request that the old commerce deal be reinstated. And so, it was.

To the average citizen, all seemed well. However, Sunday could notice the way everyone that interacted with Xipe’s Worshippers on a regular basis attended church less and less often. He tried to brush it off as them being busy with such an important new task. This was until, on the seventh day’s service, the holiest of all, one of the traders defied the rules and interrupted Sunday’s sermon by standing directly next to him. The halovian’s heart skipped a beat, but he simply smiled.

“Good sir, are you not feeling well? This is not an appropriate place for you.” He placed a gentle hand on the trader’s shoulder. His kind act was met with a harsh slap which resounded through the entire chamber. However, his smile did not falter.

[Name], who had been sitting in the front row of pews ever since Sunday ‘rescued’ them, stood up, as did the woman next to them. They wanted to separate the two, but the priest extended a hand towards them as a sign to stop.

The atmosphere was painfully tense and uncertain, until the merchant reached into his pocket to retrieve his dagger. He then pressed it to Sunday’s throat, finally causing his expression to shift.

“You bastard… You rotten, filthy, deceptive scoundrel! You lied! All you and your good-for-nothing father have ever done is lie! You will pay for this.” The trader hissed, preparing to slice the man’s flesh. Sunday’s eyes narrowed as he effortlessly ripped the knife from his hands by the blade, cutting deep into his own palm. He then tossed it to the side, and grabbed the traitor by the neck.

“Tsk..What a shame. You were quite valuable.” He shook his head disappointedly before dragging him outside.

No one dared to follow… Except for [Name]. Before anyone could tell them not to, they sprinted after Sunday, finding him kicking his attacker in the stomach repeatedly just outside church doors. [Name] gasped, but they were cut off by the disgusting feeling of bile rising up their throat. This caused Sunday to turn his head. His eyes were wide, however, a disturbingly sweet smile stretched across his features. He delivered one final kick- to the chest this time- and quickly closed most of the distance between him and [Name].

“You shouldn’t have followed me. But, I suppose it’s my fault for not teaching you what to do in such situations.. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

[Name]’s eyes darted between the priest and the corpse he had just created. They soon murmured the first thought they could muster:

“Your hand..”

“I will be fine. Go back inside, and stay put. Service will resume shortly.” He smiled before promptly walking out of sight.

[Name] considered running for their life as far away from this town as geography would allow. However, something was holding them back. After taking a minute to process, they re-entered the church, earning dirty looks from the other members. Only the woman that had stood up alongside them earlier spoke to them.

“Don’t do that. No one wants to see what happens to those who get ‘expelled’.”

4. It is the high priest who is the rightful successor to God’s will.

Despite it not feeling like such, Sunday was once a child. He had a family as well, more or less. Although thinking of Gopher Wood as his parent made him feel sick to his stomach now, a brief period of time where this wasn’t the case existed.

After the traumatic loss of their parents, Sunday and his dear sister, Robin, were sent to an orphanage much like any other unfortunate soul in the same situation. Robin thought they’d be adopted within the year, but Sunday was already planning the way in which he’d make a living for himself the moment he became an adult. He’d save up any and all money he didn’t use strictly on survival to be able to sustain his sister when she reached the age of eighteen as well, he thought.

In a surprising turn of events, a man from a small, far away town, visited the orphanage only three months after the siblings’ arrival. He smiled the instant his gaze landed on them. Originally, Sunday thought it was because of their shared, relatively uncommon species, but he’d later come to convince himself that Gopher Wood saw something in them that day.

In what had to be record time, he had legally adopted them. As they rode the horse carriage to their new home, Robin snuggled close to her brother, and whispered an optimistic ‘I told you so’. Sunday simply smiled, for the first time since the death of their mother.

The first day felt like the most fun a recently orphaned child could have. They were given various sweet treats by their new neighbors, and a tour of the town. Everyone seemed to dote on them, which almost made the young boy finally lower his guard fully. He thought he was safe at last, and could heal.

Big mistake.

That very night, Sunday was ripped from bed by his eerily silent ‘father’. Before he could even ask what he was doing, a hand had been slapped over his mouth. He, being docile and untrained at the time, allowed himself to be molded like clay.

In less than an hour, Sunday had been exposed to things that would shatter the mind of most children into pieces. At the end of his extensive explanation, Gopher took Sunday to the dark, empty church, where he forced him to kneel in front of the altar. Because he hadn’t succumbed to the information that he had to forcibly ingest, Gopher considered him a worthy heir, and introduced him to Ena as such.

And yet, that was not the point where he stopped seeing that man as family. In fact, he never saw anything wrong with that behavior. He always felt so proud to be chosen, entrusted with such an important position.. Gopher said he was special. Smart. Nearly perfect. He was everything he could’ve ever wanted in a son. The knowing glances they exchanged as Robin discovered the surface rules of the religion at the pace that everyone else except for him did made Sunday feel good.

For about a year, Sunday loved his life. He felt as if he finally had a purpose..

On the night of a seventh,going into first day of the week, in the latter half of November, Sunday found himself choking back tears on the bathroom floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest along with his discarded shirt. Gopher Wood, that monster, sat behind him, trimming away at the child’s lower wings. When he was done, he’d move on to permanently tainting them black, like his own.

‘The truest act of devotion’ he called it. To prove their loyalty to Ena, high priests had to discard something they held dear at a young age.. For halovians, their wings were naturally their pride and joy, so, the dark haired man picked those for him. Sunday asked to be allowed to choose something, anything else, but his request was declined.

Of course, this wasn’t any form of religious practice. Gopher had made it up to further mold his poor victim into what he needed him to be. Every time the boy dared to show any feelings regarding that action, he reminded him that as the high priest, all his actions were carried out trough God’s will.

Sunday never wore a base layer of clothing that didn’t almost perfectly match his new wing color after that. He felt hideous, and he’d rather have people think he lost his wings completely than show off the cruel defilement he’d endured.

Since then, Sunday could no longer see him as a father. Of course, he still respected and obeyed him, as not doing so would be disrespectful to THEM, too. After all, priests were naught but a mirror of their God’s desires.

5. God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world.

Sunday tossed in bed, wings wrapping around his face as he groaned quietly. He was tormented by thought, and couldn’t sleep.

Upon the passage of one hour, he rose from his spot, and slowly stepped out of his room. [Name] slumbered on his couch, as they had since the first time Sunday brought them home. He felt bad for not being able to provide them a proper bed, and made a mental note to work on that soon. After all, it wasn’t like it cost much, or… anything at all. He was just a very busy man.

The priest then stepped on the single creaky floorboard in the entire house, alerting his roommate.

“Sunday..?” They yawned, rubbing their eyes as they blinked them open.

“Ah. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s alright,, but what are you doing up so late? And why are you going out?”

“Mm. I need a walk, to clear my head. I’m finding it hard to rest well tonight.”

“Me too. I barely even fell asleep a few minutes ago, and it was so light.” [Name] stretched their back as they spoke.

“I see. Do you want to join me?” He offered, and the other person excitedly accepted, standing up and almost stumbling. Sunday caught them, helping them to stand better. They gave a grateful look in response.

The two then exited the house, the cold night breeze gently biting at their skin. They set a comfortable pace as Sunday directed them to the woods across the river that served as town border. [Name] hadn’t gotten the chance to go there yet, as it was ill-advised to venture too far from the town.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m going to murder you for your sins?” Sunday smiled, turning his face away so [Name] couldn’t see.

“I do! It’s just that… Wait, have I sinned?”

“Of course you have. You are still new to our religion, you’re bound to make mistakes. Even devout believers sin sometimes, but God forgives all, therefore so do I.”

“Do you sin?”

“Me? No. Sinning would be disgraceful to our Lord. I mean, if even the high priest doesn’t carry himself as THEY intended, how would any normal person be inclined to either?”

“True.. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to be perfect all the time, though?”

“Not at all. Do you know the fifth commandment?”

“God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world?” [Name] cocked their head at him, almost tripping on a fallen branch in the process.

“Very good. As the high priest, I have to know these teachings better than any other mortal. The stronger one’s knowledge, the stronger they feel God’s love.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you have.” He halted, left arm occupying its spot behind his back as usual. [Name] stopped as well, confused.

“Why’d you stop? Aren’t walks supposed to be continuous?”

“Yes…Would you mind pausing here for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, this is the clearing I used to come to for respite when I was a child. I have no time for such things anymore, but it brings me a sense of nostalgia.”

[Name] nodded, and awkwardly walked closer to Sunday. There didn’t appear to be any sitting spots, so they just took a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty.

Not much time later, Sunday decided it had gotten far too late to be outside any longer. As they trekked back home, the priest noticed [Name] become slower by the second. He offered to carry them, and in a moment of exhausted weakness, they accepted. They’d soon fall unconscious in his arms.

The following morning, [Name]’d find themselves in Sunday’s bed, with him nowhere to be found.

Confused, they stepped into the living room. Sure enough, the man was curled up on the couch.

6. To disobey God is to deviate from Paradise.

[Name] was integrating nicely into the town already. While trying to decide what job they should try land, they picked up gardening as a short pastime. Sunday had graciously lent them a patch of his backyard to plant things in, so long as they managed to keep it free of weeds. They agreed, and were doing a great job so far. The first thing they tried was strawberries, as it was the optimal season for planting them.

[Name] decided to ask the neighbors to see if anyone had any runners they could borrow.

“Hello!” They waved at an older lady who was conveniently planting something in her own garden. She lifted her head, smiled, and waved back.

“…Ahem. I was wondering if you had any strawberry runners? I want to grow strawberries… I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll pay you for them someday!”

“Ah, such nonsense.. Since Mr. Wood saved us, money is obsolete.”

“Huh? Then why do people still have jobs?”

“So they don’t get bored, of course! If you’re worried about payment, pay with a favor. Give some to Mr. Sunday when they’re ripe. I’m sure he hasn’t had strawberries since Miss Robin… Ah, nevermind, I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” The lady hobbled into her house, leaving [Name] confused. They made a mental note to ask Sunday about this ‘Robin’ someday.

The woman soon returned, and handed the runners to [Name], eagerly.

“Here you go, dearie. Give some to me too, if I’m still around by then…” she chuckled, trailing off into a cough.

“Don’t say that.. But, I will! Thanks so much!” They waved again, and sped off to plant the strawberries.

About three months later, the fruits were ripe. [Name] was utterly delighted… They looked absolutely perfect, as if it was obvious from a glance that they had the perfect texture and amount of juice. They quickly collected them all in a basket, and ran inside, where Sunday was actually home, for once. [Name] was happy about this, and hurried to separate the basket’s contents into bowls. The priest tilted his head at them, curious.

“I see you’ve made good use of the land I gave to you.” He hummed observantly.

“Mhm! I couldn’t have done it without the grandma across the street, though. I have to give her a portion back, but.. She asked for something else as payment.”

“Oh?”

[Name] handed Sunday a full bowl, happily.

“She wanted me to give this to you! She said you probably haven’t eaten any since some Robin something something..”

Sunday froze, and his breathing paused abruptly.

“Who’s Robin anyway? It sounds like you know her…”

“Robin is a sinner who denied our Lord’s presence in her life. She is where she deserves to be right now.” His voice had a weird edge, almost as if it was breaking.

“She’s not someone you should concern yourself with again. Ahem; thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you. Send my regards to the neighbor, too.” He left, strawberry bowl in hand.

[Name] frowned, dejectedly dragging themselves and one of the remaining strawberry bowls to the neighbor’s house. She was in the yard once again, so they just walked up to her.

“Ma’am! I picked the strawberries today!” They handed her the dish.

“Thank you, dear. You gave them to Mr. Sunday too, yes?”

“Of course. He said to give you his regards. But, something weird happened. When I asked him about Robin, he just said she was a sinner. That wasn’t much of an answer, so could you tell me more, please?”

“Really? Hm. I wouldn’t expect him to be that cold towards the memory of his own sister…”

“…What?”

“I’ve said too much. Please leave.”

[Name] frowned, but did as asked. It was taking them some time to accept the fact that there were certain topics everyone seemed to get tense around..

7. To harbor doubts about God is to suffer the disintegration of thought.

Gopher Wood always despised the neighboring town, in which he was born, raised, and first established his religion. He hated not having control over every single atom there, so, he left. However, he wasn’t always completely unwilling to maintain a cordial relationship with them.

When his daughter, Robin, reached the age of twelve, he assigned her the role of ‘peacekeeper’. She was to befriend politicians and people of note, engage in the culture there. and report any intel she could’ve gained back to Gopher, who would then try to usurp the town and convert its residents to worshippers of Ena, ergo himself, by commandment fourteen.

By her 13th birthday, Robin’s reports suspiciously all turned into ‘They didn’t tell me anything’. The high priest soon grew skeptical, and ordered Sunday to get an answer out of her by any means necessary.

And so, he did.

He approached her door, taking note of the unfamiliar tune she appeared to be loudly humming. Due to growing older, they now had separate rooms. This didn’t help their relationship whatsoever, as their paths in life were already pulling them apart.

“Sister?” He knocked.

“Come in!” She called out, ceasing her singing. Sunday did, avoiding her gaze.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty spot on her bed, next to herself. Sunday shook his head, which felt like a dagger being pierced trough robin’s heart.

“Oh. Okay… What did you want to talk about?”

“Master ranted to me earlier about the lack of new information regarding the neighboring town lately. I found this weird, so I just wanted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, are you hiding something?”

Robin’s eyes widened, before drifting downward. She dipped her head in a slight nod.

“Brother… I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier, but I feared your response. I..” she inhaled, then exhaled. “…I worship the Harmony.”

Sunday stared at her with the most disgust his face had ever held. He began to slowly shake his head.

Robin stood, paced over to him, and grabbed his hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Please, just listen to me. I discovered something that will change your view on-“ She trailed off as she met his gaze. It was evident that there was no possible way to reason with him. At that moment, it didn’t feel like she was even looking at her sibling; but rather, at the man that destroyed him.

Defeated, she let go of his hand, and sat back on her mattress. As she watched her beloved brother leave her room, she accepted that her days were now numbered.

8. To blaspheme God is to deny one's own existence.

Robin wore a gentle smile as she was walked down the path to a completely empty plain by her brother. The girl was dressed in pitch black robes, a symbol of her betrayal and a way to make her death far more painful. And yet, she didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Sunday..” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to speak.”

“I’ll be dead soon either way. What’s one more sin?”

“…”

“I love you. Please don’t blame yourself, I forgive you.”

Sunday didn’t reply to this, and pushed her towards her final resting place.

“Press your back to the stake, please.”

Robin obliged, placing her hands behind the wooden pole as well, without even having to be told. Sunday, under the watchful gaze of Gopher Wood, tied them together, then her torso to the stake.

A citizen then dumped the wood Gopher had hand picked the day prior as the fire fuel to Robin’s feet, before backing up. As per the high priest’s request, Sunday was to light it.

The heir felt nothingness rip and tear away at his being. As his Master placed a flaming torch in his hand, Sunday thought about all the things he wanted to do right now. He wanted to cry, but that would be ‘disgraceful’. He wanted to grab his sister and run, far away from here, and start a new life together, but they were just children, with a horde of angry, violent adults behind them. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream in despair, but the raven-like man behind him would definitely punish him severely for that. As his legs trembled, threatening to give out, Sunday wondered what the worst consequence could even be. Upon remembering the ruined state his wings were in and that he had another pair in an incredibly visible location, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He mouthed, before pressing the torch’s tip to the firewood.

9. God sees, but THEY never save.

Sunday inhaled deeply, eyes shut. The winter air numbed his lungs, allowing the cold to overwhelm his body. He felt no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He simply felt like pure consciousness.

“Brother!” The worried voice of his sister called out to him. Alarmed, he exhaled, and ended his meditative state.

“What is it?” He questioned, tone unusually flat.

Robin held her hands out to him. They contained a baby dove. It was barely even covered in pin feathers, meaning it couldn’t have been more than seven days old.

“I was walking to Mr. Gary’s farm because I promised to help feed his animals, but i found this hatchling crying by a tree… I can’t find its nest, or parents, b-but it’ll freeze to death if we don’t do something!” She sobbed. Sunday examined the tiny avian closely.

“Yes…I do suppose the best course of action would be to raise it ourselves.” He crossed his arms.

“Why do you sound so hesitant..?”

Sunday was worried about what his Master would do upon discovering the animal. He wondered if its wings would be clipped, like his own were. The boy pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, eventually settling on the conclusion that there would be no reason to commit such act, as it was only done to himself so he could prove his worth to Ena.

“Fine. Give it to me.” He demanded, and the girl obliged.

The siblings rushed back home, where Robin filled a shallow bowl with warm water. Sunday placed the chick in it, but held on, just in case. It let out chirps of increasing volume, which the boy found endearing. He soon let go, stroking under the bird’s chin instead. Robin gasped, and leaned in closer to observe this. Her brother interacting with animals was a truly beautiful sight.

“How long will it take until it’s grown? I can’t wait to teach it how to fly!” She smiled widely, blinking up at Sunday.

“Huh? Why would we do that..?” He raised an eyebrow.

“So we can release it?” Robin now looked confused.

“What? You can’t be serious. What even is the point of saving it now if you just want to send it to die later?” He pulled the bowl closer to himself, protectively.

“It won’t die! It’d just be cruel to keep it inside for the rest of its life!” She argued, straightening her posture.

“It will.”

“No, it won’t!” The girl gripped the edge of the table. Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back to her.

“Fine. If you insist, you’re now responsible for its well-being until the end of the next week, when you must release it into the wild.”

“Fine.” Robin huffed, and pulled the bird and its makeshift bath back towards herself.

Seven more days passed, in which the dove grew out all the needed feathers for flight. Robin was absolutely ecstatic, and dragged Sunday outside.

“Okay..How do we do this?” She asked.

“What, you made a decision that could be the difference between life and death for another living being without any research?”

“Well, when you put it like that-“

“Do you admit defeat?”

“No! I know it’ll survive! Just tell me how to help it fly.”

Sunday simply shrugged, which upset Robin. After some contemplation, she placed the dove down on the ground, and held her breath waiting.

The bird soon spread its wings, and departed from the ground. The young girl squealed happily, and watched with wide eyes. She then turned, grinning triumphantly at her brother. It was then that she noticed the tall, dark figure looming right behind him.

“Master? What brings you here?”

Gopher Wood simply smiled eerily, and Sunday grimaced, eyes fixed on the now flying dove. A chill of deep dread struck Robin’s spine, making her turn again… Just in time to see the razor sharp talons of a raven dig into the body of the smaller bird. Right as its beak was about to rip flesh off, the girl ran into the house, sobbing loudly.

Sunday and Gopher kept watching. The scene was horrible, gory and disheartening, to say the least.

After a period of silence, the boy spoke up.

“That was a trained raven.”

“What a keen eye.”

“…Why? Robin didn’t have to see that. She’s just a child.”

“I disagree. It was her choice to free the dove, wasn’t it? She has to learn that her actions have consequences, and that defying the concept of order won’t get her anywhere.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded, before walking off.

On the way to the clearing he’d claimed as solely his- which he only turned to when he was having ‘sinful’ ideas that he felt too scared to even think about in the confines of the city- he wondered if Ena would really want one of THEIR creations to suffer, just to teach another a valuable lesson. He then considered that THEY might not truly even care about anyone and anything at all. If he could see and intervene in anything happening in the world, Sunday would try to save every being. But, in the end, he was not God, and THEY were.

10. God listens, but THEY never speak.

“Father..” a weak voice on the other side of the confessional threatened to break. Sunday straightened his posture, as he instinctively always did when spoken to, even if he couldn’t be seen.

“Speak your sorrows, child of the Order.”

“I can’t take it any longer. It feels… It feels like my prayers are falling on deaf ears. My life has only been spiraling into misery… Hell, even a sign would help loads!”

Sunday closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

“I understand how you must feel. However, you should know THEY don’t often give ‘signs’. You may share your troubles with me, and I promise to try my hardest to help you.”

“You’d really do that?”

“I would.” He nodded. He’d trained himself to be aware of his body language and what every single difference in stance could be interpreted as. So, he applied that even when alone, hidden, or in an otherwise casual situation.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you… May I ask a question first?”

“Hm?”

“Do THEY give you signs? Speak to you? Anything at all?”

The halovian fell silent. He didn’t know. Ever since he’d taken over Gopher Wood’s duties, he felt like a failure for being ‘spiritually disconnected’ from the Lord.

“The answer is what you think.” Was what he settled on.

The person on the other side sighed. The next time they spoke, their voice sounded muffled.

“I’m a murderer. I don’t deserve to live. Do you think THEY would forgive me if I..”

“Don’t say that. You are stronger than you think. Why do you consider yourself a murderer?”

“I had an argument with my little sister. It was over something so stupid, I don’t even remember what it was. I was so angry that I pushed her. She hit her head on the kitchen counter, and… oh god. There was so much blood. I saw her brains, Father. I will never forget the sight. I see it every time I sleep, every time I close my eyes, every time I see things that remind me of her. Please, how do I make it stop?” They sobbed.

Sunday was silent, eyes unfocusing as the vivid memory of Robin’s body being charred alive by flames tore its way out of the corner of his brain he’d banished it to.

“Father?”

“…Apologies. That is a lot to process, I was thinking of the optimal way to help. How long ago did this accident happen?”

“I don’t know. It could be anywhere from a few days to several months. After I buried her, everything’s been a blur. She was everything I had left… i hate to think that if I treated her nicer, showed her how much I appreciate her; if I tried to understand her better and didn’t let my emotions get the better of me, she’d still be here.”

“Yes.. You said you buried her body?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“…”

“I see. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel that you are genuinely remorseful. Fear not, the Lord will forgive you, and I’m sure your sister would too. As for the mental scarring, I can only hope that your confession has lifted some weight off your shoulders. You are not alone. If you ever feel as if you need to take drastic measures, I hereby permit you to seek me in my free time. Your life matters, and I’d rather a slight inconvenience to myself than lose another life. It gets easier, I promise. Hardship is the key to happiness.” Although he was saying all this, he barely even believed or understood himself. He’d never had anyone comfort him when he was in a similar situation, nevermind attempt to help him. When he tried to turn to Ena for solace, he was only met with silence… Which was to be expected. However, the toll it took on him was greater than he could’ve ever expected. In any case, he hoped he’d helped the member of his community, even slightly.

The sound of the fabric belonging to the other person’s clothes could be heard- presumably them standing up. It was then followed by footsteps. Sunday groaned loudly once he figured they’d have long exited the church, and placed his face in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

Upon returning home way past midnight, Sunday looked uncharacteristically horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his wings drooped pathetically as he slouched, including his ‘deformed’ second pair, which usually stayed tucked into his coat.

“Sunday!” [Name] ran to the door as soon as it opened. As they bore witness to the state of the halovian, they fell into baffled silence. He blinked blearily, far too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” He mumbled, trying to push past them and towards the couch, as the two had traded sleeping utilities after their late-night walk.

“No! Are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look horrendous. I’m worried.”

“Thanks.” He deadpanned.

“I obviously didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not like you to be so… improper. Woah, wait, you have four wings!?”

“I don’t want to talk about either of those things. Please move, I’d really like to sleep.”

[Name] frowned, and instead of letting Sunday go to sleep on the near back-breaking couch when he was clearly in no condition to, they intertwined their hand with his, pulling him towards the bedroom. Before Sunday had the chance to protest, they’d reached their destination.

“What are you doing?”

“What, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Are you implying you want to… share a bed?”

“Yeah! That’s not sinful, right?”

“I suppose not.” Sunday gave up.

“Great. I’ll let you change, call me back in when you’re done.”

Sunday didn’t know what had happened to him by the beginning of the next hour. He found himself cuddling his housemate, face buried in their chest as their fingers carded through his hair. If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve felt shame to the depths of his bones.

As [Name]’s breathing and heart rate slowed steadily, so did their hand. Sunday smiled, slowly shifting their position until they’d fully swapped roles. While he appreciated being on the receiving end of affection for once, it was just his nature to want to return any kind act done for him.

He draped a wing around their body, figuring he’d finally found a use for the unsightly body part.

11. God knows, but THEY never teach.

Sunday’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d been staring at the glass casing containing the stone slate which the commandments had been first carved into for what must’ve been many hours now. He read them over, and over, and over, and over… Despite the fact that his mind was already similar to the slate, in the sense that the words had been permanently etched into both. Every day, he could feel himself growing more and more…Hateful. And so, he decided connecting with the Lord again would be the best course of action.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. As he obsessively examined and carefully thought over every word of the sacred obligations, he could only form more and more questions… More anger. More doubt. The contradictions between several entries now seemed painfully obvious. For example, it was specified that the high priest was the exception to commandment two, but no such thing exists for the numbers nine, ten and eleven… But, communication between God and the high priest was supposed to be the basis of the religion.

As the gears in Sunday’s brain turned, he began to laugh. How could he have been so foolish? These were all just lies. Lies made up by a selfish man who desired nothing more than to rule the whole world by himself. As his laughter grew, so did his fury.

Sunday dug his fingers into the side of the glass; fragile, as all things in this forsaken town. If everyone was under the permanent illusion of safety, why was there any need for precaution? It was so bad, that nobody locked their doors anymore. No one would want to break into your house and kill you, after all. The most likely murderer was the person you trusted enough to live with. As these realizations plagued his mind, Sunday’s hands only gripped the long since shattered shards of glass tighter, and tighter. It hurt so pleasantly right now. Although, soon enough, he dropped them in favor of grasping the stone tablet itself. As he turned around, his eyes darted through the church. He needed something to break it with.

After looking for a considerable amount of time, Sunday decided he’d just fling it at the wall.

As the glorified boulder was about to leave his hand, he hesitated. What if he was wrong? This definitely had to be a misunderstanding. Maybe he just wasn’t open minded enough to understand the deeper meaning of the commandments. After all, every older resident seemed so happy living the way they were. The younger generation- including himself- would grow into doing the same, surely… God is good, Sunday thought.

God is loving.

The priest lowered his hand slowly. He rotated back to his original position, regret filling him at the sight of the broken display and bloodied glass scattered across the floor. If he were to look into his hand, he’d notice the crimson seeping from his open wound was quickly transferring to the commandments.

Sunday closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He just had to clean this up, find a replacement case, and no one would ever know. His sin could stay between him and the Lord, forever.

As for understanding all the contradictions, he was now sure that he just had to try a little harder. After all, God doesn’t teach. For a start, this probably meant THEY wanted THEIR subjects to learn from their and others’ mistakes throughout their life.

Yes, this had to be the solution. This was nothing but another trial for Sunday to overcome; a test of faith.

12. The entire Word of God is passed down through THEIR oracle, the high priest.

In an extremely rare occurrence, Sunday had found himself with a few hours of free time on his hands. He decided to spend one of them browsing the local grocery store, deciding on what snack to purchase for [Name], as a token of appreciation. He hadn’t asked them about their tastes outright, so he was attempting to piece them together from the few, yet valuable conversations they’d had. This was proving to be a more challenging task than expected, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice coming from Sunday’s right spoke sweetly. He turned his head, confused. Before him stood a person, with an appearance so strikingly out of place that he managed how they even managed to make it into the city. They had white hair, parted into short twin tails on either side of their head. They also had long curtain bangs, however, the upper part of their hairstyle didn’t even utilize as much as half of their locks. The expanse of white fell down to the floor, dragging along it whenever they moved. They wore simple, yet eye grabbing make up, which nicely complemented their tanned skin. Their eyes appeared to naturally stay shut for the entirety of Sunday’s examination of them, not displaying any of the twitching that the eyes of a normal person forcing them to stay closed would. What was really out of place, though, was their clothing. They wore a tight, black dress which was about as long as their hair. It was rather revealing, especially in the chest and leg area. Whilst the town Sunday lived in didn’t exactly enforce ‘purity culture’ anymore, it was still unusual to dress immodestly. Additionally, the sort of corset piece wrapped around their midriff and neck appeared to be real gold, solidifying their status as an outsider. The followers of Order weren’t exactly wealthy, as money had not been used since the founding of the religion, and Gopher Wood considered the concept to be inherently unfair. Of course, this didn’t stop him from continuing to hoard any currency he came across, to be able to afford imported garments and accessories of the finest quality for only himself and his children.

“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the item. It was one of the choices he’d been considering for [Name]’s snack, although he was still second-guessing himself.

“This is their favorite.” The foreigner extended their hand further, as if urging him to take it.

“What are you talking about?” Sunday was becoming uncomfortable.

“[Name]? Your.. Friend. This is their favorite. You are looking for something to get them, no?”

“Hah..I see. You’re one of Xipe’s slaves.” He chuckled bitterly, and grabbed a duplicate of the item they were holding off the shelf.

“I’d strongly urge you to return to your home, if you know what’s best for you. Good day.” He turned to leave, but a hand as cold as death itself gripped his wrist with a hold that would be sure to cut off his circulation if it was kept too long.

“Is this all the thanks I get? You would’ve spent another hour deciding if it weren’t for me.” The person pouted in mock offense.

“Stop. Get out of my mind, please.” He tried to pull away, to no avail.

“And what if I don’t? Are you going to call upon Ena to save you? Oh wait..” They laughed.

“Tsk…Do not use THEIR sacred name with such mocking purpose.”

“I really don’t get what you see in THEM. I mean, THEY’RE such a deadbeat! The Great One would never let THEIR subjects suffer.”

“Says the one whose idol abandoned THEIR town without leaving as much as a divine messenger.”

“Hm? But I am the High Priest.”

“High Priest? My a-.. ahem… That does not sound very likely. Clearly, you’re blessed in some form, but knowing Penacony, they would hold a week-long festival in your honor if you gave substantial proof of this. Who are you, really?”

The person smiled, and let go of his now bruised wrist. They’d still not opened their eyes once.

“Oh, would you look at the time. Well, I should get going. Until we meet again~” they waved, and walked away, humming an awfully familiar tune.

Sunday would then stand in the middle of the aisle, snack in hand as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He wondered if the person was trying to convince him to turn to the Harmony, or just teasing him. What’s worse is that if it was the former, he believed he might’ve actually considered.

The halovian soon dragged himself home, deep in thought. As he opened the door to see [Name] sitting on the couch as they had been doing more often lately, Sunday smiled. He sat next to them, far closer than usual.

“…I got you something.” He handed them the snack. [Name] gasped quietly.

“Ohh.. Did you know this was my favorite? Thank you so much!” They hugged him.

“Really? Must’ve been a lucky guess. In any case, consider this payment for the strawberries.” Sunday shut his eyes. Perhaps the worshipper of Xipe wasn’t all that horrible.

13. God’s aims are the aims of the world

Lately, Sunday had been frequenting the church in the dead of night. Since the meeting with the strange worshipper of Harmony, he’d been questioning his faith more than ever before. A part of him struggled with the same urge to run that he’d felt in Robin’s final moments. However, instead of his fear of angry, violent adults holding him back now, it was the fear of repercussions for becoming one.

He considered himself weak minded. He knew very well what he was getting into before accepting the position of high priest. He knew he’d have to murder and hurt, and yet… He never truly could. A secret Sunday swore he’d take to the grave, was that he never truly punished traitors as God commanded. Even after the incident with the tradesman, the worst he could muster was kicking him into unconsciousness and dropping him off into Penacony’s territory. That very night, he prayed to the God he himself had just betrayed, that the man was taken to a hospital. In his heart, Sunday still believed that if he were to implore the Lord to forgive those who turned away from them, THEY would.

Sunday had what one might call a heart of gold. He wanted the best for everyone, even if it directly contradicted the teachings of his Master, and the undeniable holy rules given to the world by God. However, his constant desire to help came at the cost of his own sanity- fact which he was acutely aware of. He considered it a small price to pay for the joy of others.

In his mind, he was responsible for the actions of each and every one of The Order’s followers. If they sinned, it was purely his fault for not managing to stop them. He’d be the one spending eternity in the burning embers, while any who sinned under him and died before he did, would be forgiven and led to the peaceful afterlife they strived for all their lives. If he’d explain this to any sane person, they’d most likely immediately pick up on how specific, flawed, and barely comprehensible his logic was… Unfortunately, he never would.

“You look tired.” The sickly sweet voice of the strange worshipper called from behind Sunday, making him halt.

“I know for a fact that I locked the gates.” He crossed his arms, but didn’t give the person the pleasure of looking at them.

“What can I say, I have my ways… Anyway, I don’t think burying yourself in your delusions is very healthy. You should rest.”

“I must say, you’re very bold. You simply can’t hold yourself back from insulting the Lord in front of THEIR messenger, hm?”

“I am simply stating a fact. You’re starting to doubt THEIR very existence, and you know that. If you acknowledge your situation, why do you still choose to indulge?”

Sunday did not speak for a long period of time.

“If you truly were a High Priest, you’d understand. God is all I have. I’ve invested so much time into becoming what I am now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

“And you still don’t follow the very principle that supposedly founded your religion. Clearly, deep down, what you want is to help everyone. You’d be well suited for the Harmony…”

“No. The harmony dictates that everyone must live through trial and error. That’s such unnecessary suffering, that can simply be avoided by protecting everyone.”

“Learning through mistakes? Isn’t that what you ultimately decided Ena’s ideal was, when you noticed people making mistakes over and over again, even when the whole point of this religion is to establish ultimate control and peace to the point where people will actively seek out pain to break the monotony?”

“…Then, I was mistaken. I never saw the similarities to the Harmony before. I pray THEY can forgive me as I try to truly understand THEIR commandments once more. Thank you for telling me this. I shall… Become a better fit for my role, through any means necessary.”

“Really? Or will you do as you’ve always done, and continue to refuse to harm anyone as your God dictates?”

“…Even if I were to do that, which I will earnestly try not to, the spiritual consequences would fall onto me, solely. I’m the one not doing my job, I-“

“Sunday! When was the last time you’ve uttered or thought something that makes any sense, at all!? Look deeply within yourself, you’ll realize how absurd you’re being.”

The halovian simply smiled. Perhaps, long ago, that would’ve been true. However, that was no longer a possibility. Any time he’d come to the same realization, his being would instinctively suffocate itself with a half-hearted explanation that would seem plausible enough at first glance, until he’d begin to deconstruct it, at which point the process would repeat.

The stranger’s expression shifted into a sorrowful one. They’d really tried to help him, but he was truly too far gone.

“I see. I hope your soul will someday be able to find peace.” They left, giving Sunday the opportunity to continue destroying himself in peace.

14. God and the high priest shall be regarded as one and the same.

Gopher Wood’s amber eyes intently observed Mikhail. His head was informally resting on the table, wings fluttering in anticipation as he waited for his ally to finish reading the documents he’d presented him with.

“So? What do you think?” He finally spoke, having grown impatient.

“I’m not done yet..”

“Well, you’ve read most of it. What do you think so far, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such little patience, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, yes..Well, now you know.”

“I don’t consider it appropriate to share my opinion on something that I don’t fully understand. I ask that you continue waiting.”

“Fine.” Gopher scoffed, and stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Mikhail sighed as he continued reading. Him and Gopher had met just over three amber eras ago, under inexplicable circumstances. At the time, it seemed they had similar ideals for the future of Penacony- a beautiful town, ravaged by an unfortunate dispute. The two quickly struck up a friendship, or at the very least, a cordial working relationship. At first, they agreed that their end goal was to join The Family, a union of towns and cities who worshipped a god known as Xipe and believed in the concept of Harmony. The men slowly gained the respect of most Penaconians that, too,wished for peace, who allowed them to become something akin to a two-person government.

After all that, they successfully completed their goal. Although, soon after, Gopher began acting unusually. He distanced himself from Mikhail, only talking to him to ask odd questions, such as ‘if he ever wished the entire town’s residents could be puppets’. The blue-haired man grew incredibly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing, but could never reach Gopher to speak to him about this topic.

A few days prior, he had invited him out to drinks to discuss ‘an exciting new discovery’. They now found themselves here, Gopher having handed Mikhail a folder full of papers, detailing the proof of the existence of another deity before Xipe. THEY were known by the name of Ena, and represented Order, which was awfully close to the concept of Harmony, besides the awfully concerning attitude towards those who desired to follow their own path in life.

Just as Mikhail finished reading, the halovian returned.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes…?”

“Wonderful! So?”

“I’m… Not quite sure I understand. Do you want to leave The Family and pursue this religion? Do you even have any current proof this, ‘Ena’ even exists..?”

“Oh, THEY don’t!” He giggled, joyfully taking a sip of his wine. Just as Mikhail was preparing to open his mouth, he continued:

“Not anymore, at least. But if we can make people believe THEY do, we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers. They’ll just do anything we want under the guise of religion. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? There can truly be peace upon Penacony.”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re not thinking straight. That would never work, it’d just be defying human nature. Besides, if the ones who continue trying to end our lives for opposing them can’t even agree with Harmony, what makes you think they’d want to obey the words of an imaginary God?”

“Oh, them? They have no place in Penacony either way. If I were to execute my plan, I’d be doing a great favor to everyone.” He grinned.

“That’s enough. Get up. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to sleep off all that wine.” Mikhail stood, tossing the documents into the nearest trash.

“I know what I’m doing, my dear Misha. I’ve been fantasizing about this since before we even met… It’s my greatest wish, and what’s the best for Penacony- no, the world, even! Why must you be so cruel~?”

“…You’re not who I thought you were. Why.. Why would you even say that?”

“Mm.. Tell me one thing, then.” He rounded the table, until he was face to face with Mikhail. He then grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him even closer, grinning. “How long do you think a society under the Order’s rule will last? Hell, even with the most haphazard basis I can throw together in one night?”

“Don’t-“

“Answer me.”

“…A decade, at most.”

“Very well.” Gopher hummed, and let go.

“I say… Triple that, before it spreads to Penacony. At least a century after that until the downfall.”

“What are you planning to do..?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re,, a psychopath. This will never work! Even if it somehow lasted for your entire lifetime, you’d never find a successor gullible enough to extend your little cult’s existence for that long.”

Gopher’s smile widened sinisterly.

“Cult? I prefer the word social experiment. Anyway, I should get going now. I heard the next town over has little contact with outsiders, and I’d like to get there before that changes.” He turned, and began to walk.

“Until we meet again, Misha.”

15. God is absolute.

After his second encounter with what seemed to be Xipe’s chosen one, Sunday felt completely drained. He hadn’t fully felt like a living, breathing entity since he was maybe six years old, but the mental haze that affected him worsened with each significant event that happened to him. He stumbled home at the same time that the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Despite the fact that he returned to sleeping on the couch after the night him and [Name] cuddled, he didn’t feel like sleeping alone at this moment.

Following several minutes of hesitation, Sunday opened the bedroom door, cautiously stepping in. Of course, his friend was sleeping peacefully, and luckily for him, deeply. The man stalked over to the closet door, which had been divided into halves to accommodate both his and [Name]’s clothes. He quickly discarded his current outfit, changing into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt rode up his stomach slightly, as he hadn’t ever found the time to poke wing holes into his casual garments; therefore, his wings were just hanging naturally.

He slowly sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed, pausing to see if the sleeping person would wake. When they didn’t, he made himself more comfortable, even pulling half of the blanket over himself.

That action caused [Name] to turn. Sunday was preparing an apology speech for waking them, but they were unbothered. They grabbed his arm, snuggling it. The halovian took a moment to process, upper wings tensing in surprise. He was still not used to being touched, but he’d feel too bad pushing them away. So, instead of getting any rest, he just awkwardly stared at them for hours, frozen in place.

Finally, [Name] yawned, attempting to stretch. They were stopped by the sensation of a warm, solid object being held between their arms. When their eyes shot open, they barely stopped themselves from screaming at the sight of Sunday, who looked at them with a tired frown.

“Sorry,, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just feeling unwell, and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’m just, a little surprised. You don’t really seem like the type of guy who’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“‘Stuff’…?”

“Yeah. You know, like, closeness.”

“Really? Hm.” He turned his head away, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.“ He nearly whispered, pulling his arm away.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. So much so, that [Name] decided to speak the first thought that came to mind:

“Can I touch your wings?”

“Sorry?”

“I want to touch your wings. They look super fluffy.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, wondering where they obtained such courage. A halovian’s wings were just about sacred, and most only allowed those closest to them to do as much as stare at them for extensive amount of time. And still…

“You may. But, please be careful. They’re very sensitive, and tear easily.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t really expecting you to let me..” [Name] was dumbfounded.

“I suppose so. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, as I… Truly appreciate you. It feels like you’re the only person that has seen me as human in an embarrassingly long time. This is the least I can do to express my gratitude.” He leaned in closer, extending the wings on the side closest to [Name]. They didn’t speak, only reaching out to pet the wing sticking out from under his shirt. Sunday was surprised, as he figured they’d first pick the carefully preened, pristine, and intact wing on his head.

“It’s so soft..” they gasped, brushing a finger along the trimmed edge of the appendage. They then moved on to his upper wing, scratching behind it like one would with a cat.

Sunday metaphorically melted, gently collapsing onto [Name]. His eyes closed contently as his roommate continued their exploration of his features.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn’t last long. The distinct sound of wood being axed through snapped both people out of their relaxed state. Sunday jumped out of bed, and out the bedroom door. The sound was coming from the front entrance- which was stupid, as it was unlocked, much like any other door in the town. He crossed his arms, glaring at the widening hole in his door.

Upon completely decimating the wooden structure, a furious mob of followers of the Order barged in, carrying pitchforks and unlit torches. Sunday blinked in disbelief, if only for a couple seconds.

“You liar… Murderous whoreson of a cunt! How could you… How? Do you even realize how many people have lost or wasted their lives on your fuckass cult!? You will pay for this!” A man near the front screamed, spit flying onto Sunday as he did so. He wiped it off his face, giving his subjects a tired smile.

“My children, please. This must all be one great misunderstanding. I urge you to lay your weapons down, and explain to me what crime exactly you think it is that I committed.” He clasped his hands together, eyes closing inoffensively. Once again, his communication attempt was met with a slap.

“Misunderstanding? Hah. Tell that to The Devil! Tie him!” The man ordered, in response to which, the follower of Harmony stepped forward, rope in hand. As they stood parallel to Sunday, they opened their eyes for the first time. The blue outer ring transforming into a deep purple one didn’t look the least bit human, and neither did the grey sclera. If anything, such colors more closely resembled the written description of Ena, if only reversed.

It was then that it clicked.

Sunday began to twitch, in what seemed like the unfortunate moment where the psyche of a tortured man finally shattered. Hell, maybe that was accurate. He soon began to laugh, louder than he ever had before.

As he found himself preoccupied with that, Xipe gave him one last pitiful glance.

“I’m sorry.” THEY mouthed, beginning to bind his arms and wings.

[Name] gripped the edge of the bedroom doorframe. They had been observing for the entirety of the conflict, frozen. Perhaps, if the sea of people didn’t extend well past the confines of the house, they would’ve tried to help Sunday.

“See? He’s gone far past mad- Wait, should we do something about [Name]?” A villager questioned another, causing Sunday to cease his laughter.

“Absolutely. Burn the entire house down, everything he’s touched is tainted.”

“Are you insane? They’re pretty new. What do you think are the chances that they knew?” A third chimed in.

“[Name] didn’t know. It… It was all on me. I’m the one who lied to you. I deceived each and every one of you in pursuit of control. I corrupted the pure intentions of Gopher Wood, and, I ended his life via poison. I am the only culprit.” Sunday tensed, frantically looking around to see how many people believed his faux confession. Of course, only the first sentence was even remotely true. However, if he were to die today, there was no reason to drag the dead and the innocent along with him.

The villagers fell silent, looking between each other in a silent discussion.

“I believe him.” Xipe said, tugging on Sunday’s binds as THEY lead him towards the door, clearing a path through the mob.

The crowd followed, much like a herd of sheep would. This left [Name] alone, and confused.

When the silence became deafening, they hurried to follow. They figured that even if they couldn’t physically be that close to him during whatever was going to happen, then being there at all might make Sunday feel less alone. Even if what he’d confessed was true; which they didn’t fully believe, he did save their life. This was the least they could do for him.

Tears rolled down Sunday’s face, shining golden from the bright sunlight seeping into them. He was awarded the courtesy of choosing when he’d be ended, and he picked sundown. He’d been nailed to a cross, through his hands, wings, and shoulders. The fallen priest was in utter agony, and yet, he was quite alright with this.

Xipe took the same role Sunday had all those years ago; the killer. The villagers were seething, and craved nothing but blood. So, they all collectively decided Sunday was going to be nailed, burnt, and finally shot in the neck. Xipe offered THEMSELVES as executioner. No mortal deserved to have to live with the fact they were the direct cause of another human being’s untimely demise…

As THEIR lit torch approached the kindling, Xipe gazed into Sunday’s eyes once more. They smiled. It was barely visible, yet earnest.

Sunday returned the gesture, inhaling the last breath of fresh air he’d ever take.

[Name] kneeled in front of the charred, bloodied, and decaying corpse of Sunday. They didn’t even think he saw them in his final moments, ergo, they exposed themselves to his disgustingly brutal end for nothing.

They dipped their head, placing the bouquet of wild flowers they’d picked from the clearing which Sunday introduced them to, at his feet.

“Do you want to bury him?”

“…What?” [Name] turned, recognizing the voice as Sunday’s executioner.

“You cared about him. I doubt you want him to publicly rot for..What, a decade?”

“Yeah.”

“Stand. And take the flowers. I’ll carry him.”

And so, they did. In the same clearing the flowers had been picked from, [Name] and Xipe had buried Sunday. They didn’t mark his grave, deciding to finally let him rest.

“So? What will happen now? To everyone in the town, I mean. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have nowhere to go, and a town without a leader is a town without laws. But they’re all so violent…”

“Hm..Penacony has a place for all. Even with their violent tendencies, they can learn and grow.”

“So, why couldn’t Sunday?”

“Despite not knowing what he even believed in, Sunday thought he was nothing without Order. No matter what anyone could ever try, he’d refuse to change. It’s unfortunate, but, he should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“…But that’s so unfair.”

“Being forced into obedience would be equally unfair, no? Sunday died on his own terms.”

“I guess. It’s just, sad.”

[Name] received no reply. They felt as if the other presence had suddenly vanished, but didn’t bother to confirm this.

They laid down next to Sunday’s resting place, closing their eyes. They still struggled to comprehend how their life had taken such a horrible turn so quickly.

It didn’t matter now. [Name] yawned, rolling over onto the side they were most comfortable on. Upon waking, they’d set off to Penacony, where they would find a job and make a living for themselves. But tonight, they just wanted a semblance of a proper farewell to the cozy lifestyle they had grown so accustomed to, and to the man that made it all possible.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday fanfic #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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itsjustbell · 2 years ago

Text

The Dive

Viktor x reader

Summary: It seems your feelings for your friend Viktor have grown into much more than you thought. When did this even happen?

This is literally just sappy drabble, just me gushing over Viktor. Too much time rewriting and editing--not nearly enough proofreading, but I'm trying to not focus on whether it's perfect or not. Hope it's at least comprehensible, haha. Enjoy <3

Love can be a lot of things. It can be a river, flowing constantly over and around obstacles, smoothing over hard edges, and even through stone with constant, gentle effort.

Love can be a fire. Growing from one glowing ember, with enough care and tenderness, to the roaring flame of a hearth. Strong enough to keep out the cold through dark winters and burning bright through even the most thunderous storms.

But this… This had crept up on you, much like how sleep crawls to the insomniac. You couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment that you fell, only noticing the floatiness of sleep once you’d already dived in headfirst. One moment you were fine, and the next you’d somehow found yourself opening eyes you didn’t even realize you had closed.

You’d known Viktor for a while now, enough to comfortably secure yourself a spot amongst the few he harbored as friends. This…fluttering feeling that threatened to choke you whenever he was around, like the butterflies in your stomach were trying desperately to fly out of your mouth in the form of some lovesick confession. Never before had you felt so strongly about someone. Never before had you craved someone. His mere presence alone seemed to soothe your anxiety ridden mine, while also somehow increasing it tenfold at the same time. Even when he was gone, he still managed to force his way into your thoughts. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were sick– And perhaps you were in a different sort of way.

Has he always looked that good? Had the sun always caressed his cheek like that? What would that same cheek feel like under your own hand? The amount of hours you had spent wondering how it felt to cradle his face in your hands and gaze into those striking amber eyes that seemingly glowed in the golden light of the evening, and to have them stare back— as if you were a star yourself? The thought alone was dizzying.

It wasn’t just that he looked like he was hand sculpted by the gods themselves. No, Viktor was more than just a pretty face. He was kind. Sure, he might’ve seemed like some self-righteous smart ass when you’d first met him, but under all that he was gentle. He was understanding. He made you feel seen. Talking to him felt so… easy.

Maybe it was on one of those late nights in the lab after a long day in your studio that you fell. Soft, easy conversations and eyes filled with mirth as you both exchanged wild stories and the kinds of secrets that only seem to come out when the lights dim and the stars are out.

You’d had four cups of coffee between the two of you. He was telling a story from his and Jayce’s academy days. One of the student galas towards the end of the year.

“--I’d never seen Jayce more…more, how do you call it? Ehh…”

“Wasted?” You offered. His eyes lit up.

“Yes, wasted!” He laughed, “He looked about ready to tip over– and he did, right into some poor girl.”

You shook your head as laughter bubbled out from your chest. “I think I heard about that on the tail end of the gossip chain.”

“Eh, I’m surprised you didn’t see it with how large the crowd was.”

“I didn’t go.”

He seemed surprised at this.

“I was too busy finishing up my final projects that year, I think.” You looked down into your lukewarm cup of coffee, now forgotten on the desk you’d been sitting on. “Wanted a perfect portfolio… plus I didn’t really have anyone to go with.”

When you’d looked back at him, there was something in his eyes that had made your skin buzz. If love – or whatever this is, is a fire, then surely what he’d said after were the first sparks.

“I’m sure that if I– If we, me and Jayce that is, had met you earlier you could’ve gone with us,”

Something about that slight fumbling of his words. The slight pull of his eyes before he looked back down at the machine he was tinkering with.

"Yea?"

“Yes, plus… it would’ve been nice to have someone else there to deal with the aftermath of Jayce’s poor choices.”

And every moment after that simply fanned the sparks into the rumbling flame that lived between your ribs. The first unknowing foot into the deep end.

#arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #drabble #viktor fluff

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odilelajolie · 5 months ago

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Would it be too much to ask…if we could get regular updates on savior? I mean it is one of the top Clark Kent Fics on a03

I’d truly love nothing more than to be able to say “chapters drop every Friday at 10:00a PT,” but I think that would only be realistic if I had the entire thing fully written AND edited. Savior is fully drafted to completion, but editing still takes a lot of work 😅 . I’m not one of those writers who can just crank out smooth prose on the first go—I have to spend ample time proofreading and polishing my drafts (oftentimes revising or rewriting entire passages) until I feel it’s the best I’m capable of, that the dialogue makes sense, and that every plot beat is what I want it to be as part of the larger narrative.

As a reader, I actually really love the “unpredictability” of certain fics I adore and feeling like I’m “part of the club” with other fans when we’re all chomping at the bits for the next installment—it feels like such a special kind of community—but I totally understand if that experience isn’t for everyone. You’re more than welcome to check back in a few months when the whole thing is wrapping up if you’d prefer to read that way ❤️

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thekalpar · 5 months ago

Text

This is a Grift and You Shouldn't Fall for It

I want to talk about an article I saw from thebookseller.com that came out Monday which talks about a new AI-powered publishing platform called Spines which wants to disrupt the publishing industry by providing a new platform. I encourage you to read the actual article here, but I want to address how they are, based on my own observation as an independent author, a grift and why you shouldn’t fall for it.

Let’s address the first concern which I and probably a few other people have when presented with Spines’s goal of publishing 8,000 books in 2025 alone. Doing a very quick, unscientific google search, we can find that of the biggest traditional publishers in the United States, only Penguin Random House and Harper Collins publish more than 8,000 books a year, and these are massive global corporations. The next two largest, Hachette Book Group and Simon & Schuster, publish only roughly 2,000 books a year and these are still some of the big boys on the block. So the goal of publishing 8,000 books a year is certainly ambitious for Spines. How is this going to be done?

There are two possibilities and one is that a lot of this is going to be books produced in part or entirely by plagiarism software (“AI”). I want to acknowledge that as a real possibility, but I want to go forward with the good-faith assumption that there will be a significant number of passionate people who have poured their heart and soul into writing a book and are going to be taken advantage of by these techbros. Even before plagiarism software became widely available, self-publishing on Amazon had exploded and we saw millions of books self-published in just an ebook form every year. So I imagine that these people, who are self-publishing on Amazon and other places, are probably the market for Spines.

Now how do I know this is a scam? I do not have a ton of experience is self-publishing because I’ve only published two books at time of writing, but I do have recent hands-on experience which makes me qualified. There isn’t a lot of info in the article on what services Spines is offering but we get an exact number on cost as well as types of services in the article. “Spines costs $1,200 to $5,000 to automate proofreading, cover design, metadata optimisation and limited translation services, starting with Spanish.” Now, this may, on the low end, be cheaper than hiring professionals to do this kind of work, but it’s still going to be a scam because you’re going to get a shoddy product.

Let’s start with proofreading, which is under the umbrella of editing but is one of several types of editing. As Reedsy explains, there are four distinct types of editing, all of which come with specific costs. First there is editorial assessment, which is when you have a very, very rough draft and need some direction on writing it. (I have not yet done editorial assessment because I have been fortunate enough to be plagued with the knowledge of what I’m writing.) This is very broad advice which an AI cannot provide but a human can. Second is developmental editing for a finished manuscript, which is where you have an editor go through, provide specific feedback on areas for improvement and suggestions, and point out any major issues. This is where you get into rewrites and polishing a manuscript to a finished product. Again, and AI cannot do this.

So we finally come to copy editing and proofreading. Now, I’m going to fold them together although they are technically distinct because copy editing includes proofreading as well as making sure capitalization is consistent, tenses remain consistent, you don’t repeat yourself too much, all the little things which help polish the rough edges off of your manuscript. Proofreading is checking for spelling and typos, as well as grammar issues and any formatting issues. AI can do this, as tools like Grammarly exist for this sort of thing for a couple years now. (I wouldn’t recommend using Grammarly, but that’s a separate rant for a separate day.) Plus, you know, spellcheck which has been around since the 1990s. Technically this is a task which AI can do, but it can still make mistakes such as with homophones (the train went threw the tunnel). And with so many free tools available if you’re going to have AI do this task, why pay someone else to do it? AI is not going to give you insightful, meaningful feedback on your manuscript, but it will do spellcheck for you and LibreOffice does that for free anyway. So paying to have AI proofread your manuscripts doesn’t make any financial sense.

Let’s move on to the next area they want to automate, cover design. Again, I have limited experience and I can say very definitively that you can get a good cover for about $750 USD from a professional artist who will produce what you want and will be able to keep things you like but change things you don’t with an incomplete project. Plagiarism software that creates images cannot do that. Unless they’re hiring artists to touch up and improve generated images (which I doubt), all Spines is offering is another service you can get for free or cheaper elsewhere online. I highly advise against generating your cover images, if only for the fact the computer cannot give you exactly what you want. You can feed prompts into it and maybe get something close enough, but if you have a specific image of what you want for your book cover you cannot get that from AI. There are a lot of ethical arguments against plagiarism software as well, but I won’t repeat those here just for brevity’s sake. Again, if you’re willing to use plagiarism software to make your book cover, which is what the guys at Spines are offering, then you can do that cheaper elsewhere.

The final one which I can speak with any authority on is metadata, which I’ve had to enter for my own books before and you can too. For those who don’t know, metadata is information attached to the book’s ISBN and publication info that provides info about the book. This can be basic info such as the intended audience, the genre, and the subject matter, but it can also be more granular like what type of fantasy novel you have (romantasy vs cozy). While it can be an annoying or frustrating task, such as when every word to describe my book flies out of my head when I have to actually describe it, it’s also fairly simple. And I’m going to be honest, I don’t expect the AI to do much more beyond algorithm scraping and suggesting metadata like “for you” and “trending”. (Sort of like those videos that spam every popular tag in the hope of getting traction.) So I seriously doubt that this will be a service worth any sum of money.

Finally I’m going to touch briefly on translation because I haven’t translated a book and I don’t know what goes into translating one either but I can make an educated guess that it’s going to be the equivalent of pasting your manuscript into Google Translate. If you’re willing to accept that level of quality, you can get it for free. If you want a good translation you’re going to have to shell out far more money to get an actual person to do it.

And all of this doesn’t even get to a very important part of publishing, ISBNs. If you’re self-publishing you absolutely want to buy your own ISBNs, and buy multiple because they cost less if you buy them in bulk and you will need separate ISBNs for both the print and digital editions of your books. I don’t know if Spines is offering ISBNs as part of their package, they certainly could, but for independent authors it’s best practice to use your own ISBNs because you can control those opposed to whatever platform you publish on.

So are the AI-powered services that Spines is going to provide be worth it? I highly doubt it. For the amount of money you’ll end up spending you’d be better off actually hiring humans to help you with your book and get it to a finished, polished state. I can’t see this company offering you anything that isn’t already available for free or nearly free elsewhere with the same lackluster quality. If you have something you’re writing, you’re passionate about it, and you want to publish it, I highly encourage you to get real human beings to help you improve it. Reedsy (which this is not an ad for) is the platform I have used to get in contact with editors and artists to help get my books out into the world. But I’m sure plenty of other independent authors can help you find all sorts of other people able and willing to help. Spines is merely charging you for the privilege of receiving substandard work spat out by a computer.

#indie author #self publishing #publishing #writing #writerblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #ai #plagiarism software #spines #books #rants #opinion #grifts #kalpar

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finnlongman · 1 year ago

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hi, I just found your blog :)

If I may ask, how in the world did you manage to write entire books while also being a PhD student????

Is there a way to not let your PhD consume every waking hour of your life?? :') please tell me your secret

Heh, well, the first thing to note is that I'm in the first year of my PhD, and traditional publishing is slow. So the books I'm talking about right now -- Moth to a Flame and The Wolf and His King -- have been in the works since long before I started my PhD. I originally wrote The Wolf and His King in winter 2019, when I had a full-time job; I originally drafted Moth to a Flame during my full-time MA in 2020. So the PhD is only the latest thing they've had to compete with for my time and attention!

I've always been writing alongside everything else -- I wrote my first novel at 13 and I was writing the whole way through my school years, despite doing a million extra-curriculars. Honestly, I have no idea where I found the energy, but it got me into the habit of writing during lunchbreaks or in short bursts whenever I had the time, and while that's not my preferred way to work these days, it sure did teach me a lot. These days I've got two sets of edits and promo and admin, and the PhD, and my occasional side-gig as a bodhrán player in a couple of trad bands, and whatever other casual work I pick up (today I was invigilating exams), so it's always a balancing act.

But specifically, with these next two books: Moth to a Flame was largely finished before I started my PhD in October, with structural edits done; I was partway through line edits during the first month of my PhD, and then copyedits and proofreading after that. I was doing copyedits over Christmas, including on my phone during a family visit on New Year's Eve. I've been editing The Wolf and His King more recently, with structural edits also happening mainly over Christmas (working on Christmas Day, my favourite) and line-edits happening right now.

Balancing TWAHK with my PhD, or The Butterfly Assassin with my MA (since I sold it at the start of my second semester and that wasn't the best timing), has mostly been about speed and prioritisation. I'm lucky to be a fast writer and a fast reader, so I can get 7k of academic writing on paper in the course of a day or two and therefore keep the wolf (my supervisor) from the door while I run off and do line-edits. Doesn't mean I should, but it happens more than I care to admit. Likewise, I can (and regularly do) edit/rewrite a novel in the space of two weeks, even if that is also not sustainable.

But it's also about being open with my editors (and supervisors) about my deadlines -- e.g. we pulled line-edits for TWAHK forward to March, even though I only submitted structural edits at the start of February and there's often a longer gap, because I'm going to be super busy with PhD work in April ahead of a deadline at the start of May, so I knew I needed to get the bulk of the work out of the way. That means right now, I'm spending more time on writing, but next month, it'll be nearly all academic work.

On really good days I can do both, and usually write for 1-2 hours in the morning, work all afternoon, and then write again in the evenings (this is what I was doing in December with structural edits), but with chronic pain/fatigue and a changeable schedule, that's harder.

Mostly, though, I'm lucky that my adult books and my PhD are very closely related, so a lot of the research I'm doing for the books also feeds into my PhD, and vice versa -- meaning that a lot of the time, I'm multitasking. It was much harder when I was juggling The Butterfly Assassin and my MA, since they had nothing in common; I would basically just focus on one or the other at a time, and was very grateful that we got a slight extension for our thesis submission deadline because of covid or I don't think it would've been in on time.

Oh, and I also don't have a social life (thanks covid + disabilities) so there's that, too. And my house is a mess and I don't eat enough vegetables. But I don't have any caring responsibilities or dependents, and at the moment I don't have fixed hours/work obligations, so that's something.

As for how I used to write when I had a full-time job (and disabilities) (and a social life)... honestly I was definitely writing at work sometimes. And not just on my lunchbreak. 🤫

#answered #kirk-goes-to-gallifrey

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wendigonamecaller · 1 year ago

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Heir(ess).

Kai Anderson x Oc. Pt 3.

Taglist: @brknlamb

Warnings: Eating disorder, Kai himself, cursing, smut.

A/N: I had a chapter written with over 4k words and then accidentally published it before I edited and proofread it so I had to completely rewrite :')

Karina stood with Winter in the middle of Ally and Ivy's meat store. Kai had insisten she stay with Ally until he could get home, and she agreed, having had enough from people she didn't know putting their hands on her.

Eventually, with the clock only reading six forty seven, Karina sat at a table and laid her head onto the table with her eyes closed.

Winter sat next to her, resting her head on the elder girl's shoulder. Karina didn't say anything, simply letting Winter do whatever whilst she focused on her headache. She just wanted to go home, but she knew Meadow was most likely still there and didn't want to be on the receiving end of Kai's wrath for disobeying an order.

"Karina, Winter, you wanna come help me make some food for lunch tomorrow?" Ally asked, and both girls stood up reluctantly to follow the brunette into the kitchen.

Ally led them into the kitchen where some meats were already simmering in pans, and some fruits and vegetables laid on another counter with a cutting board and knife. Karina's brows furrow, her stomach pinching and twisting in response to the smell in the kitchen.

Karina hunches over the trashcan by the kitchen door, coughing and retching into it with a gag. Ally's maternal instincts are quick to kick into overdrive as she rushes over to Karina and pulls her hair back. "Winter, get a cup and fill it with ice and sprite." Ally spoke up, rubbing Karina's upper back.

Winter does as she's told, bringing the sprite over with a straw. Karina coughs into the trashcan once more before wiping her mouth.

Ally helps Karina to a booth to sit down and Winter sets the soda down on the table in front of her. "Have you ate today?" Ally asked, and Karina nods.

"When?" Ally asked and Karina cleared her throat before responding to the older woman.

"Lunch-.. me and Winter went to a cafe." She said, wrapping her fingers around the glass cup and wrapping her pale lips around the red straw.

Ally nods. "Kai wants us to get pizza after tonight's meeting since me and Ivy have to bring Oz, but I'll make you something small first, okay?" Ally said and Karina nodded.

"Just- please not steak. The smell alone is what made me sick." Karina said and Ally nodded.

"Of course. Winter, there's ten dollars in my purse in the office, if she needs something take the money and get it from the convenience store a block over. My car keys are in the office as well." Ally instructs and Winter nods.

"What do you think caused you to get sick? Smells don't normally do that to you unless it's Meadow's perfume." Winter asked, and Karina shrugged, wracking her brain to see if there would be a reason for her to vomit.

-♡

Forty five minutes later, Ally comes back out with a plate of a few baked potatoes and an order of breadsticks. She grabs Karina's empty cup and takes it to the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a fresh sprite.

"Here, let me or Winter know if you need anything." Ally said before heading back to the kitchen.

Ivy walks in fifteen minutes later with Oz and the little boy instantly jumps into the booth next to Karina.

-♡

Finally, Karina unlocked the front door to the Anderson house, she opened the door and Oz instantly ran for the couch, but halted when he seen Meadow there. He knew enough from hearing Ally and Karina talk that Meadow could be an asshole if and when she wanted.

Despite Meadow's presence, Karina turns on the tv and flips it to a cartoon on Netflix that Oz liked, before heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

She applied eyeliner after brushing her teeth and resprayed some perfume, heading up to her and Kai's room and putting the baggy tshirt and leggings back on since she wouldn't be going back outside into the Michigan cold.

After fixing her appearance she made her way back to the living room just in time for Kai to come up from the basement with Samuels in tow.

Karina kissed Kai's cheek, smiling slightly bashfully when his hand squeezed her ass in response. He kept an arm wrapped around her as he decided that moment was the perfect time to address Meadow's behavior.

"Meadow, I believe you're in Karina's spot, and are wearing something of mine." Kai regarded, his voice oddly calm.

Karina decided to put on a petty show of her own while Meadow was watching, and laid her head on his shoulder whilst her hand went to play with some strands of his blue hair. She tentatively pressed a few kisses to his neck, just beside his adams apple, making his breath hitch lightly, and she was glad Oz was too engrossed in the tv to notice the pda being presented.

Karina knew that if looks could kill Meadow would likely have already killed Karina. She didn't care, knowing Kai would never let Meadow do anything to her.

One of her hands lower to his hip, her fingertips ghosted under his sweatshirt and left featherlight touches against the heated skin there. Her fingernails lightly grazed the scratches she'd left mere nights before, a proud smirk captivating her lips as she continued to kiss his neck and pulse point.

"Excuse us for a few moments." Kai growled, hand gripping her waist tightly and pulling her towards the basement.

He shut the basement door and pulled her towards the table where they held meetings, it had some blood on it, wet.

Kai spun her around, his lips finding hers in a sloppy and heated embrace, hands cupping her face and fingernails digging into her jawline. She moaned lightly at the sting, hands grasping at his shirt.

He broke from her lips, his hand fisting her ginger hair and forcing her head back, exposing her neck to him. His lips attached with a burning urgency to the skin of her throat, instantly biting and sucking on the soft skin.

He pulled her leggings and panties down, and picked her up. Instead of going for the table he spun around and pinned her to the wall, hands gliding up her shirt and under her bra to grope and tease her breasts.

He bit down particularly hard on a part of her neck, drawing blood and eliciting an especially slutty moan from Karina as her legs tightened around his waist.

He tore her shirt over her head, tossing it to the ground. "Masochistic little lamb." He muttered into her skin, his clothed erection thrusting up into her heat.

She whimpered, hands flying to the skin of his back underneath his sweatshirt. "You like it." She breathed, a pleased hum erupting from her when his lips meet hers again and he adjusts her position to slide his sweatpants and boxers down low enough for his hardened dick to spring free.

"I do." He purrs, his nails digging into the skin of her thighs and he dragged them down quickly, Karina moaned at the burning that came with it and the heated wet sensation that came with blood beginning to bead at the broken skin.

He positions himself and quickly thrusts in, not giving her time to adjust as he quickly set a brutal pace.

"You wanna tease me like a whore in front of people? You're gonna get bred like a whore." Kai growled in her ear, his hand was slippery with her blood from her thigh, and he held said thigh with a bruising grip as his other hand flew to his pocket and withdrew a knife.

He flicked the pocket knife open and Karina took it, gliding the cool metal over his throat and collarbones. She pressed the tip of the blade into his skin just enough to draw a little blood, and leaned into his neck to lick the blood from his skin. They both groaned, and Kai's hips stuttered for a moment before resuming their brutal pace.

She moved from the barely noticeable wound on his neck to other parts of his throat, sucking hickies onto the skin everywhere she could, feeling the coil in her lower abdomen begin to tighten significantly.

Kai's grunts became animalistic in nature, and soon after that he buries his cock as deep inside of her as he can manage, hitting that one spot deep inside her as he came, her own orgasm making her see white as a voiceless scream of ecstacy rippled through her throat.

After coming down from their orgasms, Kai pulled out of Karina and carried her to the couch, laying her down on it gently. She laid on the couch, catching her breath as Kai's cum slowly dripped down her legs and onto the couch.

"Good girl." Kai muttered as he kneeled in front of her with a cold rag and a medkit. He cleaned her up before bandaging her leg, pressing a chaste kiss to the bandaged area.

It had always amazed Karina how he could be so brutal yet worship her like she was a goddess. She never questioned it though, she was happy with him.

#ahs fandom #evan peters smut #ahs cult #kai anderson #writers on tumblr

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creativecuteness · 6 months ago

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Happy November 1st

Welp, the boops are gone, (Sadly I couldn't max mine out, I was too busy too but at least I got booped by a lot of people.) Halloween is over and I've still got a few Halloween fic chapters that need to be posted however after that I'll be taking a writing break. I've been busting my butt for a few months straight and I kind of struggled with writing motivation this month and when that happens, I know it's time to take some time off of fanfic writing. However, you're not going empty handed this month. Let's take a look at what will be posted both on here and my other socials.

Chapter 2 of Whitechapel Adventures Remastered: I was really hoping to post this more frequently, but I underestimated how long some of the chapters are and then I got caught up with Rory week and my free week chapter ended up being longer than I thought. But the chapter will come out soon.

One of a Kind Vamp: Chapter 5: As I said before, this is meant to be the free day prompt I wanted to get this out yesterday, but the chapter was longer than I thought and took longer to proofread and to be fair I hate rushing my fic's out, so I decided to just give it one more day in the oven it should be out later today.

Ghosts of the Past Chapter 5: Started work on this chapter a while ago and have yet to finish it I don't want to leave unfinished chapters for months at a time now, so I'll try to finish it this month.

My New Life in Despair School: four years ago, I created a Danganrpona 1 retelling with my OC's back in September I officially remastered the first act as a challenge to myself to see how far I've gotten as a writer and when I tell you I've fallen in love with the rewrite would be an understatement. However, I ran into a problem I met someone on ao3 who decided to help me flesh out the story a few years ago and I can't bring myself to just undo all that work. So, I'm officially starting the story all over again and labeling my original as Losercandy's edit. That way I won't have to undo all the work and take away the co-author credit because he helped me so much in my writing journey and it feels so wrong to take it all away. You can expect the new remaster on ao3 however Tumblr and Fanfiction.net will be under the original title since I never ported Losercandy's edit over there (mostly because I didn't know if it was allowed.)

The Adventure of a Lifetime The beginning of the end arc: Five years ago, I would start this story and now it's time to close the book so I can prepare for the next one. My Kingdom Hearts story is returning hopefully this month with both Neverland and Hallow Bastion my favorite world in Kingdom Hearts 1 and my all-time favorite part of the game (Mostly because I love Dark Riku's outfit come on guys he looks sooo good in it.) KH2 fanfic will still be a bit away but maybe I can post it monthly next year who knows (Hopefully it won't take me five years to finish it)

I think that's it; my new writing schedule is Monday's and Fridays this month only however I hope by December a few fic's will be finished but who knows with that said, I love you guys, and I hope we all have a good November. :)

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mareenavee · 2 years ago

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Been meaning to pick your professional brain a bit, so... Tell us about rewriting/drafting/editorial pass! What happens when you read to edit? How is it different when you read someone else's work vs your own? What do you look for, what do you notice differently from when you're in writing mode? Any advice to get better at the whole editing thing, and what typical advice that we often see (kill your darlings, never do x, always do x, write for yourself, know your audience...) do you think could use some nuance or explanation? And maybe most importantly, what advice would you give a starting beta reader? What makes for a good beta reader and/or editor, especially when there's no monetary transaction involved and it's all donated labor? What are some of the essential skills?

Hello my friend!! Thank you so, so much for asking me about editing!! I am over the moon. I love this part.

I'm lucky because while it's been my job for quite a long while now (often among other responsibilities) work hasn't ground out the joy of it. I prefer to edit fiction, of course, over corporate copy and advertising, but am honestly happy to dig into either kind of project. The point of it is to bring the right words to the forefront of whatever the written material is, I think. To make the piece the best it can be, and at the same time show the writers how capable they really are. (: So let me dive right in! (THIS IS LONG, by the way, so under the cut! The irony is not lost on me about wordiness and editing and then producing this LOL but it's alright. I'm a chatty person online and this is more or less conversational.)

What is an editorial pass?

There's several kinds of editing. What I do most for paid corporate work is proofreading -- which is catching typos and grammar mistakes and correcting them. This is usually a first pass of any given project. This pass doesn't usually suggest changes -- things are left as is except typos and grammar mistakes. This is sometimes also called copyediting, though copyediting is the next step up and also checks for style consistency, among a few other things, especially in academic and corporate work.

Next is line editing -- this is more checking for word choice at the sentence level. We're looking to make sure things flow together nicely, and that we're cutting the fluff out when necessary. When things get too wordy and there are cleaner ways to phrase something, a line edit pass will catch these things.

Next past that is content editing -- this is done on a full manuscript or story to check that the ideas are complete and the story flows together logically. This should be paragraph and chapter level and should also check for consistency in tone and authorial voice.

After that is my personal favorite, which is structural editing. This is actually technically what you should start with if your manuscript is already complete. But we'll get into the difference between having work beta read and having work edited below. Anyway structural editing is going to check for, well, structure -- organization, flow and quality of the book in its entirety.

There will be notes regarding concerns and big picture issues with the story. These usually won't include detail-level edits, though some professional editors do offer multiple passes on the same manuscript. If your structural edit is mostly glowing praise with few key concerns or suggestions, you can move onto more detail oriented edits to address those specific concerns.

And an even higher level editing that can happen even before a manuscript is complete is Developmental Editing. I like to think of this as an outline critique or consultation more so, as this pass won't be rewriting or doing any sort of detail work. The editor takes your idea and helps ask the right questions to make sure you're organizing your ideas to the best of your ability. They help an author to see the book as a reader would see it.

What happens when you read to edit?

Reading for enjoyment is actually as important to editing as it is for writing. The key takeaway is that an for either, you need to have a extremely solid grasp on the components that make a good story. For an editor, especially so when the 'rules' might be broken purposefully by an author. Honestly, a lot of it is still opinion based. Two different editors, generally, will have different insights for you reading the same manuscript, biased by how much they read and what their specialties are. Most editors, too, will have an ear for grammar which nobody wants to talk about but it's true. You don't need to memorize every single tiny little grammatical detail to explain in full to your authors when you edit and catch errors. But an editor usually can hear when things are off more or less and can provide resources if a mistake is noticed as a consistent issue.

Mostly when you're reading to edit and I'll use structural editing for an example here, you're always thinking of how things flow together and how the story threads intertwine and connect. You're thinking through how the story will land for a casual reader. There's a lot of work in the background in this case, and it takes practice to be able to point out when elements fall flat. You as an editor should also be able to suggest ways to fix the flat parts of the story -- and to do that you need to have read widely in many genres. Read for the sake of understanding how stories come together. Read while taking extensive mental notes as you go. Each book is a learning opportunity.

How is it different when you read someone else's work vs your own?

I actually just reblogged a post about this that sums it up pretty nicely. When you're writing you're so close to your own work it can be hard not only to spot errors but to let go of work you've written. It can also be difficult to see where your work shines because it's not how you envisioned it in your head. Writing is an entirely different process, even if you can go back in with good editing eyes, again it comes down to perspective. You're too close to your own work. You've spent so much more time with it. You know every detail (presumably) and might not be able to see beyond that. The editor, on the other hand, and also a beta reader, will be able to shift perspectives a bit based on their own biases and specialties and help spot things that weren't obvious in the thick of the project.

For me I know I am not as strong a writer as I am an editor for this exact reason. (Regardless of what others think of my writing, this is still true lol) I get a sort of tunnel vision on what I'm attempting to get on paper. A second set of eyes helps point out what needs more attention. An editor should be a project's biggest cheerleader because our goal is to bring out the best an author can do. We can see the threads of greatness as we go through a piece. When we suggest things, it's always to make the piece stronger and for the story beats to hit harder. So this piece really comes down to perspective. When I read my own work, I still am very much mired in it. When I read someone else's work, I get to experience it without it having lived in my head for x amount of time. It's a fresh view of the text, and that can often be invaluable.

What do you look for, what do you notice differently from when you're in writing mode?

This kind of plays off the last few questions, more or less but here I'll switch to self-editing. It really is a mindset change and it's incredibly difficult on one's own writing. Usually I need to take a day or two to let the chapter (for instance) I'm working on simmer and move on to the next thing to get my mind out of the weeds about it more or less. Then I go back in with the goal to proofread and do line level editing.

Because I am the author, I'm always trying to keep in mind overarching structures and plots. (I'm a planner rather than a pantser/discovery writer normally though there are exceptions when I add to the plan later.) This does make "editing mode" a little bit easier for me, besides being a professional editor. I'm actively trying to keep the threads together in editing mode, and actively looking for accidental repetition, places where fluff can be cut out, areas where the words sound off/discordant and can be improved, and personally I am always trying to be sure each line of dialogue or inner monologue SOUNDS like the point of view character I'm working with. This comes from asking the right questions of your work -- "Why would x character respond this way?" But that's a whole other topic. Someone could ask me about how I handle character building another time if they'd like (: But it's all part of the editing process.

In writing mode the goal, at least for me, is to get the idea out of my head and into a draft / on paper. I have the bones of the story in my outline and now I need to get the words out. First drafts are incredibly important and are not -- I repeat -- are NOT garbage. These are the rough foundations and the effort is not wasted. You can't refine anything if there's nothing on the page. The first draft is gold. It is the authentic creative writing experience. The rest is editing. (: And the revision process, the editing, helps bring forward the gem of an idea you had to begin with.

Any advice to get better at the whole editing thing?

The two biggest pieces of advice I have for this is to read widely and to come to your work with fresh eyes before you attempt to edit.

Reading widely means to read outside of your preferred genre as often as you can. This can also mean reading craft books -- ie things that talk about the writing process or even the editing process -- and it can mean consuming other kinds of media with a focus on storytelling like video games, ttrpgs or movies etc. It also means paying attention while reading, always keeping an eye on your own answer to the question: "Why does this work so well?" or conversely "why do I hate this?" (: Reading critically is a habit that not a lot of us innately have. You do have to put in the work just like with writing to read closely in a way that benefits you as a writer and an editor.

Now for the next part -- walking away from your draft entails two things. One, that you've written all you could before you turned on editing mode and two you've given yourself a day or two to do something else (or continue writing) before you return to what you want to edit. It's so much harder to catch what you're missing when you immediately turn back and edit what you've just written. (With exception.) You can catch more typos, and fix the fluff or underwriting when you've given your mind a second to rest.

Improvement comes with practice, too. So purposefully trying to edit, and purposefully trying to read critically and building a habit out of these things will lead to a better understanding of the craft in general. All of it translates to writing strong first drafts and being able to revise more effectively. It's cumulative. Nobody is born a perfect writer or a perfect editor.

One last tip that might be a little impractical depending on your circumstances is -- if you want to get better at editing quickly, read your work out loud. It's easier to find clunky areas as you verbalize them.

What typical advice that we often see (kill your darlings, never do x, always do x, write for yourself, know your audience...) do you think could use some nuance or explanation?

I could write about each of these but this post is already long! So I'll pick my favorite. "Write what you know" doesn't mean "Stay in your lane and write about your retail job" for example. To me, it's more like even in a fantasy world, you can bring in things you've experienced and give them to your characters.

Not a single one of us is as boring as we think we are (: I learned this when I was going through the Creative Nonfiction track in my undergrad creative writing degree program. Even something so average told from your perspective can be fascinating to someone else. So apply it to your story -- all your experiences, your emotions, whatever you can throw at the canvas so to speak.

Your character isn't a reflection of you if you don't want them to be. But they can still go through a fantasy version of troubles that evoke the same kind of big emotions that you've been through. It can be kind of cathartic -- at least in my experience, it can be.

What advice would you give a starting beta reader? What makes for a good beta reader and/or editor, especially when there's no monetary transaction involved and it's all donated labor? What are some of the essential skills?

So first, the difference between a beta reader and editor does come down to the donation of time. You're going to get different responses based on the skill of your beta reader and how much attention and time they have to donate. The ideal beta reader will be someone who is in your intended audience and is generally a close reader, even if they're not there looking for grammar mistakes or anything like that. They'll have a working idea of their own personal answers to what they feel works well and what doesn't when they read in general.

Generally a beta reader will be a set of eyes that will catch your grammar mistakes and typos but probably won't be providing line level suggestions. They'll function as a light structural editor or work more or less on a chapter level. Some beta readers (like myself because I am also a editor) might donate more time and effort to the project than others and be able to make professional suggestions, but this is not to be expected or requested.

If you're just starting out as a beta reader, it might be good to practice on maybe a published novella or short story first, low stakes because the author can't see your comments. Begin the process of reading widely and asking yourself "Why (or why not) does this work for me as a reader?" "What makes this enjoyable (or not?)" "What is it about this piece that is done well (or not?)" The grammar practice can come later -- refresh on the rules, but again don't worry about being perfect. The biggest skill you can build is reading critically. Practice, practice, practice. And when you offer your skills as a beta reader, let your author know if it's your first piece. Sometimes a very fresh set of eyes are just the thing a project needs, so don't be shy about saying so.

On the skills needed -- beta readers should not be shy to say exactly what they're thinking in a kind, constructive way. This can take some practice. But if you're going to point out something that's not working, it's good to have an idea as to why and be able to convey that. It doesn't have to be to the level of a suggestion and certainly not to the level of a rewrite or being able to provide comps/resources.

Being able to provide comments of your thoughts in a structured and logical way based on your opinion of what you've read comes with practice, of course. It's essential because an author is generally looking for specific feedback when they're asking you to beta read their work to make sure their story is hitting as intended for their intended audience.

Again having a good ear for grammar is going to be important here, too. You don't have to be perfect about it, either, or memorize every tiny technical detail. But being able to hear when something is off is useful again because while writing, an author is very close to their work and might not catch it.

And last -- remind yourself you are human. You aren't going to be able to catch every error. You aren't going to be perfect. (listen, not even every editor is going to catch every single mistake. Again, we're human!) You are not a machine. The act of being a close reader for an author and donating your time to assist them is selfless. Nobody should be expecting perfection. This is a collaborative effort between audience and author in this case. You get to make suggestions and perhaps change an author's mind about the direction of some things in their stories. Authors can choose not to take advice, too, without needing to explain anything at all. It doesn't mean the effort is wasted. It comes down to having a second set of eyes on the project with the intent to bring out the best.

Beta reader or editor, your job is mostly to be the work's cheerleader and see past the rough edges to the gem underneath, and then show the author how truly talented they are when they've forgotten in the thick of it. These are simply two different levels of the same kinds of tasks (:

#AskMareena #MareenaWrites #writing tips #writing advice #writeblr #fanficblr #editing #editor #book editing #book editor

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