#shall i continue this as a novel of some sort?

[3hks]

3hks' Guide to Plot (2024)

Alright guys... Here's a big one! These are MY personal thoughts on how to create and write plot. As time continues, I'm positive that some of these things will change, which is why I included "(2024)" in the title! Let's start with some of the basics and definitions, shall we? Hint: you probably want to see the last tip!

~PLOT STRUCTURE~

For 99.9% of novels, they follow a similar--if not the same plot structure--so let's take a look at them chronologically!

>>> Exposition: The beginning of the story, the starting characters, settings, relationships, and ideas are established. This is meant to give the reader a basic sense of the story.

>>> Inciting Incident (initial conflict): This is what sparks the conflict. The characters themselves may not realize it, but this event ultimately changes the whole course of the plot! (This may not always be before the rising action.)

>>> Rising Action: The GOOD stuff starts here! More introductions, more development, more action! Tension builds as the story continues.

>>> Climax: The climax is NOT equivalent to the conflict. The climax is the most exciting or tensest part of the story. The protagonist often is forced into making a difficult decision, whether it be self-inflicted or by another character's hand.

>>> Falling Action: The climax has ended, and things are coming to an end! The falling action is always shorter than the rising action, because there isn't much to introduce, and the characters are simply rolling through the consequences (good or bad) of their previous actions.

>>> Resolution: This is the end of the story. Many people will tell you to tie all the knots together during this part, but it's ultimately up to you! However, there should be some sort of ending to provide closure, at the very least. The conflict should also be resolved (hence the name).

Let's look at the diagram itself! (I'm using Freytag's pyramid because it's well-known. Thank you Writer's Hive for the image!)

~CONFLICT~

Alright, let's talk about the types of conflict real quick!

Character v.s Character: This is your typical conflict, where there are two opposing characters struggling against each other.

Character v.s Self: This is a less common conflict that takes place within the character's mind. (Examples: Self-doubt, decision making, moral dilemma, etc.)

Character v.s Society: This is a conflict between a character (or even a small group of characters) struggling against a larger, typically oppressive society as a whole.

Character v.s. Nature: Just like in the name, this is a character against a force of nature: a tornado, storm, flood, etc.

Character v.s Supernatural: Simply put, this is just a character struggling against a supernatural force.

While knowing and being able to identify the different conflicts doesn't necessarily help you write, it's important to understand what your character is battling against in order to build the conflict.

~BUILDING THE ARCS~

If you watch a lot of shows or movies, you're probably familiar with the term "arc," which is just another way to say plot or subplot, depending on your story.

When writing plot, you want to have a MAIN or LEADING ARC. This is your character's goal that's usually established at the exposition. However, there is usually more to add so your storyline isn't too one-dimensional. These are more arcs or subplots that simply branch out. In a way, it's meant to slow the plot down and add more content while still advancing the story.

So yeah, subplots are able to assist in slowing down the story but they need to help advance the main arc.

This can be done by simply connecting the two--making sure that both of them are at least relevant to one another.

Here's an example! Let's look at HunterxHunter (Yoshihiro Togashi)

The main character, Gon, has a goal to locate his father. This is what HunterxHunter is mainly about. The leading arc, main plot, etc.

It's incredibly simple and straightforward, but it's not that easy.

Along the way, you see different problems arise, creating more subtle and smaller arcs. For instance, there's the Yorknew arc, the Greed Island arc, and the Chimera Ant arc.

The focus of those arcs aren't necessarily for Gon to find his dad. As a matter of fact, his objective is kind of an afterthought in the presence of these subplots. Still, they are connected to Gon's objective and push the story!

See how modest the main plot is? It does not have to be the world's most complex storyline.

Your protagonist's goal is the leading arc, and things just get in the way of it.

Keep this in mind and it may actually help you design your plot events!

~KEY POINTS~

Character introductions: By the end of the rising action, you want most of your characters to have been introduced. This may vary for some certain scenarios, but logically, most characters are going to be involved in the climax, so they must be introduced beforehand.

Environment: Your character will typically start out with a set view of their society, world, and people. Through your developing plot, there should be some changes in their view. What they believe is true could prove to be false.

Triumphs and losses: Sometimes, your character needs to win, and sometimes, they need to lose. This adds a sense of naturalness (not everyone gets what they want) and aids your character development. There are times when a loss is actually the foundation of the exposition! (Wink-wink, nudge-nudge)

~WHERE TO PLACE "THAT SCENE"~

Here's a pretty big one! As writers, we often have just "that scene" pictured out in our minds--it's absolute perfection and a REAL piece of art.

But where are we going to insert it?

If it's not too important, there are three places I suggest! 1. The exposition, 2. the rising action, 3. the falling action.

If your moment is able to introduce a relationship, character, or setting, the exposition is the way to go. If it can build on the three things I listed AND may have a part in the conflict and/or climax, then rising action it is! If it's somewhere in between and somewhere else, then try falling action!

And it can even be the inciting incident if begins the conflict!

Resolution is also a possibility, but because it's near the end, your scene may have less impact than you want. However, if you're still into that idea, then I suggest placing it at the very end! (You'll just need a lot of patience to get through your whole story just for that part, though lol.)

The most important part is to understand what the moment can contribute to the plot, because then you'll have a much better idea of whether you should place it closer to the climax or further away!

Did this help? Let me know!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[chthonic-cassandra]

what vampire musicals are there? asking bc of the tag meme you posted a few days(?) ago where you said it was pretty accurate aside from no vampire musicals... i know wildhorn dracula, but what else? (and which are good?)

Thank you for asking a question which allows me to indulge myself by recounting all this. The question of "good," however, is rather fraught, and I ask everyone to remember that these opinions are just my own.

The (probably) first, and the only one to achieve significant success, was Jim Steinman's Tanz der Vampire/Dance of the Vampires, first stage in 1997. Tanz was an adaptation of Roman Polanski's comedic vampire movie The Fearless Vampire Killers, and features "Total Eclipse of the Heart," a song Steinman always intended to be about vampires. Tonally, the musical veers wildly between the broad comedy of the source film and something approaching sincerity and the comedy sections have never really worked for me, but it's certainly the most musically sophisticated of the vampire musicals and at its best, like in the major ballad sung by the lead vampire character about the loves he has killed (here sung by original cast Steve Barton, and here by Drew Sarich, who is in all the major vampire musicals and who we shall have more to say about anon) it's spectacular gothy camp glory.

Tanz was incredibly popular in Austria, where it was first staged, and then throughout Europe and in Japan. However, when it was brought to Broadway it was drastically rewritten, partly at the behest of Michael Crawford, starring in the show and anxious about changes in his body and being compared to his career-making performance in Phantom of the Opera. The comedy was foregrounded and the show was constantly being rewritten, to the point that the actors didn't know how their parts might change performance to performance. I didn't see the Broadway production, but it is accounted by all to be a colossal failure. The show remains popular worldwide to this day, but has not received another major staging in North America.

Next comes the Frank Wildhorn Dracula the Muiscal, which I know you know about, but as it is vital to this narrative I must give some explanation. Wildhorn is a sort of mid-tier musical theater composer, known for melodrama and period pieces. After the popular (though not critical) success of his Jekyll & Hyde musical (1997 on Broadway) he co-wrote Dracula with lyricist Don Black, premiering on Broadway on 2004.

While I maintain that Dracula the Musical has been unjustly maligned by comparison with some other works of musical theater, it is admittedly a mess, and the Broadway production, which was, despite highly publicized special effects, shockingly static, did it no favors. It tries to do far too many things, combining sections of relatively close novel adaptation (Christopher Hampton's book is often quietly strong) with a messily shoehorned Dracula/Mina romance. The score is variable, ranging, even just in Dracula's material, from the rousing "Life After Life" as Dracula welcomes the transformed Lucy, to his cringe-inducing "The Longer I Live". (I still think almost all of the music and lyrics are better than those of Les Miserables but then again I think most things are better than the Les Miserables musical.) The Broadway production had a reasonably strong cast, including Melissa Errico as Mina and Kelli O'Hara as Lucy, but it failed nearly as badly as the American version of Tanz had, if not quite so dramatically.

Wildhorn subsequently brought DtM to Europe, where it enjoyed significantly more success, first in a stripped down modern production in St. Gallen starring Drew Sarich and then in Vienna where the role of Van Helsing was expanded for popular star Uwe Kröger. It's continued to be performed in Europe and Asia, and in some USA community theaters.

Next up was Elton John's Lestat in 2007. One would expect that this musical would have been wonderfully over-the-top glam rock, but somehow Lestat ended up being one of the most staid things I have ever seen. Filled with forgettable music (even if we all do want to see Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson doing "Embrace It". It was further brought down by a lackluster performance of the title character by Hugh Panaro, previously known for his mediocre (sorry Panaro fans!) turn in Phantom. It was enlivened slightly by Carolee Carmello as Gabrielle earning one of the show's only Tony nominations and Drew Sarich (there he is again!) playing a decidedly not book accurate but very entertaining Armand. It also involved a Buddhist monk Marius de Romanus, but I constantly question whether this was a fever dream of mine. Lestat was yet another failure on Broadway and, as far as I can tell, has had no real subsequent afterlife, though I've been wondering if that might change with the IwtV show (and Sam Reid's evident enjoyment of the musical!).

Those are the major vampire musicals, for what they are! But there are also some others which never got even this level of attention, including:

Two dueling French-language Dracula musicals with almost the exact same name, Dracula - L'amour plus fort que la mort and Dracula - Entre l'amour et la mort

A Nosferatu musical which is a strong contender for the worst lyrics I have ever heard but also entertains me

another mysterious Dracula musical made in the UK with songs of wildly varying qualities, but containing the only Mina hero ballad with which I am familiar

There are also edge cases like Bat Boy and Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I would not call vampire musicals but someone else might.

Anyway! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share some of the truly disproportionate amount of information I have about this topic in my head. I hope this brought some entertainment.

[derekhighwaytf]

The Golden Boy

Dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren, Rolex watch glistening on his wrist, Spencer Harrington was the spitting image of New England privilege.  He truly had it all: money, good looks, intelligence beyond even his most high-brow peers.  He was only twenty-one and had already published two best-selling poetry novels and was head of the most exclusive secret society at Yale.  Once he graduated, he planned to propose to his most perfect girlfriend and, just like his father, have the most perfect son to follow in his footsteps.

But then he saw the lamp.

It was a family heirloom that had sat at Harrington Mansion for centuries, the only piece of metal in the house that wasn't polished daily by the staff.  If his father had not been so adamant about keeping it untouched, then it probably would have been thrown out years ago, replaced with something shinier and newer, as had Spencer's last few stepmothers.

But his father was firm about the lamp.  It was to never be moved, never be touched.

Spencer, however, couldn’t help but smirk at the idea. The thrill of the unknown added an edge to his usual smug demeanour.  Despite all the whispered warnings and tales about the lamp, Spencer was eager to see what secrets it held. Without a moment of hesitation, his hands began to rub the lamp's worn surface. Suddenly, an otherworldly glow engulfed the room, and a cloud of dark, misty smoke spiraled out from the lamp.

The figure that emerged from the smoke was nothing short of breathtaking. He towered at an imposing height, muscles rippling beneath his bronzed skin. His jet-black hair fell carelessly onto his forehead, framing a face that was sharp and remarkably handsome. His emerald green eyes twinkled with a blend of mischief and malice. This being, whoever he was, was the essence of danger, awe, and power, and all Spencer could do was stare blankly at his form.

"Spencer Harrington," the figure addressed him, his voice booming through the room. Spencer recoiled, his smugness shaken by the figure's commanding presence. "I am Sakhir, born from this lamp and bound to its curse."

“Are…are you some sort of genie?” Spencer asked.

“A genie?!”  Sakhir laughed mercilessly at such an accusation, letting his ominous chuckles hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I am no wish granter, Spencer Harrington. No, quite the contrary. I offer not boons, but curses, to the ones who dare summon me."

Sakhir’s announcement echoed through the silence as Spencer stood silent, agonizing over what fate this “Anti-Genie” was about to bring upon him.

"You, Spencer Harrington," the Anti-Genie began, "Are a child of privilege, born into a life of luxury, a life you've never earned." The words were cold and hard, piercing Spencer's usual indifference.

With a sweeping motion of his arm, the Anti-Genie continued, "Your first curse, dear Spencer, is to lose all your family's wealth. You shall understand the hardships of those you've long considered beneath you." 

Before Spencer could utter a protest, the room spun wildly. When his vision cleared, he was no longer in the lavish living room of his family's mansion. Instead, he found himself in a cramped, rundown apartment, its peeling wallpaper and old, worn-out furniture a stark contrast to the Harrington mansion. His preppy clothes had been replaced with a simple white wifebeater and jeans, a price tag still hanging off it – $4.99.

His Rolex? Gone. The comfort of his privileged life? Gone.  And his scrawny, delicate body?  Also gone. His pecs, his arms, his legs, they all grew massive and rugged, the result of a life filled with manual labor and hard work. A strange, cold sensation of shock washed over him as he realized he had become a stranger in his own life. The country club he’d gone to all his life was now replaced with a dingy bar, his regular hangout. The Harringtons, once the town's richest family, were now “low class white trash” as the town's elite would say.

Spencer stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. The man staring back at him was still a Harrington, yet, so different. The physical transformation was a shock, but the sudden shift from a life of privilege to an existence of struggles was what shook him to his core. Sakhir’s first curse had already altered his life beyond recognition.

Disoriented by the sudden shift in his world, Spencer attempted to regain his composure. His pride, inherited from generations of Harringtons, refused to be quieted. The room may have changed, his clothes and surroundings might be different, but he was still a Harrington, goddamit!

Looking up, Spencer met Sakhir's gaze. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, the usual smugness on his face replaced with a defiant glare. "I'm still Spencer Harrington! You can't change who I am inside!"

His proclamation was met with an amused smirk from the Anti-Genie. "Ah, the naïveté of youth," he said, his emerald eyes glinting with an insidious joy. "Let's see about that, shall we?"

With another sweeping motion of his arm, the Anti-Genie said, "Your second curse, Spencer, is to lose all your intelligence. Your fascination with poetry, literature, art and all the delicate intricacies of high society will be replaced with a fondness for...simpler pleasures."

A rush of wind filled the room, and Spencer felt a throbbing pain at his temples. Suddenly, words that once came so easily to him seemed to slip from his mind. His tongue felt heavy, sentences becoming jumbled in his head. The eloquent Spencer Harrington, once the star of literary society and university clubs, could now only grasp simple words and phrases no longer than five letters. His thoughts were no longer about poetry or literature, but football, beer, and other primal desires. His IQ, once a proud 135, plummeted to a mere 80.

Spencer, now struggling to put together even a simple sentence, looked around the room. The literature and art that once filled his life were replaced with sports magazines, porno mags, and the stench of weed. His life was simpler, focused more on the here and now rather than philosophical questions or artistic appreciation. The weight of the Anti-Genie's second curse made itself known, his life further straying from the privileged existence he once knew.

Struggling to form a cohesive thought, Spencer could only stare in bewildered silence at the Anti-Genie. The very essence of who he was had been altered. He could no longer comprehend the deep, intellectual discussions he once relished, nor could he express himself with the eloquent vocabulary that had once effortlessly flowed from his lips.

“You done man?”

Smirking, Sakhir raised an arm for the final time. "Your transformation isn't quite complete, Spencer. Your final curse shall be to lead a new life, one more suited to your newfound disposition."

Before Spencer could protest, his surroundings changed once more. The cramped apartment vanished, replaced by a gas station's dingy surroundings. Spencer felt his casual white wifebeater and jeans shift against his body. Looking down, he saw a soiled uniform and the name "Sam" embroidered onto the nametag. He instinctively ran a hand over the coarse fabric, the reality of his new life hitting him like a physical blow.

But before he could fully process his new attire, a strange tingling sensation started at the top of his head. It was as though an invisible barber had started their work, the once lush locks that Spencer took immense pride in seemed to release themselves, slowly falling away from his scalp. He reached up, a sense of dread filling him as his fingers grazed over sandpapery skin. The locks, a testament to his vanity, were disappearing rapidly.

The sensation intensified, until all he could focus on was the odd feeling of his hair vanishing. It was as though each follicle was surrendering its hair without any resistance. The transformation was painless yet terrifying. Spencer tried to grab onto his vanishing hair, but his hands met nothing but scalp.

In a matter of moments his once beautiful hair, the last remnant of Spencer’s old, privileged life, a feature that had drawn many admiring glances and compliments, was gone. His head now reflected the dim lights of the gas station.

And then, the final blow fell. "From this day forward, Spencer Harrington is no more," the Anti-Genie declared, his voice echoing through the small gas station. "Now you are nothing but Sam Harris, the local town...let’s say “professional”."

Stunned, Spencer—no, Sam now—looked around his new environment. He found a joint and a lighter in his pocket, the smell instantly recognisable and comforting. As he lit up, he got a sudden craving for something else in his mouth.  I mean, he was the town prostitute after all.

He opened up his phone and met up with the first person who’d give him ten dollars, which was chump change for Spencer, but more than enough for good ol’ Sam.

His old life was now a distant memory. He had no comprehension of his former intellect or wealth, nor the privilege he once wielded. The golden boy of the Harrington family was no more and all the locals looking for a new cumdump were all the happier for it.

[tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons]

Conversations with Jack Skellington

From Disney Dreamlight Valley

"How's the Halloween business going?"

JS: I've been ruminating on our traditional Halloween themes...scary skeletons, jack o' lanterns, tell me -- do you have a favorite?

"Skeletons."

JS: How delightful! Or are you flattering me? You don't need to do that, you know. But I do love a good bone rattle. And no one can grin like a skeleton can.

"What are you up to?"

JS: I am practicing my Shakespeare. Would you like to hear a bit?

'Sure!"

JS: 'I recite chilling lines from various plays. Ahem -- let me begin... 'I could a tale unfold whose lightest word, Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine!"

"Keep going!"

JS: 'Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble, Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake. Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard leg and owlet's wing!"

"More!"

JS: 'Deep night, dark night, and the silent of the night, the time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, and spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves!"

"I love it"

JS: And now I shall customize one for our dear Valley... 'Alas, poor Mickey! I knew him: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Alas! Alas!

'That was wonderful!"

JS: Thank you! You were a lovely audience.

JS: Would you like to join me in some screaming practice?

"Let's do it."

JS: Marvelous! Now we'll start easy. A basic yelp.

"Yip!"

JS: Close! But that's a yip, not a yelp. Try another scream, but longer this time.

"AhhhhHHHHHH"

JS: Oh, I like the ululation - a terrifying touch! Now higher! A proper curdling scream!

JS: That sent shivers down my spine - exquisitely done!

JS: Have you ever felt stuck wearily in the same routine? Where everything seems dull and repetitive? What do you do?

"I change things up!"

JS: Of course! Sometimes you need something new, don't you? To give you novel ideas and a fresh perspective! Though.. Ah... it is good to be prudent about what new things you take on.

"You seem preoccupied."

JS: Friend, I'm sure you've heard that I once tried my hand at running Christmas. Alas, it was quite the disaster. I made so many mistakes, but I'm wondering if there was one fundamental flaw...A central confusion. A core to all the calamity.

"Maybe you let your excitement run away from you."

JS: I certainly did. Enthusiasm is quite powerful. And usually it's good! It animates my frights! Keeps me inspired. But it can sometimes... have a life of its own.

"Does that mean you've learned your lesson?"

JS: Of course. Hmm... but say I hadn't learned my lesson. Would that SCARE you?

"Yes!"

JS: Well then, perhaps...I've learned nothing at all. Ha-ha-ha!

"What are you up to, Jack?"

JS: I've been considering recruiting new fright-makers for Halloween. Do any of our Valley friends strike you as particularly scary?

"Definitely Ursula."

JS: A witch? That's perfect! And she had such a majestic presence. Oh... she'll likely want something in exchange for working with us.

"True, I guess you'd want someone who's in it for the joy of scaring people."

JS: Exactly!

"What's going on?"

JS: My search for new Halloween fright-makers continues! Do you have any suggestions for me?"

"Scar would be great."

"Penny for thoughts, Jack?"

JS: Now that has real potential to be terrifying! If only he weren't so cruel about it... Halloween is about scaring people, not hurting their feelings!

JS: I need your help thinking up some new ideas for Halloween. You know, fresh insights. Topical terrors. Contemporary creepiness.

"Vampires."

JS: You're right! Vampires have been experiencing a sort of renaissance. Which is charming, as many of them were around for the renaissance! But I do have colleagues back in Halloween Town who are vampires. SO I feel that territory is well-covered.

[gunbun]

FFXIVWrite2024 Day 3: Tempest

“Well. I have been asked to do a great many interesting things since joining the Ironworks,” Nero regarded Urianger and Tiona with a piercing blue gaze, stepping back from his workstation, “but my project manager and her husband has never been one of them.”

“Surprise,” Tiona was making a valiant attempt to look self-assured and unbothered, but she was blushing so deeply that even Nero noticed it under her brown skin and dark clan markings.

“Rest assured that we did, ah, consider the ramifications that such liaisons might impart upon said project. Thy continued work at our laboratory doth remain both desired and required for–” Urianger was no less flustered than his wife, pointy ears beet red and his silvery-blonde eyelashes fluttering against rosy cheeks.

“We're not gonna fire you if you turn us down or if it doesn't work out.” The viera's nose was twitching as she turned her bright red eyes upon him.

Once upon a time, Tiona Eryut was shell-shocked and thrown against the Empire's forces, and she had been a woman of few words and great feats of violence. Now, he looked into her eyes and saw a deeply curious and creative intellect. A woman who, by her own admission, wanted the best people at her side.

And Urianger? The man had a charming, witty whimsy about him, a knack for magitek programming, and was precisely the sort of beautiful, athletic man he'd conjure up for himself on lonely nights.

Everything about this proposition was equally thrilling and terrifying, like riding an airship through a tempest.

“Has your bedroom suffered so greatly from our work here?” A blunt enough question. “I've no desire to be either the cause of or solution to some marital problem.”

“Uri's got a bit of a crush on you and wants to mess around. And I'm willing to join in. It's not that deep. Plus, we've learned a thing or three about working conditions.”

“It had occurred to us both that it was likely thou wert lonely–”

“And our marriage is fine, thank you–”

Nero took a deep breath, scrambling to come up with some sort of smart-arsed retort to hide the fact that Urianger was remarkably and painfully astute about his situation. It's why he'd work until he was just about unconscious; it's why he'd turned his office in the Azem F-1 lab complex into a tiny home for himself.

He was lonely.

“Perhaps,” Urianger continued, “we merely want thee. A balm for thy loneliness and an adventure of a sort for us all.”

“And what makes you think this desire is in any way requited?”

“We don't,” Tiona’s voice was surprisingly soft. “But we figured we'd ask.”

“Gods, Eryut, you could at least take me to dinner, first.” Nero's sarcasm was biting, his last line of defense against all these damnable feelings they were making him feel.

“If that is what thou desirest, it is what we shall aim to give thee.” Urianger stepped closer to Nero and Tiona moved to the other side of the Garlean, hip cocked and resting against the edge of the workstation.

They were closing in on either side of him, but he was no means actually backed into any kind of corner.

“Just tell us yes or no first. So we know to leave you alone if that's what you want.” Nero wasn't sure if Tiona brushed her large and soft ears against the back of his neck on purpose, but her closeness as she spoke was curious and novel.

And then he would turn away from Tiona’s alluring brown curves only to be met with Urianger’s elegance and broad, tanned shoulders and he, too, was so close–

All Nero had to do was stand up and walk away, and they'd never talk about it again.

Tension hung in the air, even through the couple's easygoing smiles. They seemed to have made up their minds about it all, and the only thing left to be settled was his choice.

That he seemed to be their first choice wasn't lost on him.

“Yes,” Nero Scaeva said, changing everything.

[burningvelvet]

Every Instance of Lord Byron Hating On John Keats, Listed in Chronological Order.

“No more Keats I entreat — flay him alive. If some of you don’t I must skin him myself.”

To his publisher John Murray, 12 October 1820:

“‘I’m thankful for your books dear Murray / But why not send Scott’s Monastery?’ the only book in four living volumes I would give a baioccho to see, abating the rest of the same author, and an occasional Edinburgh & Quarterly – as brief Chroniclers of the times. — Instead of this – here are John Keats’s piss a bed poetry – and three novels by God knows whom [..] Pray send me no more poetry but what is rare and decidedly good. — There is such a trash of Keats and the like upon my tables – that I am ashamed to look at them. [..] – I am in a very fierce humour at not having Scott’s Monastery. – You are too liberal in quantity and somewhat careless of the quality of your missives. – [..] No more Keats I entreat – – – flay him alive – if some of you don’t I must skin him myself. There is no bearing the drivelling idiotism of the Mankin. – – – – – [editor’s note: ‘dashes degenerate into scrawl’]”

To his publisher John Murray, 4 November 1820:

“They Support Pope I see in the Quarterly. [Let them] Continue to do so – it is a Sin & a Shame and a damnation – to think that Pope!! should require it – but he does. – – – Those miserable mountebanks of the day – the poets – disgrace themselves – and deny God – in running down Pope – the most faultless of Poets, and almost of men – – the Edinburgh praises Jack Keats or Ketch or whatever his names are; – why his is the Onanism of Poetry — something like the Pleasure an Italian fiddler extracted out of being suspended daily by a Street Walker in Drury Lane – this went on for some weeks – at last the Girl – went to get a pint of Gin – met another, chatted too long – and Cornelli was hanged outright before she returned. Such like is the trash they praise – and such will be the end of the outstretched poesy of this miserable Self-polluter of the human Mind [editor’s note: ‘untranscribable scrawl’]. W. Scott’s Monastery just arrived — many thanks for that Grand Desideratun of the last Six Months.”

Note: “onanism” refers to masturbation.

To his publisher John Murray, 9 November 1820:

“Mr. Keats whose poetry you enquire after — appears to me what I have already said; such writing is a sort of mental masturbation — he is always frigging his Imagination. I don’t mean that he is indecent, but viciously soliciting his own ideas into a state which is neither poetry nor any thing else but a Bedlam vision produced by raw pork and opium.”

Note: “frigging” was slang for masturbation.

To his publisher John Murray, 18 November 1820:

“P.S. — Of the praises of that little dirty blackguard Keates in the Edinburgh — I shall observe as Johnson did when Sheridan the actor got a pension. ‘What has he got a pension? then it is time that I should give up mine!’ — Nobody could be prouder of the praises of the Edinburgh than I was — or more alive to their censure — as I showed in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers — at present all the men they have ever praised are degraded by that insane article. — Why don't they review & praise ‘Solomon's Guide to Health’ it is better sense — and as much poetry as Johnny Keates.”

To his publisher John Murray 26 April 1821:

“Is it true – what Shelley writes me that poor John Keats died at Rome of the Quarterly Review? I am very sorry for it – though I think he took the wrong line as a poet – and was spoilt by Cockneyfying and Surburbing – and versifying Tooke’s Pantheon and Lempriere’s Dictionary. I know by experience that a savage review is Hemlock to a sucking author – and the one on me – (which produced the English Bards &c.) knocked me down – but I got up again. Instead of bursting a blood-vessel – I drank three bottles of Claret – and began an answer – finding that there was nothing in the Article for which I could lawfully knock Jeffrey on the head in an honourable way. However I would not be the person who wrote the homicidal article – for all the honour & glory in the World, – though I by no means approve of that School of Scribbling – which it treats upon.”

To Percy Shelley, 26 April 1821:

“I am very sorry to hear what you say of Keats — is it actually true? I did not think criticism had been so killing. Though I differ from you essentially in your estimate of his performances, I so much abhor all unnecessary pain, that I would rather he had been seated on the highest peak of Parnassus than have perished in such a manner. Poor fellow! though with such inordinate self-love he would probably have not been very happy. I read the review of ‘Endymion’ in the Quarterly. It was severe, — but surely not so severe as many reviews in that and other journals upon others.

I recollect the effect on me of the Edinburgh on my first poem; it was rage, and resistance, and redress — but not despondency nor despair. I grant that those are not amiable feelings; but, in this world of bustle and broil, and especially in the career of writing, a man should calculate upon his powers of resistance before he goes into the arena. ‘Expect not life from pain nor danger free, Nor deem the doom of man reversed for thee.’

You know my opinion of that second-hand school of poetry. You also know my high opinion of your own poetry, — because it is of no school. [..] I have published a pamphlet on the Pope controversy, which you will not like. Had I known that Keats was dead — or that he was alive and so sensitive — I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry, to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation of his own style of writing.”

To Percy Shelley, 30 July 1821:

[First page missing] “The impression of Hyperion upon my mind was – that it was the best of his works. Who is to be his editor? It is strange that Southey who attacks the reviewers so sharply in his Kirk White – calling theirs ‘the ungentle craft’ – should be perhaps the killer of Keats. Kirke White was nearly extinguished in the same way – by a paragraph or two in ‘the Monthly’ – Such inordinate sense of censure is surely incompatible with great exertion – have not all known writers been the subject thereof?”

To his publisher John Murray 30 July 1821:

“Are you aware that Shelley has written an Elegy on Keats, and accuses the Quarterly of killing him?

‘Who killed John Keats? / ‘I,’ says the Quarterly, / So savage and Tartarly; / ‘Twas one of my feats.’ / Who shot the arrow? / ‘The poet-priest Milman / (So ready to kill man), / Or Southey or Barrow.’’

You know very well that I did not approve of Keats’s poetry, or principles of poetry, or of his abuse of Pope; but, as he is dead, omit all that is said about him in any M.S.S. of mine, or publication. His Hyperion is a fine monument, and will keep his name. I do not envy the man who wrote the article; — you Review people have no more right to kill than any other footpads. However, he who would die of an article in a Review would probably have died of something else equally trivial. The same thing nearly happened to Kirke White, who died afterwards of a consumption.”

4 August 1821, to his publisher John Murray:

“You must however omit the whole of the observations against the Suburban School – they are meant against Keats and I cannot war with the dead – particularly those already killed by Criticism. Recollect to omit all that portion in any case.”

To his publisher John Murray, 7 August 1821:

“All the part about the Suburb School must be omitted – as it referred to poor Keats now slain by the Quarterly Review — [..] I have just been turning over the homicide review of J. Keats. – It is harsh certainly and contemptuous but not more so than what I recollect of the Edinburgh R. of ‘the Hours of Idleness’ in 1808. The Reviewer allows him ‘a degree of talent which deserves to be put in the right way’ ‘rays of fancy’ ‘gleams of Genius’ and ‘powers of language’. – It is harder on L. Hunt than upon Keats & professes fairly to review only one book of his poem. – Altogether – though very provoking it was hardly so bitter as to kill unless there was a morbid feeling previously in his system.”

To Thomas Moore, August 27th 1822:

“It was not a Bible that was found in Shelley's pocket, but John Keats's poems.”

From his poem Don Juan Canto Eleventh written October 1822 and published August 1823. He was going off the popular gossip shared to him by Shelley (who believed it), which was that Keats health had sharply declined due to receiving bad reviews:

“John Keats, who was killed off by one critique, / Just as he really promised something great, / If not intelligible, without Greek / Contrived to talk about the Gods of late, / Much as they might have been supposed to speak. / Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate; / ‘Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, / Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.”

To his publisher John Murray, 25 December 1822:

“As to any community of feeling, thought, or opinion, between Leigh Hunt and me, there is little or none. We meet rarely, hardly ever; but I think him a good-principled and able man, and must do as I would be done by. I do not know what world he has lived in – but I have lived in three or four – and none of them like his Keats and Kangaroo terra incognita – Alas! poor Shelley! – how he would have laughed – had he lived, and how we used to laugh now & then – at various things – which are grave in the Suburbs. You are all mistaken about Shelley – – you do not know – how mild – how tolerant – how good he was in Society – and as perfect a Gentleman as ever crossed a drawing room; – when he liked – & where he liked. – – – – –“

The excerpts above are taken primarily from Peter Cochran’s transcriptions.

[violettduchess]

A/N: Just imagining some holiday fun in the mansion🎄

Arthur, Isaac, Theo and Leonardo (and reader)

holiday fluff

Word Count: 1510

Arthur - Holiday Wishlist 🖋

You wait, sitting at the end of the bed, holding your notebook to your chest as you watch Arthur’s pencil scratch across paper. Impatiently you nudge his bare foot with yours, a gesture of casual, known intimacy. “It doesn’t take you this long to write a whole novel!”

He looks up at you, those deep blue eyes framed by his dark glasses, and grins. “Has anyone ever told you, luv, that patience is a virtue? This requires careful thought.” He returns his attention to his list, his grin widening at the huff of air that escapes you. You have the feeling he is deliberately writing slower now, keeping you in suspense. 

Finally he nods, satisfied. “Here we are. Exchange on the count of three. One.” He meets your gaze and there is such mischief in the curve of his smile, the arch of his brow, that you can’t help but smile in return. “Two." He stops, as if considering whether he should go on and you kick him, playfully. "Arthur!" "Oh, alright. Three!" You hold out your lists at the same time and exchange hurriedly, each immediately looking down, eager to see what the other has written.

Your brows rise with every wish you read. “Arthur. Number one is far too messy. The tinsel would be everywhere. Number two….I can’t bend that way. Number three we HAVE already done. Number four is a no go because I value Theo’s friendship and he would certainly have a problem with that. I….” You scan the list, frowning. “Is there anything on here that isn’t……lewd?”

You look up to see him frowning, lowering your list. “Is there anything on yours that IS?” You stare at him and he stares at you and for a moment all you can hear is the nervous ticking of the clock on his desk. And then you both burst out laughing. Setting your lists aside he opens his arms and you slide into them, sighing as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing the back.

As the laughter settles back into your bodies, leaving behind big grins, Arthur cuddles you close, quiet a moment before he finally speaks. “How about a deal. You get number one on your list and in return……I get number six.” 

You shake your head, not in negation but affection. “That sounds….fair.” His eyes widen and his smile sharpens in a way that suddenly has you wondering, slightly panicked: Wait……..what was number six?!

Isaac - Gingerbread House🧱

He steps back, icing knife in hand and smiles, satisfaction written all over his sweet face. “I believe I have successfully executed my design with the highest possible structural integrity at this particular size, with this particular material.”

You look up from the candy you are sorting, the basis of your gingerbread decorations, a slow smile spreading across your lips as you wipe your hands on your apron and walk over to the kitchen table. Sliding an arm around his waist, you take in what he has done, beaming with pride and astonishment: a perfect miniature of the mansion, made entirely of gingerbread. Even the rounded part in the front and the chimneys are there and in perfect proportion. “Isaac, this is incredible! You are incredible!”

His cheeks turn a faint pink, both at the way you are holding him close to you and the compliment. He picks up a smaller, sharper knife and gestures toward his construction. “I shall now lightly etch the current windows and doors onto the outside in order to assist you with your decorative sweets.” His cherry-blossom eyes are bright at both the challenge and the knowledge that he is helping you.

You glance at him. “That is….a  lot of windows and doors. Are you sure you know exactly how many there are on each side of the mansion?” His smile answers your question. Of course he knows. Finding you and your inquiry endearing, he can’t help but lean down and press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s your turn to blush. “Shall we continue?”

Your heart feels like it may just burst at the open display of affection he shows you. You can't help but return the favor, leaning up to place a loving kiss on his cheek. "Let's."

Theo - Decorating the Tree 🎄

You stand back, arms crossed as you examine the tree in the salon. You promised Comte you would make it sensational. Your critical gaze runs over the tree, which seems to straighten up, wanting to present itself as regally as possible.  The red and gold ornaments shine in the firelight like jeweled orbs, the red velvet ribbons you tied to some of the branches are an elegant yet almost whimsical touch. The glossy gold star at the top twinkles. And yet….

“That face is never a good thing.” Theo’s deep voice cuts through your thoughts as he strolls into the salon, a mug of his favorite mulled wine in his hand. You turn, gesturing at the tree with a frustrated hand flap. “There’s something missing. I can’t quite put my finger on what though.”

He comes to stand next to you, his beautiful blue gaze looking over the tree, filtering it through the eye of an art lover, a man with a gift for the aesthetic. Lifting the warm mug to his lips, he considers the tree as it nervously awaits judgment.

“Klatergoud.”  As quickly as the Dutch word leaves his lips, the mug is on an end table and he is gone, striding from the room on long legs. You blink, wondering what just happened. But knowing the man you love, you trust he knows what he is doing. You walk over and pick up his mug, taking a long sip. Wow, Napoleon really out did himself. This stuff is amazing.

You’ve nearly emptied it when Theo strides back in, muttering to himself in grumpy Dutch. You think you catch the word “Arthur” and “idioot”. In his arms is a small brown box which he sets on the ground, crouching to open it and reach inside. He comes out with a handful of gleaming gold tinsel.

Excitedly you walk over to help him, reaching inside and taking out a large clump of sparkling goodness. “What does this have to do with Arthur?” you ask, carefully spreading out the tinsel across the branches the way Theo is.

His broad shoulders heave with a sigh. “He wondered if it might be a fun addition to…..his nocturnal activities.” You can’t help but laugh out loud. “Tinsel? How on earth…..you know what. Nevermind. I don’t want to explore that any further.” This earns you an amused Theodorus smile and you feel a warmth in your heart that has nothing to do with the fire in the salon.

After working together in companionable silence, you both step back to admire your handiwork. Theo wraps an arm around your shoulders, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “There.” You turn, reaching up to catch his chin and then rise on your toes to press a kiss to those smiling lips. “Thank you.” 

“Hondje…..why do you taste like my wine?”

Leonardo - Wrapping Presents 🎁

You’re on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by a mountain of wrapping paper, ribbons, and boxes. The man you love is lying on your bed, snoring lightly, peacefully lost in the delicate web of his dreams as you continue to wage war with the very last present you have to wrap.

When you saw the small wooden clock in the window of the antique store, you knew right away you wanted to give it to Comte. There was an elegance to the rich mahogany of the wood, the ornately carved base, the black hands shaped like arrows. It was a stunning piece. And it is hell on earth to wrap. You have tried fitting it into boxes you already own and none of them are suitable. You have tried simply wrapping it in paper but the sharp edges keep maliciously stabbing tiny holes through it. You even entertain the thought of simply tying a ribbon around it and washing your hands of the whole affair, but that feels like giving up. And you are not a quitter.

“Damn it!” You’ve now ruined your third piece of wrapping paper which joins the balled up other attempts in the corner. Any more paper scattered around and your room will start looking like Leonardo’s. 

Your cursing wakes him. One golden eye assesses the situation: your frustrated scowl, the smug clock ticking away, the crumbled paper. He pushes himself up, smiling slowly. “Cara mia? What did the clock do to you? Must I fight it?” You throw a crumpled wrapping paper ball at him before getting up off the floor. “I need a drink. I’ll be back.”

You journey to the kitchen, thinking angry, destructive clock thoughts as you pour yourself a generous mug of Napoleon’s famed mulled wine before shuffling back to your room, mentally preparing yourself for round four. You open your door and then freeze. Leonardo is sitting at your desk. The clock is perfectly wrapped in beautiful snowy white paper with a sparkling silver bow of perfect proportions at the top in front of him. 

“How did you….” Stunned, you can only look from the clock to him and then back. He grins, a touch smug. “I am very good with my hands.” He holds out his arms and you’re already walking towards him, flooded with a mix of gratitude and relief and something warmer than them both. “C’mere, tesoro, and I will show you.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[bethanydelleman]

Northanger Abbey Readthrough, Ch 15

We hear from Isabella's other sister that their ride was, "the most delightful scheme in the world" but it actually sounds rather dull. Do you think a family dinner with the Thorpes is just them insulting each other and trying to one-up everyone? Because that is what it seems like... Isabella has news:

“Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not deceived you. Oh, that arch eye of yours! It sees through everything.” Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance.

Arch eye! Oh Isabella. You have to love how ridiculous she is all of the time.

Love Isabella as she might, Catherine is not prepared to love her above her own family:

“You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much more attached to my dear Morland’s family than to my own.” This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine.

Which is good for her. Catherine will not pretend to love someone above those she loves dearly. Not even in jest.

Isabella, who really seems to believe that James is rich, goes on about her "modest" desires, “For my own part,” said Isabella, “my wishes are so moderate that the smallest income in nature would be enough for me. Where people are really attached, poverty itself is wealth; grandeur I detest: I would not settle in London for the universe. A cottage in some retired village would be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas about Richmond.” Now Richmond is mentioned in two other Austen novels, it is where Henry Crawford is staying during his affair with Maria in Mansfield Park and where the Churchills in Emma stay during the final weeks of Mrs. Churchill's illness.

Henry Crawford's Admiral uncle has a cottage in Twickenham, which is near Richmond, if you want to know the sort of people who stayed in that area. I'm not British, but this is how close modern Richmond and Twickenham are, just for added context:

Anyway, according to what I have read, Richmond was a rich person's playground in Regency England, so this is a hint at the real aspirations of Miss Thorpe. Richmond is certainly not a "village" and the cottages in it would likely be Robert Ferrars McMansions. Catherine doesn't really catch this clue, she only protests about distance.

This is so cute:

Catherine wished to congratulate him, but knew not what to say, and her eloquence was only in her eyes. From them, however, the eight parts of speech shone out most expressively, and James could combine them with ease.

Gives me some hope for our boy James, seems he does really know his sister, even if he's been giving her a hard time.

Mrs. Thorpe is so delighted by the engagement and parental consent that she must be convinced by John's assessment of the Morland family's wealth (or the Allens' wealth as promised to James). As far as she knows, Isabella has won the lottery, but of course we know disappointment is on the horizon...

Then the Thorpe family plays this weird game where they won't tell the two other sisters about the engagement, to which Catherine is basically like, "What the fuck? This is mean." Catherine’s simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported; and its unkindness she would hardly have forborne pointing out... This reminds me a lot of the scene in Emma where Emma and Mrs. Elton both visit the revealed-to-be-engaged Jane Fairfax and they both strongly hint that they know without outright saying so. Within a family, however, it does seem super weird to "conceal" it.

John's proposal is so vague and inarticulate that I can't even blame Catherine for not understanding it at all. And her answers! When she says, "But I never sing." that is basically a rejection, even if she doesn't know it! She also continues to be modest and honest in the face of flattery:

“Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a great deal better. Good morning to you.”... “Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to most matters, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own mind about.”

Catherine returns to the Allens to learn that they have not been as oblivious as herself, but actually expected an engagement all along. Poor dear! The last to know everything.

She also gives the most general replies ever. I love when John asks if she'll be glad to see him and she's all, "Oh I'm glad to see anyone." How Thorpe could have thought she accepted him is beyond me, well except that he doesn't care what the truth is at all.

Mrs. Allen complaining that James did not carry her compliments to the Skinners and Morlands reminds me of Knightley's line in Emma:

"Have you any thing to send or say, besides the ‘love,’ which nobody carries?”

So happy this is the last we shall see of John Thorpe! Good riddance!

[txemptress]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐑. 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐧

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs : Rᴇɢɪs Fʟᴏʏᴇɴ , Jᴜʙᴇʟɪᴀɴ Fʟᴏʏᴇɴ

ᴍᴀɴʜᴡᴀ : Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ

ᴀʀᴇᴜᴍ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ : @acuriousmoon ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ sᴀɪᴅ I ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʙᴏʀᴇᴅ sᴏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

SHE was a simple person. One that was just trying to work to survive.

Her job was not so simple, but it was fun to do. She was a nurse that cared for people with mental problems. Issues such as depression and anxiety. She worked in the local rehabilitation center that she had worked in for years now.

Her loving, caring personality led to many patients enjoying her as their company when needed. But, this was also the cause of the downfall of her health. Either way she continued overwork her body for those who suffered from such mental illnesses.

Though she was loved by different people, it didn't mean everyone in the facility loved her. For one particular patient did not adore her like the others do. In fact they loathed her with passion.

One day she was attending to some medicine that needed to be organized, and the crazy patient decided it was their chance to ruin the female who had worked hard enough to make them feel at home.

Creeping behind the female, they reared back making sure he aimed for the place of the heart. After a quick calculation of how their actions would go, they brought the knife down. Just as Name turned around.

The last thing she remembered was a knife heading towards her screaming figure, and a piercing pain that spread all over her body. Sending waves of pain, then everything turned dark.

"Miss?" Her eyes flung open as she bolted up, panting. A damp towel was on her head, and bandages covered her neck.

She was in a massive room, it screamed rich at her face. It seemed peaceful.. Befits it since it was supposed to be an infirmary.

She looked to see that there was a young male staring at her in disbelief.

When she tried speaking, the words came out all scratchy. Her throat felt parched. "Wa...ter...." She whispered, her head was killing her. Her pain could not possibly be worse right now.

The male was seemed even more surprised now, rushing to get what she wanted.

This place... This didn't seem like any of the hospitals in the town she lives in. Where was she?

"Good to see that you've finally awoke, Miss Arquette." Huh? Arquette..? That clearly was not her last name was this male mistaken. "Is something wrong?" The male asked, sitting down on the bed. He leaned down and brushed a bit of hair away from her eyes.

She found herself staring at a tall man with beautiful azure eyes. He looked like someone from an anime or manga of sorts.

The male's actions were gentle and friendly. Like he knew who she was that sat here, even though she had no idea who he was.

"I'm sorry who are you..?" The male's gentle kind eyes suddenly switched to a hardened cold look.

"You don't remember me?" He asked, clearly pissed off that she was unaware of who he was.

"No.." "Then, I'm going to kill that bastard who poisoned you." The male declared just as the young servant from earlier came into the room with water and tea for her.

"O-Oh! Duke Floyen." The servant bowed respectfully at the duke who stared at him with interest.

Floyen..? This name was familiar somehow. Then it hit her. Duke Regis Adri Floyen was a man from the novel she had been reading. The person whose daughter was mistreated by him.

So she had died and been reincarnated in this world as a noble of a different family. But, what was her relation with Regis Floyen?

"Regis..?" She whispered. She had hesitated on calling him by his name, but he seemed to relax when she said it.

He nodded at her state. "So you just needed a bit of recognition. I shall check on you tonight, after my training."

After a while of being bedridden, she was finally energized enough to take walks and attend garden parties.

This world was so different from her simple modern life. She was eager to see how it unfolds.

Currently she had no goal until she started recollecting her memories of the novel.

So far in this current timeline Regis has not met his wife, Amelia. So that was her current goal. To bring them together and at least make the storyline go as it should. As well as another thing, keep Regis from ignoring his daughter.

As far as she knew Regis and Jubelian had never made any affectionate actions towards one another therefore that was the second priority.

As she wrote the things down, she thought of another thing.

The main goal shouldn't be trying to keep the storyline together. It should be trying to keep alive. She realized that it was hard enough to do, yet it is necessary to live long enough to see Jubelian and Regis' relationship grow.

Now that the plan was made came the hard part. Keeping the plan in track.

A sigh escaped her lips when she finally put down the quill. She pushed her messy sweaty hair out of her hair.

Once she was in tiptop shape, the duke sent for her. From what she understood from the meeting, which wasn't much, was that she was supposedly something like Regis' therapist when he felt depressed or uneasy especially after battles.

Her replies were just nods and shaking her head since as far as she knew, lower rankings were not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

This was easy since it was basically her job before she died and got here. When she left, a feeling of excitement replaced her nervous feeling when she had arrived.

This could get her closer to Regis. The closer she was, the easier it'd be to convince him to love his daughter in the near future.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 17/04/2024

Super Wonderful World

Season 2 Featured on: The Voice's Highest Quality Video Game Rips

Ripped by Marrow

(Curious about the abnormal audio embed? Read more here)

It's kind of ridiculous that I've taken this long to actually write something about Marrow that isn't so directly tied to his passing, isn't it? Like, yes, Telling Fish Tales is an absolutely beautiful rip, it is still likely my favorite of all of Marrow's output, don't get me wrong...but there was more to the guy than just his death, you know? The tributes have all been beautiful, to be sure, I love 8​-​bit Fish With Dreams in particular, but I want to discuss Marrow's own rips more as well as those. Because while I might not have known Marrow, and can't claim to know anything about him as a person, I know he was just a genuinely good, sincere, funny ripper, and Super Wonderful World is just a damn fun rip.

I've been wanting to cover something from Super Mario Sunshine on here for a very long time - it has almost as much of a notable presence on the channel as its older brother on the Nintendo 64, particularly in the early days. Super Mario 64's Slider theme is unbeatable, of course, WA-HOO DISCO and its brethren can't be toppled, but there's a case to be made that Super Mario Sunshine's iconic acapella-driven Secret Course theme is a more fun listen in terms of rips. There's just something inherently funny about remixing voice samples, even in an acapella context - there's tons of rips of Secret Course in particular because of this, that all play with those deews and doos to great effect.

Super Wonderful World is no exception to that, and the joke of it is made apparent just a few seconds into your listen, arranging Louis Armstrong's lovely What a Wonderful World with those aforementioned acapella sounds, yet...for some reason, it is still likely the one Secret Course rip that has stuck with me the longest. I'm not even sure if its due to any one reason I can pinpoint other than just "Marrow Magic": maybe its my attachment to What a Wonderful World from hearing it at a young age in the original Madagascar, or maybe its the sheer juxtaposition of such a silly sound being used to play such genuine beautiful jazz...OR maybe its the fucking hilarious visuals on the video that you need to be scrolling up to look at now that I've pointed it out. Spaghet. No matter what it is, it clicks - though I think that second point in particular is where the trick lies. Sort of like A Mambo Moment, a lot like My Dr. Eggman Can't Be This Evil!, the contrast in tone between the two tunes is the kind of thing that you'd only get from SiIvaGunner, or at least the only place where you'd get it done in such a genuine, high-quality way. This isn't just some midiswap, this has every bit and piece from What a Wonderful World, every part of its backing and every additional instrument playing throughout, recreated with such finesse - all to push a bit that, as the rip visuals emphasize, is mostly just meant to be funny.

There's an effort made in Super Wonderful World to make the bit not just funny, but very pleasant and listenable as well, is what I'm getting at. The SiIvaGunner ethos, distilled so perfectly in just one simple rip, distilled into a rip that for me has stayed endlessly replayable since its release, striking that perfect balance of novel and pleasant. And sure, there's a part of me that still wishes to dig further, to know lots more about Marrow than I do, to investigate and snoop about and maybe even find out what the Spaghet image is even about...but its also, in some way, just as pleasant to listen to his tunes in bliss, enjoying his work for what it is, not hung up on wishing I'd known more.

I wasn't Marrow's friend, but what he left behind still means a lot to me. And so, continue to celebrate it I shall - more than a long-gone name to be mentioned in SiIvaGunner event recaps, Marrow was downright fantastic at what he did - and I hope we'll all continue to remember and cherish that about him.

[lapetiteceinturesworld]

Hi, Grace and Tommy fans out there! Out of the blue, I decided to post short scenes from my upcoming Tommy and Grace novel here on tumblr, just snippets that I hope you'll enjoy. I'm a slow writer, so the novel is moving along quite slowly but steadily. In the meantime, while it's being finished, I wanted to give you a piece of it now, so that you know how many people love this fantastic couple, and so that you feel you're not alone in your adoration. If you like these short posts, let me know and I'll publish more in the future. :)

"There's something else I'm curious about," Grace mentioned, after Tommy's head had come to rest on her shoulder again, and she was staring at the rays of light scattered across the floor, pondering. "What the meaning of that two words you used to describe me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It sounded like femeie nebună."

"Do you understand Romanian?" Tommy marveled.

"A little. Don't avoid the question!" she warned him after Tommy hadn't said a word for half a minute.

"Maybe we shouldn't have started this conversation," he murmured under his breath. Releasing Grace from his arms, he leaned against the bedpost, not bothered by the hard bedrails pressing into his spine. With raised eyebrows, Grace stared back, giving Tommy a meaningful glance. Her lover first sighed, then spread his hands wide as a final gesture of relinquishment, then lowered them resignedly. "Crazy woman."

"What?"

"It means: crazy woman."

If the accusation of being dramatic doesn't hold up, neither does the suggestion that she doesn't pull herself together quickly after the shock of an unexpected event. This included when her lover called her crazy women.

"Did you really call me that?" she was indignant, but Grace herself realised the contradictory impression her grinning lips gave. This did not stop her from continuing. "In the middle of our first quarrel?" she complained. "And why is that exactly?" Tommy shook his head, laughing. Grace's upper body half turned towards him and she rested her legs beside herself. "And what did I ever do to deserve such an honourable title as crazy?"

"Shall I sort? You pointed a gun at me. You threatened to blow my brains out if I ever thought of using you again to achieve my goals. For the record, that part was justified. I watched you shoot your shitty cousin... if I counted right, six toes, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and then warned him that if he insulted you again, you'd rip his tongue out. He attacked you, and you broke his wrist. I heard from Polly that you stole her pistol and needle from her purse as you walked past her and replaced it with a whisky bottle and a wooden stick. Then you pointed the needle at her throat and threatened to shoot her too. When I heard that, I couldn't believe my ears. That was surprising, even for you. Nobody ever dared treat Polly like that before. I'm quite impressed, Miss Burgess," he tilted his head. There were sparks of amusement in his eyes, with a hint of genuine astonishment and a touch of harmless sneer.

"I simply laid down the rules." Grace had no intention of making excuses. She didn't embellish the facts, because there was nothing new in them. Everything happened exactly as Tommy had just described it. Grace had been aware that the Shelby sisters' aunt had not taken her to heart, and from her past experience, and from the number of times Polly Gray had tried to get her out of her own way just to prove herself superior, and when she had failed, had always countered with some outrageous insult, Grace had drawn the reasonable conclusion that she did not like Polly either. Grace could not deny that she considered her certain qualities worthy of respect, but Polly was too much of a competitive spirit, not helped by her spectacular jealousy of the influence she felt Grace was exerting over Tommy. As if the only way a man and a woman can work together is for one to manipulate the other through trickery. "No one can falsely accuse me and then walk free and expect to get away with it."

[reginas-toy]

Research Chapter 1: the heat & Chapter 2: Monday

CHAPTER 1

(characters aged up to at least 18 for obvious reasons) It was deep into the night. And for once the dorm room of Wednesday and Enid was all quiet. Wednesday was sleeping as usual arms crossed, even if lightly. However what was not calm about the room was Enid. She couldn't fall asleep. Like at all. She knew why but she begged it wouldn't be so. 'shit, I'm so...fuck not now' she thought to herself. Her whole body felt hot, she had trouble breathing from the situation. She knew what she had to do 'ughhhh but Willa is here...maybe...maybe I can keep quiet' Slowly but surely she slithered her hand down her PJ's and into what was now a ruined pair of cutesy Kuromi panties. She started rubbing herself like the world depended on it while keeping one hand on her mouth to muffle any sound she could. On her mind was only one thing, one person- Willa. Her soft small hands, her scent, her body, her whole existence. She was so close to what she, at least right now, wanted most. But she knew she couldn't, Willa would kill her. She continued at a steady pace until. A huge wave of relief and pleasure came when she, while thinking about all the ways Willa could fuck her, came all over her own hand and aforementioned panties. Promptly she fell asleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She woke up later than she would've liked to. Oh well it's fineeee.

That was what she was thinking before Wednesday started speaking "so Sinclair, had fun yesterday, did you?"

"I...well..you..you see..I thought you.."

"I was asleep? I don't tend to be a heavy sleeper. And with all that noise"

"I'm sor-"

" I didn't say that I didn't like it, did I? I've read up on werewolf biology and from what I understand you can do nothing else about it, correct?"

"yea as far as I know"

"well then, I shall be observing you, this whole heat thing has peaked my interest"

"I.. I don't know if.. if that's the.."

"nonsense, this is all purely natural and as I don't see another option that doesn't involve one of us moving out .."

Enid was confused to say the least. Wednesday Addams just asked to study HER heat cycle which as she reminded herself would only worsen by the day AND involve a lot of masturbating in front of the cold yet beautiful eyes of Willa. And more importantly who's to say she can hold herself to not rip off Willa's jeans and get what she wants on a later, way stronger day of the cycle.

______________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 2

Monday started as always with a somewhat muffled alarm buried deep in the plush mountain that was Enid's bed. The night was unbelievable, seemed like only a very wet and pleasant dream for the werewolf as Willa made no comment on it the day before. However, the eyes observing her assured her it was very much not a dream.

"Good morning Willa, you know you don't have to stare at me ALL the time. Yes it affects me and stuff but it doesn't mean I'm ALWAYS like that."

"Yes, however for accuracy I think it important."

"whatever, do what you like"

The lessons went by rather uneventfully. But they were long and complicated and Enid was oh so distracted. But she persevered and after what felt like an eternity she finally could curl up in her bed with a fanfic or whatnot. Or at least that's what she thought.

As soon as Enid opened the door her mind went racing and overheated as her werewolf instinct took over. You might ask what triggered such a reaction? Well, Wednesday was writing her novel as she normally was, nothing out of the ordinary there. BUT one key difference than usual was that the goth was sitting with only a black lace bra and a matching pair of panties. None of the usual black and white sweaters and jeans. Now, it was rather warm in the room but not take your clothes off hot. Enid some how managed to calm down, say the hi and how are you's of it all and lock herself in the bathroom.

FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? Is it some sort of hallucination? But it can't be as she very well knows whatever it was she knew she liked the hell out of it. Being as quiet as she could she reached her hand pulling up her skirt and placing her hand down her panties. AAAAAaa finally some peace. But there wasn't ANY peace in Enid Sinclair's head it was all Wednesday and Wednesday in that lingerie set AAAAA FUCK her hand moving in and out, her thoughts swirling about that one mysterious girl Willa's body oh my god her body Enid started to let go a little, she couldn't hold back anymore now she was so close she could feel it building up in her stomach moan after sweet moan. One final thrust and a while day of pent up energy gone.

"Had fun did we?" Willa smirked

"How did you....."

'hmm I can't pick, was it the 20 minutes you were in there 'composing yourself' or the continuous moans coming from inside practically screaming my name. You know our deal, I want you here so I can study the process, correct?"

"Yes, but...."

"No buts. And no I do not mind or care about what your imagination makes you moan in the process" (Wednesday very much did care, but it'd be so boooring to give into both of their desires)

The next few nights went as follows: Enid would do all her homework, lay down in bed scroll on tiktok for a while. Then as if by a switch, something would change and she would slowly but surely place her colourful hand on her jeans, slowly unbutton them and sneak her hand under her panties, her cunt reacting to the cold hands.

Wednesday would put away her writing and pick up a notebook and watch. Not a word, not a movement, as if, she was transfixed. Day by day Enid got more used to the cold glare as she touched herself she even enjoyed it. GOD did she wish Willa would join in but it was all purely scientific surely? Right? And then she'd get back to being a mess and moaning like there's no tomorrow. And then of course a moment of ecstasy filled with cum and moans. Then the werewolf would take her cum filled hands and lick her fingers off with precision and a sense of pride.

[v3ros]

I got this ask on my alt (most likely since I turned off asks for this blog) but I felt like it was important to answer here.

Dayshift at Corny's is NOT dead!

"But V3ROS," I hear you saying, "You haven't posted about it in a while, and your blog isn't Corny's themed anymore!" And in response I say shuddup and sit down ya slimey little creechurs because Papa Veros has got some shit to explain!

Firstly, clearing the air.

Dayshift at Corny's isn't going anywhere. I absolutely adore all of the characters and the little world I've built for them, and I still wish to share that world with whoever is willing to listen to the inane ramblings of a zombie-obsessed sock. I don't plan on scrapping the project anytime soon.

Where did it go then?

I would say that the production DSaC is on a temporary hiatus. Currently, I have a lot of stuffs that's weighing on me. I'm not going to go into detail because it's not the internet's business, but I've been trying my hardest to refocus my ever-shrinking attention span back on the project, because I really do want to keep working on it!

On a more positive note, one of the reasons it's sort of... poofed is that I'm trying to adapt to using RPG Maker MV, the software that DSaF and Dialtown were made in! However, from where I see things right now, I don't think DSaC will be made in RPG Maker. It's not as intuitive with visual novel mechanics (and one might say "well duh Veros, you need the plugins" and to that I say shooosh and let me keep explaining). DSaC is a VN-focused game, first and foremost. That is the means in which the world of Corny's will be conveyed, and that is the way I feel it should stay. With that in mind, it doesn't make much sense to spend time learning a new software to achieve what I was already doing in something that's easier for me to understand and that has much less setup. That whole escapade was a perfect example of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

When will it be coming back?

With November coming up very soon, Halloween will have passed and I'll have finished working on my costume. This means I'll have much more energy and patience to dedicate to development (or, hyping myself up to do so at the very least). My goal is that I'll have an update on the progress for you all come the end of November!

Now, I feel I've answered all of the important things, however there's some smaller Q&As I thought of that I'll answer below.

"Why are your asks closed / Will you ever respond to the ask I sent in?"

I closed the asks because there were so many of them, I was quite overwhelmed--mind you that this is the first project of mine that has received any attention at all, it was quite jarring (in a good way). I've seen your asks though, don't worry! I'm going to answer every last one of them, and once I do my asks box will open once again.

"Why is your blog no longer Corny's themed?"

It all started because of Salem's bald head. I'm being serious, him being bald on the banner long after I had given him hair pissed me off so much that I said "to hell with it" and changed it. The image of Godred was the first one I had readily available. That's the only reason he's my banner. Yup. As for the sock, that's my persona. I had been planning on changing my profile photo to a drawing of it for a while. The current one is a spooky rendition for spooky month :> I still plan on following the same format for answering asks as I did before.

A final thought before departure, thank you for whoever sent this ask in (I have a feeling who it is, however it's just a hunch). Having a question that blunt asked to me seemed to unclog whatever blockage my brain had built up that prevented me from thinking about working on DSaC. I can feel the creative juices flowing. Let that be a warning of you all seeing more from me very soon. Until then, I shall retreat back to my cozy dumpster and continue mashing my face into the keyboard until a game comes out.

[aeoki]

Blackjack - Gifts Will Not Arrive: Chapter 11

Location: Underground Family Residence Characters: Shinobu, Mayoi & Hitsugi Season: Autumn

Mayoi: …You can sometimes hear singing from above when you’re living here.

It’s very quiet so even the smallest sounds can be heard.

Hehe. Right now, I’ve asked them to make this room soundproof for my idol practice sessions since I don’t want the noise to bother others.

In the past, when I was young, I could hear it all so well. The singing, their rhythmic footsteps that hit the floor, your laughter and chatter.

To me, those voices were like whispers of a fairy from a different world far, far away.

Just like the people who wanted to see the full moon or aurora, I would look up above me and think about what sort of place it is every single day.

I’d imagine what your world would be like.

The world where your beautiful ensemble rings true.

And one day, I couldn’t hold it back any longer – I snuck out of the underground and wandered around, but I was caught and treated like some being from a school ghost story.

But even having rumours spread about me made me happy.

I could only watch you all from afar but it felt like we had a connection – even if it was a miniscule one.

Hitsugi: You’re just like “The Phantom of the Opera”.

No, perhaps “The One Who Walks Beneath the Roof” would be more suitable.

Mayoi: I–I haven’t killed anyone, you know! Obviously, I wouldn’t!

Shinobu: I believe you ~de gozaru.

(Hmm~... As I thought, Kurone-dono seems more intelligent compared to before. Maybe he’s quoting some novel’s title or something?)

(Was he always someone this smart? Was he pretending to be dumb?)

(No, it bugs me but now isn’t the time to get to the bottom of that.)

(What’s important is that Mayoi-dono revealed his identity to us even though he didn’t want to.)

(It sounds like an absurd tale but I don’t think Mayoi-dono is lying.)

(Just because he’s different from me and lacks common sense, doesn’t mean I can arrogantly deny and say that the things he mentioned doesn’t exist.)

(That’s something we shouldn’t do. Right, Shinkai-dono?)

…I’ve got the gist of what you’ve said ~de gozaru. I’m sorry for making you say those things when they’re difficult for you to say, Mayoi-dono.

Mayoi: No no, in fact, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I had understood that you two would accept me for who I am, so I should be the one to apologise since I couldn’t tell you the truth because I was scared.

Hiiro-san is in a similar position so perhaps he would have been happy to find someone similar to him.

I was still scared, no matter what. I’m a coward by nature.

It appears my ancestors were defeated by another power and had no choice but to escape underground…

The anecdotes they instilled into us children were excessive warnings that the surface is someplace scary.

Shinobu: No, I would be scared and stay holed up here if I was in the same position.

If anything, I think you’re super duper brave for being able to step outside and sing in front of people, Mayoi-dono.

Mayoi: Ehehe, I’m just shameless…♪

A–Anyway, that’s the sort of person I am – I’m like an illegal immigrant, so I’ll be in trouble if the police find out about this residence.

But I wonder if it was around the time when you two came back from the school trip? I picked up Hitsugi-kyun who was badly injured.

Shinobu: Hitsugi-kyun…?

Mayoi: Ah! I–I–It’s okay, Chief! You’re the most adorable person in my eyes! I get the most excited when I’m with you, Chief!

Shinobu: I’m still put in a tough spot when you say it so firmly like that.

Hitsugi: Hehe. Shall I continue with the rest?

A long, long time ago, there was a family who hid themselves underground. That home was an appropriate hiding place for me, as I had bad guys tailing me.

So I’m being protected here out of Ayase-senpai’s kindness.

I’ve really caused him so much trouble.

Mayoi: N–No, no! Idols and “producers” support each other! Isn’t that right, Anzu-san?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[codegeassfacts]

Code Geass Bokura No Hibi 9 & 10 // Novels // Non Canon

Here is the new set of Bokura No Hibis novels ; For more information about those, Check the post For Bokura no Hibi 1 & 2, right below (Check the others stories as well !)

Bokura no Hibi 1 & 2

Bokura No Hibi 3 & 4

Bokura No Hibi 5 & 6

Bokura No Hibi 7 et 8

**********************************

Bokura No Hibi 9 : 9th period of time (Stage unknown)

*C.C. flops down on the bed*

*Rolls over*

*Continues to roll all over*

C.C.: Fu, fufu, fufufufufu......

Lelouch: You seem to be in good spirits, C.C..

C.C.: I certainly am, Lelouch. It's raining today as well, after all.

Lelouch: Rain?

C.C.: Rain is a wonderful thing. It makes one feel at peace.

Lelouch: Well, it is the rainy season right now. In Japan they call it "Tsuya". It'll probably continue for another 10 days or so.

C.C.: I know that. In fact, I know a lot more about it than you do.

Lelouch: It's the sort of wisdom that comes with age, I suppose.

C.C.: And what exactly do you mean by that? Shall I have you explain yourself in detail...?

*Ding-dong*

C.C.: Ah, the pizza's here. Go get it, Lelouch.

Lelouch: You... You're ordering me to go on such a trifling errand...?

C.C.: Alright, I'll go -- and greet Nunnally along with the maid while I'm at it.

Lelouch: Tsk... I'm going. Do not exit the room.

*Sound of door opening*

C.C.: If you're done collecting it bring it here at once, Lelouch.

Lelouch: ....... I was handed some sort of box along with the pizza.

C.C.: Fu, fufu. I've been waiting for that.

Lelouch: What is it?

*Rustling*

C.C.: Look. Cheese-chan raincoat. Isn't it nice?

Lelouch: The points system again? How stupid.

*More rustling*

C.C.: Oh, it's just the right size, too. ...... What's wrong, Lelouch? Men are obliged to say "It's very becoming" and other such compliments at times like these.

Lelouch: It looks ghastly...... Besides, why are you so pleased with that when you've been one great show of reluctance over the clothes I bought you?

C.C.: Ooh, someone's jealous of Cheese-chan.

Lelouch: I am absolutely not.

*Spins around, flaps her raincoat about*

Lelouch: Stop spinning.

C.C.: (wistfully) Rain...... Right, time to go out for a walk.

Lelouch: Didn't I tell you not to go out of this room without my permission? And especially not in those clothes!

C.C.: Which is the problem now? My going out, or the clothes?

Lelouch: Both!

C.C.: Lighten up, Lelouch. There's one for you too, actually. Here, you can have this Cheese-kun raincoat. You wear that and come along with me, I really don't mind at all.

Lelouch: Wha......! Why would I wear something like that!? It looks like it came straight out of a primary schooler's wardrobe!

C.C.: Heh, come to think of it, rainy days are primary schooler days*. And you're good at that, aren't you?*

Lelouch: Quiet, you!!

((END))

~*~

Translation notes:

A little note on C.C.'s last line (marked with *):

* I... truly have no idea what she means by this line. The next sentence: "You're good at that, aren't you?" appears to be a reference to the Primary Schooler Day (mentioned in episode 17.5), which Lelouch absolutely hates but tolerates because Nunnally enjoys it. Lelouch is forced to do it in the NewType Hangyaku no YamaYama DX Special after receiving a request from pen-name "Onii-sama rabu (love) <3" (obviously Nunnally)

What I don't understand is the logic behind "rainy days = Primary Schooler Day". Maybe it's a rule Milly thought up or something. I thought this might be a cultural reference so I did some quick googling, but there doesn't seem to be anything special about it.

*******************************

Bokura No Hibi 10 : 10th period of time (Stage unknown)

Suzaku: (sigh) I thought today's work would never end, what with Lloyd-san adding this and that...

Wonder if Lelouch's already left.

*Door opens*

Suzaku: Sorry guys, military work took longer than usual again... ... uwahh, Kaichou, what are you doing!

Milly: Bathing, obviously. (T/N: The sort of bathing you do in the sea -- you know, just soaking yourself. Not the kind with soap and shampoo)

Suzaku: In here!?

Milly: Yep. It's the heat, see. 'S much too hot here in Area 11. And I forbid it! That's a Kaichou Order!

Suzaku: Don't ask the impossible. And might I point out you've already got the air conditioner running?

Milly: That does nothing to cool the passionate heat seething in my chest. (T/N: This line can also be interpreted as -- "It isn't enough to dampen the passion seething in my chest", and yes, it's supposed to sound quite seductive.)

Suzaku: (brisk, pleasant smile) I see---

Milly: Uwa, he completely ignored it!

Suzaku: Lelouch isn't here?

Milly: I made him inflate the pool and bring in the water, but after that he got all bent out of shape and went home.

Suzaku: The fact that he actually did all that is fairly amazing......

Milly: When I asked him "Won't you come in too?", he made quite the face and rejected my offer. And I was planning on touching-feeling his squeaky smooth skin all over, too... Such a waste. It's been some time since I last did that.

Suzaku: Lelouch's kind of naive, so it might be better not to tease him like that.

Milly: Yeah.

Suzaku: ...... And you've been teasing him all this while knowing that.

Milly: Yes, of course. ...... Suzaku, if you're feeling the heat yourself you can come in too. I don't mind.

Suzaku: No, I'm perfectly fine. I've got some paperwork piled up, so I'll be working now.

Milly: Well, you certainly are a hardworker. In that case, I allow you to ogle as much as you like the marvelous curves I've been blessed with. Fufu--n.

Suzaku: Yeah. (scribbling)

Milly: .................................

*continues to scribble*

Milly: Kuwaaa----!!

Suzaku: Uwahh, what's wrong!?

Milly: Suzaku! Party-pooper! Your reaction's so incredibly bo-ring!

Suzaku: Eh!? Reaction to what!?

Milly: And you call yourself a healthy, pubescent highschool male!? You're not normal! Watch and learn from either Lelouch or Rival's reactions!

Suzaku: I-I'm sorry......

...... Wait, why's she mad at me?

Milly: Kururugi Suzaku, clearly not to be underestimated...... Hey Shirleeey, can you hear meee? As I thought this is totally not working out! Cut off the hidden camera, will you? And you can put away the "Candid Camera" sign now--

Suzaku: Thi -- This was all a trap, Kaichou!?

((END))

Translation by Our Translation Queen, Celiss Galvea

[racfoam]

Hi rac! Recently I found out that Tolstoy's war and peace is 580k words or something and checked nynn's word count it's 360k and we are still at Harriet's summer before 5th year. So I am kinda rooting and hoping that nynn thoroughly squash war and peace in word count. No pressure though I just thought at the word pace you are going by the time Harriet's in her 6th year and eventually fall in love with voldemort you will exceed 580k.

Maybe if you exceed 580k I'll try to read war and peace again. last time I tried I gave up after 10 pages which I sometimes find hard to believe because I read your fic in a day.

So I just want to say you are a great writer. Hope you have a great weekend

Hello!

Oh, I have not read Tolstoy's War and Peace, and woow, it has 580k words? 😳 Of a book?! That must be about more than 800 pages depending on the format.

Hang on, you read nynn in a day? You are superhuman, my friend.

Awww, that is flattering that you hope nynn surpasses it. I am hoping that by 580k they'll finally kiss but I’m probably wrong. Ah, do you remember when I said it will only be 5 chapters of summer arc before Harry gets to Hogwarts.

Haha, good times.

Speaking of literature, I know I devoured Crime and Punishment in high school. Nobody could get through it, but I just couldn't stop reading. Of course, I only started reading it 3 days before the deadline, haha 😅 so I didn’t finish the last 50 pages but read the summary of the ending. I came back to it after the exam bcs I just had to know the details ie read the paragraphs. I think the way I write was very influenced by the literature I read in those high school years of my life.

I love when books have descriptions regarding action sequences, the surrounding, symbolism, psychology of the character and etc which are highly found in Russian and Norwegian literature. For Norwegian I only read Jo Nesbo's Snowman but I loved all the detailed descriptions of the city...

So I think Russian & Norwegian novels from back then are my favourite, as well as Jane Austen. They definitely influenced my writing style, which is why I wrote so much for nynn. Even now when I look back, I'm amazed by my own vocabulary and how I weaved sentences, the tension, the descriptions, Harry’s emotions...

Sometimes I can't believe I wrote nynn... I felt like I was in some sort of writing trance as people call it. I am very proud of it.

Regarding how you read nynn faster compared to War and Peace, I believe holding the attention of the reader depends on multiple factors, and it really depends on what an individual likes in literature and novels.

I shall continue working hard on nynn (hasn't worked on nynn in a full month) I have most of the chapters’ events planned out in bulletpoints, I just gotta write them. Hopefully, I get lucky and wrap up the entire nynn within the next six chapters and then onto the sequel that is the official 5th Year at Hogwarts.

You all have no idea how much I have in store for you for 5th Year. OOTP is very fun, add soulmate drama to it... (chef's kiss)

Thank you for this wonderful message 💖💖💖, and I hope you can get through Tolstoy, but if not, don’t force yourself. There are online summaries/quotes for a reason.

Maybe I'll give Tolstoy's War and Peace a peek...

Sending love! 💖💖❤️❤️

P.S. I have seen your ask regarding Harry & Nagini I just have no snippets of them but I will answer it when I do write a snippet.