#you’ve written so much excellent stuff

[secretsofblackthornhall]

Magnus to Alec

Dear delectable muffin of love,

I hope this perfumed letter finds you well, and that you and R and M are having an excellent time in your exotic journey to…well, I believe the term you used was “upstate.” I have heard legends of this Upstate, but never did I know that my family would see for themselves its mountains, its twee farm markets, its River of the Son of Hud.

More to the point, I hope the kids are enjoying their visit with Grandma, and I hope you are referring to Maryse as “Grandma” as often as possible because I enjoy the face she makes when we do. On a less pleasant but more urgent note, I hope you’ve had a chance to talk with Luke about the Cohort/Idris stuff.

But do not tire your beautiful hands with a written reply. I will be heading to this “Upstate” myself to join you later this afternoon, as I am relieved to report that the business with the Blackthorn kids’ cursed house is more or less resolved. Although it was touch and go, let me tell you.

I don’t think I even showed you the note Jem sent, which said, “Emma and Julian are trying not to bother you about their house, and that is very nice of them, but unlike them, I feel absolutely no compunction about bothering you, and so this is me, now, in this note, bothering you. We are in need of a warlock and you are the best one I know for this. We would all really appreciate your help.”

As is often the case, I was both mildly annoyed and mildly impressed with Jem, who managed to be both very kind and also to remind me that I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa and will rush to their aid when I can. Because I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa, I wrote back quickly saying I would come.

I know what you’re thinking: “How could Tessa need a warlock when she is a warlock?” But different warlocks have different expertises, as you know, and while Jem was flattering me that I was the best choice, the reality is that I have dealt with a lot more curses than Tessa. That’s what comes of spending the past decades hiring your services out to any miscreants who come by, instead of more intelligently living a calm life as a magic researcher in the Spiral Labyrinth. Tessa always was the smartest of us.

Anyway, I must give Emma and Julian credit. I expected to arrive and find them banging the cursed objects against one another or something, but they had set up a decent enough protective circle and even found a spell. It was an old, kind of generic spell that I have found to rarely be of much use with actual curses in the modern day, but still.

Rather stupidly I set up a basic workaday curse-breaking circle of my own, and gave it a try. “Stupidly” because I had forgotten who did the curse in the first place. Your worst ancestor, Benedict Lightwood, all-around demon enthusiast and dilettante necromancer. How in bed with demons was Benedict? He literally died of demon pox — which if you do not know, because you are beautifully pure, my Alec — is a sexually transmitted demon disease.

But I forgot that in the moment, so I was surprised when the curse put up an impressive resistance. It writhed and thrashed and struck out, like Max being lowered into a bath. The cursed objects were all glowing, kind of neon green, where they were tied to the magic, and eventually I realized I was going to have to carefully unknot each object from the curse, one at a time.

I managed the flask, the dagger, and one of the candlesticks (don’t ask me to explain how THAT happens), but after that I was stuck.

It’s not a great look for a warlock to strike a big magic pose and then nothing happens. I am sure I looked ridiculous, like a mundane magician who couldn’t understand why the rabbit wasn’t coming out of the hat. Julian and Emma are very polite and only waited patiently but I felt quite silly.

And then I lost all my focus temporarily because the door opened and Kit walked in. He sort of looked around at the scene and finally said, “Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, I see.”

“Purple is always an appropriate color for a warlock,” I said. “It is the decorative color of magic.”

Emma, of course, said, “Your magic is blue,” because she is an inveterate smartass.

“Maybe he meant me,” said Julian. “I’m wearing a purple hoodie. Also because it is the decorative color of magic,” he added with a nod in my direction, which I appreciated.

“Maybe you could put the objects on a purple tablecloth instead of a white one,” Kit said, and while he was talking he walked out to get a closer look.

And when he got close to the circle, Alec, I felt the strangest sensation. A feeling of…power, I suppose, kind of humming in Kit. You know the way your body kind of vibrates when there’s a really really low sound? That rumbling feeling? It was like that, but silent. I’ve never had that experience any of the times I’ve seen Kit before. I could also tell that Kit didn’t feel anything unusual. Or if he did, he was surprisingly casual about it.

So I suggested he come join us around the circle and add his focus to the magic. “Especially since Jem and Tessa have snuck off somewhere rather than helping out with this round.”

“They’re out in the garden with Mina,” Kit said, a little defensively.

I redirected everyone’s attention to the objects and established a somewhat souped-up version of my go-to curse breaker. I went for the other candlestick and BANG. No resistance anymore! There was a big burst of blue and all the knots of magic tying the objects to the curse broke into pieces.

Everyone blinked a bunch. Eventually I said something like, “Well, that was more what I was hoping for. I guess four people made the difference.”

I checked. The curse seemed…gone. I was actually a little shaken. I haven’t mentioned it to Tessa and Jem, because I don’t want to make a big deal of it, but I think it worked because of Kit. Not because we needed a fourth person. Something is going on with him, some magic that is totally outside his awareness. I assume it has something to do with being a descendant of the First Heir, but I’ve never been an expert on that kind of faerie enchantment. (And do burn this letter, after you get it — very few of us know about Kit being the First Heir, and it’s best if we keep it that way.)

It makes me sad to think of it. Kit is a good kid who deserves a good, ordinary life. I know that’s what Jem and Tessa want for him, more than anything, after the chaos that was his growing up. But I am not sure he will have a choice in the matter. Fae may not let him choose.

Julian reached out and took hold of the flask. He held it for a moment, frowning.

“What?” said Emma.

“Nothing,” Julian said. He looked up at me. “Is that it? No more curse?”

“No more curse,” I said. “I hope.”

And then down from the ceiling drifted Rupert the Ghost. I never met Rupert Blackthorn when he was alive. I don’t know what to think of him. On the one hand, he seems to have been an innocent who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, a spirit trapped in a house he never lived in because of evil he never knew about while he lived. On the other hand, he met Tatiana Lightwood and thought that lady seems like marriage material, so there must have been something weird going on with him.

Rupert had been hovering and he descended until he was right above the table. He was staring at something on it.

“What is it, Rupert?” said Emma. “What are you looking at?”

Kit followed his gaze and started pushing the objects out of the way. “It’s the ring,” he said.

Emma said, “What ring?”

Indeed, what ring? There wasn’t a ring among the cursed objects. But there was a ring on the table now. Kit picked it up. It was a silver ring, etched with a design of thorns and set with a black stone.

“Blackthorn family ring?” Kit said.

“It’s not how family rings usually look,” Emma said.

“Wedding band?” said Kit.

“Shadowhunters don’t use wedding rings,” said Emma, but Julian had that thoughtful look he gets.

“I am bound here by a silver band,” he said softly.

“Shadowhunters can exchange wedding rings,” I said. “They just aren’t expected to. But they can if they want.”

Whatever it was, it was Rupert’s. He had followed Kit’s hand as it picked up the ring, and now he was reaching out for it with a thin ghostly hand. He wrapped it around the ring, which did absolutely nothing since he’s a ghost – Kit just kind of held it there for him. Then his eyes closed (Rupert’s, I mean) and he got this expression on his face of relief and gratitude and peace, and he just…faded out, right there. Just slowly vanished and was gone. No more Rupert. On to hopefully not being reunited with his wife, since she was also his jailer for over a hundred years.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Emma said quietly.

“That’s for the best,” I said. “He was never supposed to be here at all.”

“Well, Rupert, if you can hear me,” said Emma, “it was nice being haunted by you.”

“Five stars,” said Kit solemnly, putting the ring back on the table. “Would be haunted again.”

And all the candles went out in the room at once. Which, if it was Rupert, was a nice touch. Though it may have just been a draft.

We all filed out of the room quietly. “It’s different,” Julian said. He was looking around at the hallway. “I can feel it already.”

I could feel it as well. There was a lightness that had not been there. A kind of pleasant hominess that a good house conveys and that had always been absent from Blackthorn Hall in the time I’ve known it. It’s hard to describe, but all at once it felt like Julian and Emma’s home, in a way it hadn’t before. I’ve always known it as a forbidding place, and then as a hideous ruin, but for the first time I thought, this was a place the Blackthorns could fill with joy.

And I’m certain they will.

See you very soon, my love. I shall kiss you until a toddler forces us apart to pay attention to him. So plan for a kiss of about 30-60 seconds, based on previous experience. But I wish, as always, that it could be endless.

Love,

Magnus

[cambion-companion]

i know you’ve written a lot of drunk reader stuff butttt i love it sm especially the way u capture readers interactions w aemond. Could you write a fic about aemond being the drunk one?? maybe he’s let aegon have to much influence lately? thanks ! 🥰

We shall do a little switcheroo from tradition haha Aemond has gotten a little tipsy (as I headcanon he would not desire to become fully hammered) while reveling with his brother and wife in the dining hall.

So I haven't written Aemond as being tipsy/drunk before...and he kinda took the reins on this one. Enjoy! It gets a little sad but...he wouldn't be a silly drunk that's for sure.

Aemond x wife!reader | tipsy Aemond | fluff

"Another toast!" Aegon raised his goblet high, almost letting it slip through his fumbling fingers. "To our Strong nephews!"

"Aegon." You groaned, massaging your temples. "That's the seventh one."

"To Jace, Luke and Joffrey!" Aemond rose from his seat once more, supporting himself with a palm against the table's surface as he toasted the empty dining room. "The wisest and strongest of our family!"

"Aemond."

Your husband didn't heed your chiding tone as he drained his seventh goblet of wine while Aegon cheered him on. You shot the eldest brother a reproving glare, his face falling comically when he met your narrowed eyes. "Don't blame me!" Aegon shrugged. "My brother needs little encouragement when it comes to making godsawful puns."

Aemond sank gracelessly back into his armchair, tapping his long fingers against his iron goblet. You stood, moving to his side and coaxing the cup from his grip. "Come, my drunken dragon." You teased lightly. "It is time for sleep."

"If 'sleep' is what you call it." Aegon chuckled into his goblet, almost choking on his own drink.

"Gods, Aegon. First you get my husband drunk, then you make terrible jokes."

"He's not drunk." Aegon tittered, looking across at Aemond's flushed face. "I'm sure he'd still perform...to your satisfaction."

"Isn't there a kitchen maid you want to go harass?" You sneered at the prince, your hands coming to rest defiantly on your hips.

"Y/N..." Aemond warned softly, unheeded by both you and Aegon.

"I don't harass them." Aegon rolled his eyes, leaning back so hard in his chair it almost tipped over. "I am an excellent lover."

You actually laughed, throwing your head back with the force of it. "You?" Tears of mirth began to form in your eyes. You even heard a low chuckle from Aemond. "I would bet good money that you haven't made a woman orgasm once."

Aegon stood abruptly as well, his face reddening with anger. You hadn't notice Aemond until he smoothly stepped in between you and his brother, his back to you. Even though your husband was clearly tipsy, his stance was still protective.

Aegon looked at you over Aemond's shoulder, then back into the face of his younger brother. Aemond didn't utter a word, just stood in front of you until Aegon sunk sulkily back into his seat, refilling his goblet of wine.

You walked beside Aemond, wrapping your arm around his waist, his own hand coming to grip at your arm for support. You let him out of the room and into the labyrinthine corridors of the Red Keep, making slow progress back to your chambers.

"You shouldn't antagonize him." Aemond said slowly, his words slightly slurred.

"He should leave the women in this castle alone." You snapped, a little sharply.

"I worry for your safety above all else." Aemond continued as though he hadn't heard you. "My brother can be vindictive."

"I don't fear Aegon."

Your husband was silent a moment. "I know."

You reached your rooms, sighing in relief at the warmth coming from a brand-new fire within your stone hearth. You helped Aemond sit upon the sofa, kneeling before him to unlace his boots. He swayed a little where he sat, bracing himself with his hands as his violet eye roved your features. "You are fierce." He murmured after a minute's silence.

You grinned at him, tugging his boots free and setting them upon the ground. "Am I?"

"Mm." Aemond leaned forward, his silver hair falling over his shoulders to tickle your chest. "And beautiful."

He brought his lips down to meet yours briefly. "And clever."

He kissed you again, tasting of buttered rum. "You are everything I want."

You smiled, kissing the tip of his nose as you reached around to unbuckle the leather eyepatch, setting it to rest on the cushions beside him. Aemond's sapphire eye caught the flickering firelight and glittered brilliantly. You undid his hair, carding your fingers through the silken strands as it fell loose about his angular face.

Aemond leaned into your touch, his lilac eye fluttering closed as you continued to massage his scalp. "You are divine, Y/N." His own fingers began muddling with the laces at your corset. "Marry me."

"We've been married for two years, Aemond." You giggled, his hands making slow work freeing you from the confines of your dress.

"Marry me again."

You laughed brightly, your voice mingling with his own low chuckle as Aemond caught your lips again with his, molding his mouth to yours with heated intent.

"Tomorrow." You batted his hands gently away from your back and expertly unlaced yourself out of your dress. "I promise I will marry you again after you sleep off all the toasts you made this evening."

"They were good, weren't they?" Aemond mused, leaning back upon the sofa looking satisfied as his gaze roamed the curves of your body appreciatively.

"I'd call it a strong start." You eyed him for a reaction, your smile broadening as he laughed at your bad joke.

"Very good! They make it too easy."

You laughed together, lapsing into an easy silence, letting out quiet giggles every now and then as you thought about more strong puns.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"You love me, do you not?"

Aemond's voice was small. You looked at him in surprise, thrown by the change in his demeanor. He was looking at you with an earnest, almost vulnerable expression, his hands tightening where they rested atop his thighs.

"Of course I love you!" You tried to lighten the mood back up, touching knee lightly. "I wouldn't have married you otherwise."

"You will always love me?"

"Aemond." You moved from your place on the floor, rising to sit flush beside him, almost in resting in his lap. You gazed intently into his upturned face, brushing your nose to his. "I will never stop loving you. Even when we are gone and only dust remains, I will still love you."

He was silent, his bleary eye fixed on a point over your shoulder.

You took his face in your hands, kissing the corner of his mouth. Aemond responded, grasping your waist with his large hands. "You are the best thing that's happened to me, Aemond."

"Does that mean you won't cancel our wedding tomorrow?" Aemond smiled weakly, rubbing circles into your flesh through your thin undergarment.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You pressed your forehead to his before pulling him to rest against your chest, your head atop his own. "I would wed you a thousand times, in a thousand lifetimes."

"Y/N..." His voice was a whisper. "You are my soul's desire."

Your arms tightened around him in response as you fought back a welling of emotion behind your eyes. You kissed his crown, rocking your entwined bodies soothingly, already feeling his breathing against you deepening.

It did not take Aemond long to fall into slumber, inebriated as he was from all the wine he'd had. After many minutes of you holding his sleeping form, your hands smoothing through his hair as you breathed in the scent of him.

Slowly, carefully, you extricated yourself from your husband, laying him gently down upon the cushions of the sofa. You retrieved a blanket from the bed, laying it over him and tucking him in. You took your time, your heart about to burst with the overwhelming love you felt for the man before you. You lingered at his side, admiring his sleeping profile in the firelight.

You brushed away a stray strand of shimmering hair from his face, loathe to turn your gaze away. Eventually your own exhaustion caused your eyes to grow heavy and you sunk to the floor beside the sofa, propping your head on your forearms, still drinking in Aemond's sharp features. As the fire slowly died leaving behind burning orange embers, you slipped away into dreams, your head resting atop your arms, kneeling beside your sleeping husband.

[saturngalore]

hiii i just wanna say thank you so much to everyone on this list and those following me because in some way you’ve all made my year! i really enjoy seeing yalls posts and knowing that y’all are creating something truly unique for the simblr community whether that’s via your own sim creations, creating builds and cc, writing nicely written stories, and/or just supporting those around you! and i think most of y’all are black so yasssss go black excellence 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾 black simblr >>>>

@invisiblequeen @riverofjazzsims omg thank y’all SO much for helping me test almost all my cc and always creating such lovely sims, stories, and backdrops to go with my hairs 🥹 y’all have kept me going and really motivated me to keep creating my hairs because i know that y’all will give me much appreciated feedback and support no matter what 💗

@prematurehag @yngblkarawak @simphic @daminini @blackskorpi0n @simsadilla y’all are literally so creative that it blows my mind like every single post y’all do especially the renders are so so good like they’re all masterpieces! y’all just leave me in awe every time so pls keep doing what you do bc simblr would be extremely bland without y’all 🫶🏾

@xmiramira i used to watch so many of your sims 4 videos and gta livestreams on youtube and your melanin skins were literally a godsend when sims 4 first started like almost everyone couldn’t create a black sim without your skins so thank you so much for being one of the best black simmers ever and tysm for showing me so much love i could literally faint knowing that you follow me and like my content🫶🏾🫶🏾

@browntrait i know you’re not active rn but and i already told you this but you’re literally one of the main reasons why i wanted to create a simblr! your edits and your sims especially zenya had such an impact on me like i literally saved your edits on my phone bc i wanted to do something similar with my own stuff. you are my inspiration!!! 🙏🏾

@thaplumbob @yuyulie @fizzysugar @aghilasims @helloavocadooo @gnael @darlyssims @sims4bradshaw @earthmoonz @hdmiports @l-e-i-k-o @koibish @cowboycid @armadoth @francescalater @orphyd @boneheelda @mangosimoothie @minaevesmoths @mrsimqle @chaunceydollz @sleepingsims @thestarboysims @starshinesims @zohrou @bonneblah @kimorasimz @meoanii @simtric @glazeio @faestelle @kyaikoo + many others (im so sorry my memory is terrible 😭) i don’t want this post to get too long but the rest of y’all are amazing in your own ways like creating sims that i can instantly recognize that they’re yours without looking at the username, commenting or leaving such sweet tags on my posts which is my favorite thing ever, helping me test my cc or posting your sims in my cc (like !!!!), inspiring me almost everyday, or making me laugh or smile thru a brief yet lovely interaction with you! just thank you so much again and have a lovely 2024!!! 💗🫶🏾🫡

[deathbecomesthem]

Outlaw

An Eddie Munson x Dog!Reader fic - yes most of this is written from the POV of a dog.

Edit by the one and only @somnambulic-thing, and used with their permission for this fic- Peruse all their edits here.

*This story was originally on Chestylarouxx, and it came about in the form of a special request from my sweet Gia, @onegirlmanytales. This reupload is at the request of @jo-harrington.

WC - 2K Warnings - Dog bites. Mentions of blood. Angst. Mistreatment of our sweet reader pup. She deserves the world.

---

It’s hard to trust a man after you’ve been burned in the past. Skittish, that’s how you’ve been described. Distrusting. Nervous. It’s true, you’ve learned hard lessons over the years, you have the physical and mental scars to prove it. You’re made for love and softness, you’re made for snuggles and kisses. Being too scared to let yourself feel safe enough for those things only makes you harder, it only makes you push away at anyone that might try to show you the tenderness you deserve. It’s not your fault. 

—

When Eddie was 5 years old, he got bit by a German Shepherd. He still has a very small scar in the crook of his left elbow. He was scared, but his friend assured him that the dog was friendly. That was the final nail in the coffin for him. All trust in the canine-kind was gone, he preferred the companionship of cats from then on. Even when they bit it didn’t require a trip to the hospital where you’d need needles and stitches.

When Eddie was 19, he had a run in with a Doberman. The thing about Dobermans, he learned, is that they’re excellent guard dogs because they’re so quiet. He hopped the fence at the junkyard at midnight on an unseasonably warm spring evening. In his mind, it was a victimless crime. He could search out small parts from the cars that have been sitting to rust in the yard for years. Instead of them going to waste, he can reuse them and save himself some serious cash. He wasn’t reselling anything, it was strictly for his own use. 

Unfortunately for Eddie, the junkyard guard dog couldn’t be reasoned with. He made it back over the fence that night with all of his fingers, but the dog got a piece of his favorite jeans. And he didn’t make it out with any car parts. That was when the distrust turned to distaste. He let himself believe that all dogs hated him as much as he hated them. Not meant to be. Man’s best friend? Not for Eddie.

—

You were lucky to get away this time. This last place isn’t the worst place you’ve been, but it’s not good. The kind words and gentle touches were few and far between. You’re tired. You’re not as young as you used to be, and having a soft place to lay your bones at night is the only thing you can hope for. Even that seems like a dream that can never come true. 

The woods aren’t so bad, though. You’re pretty hungry a lot, but there’s a place close by with lots of people. You’re very careful to make sure they don’t see you when you sneak by their small homes at night. You don’t need too much, it’s weird that they throw out so much good food. You sniff out the good stuff easily, and your teeth and paws make getting through the plastic garbage a cinch. Sometimes, even though you’re so careful, someone might see you and chase you away. That’s ok, as long as they don’t get close enough to hurt you it doesn’t bother you.

—

Eddie spots you for the first time when you’re skulking around the tree line behind his trailer. A skinny thing, too skinny. He thinks about calling animal control, but decides against it. That’s like calling the dog cops, and he’s absolutely not a snitch. Plus, you don’t seem dangerous. You seem scared. When you noticed that Eddie was watching you, you ducked back into the woods. 

Every day after that, Eddie found himself scanning the tree line for you. It was day three when he realized that it wasn’t curiosity driving his thoughts now, but sadness and fear. He’s starting to worry that one of these days he’s not going to see your silhouette behind the trees, that he won’t hear his neighbors yelling in the morning about the “goddamned strays” getting into their trash at night. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something bad happened to you, even though he couldn’t explain why that is.

Kibble. Eddie bought kibble - $10 for 5 lbs of the stuff. You’re already costing him, and you haven’t even been close enough for Eddie to see your face clearly. This is how it happens, he knows it. This is how he gets suckered into caring for an animal, one that he can’t afford. One that will probably be a complete dick. One that will probably bite him as soon as he reaches his hand out to pet it, just like when he was 5 years old.

—

The man keeps watching you, and you keep watching him. He’s different, you’re sure of that, but you don’t know what that means. Could be bad. Could be good. Either way, you’re going to find a way to get to the food he’s leaving out on his porch at night without getting close enough for him to touch - hit, slap, punch, kick - you. You’re a smart dog, and you’ve already lost enough. Your left ear for one thing.

You don’t know why you feel this way, but there’s a desperate need inside of you. It’s ingrained in your canine DNA, right alongside your curious nature. Your instincts tell you that you should have a person to trust, a person to care for you. It’s only the years of harshness that have eroded that instinct. You fight it always. You can feel your feet itching to move closer to the man now, to see what his face looks like. To smell his hand and see if it feels nice scratching behind your ears. But then you remember what other men have done, and how cruel they are. So, you shrink away and wait for a quiet time to taste the food that’s being left out for you.

—

Eddie’s worried about you, he can’t deny it anymore. He’s noticed that you’re eating the food he leaves out, and that you drain the big bowl of water each day. These are good signs, he’s sure. But he expected for you to start to get friendlier with him by now. You still hide from him, only peeking from behind the tree line to watch him when he fills the food bowl. He doesn’t know a whole hell of a lot about dogs, but he knows they usually seek out human companionship when they’re being fed like this. 

He found himself standing in the pet section of the local department store looking at toys. He has no idea what he’s doing, the toys are all different depending on the size of the dog. You’re not a small dog, and he wouldn’t say you’re big either. He decides to go with the safest option, grabbing a ball and a rope for a medium sized dog. The treats he spends less time thinking about, grabbing a couple of different kinds. One bacon flavored, one chicken flavored, and some that are shaped like little cookies. Eddie’s smile is wide, thinking about you licking your chops and sniffing at a little cookie in his hand.

It’s slow moving. On the first day, Eddie stands about halfway between his trailer and your spot just inside the woods behind it. He holds the bag of bacon flavored treats - go big or go home, he decides. He takes a handful of the treats and sets them in the dirt before taking about 5 big steps back. He waits. He can see you poke your head out  from behind a tree. This is the closest he’s been to you, and he can see now that you’re very pretty. Big brown eyes that have a concerned look to them. He can also see that your left ear is torn, and you have a scar on your snout. It sends a pang of pain through his chest. He takes another 10 steps back and sits on the ground. 

—

It smells like the good food the last man would make sometimes. Like fat and salt. Your mouth is already wet, already tasting it on your tongue. You’re not as hungry as you were a few days ago, the food that this man leaves for you fills your belly. You’ve been sleeping better because of it, but each day is getting a little colder. He’s still sitting there, and you think it’s worth the risk to go ahead and get the good food stuff he left for you.

Small steps, slow. You keep your eyes on the man, making certain he doesn’t move while you get closer to him. He doesn’t move, not even when you lower your mouth to the small mound of treats to take a sniff. Smells better up close, so you open your mouth and suck them all into your mouth at once. You were right to do this, these are very good food. As soon as you swallow, you want more. You look back and see that the man is still sitting in his spot, and he has the bag in his lap. You don’t push away those instincts, instead you decide that the food is good - maybe the man is good too.

—

“You’re a very pretty girl, do you know that?” One of Eddie’s hands is scratching behind your good ear while the other wipes away a tear that’s leaking from his eye. He can’t believe it, how sweet you are. You came up to him and ate out of his hand, and then laid down next to him. You’re so thin, and your fur is patchy from bites. He thought it would be harder to get you to come to him, but all you needed was for him to show a tiny bit of kindness. 

When the sun starts to set, Eddie’s bladder tells him it’s past time to get up. He’s scared to move, worried that you’ll take off and this perfect moment of calm trust will be broken. He can’t sit in this spot in the dirt forever, and neither can you. As he stands up, so do you - but you don’t run for the trees. You look at him with your big black eyes. They’re pleading. 

“I would very much like it if you would come home with me. Would you like that? I have some very warm blankets, and a bed I bought in case you decided you might want to stay with me. Oh, and I have more treats. And a rope. I know I sound crazy trying to reason with a dog, but I promise I’ll be nice to you.” With his case made, Eddie begins to walk to his trailer with the desperate hope that you’ll follow behind him.

—

Of course you have no idea what the man said to you, but you know the way he said it was very nice. Very, very nice. His voice is soft and low, and it makes you feel safe and warm. His hands are good, too. They found that good spot for scratching behind your ear. Plus he has food. Oh, the food is very good. You think he might let you into his little house, so you decide to ask him. 

You follow behind him, not wanting to get too close. You don’t want to make him mad, especially not now that you know he is much better than the other men you’ve known. You wait at the bottom of the stairs and watch as he opens the door. You tilt your head to get a good angle, making sure you can hear, smell, and see everything right now. 

“C’mere,” he says to you, and pats his thigh. You know what that means, and you happily oblige. 

—

6 months later:

Eddie’s holding the receiver to his ear, he’s talking quietly so as not to rouse you. You’re curled up next to him in his bed. It smells so good, so much like him and like you in his bedroom. It’s soft and warm. He’s scratching that good spot, he always knows where to find it. You’re so glad to be here, and you think there’s nowhere else as good as this place.

“Listen, Harrington, it’s not that I don’t want to go. You know I want to. I can’t leave her. Outlaw is a very good girl - she’s not going to ruin your party. I won’t go without her.”

[mostlymaudlin]

just read every single one of your fics and prompts. ur so good i literally love everything you’ve ever written ever. would you be able to write (or recommend if you don’t fancy writing it) some wymack just being so good to neil and or andrew? being there for them, understanding them, i love parental wymack

hi anon 🧡 ty for being so nice!!! it has been a while since you asked this question, sorry. ive read a lot of excellent portrayals of wymack, but i don’t know that i could name any fics that really focus on this? as you probably know, i wrote one wymack pov fic, but it’s still mostly about andreil hahaha.

ANYWAY. i know you said parental, but i was kinda thinking abt the very unique role he serves. And I did write a little scene abt Andrew’s midnight break-ins to Wymack’s apartment 🤪 cw for vague mentions of past abuse/self-harm.

rated t, <1k

“And here’s the real kicker, Coach.”

Wymack is fairly certain that the information Andrew is about to deliver will not be the kicker. He’s fairly certain that it will only lead Andrew to another line of outrage about the thing he is always rattling on about these days when he breaks into Wymack’s liquor cabinet: Neil Josten.

“He doesn’t even listen to music!” Andrew says. “I know you see him running on that treadmill too, eyes glazed over like a goddamn zombie. I heard Boyd offer to let him borrow his iPod, and he went, ‘oh, no thanks, I don’t listen to music.’ And Boyd kept pushing him, trying to find out if he liked an obscure genre or something. But he is ambivalent to it. Be honest, Coach — did he grow up in some kind of satanic cult? Is he brainwashed? Is he going to hear some code word and go ape shit on us?”

Andrew is lying on his back on the sofa, dirty boots on the arm rest and a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand. He’d made significant progress on it before Wymack even got home, and Wymack can see it flushing his cheeks and ringing around his eyes.

Wymack has dealt with a lot of fucked up kids, but in some ways, Andrew is one of the most difficult. It’s not the violence or the bad manners or the obstinance — Wymack can deal with that shit all day long.

It’s nights like this that make Andrew such a challenge in Wymack’s head: Why does Andrew come here? What is he looking for? What has Wymack done to earn this frankly irritating privilege — and how can he make sure he doesn’t squash it?

Andrew doesn’t talk to anyone. Betsy doesn’t tell Wymack much about the kids, but even she has expressed worry at the layers of repression Andrew seems to hold.

But sometimes here, between casting Neil in various villainous roles or complaining about Kevin or stating his grievances with Palmetto State’s meal options, Andrew drops in something real. A comment about getting slapped by a foster mother. A crude joke about the scars Wymack already knows are on his arms. Hints toward some kind of big secret that Andrew seems to dangle in the air between.

It’s always casual. It always feels like a test. Wymack doesn’t know if he passes or fails — Andrew always just finds his next tangent and moves on.

Wymack rubs his temples. He must take too long to offer a grunt to indicate he’s listening, because Andrew looks over to where Wymack sits in his armchair.

“I don’t think Neil is religious,” Wymack finally offers.

“But would we really know?” Andrew asks. He sighs, dramatic, turning his head away again. “He doesn’t add up.”

“He’s hiding things,” Wymack agrees. “So is everyone else on the team.”

“Yes, but everyone else on the team isn’t as interesting.” Andrew brings the bottle to his lips again. “He’s a threat. But it would be less of a problem if he wasn’t so nice to look at. It’s very distracting.”

Well. Wymack didn’t see that coming.

Maybe he should have.

Andrew keeps his eyes on the ceiling, but the air is charged as he waits for Wymack’s reaction. Wymack holds in a heavy breath.

“Maybe you’re looking so much that you’re seeing stuff that isn’t there,” Wymack says.

“Ha,” Andrew says, but there’s little amusement in his voice. He tips his face toward Wymack, pointing with the bottle in his hands. “That’s a good one, Coach. But no. He’s definitely up to something, and I’m going to figure it out. How far is Millport from Area 51?”

“Far enough,” Wymack says.

Andrew hums. “He’s pretty fast. Maybe he escaped containment there and ran.”

Wymack snorts. “Report back when you’ve exhausted that theory. Preferably not in the middle of the fucking night.”

Andrew laughs. It’s not a joyful sound, but it’s familiar.

The are boundaries he’s supposed to maintain, and he knows Andrew wouldn’t want to have rules bent for him. The minute Wymack gives Andrew an open-door policy, he’ll never see him again. He’ll never get to see if he’s passing Andrew’s tests — he’ll never figure out if there’s something he can do.

So he’ll play the role. It’s not hard — he’s old and grumpy and tired. He’ll listen to Andrew bitch, even when it’s about these other kids whose names weigh heavy in his chest.

Maybe it will pay off, maybe it won’t. But this is the job. He has to be okay with these odds — they’re the best he’s going to get.

[drunkenlionwrites]

Hehe hi! I'm new to your blog but I like your writing a whole lot already! (I saw your post about sending in HSR stuff and was so excited!)

I was wondering about a little something (even just hcs) for Sampo with a fem!reader who's basically like Natasha's little sister and works in the clinic too 💕 fluff and spice is always nice 💕

Keep up the excellent writing!

-Ally

Hi Ally! Thanks so much for the request, and so sorry for taking a long time to complete it, I've been writing less frequently as of late. Thanks for your kind words and hope you like these headcanons I came up with. 💖💖 Sampo x fem!reader who works at Natasha's clinic Warnings: none, fluff, mostly sfw, g/n reader, no pronouns, no specific body parts mentioned

You’ve been with Natasha since she’s managed to open her clinic, with some age difference, Nat basically treated you like younger sister. It was nice to have someone looking out for you in the Underworld, so you did your best to help her with anything you could, basically becoming her apprentice as well.

When a weird self-confident but a tad smarmy guy showed up in the Underworld and assisted Natasha with providing some medicine from Overworld as well as some info and intel about what has been happening in Belobog, you didn’t pay a lot of attention to him.

It’s not until he started openly flirting with you, bringing small trinkets with him when coming to clinic to trade with Natasha. “To my precious customer’s precious person, free of charge” he’d say, offering you few flowers growing only in the Overworld, some intricate sweets you’ve never tasted, notebooks, postcards with Belobog views with some cheesy one-liners written inside them.

It all looked fairly innocent, and you didn’t seem interested, always making fun of Sampo’s manner of speech and antics, so Natasha could only roll her eyes at his antics and brush everything off, with you giggling on the backside.

You haven’t even noticed how Sampo’s visits became more and more frequent, him coming to hang out in the hospital even when Natasha was out just to chat you up. He’s been nothing but gallant and polite with you, even if a bit obnoxious, so you had no reason to reject his offers to walk you home when you ran errands, to just entertain him with an idle talk when he barged into clinic saying he’s terribly bored.

With Natasha and Seele always doting on you and nagging you about Sampo’s shady ways, you decided to keep your friendship low-key and offered him to meet somewhere outside clinic, to which Sampo wholeheartedly agreed with the biggest grin you’ve seen on his face.

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was how you basically went on a first date with him and how your more intimate relationship kick-started.

Even though it has been interesting to listen to Sampo’s overexaggerated stories about his adventures and heists, it has been even more nice when his tongue was busy with something (or rather someone) other than talking.

Kissing in the dark alleyways, giggling, and hiding in the clinic’s storage room, basically devouring each other and desperately grinding your bodies, while making sure Natasha or clinic’s patients cannot hear you, hiding from angry Seele who’s been chasing Sampo to chastise him for something he has done again, constantly patching up his wounds – it all became a part of your everyday routine.

You started enjoying the mischievous side of him a lot more, coming to terms with a bit shady persona he has and the ‘businesses’ he seemed to have a never-ending amount of. Though, observing his actions closely, you’ve noticed that he’s never been outright cruel or backstabbing to people, or so you wanted to think to satisfy your goody-two-shoes persona. Sometimes you still nagged him over the things he’s done that seemed too much for your standards, so Sampo begrudgingly agreed with you time and time again to repair the damage he's done to some people.

Natasha’s been fuming when she returned home one day a bit earlier and saw Sampo in your bedroom, him managing to say only “Wooops” with a shrug of his shoulders. She’s never expected this outcome, especially with Sampo’s lessened visits and flirting with you at the clinic lately. So, you two ended up sitting in the living room and receiving a ‘parent talk’ from her.

Sampo’s almost weaseled his way from under Natasha’s scrutiny, but it was mostly due to your assurance that you’re an adult person responsible for your own actions and you’ve got everything under control.

Once busted, the rumors spread around the Underworld, you’ve started receiving all kinds of comments about your relationship, earning only exasperated groans from you. Though, you’ve been happy that you don’t need to hide anymore. Well…unless Sampo has been chased by Seele again, or hiding from some of the café’s patrons to whom he owed something, or haven’t finished Oleg’s errand in a long time…

But you like it, you love your boyfriend and how the things are never simple and boring with him. And, despite him being a total menace he has not stopped showing his love and appreciation for you for a single moment, always being sure to shower you with gifts and attention whenever he got back from his heists.

[give-soup-please]

SOUP MY MAN i wanted to know if you could write Narrator finding some ✨spicy✨ fics written about him by the reader cuz theyre down bad

Obviously what happens isnt gonna be nsfw, bcuz you dont write that and I fully respect that 🫡 but could you do it suggestive? Like the one where reader continuously does the countdown ending cuz of narrys voice- except he just calls it cute and endearing n shit and o//o

Also srry you had to read all that, have some soup!!! 🍜

Narrator discovering the ‘spicy’ content written about him by the reader

The narrator greedily takes in every word you’ve written about him. The words you write are delicious and enticing, especially the more spicy stuff. He’s learning information about you through your writing. How you like to be touched, how you like to be spoken to, everything. 

He scans the titles of your posts, rapidly intaking what specifically you'd like him to do.Now that he knows, he has every intention of wooing you to the best of his ability. 

You walk in the room, and see the narrator scanning your word document. You let out a string of swears, rush over, and shut your screen off. The narrator is grinning openly, and you’re refusing to make eye contact.

“Well now~ Reader, were you ever planning on letting me in on this little secret of yours?” You stutter through a response. The narrator presses onwards, a deep purr in his voice.

“Your writing is excellent- almost as good as mine. And now, your desires are no longer strange and unknowable, at least, not to me.” 

Your face is heating up, your eyes are locked on the floor. “I- uh- You weren’t meant to see this stuff.”

His voice is luxurious. “And why not?” he reaches out and touches you, exactly where you liked to be touched. Damn your inability to write from someone else’s perspective! Your brain was already starting to short circuit.

“You and I can spend a great many years together, acting out each one of these. Think of it as a… collaboration. Hmm, yes, I like the sound of that. Two artists, working in tandem, driving the other to the heights of pleasure. What do you say?”

His voice was just right, his hands perfectly placed to drive you wild. You’re shaking a bit. What a glorious mistake it had been, to write yourself so much into your work.  

[hoolay-boobs]

MAAAARIIIIII

I need your help.

Ok so, How to write?

I told you that I write, right? Well actually I didn't write them properly. I wrote them in screenplay format.. Now I want to write them properly but I don't know how 😭😭 my mind is blank.. Even when I manage to think up on how to write, it's so shit.. I have so many ideas but I have no clue on how the heck am I supposes to put them out.. Do you have any advice? How do you usually write? Please help.

*casually implodes* alright. Okay. Excellent.

This just might be the best ask I’ve ever received. I’ve always wanted to teach others how to write, I’m really passionate about writing stuff, and I’m majoring in education in university rn, so I sure hope I can answer this well lmao

But, nevertheless, I finally have the opportunity:

✨ Mari’s Writing Crash Course that I may or may not have composed while tipsy: a short guide to novel formatting ✨

There’s only, truly, three factors that are the most noticeably important: Formatting, Dialogue and Writing Voice.

You said you’ve been writing in screenplay format? Immaculate. You’re already halfway there. If you know how to write ANYTHING (short stories, novels, screenplays) you already- hopefully- understand the basis of composing stories. Character arcs, plot lines, worldbuilding, etc. I’m not getting into ANY of that, bc your ask referred to formatting and formatting only. I gotcha luv.

The Step One: The Key to Novel Formatting

You’ve already written in screenplay format before. That’s great. You’re already, like, more than halfway there. I’ve tried screenplaying before, but I never got that far in. Not my best medium.

I’m assuming what you’ve worked on before looks like this (format wise, not content wise lmao)

Caps lock indication, space down, and dialogue.

Well here’s the neat thing: novel writing, while very different from screenplays, is much closer to screenplays with more detail:

Caps lock indication, italicized setup, space down, and dialogue.

OTHER THAN describing the camera angles, this has very similar content to a novel: describing portions (sometimes equal portions, usually not) of both dialogue and descriptions.

So! Remove the caps lock indication on who’s speaking, make that italicized setup into the flow of a paragraph, remove all the stuff on camera angles, and put that dialogue under quotation marks.

Now it looks like this:

OH WOW! IT LOOKS LIKE A NOVEL NOW!!

Don’t overthink it: you just take your same thoughts from your screenplay format, and then… transfer it. Piece of cake 🍰

The sub-category of Part One; Part One Extended I guess: Present or Past Tense

What tense do you want your novel to be written in? Present tense? Past tense?

I used to say, “ ALL books are written in past tense. Because as the reader, we’re looking into a story that has already been written. If a book is in present tense, that means the story is unfolding, that means the author is writing it while we’re reading it, and that’s impossible since we’re holding the copy of the book in our hands. NO books should be written in present tense 😡👎”

And then I opened up The Hunger Games and saw it was in present tense.

So it looks like I’m just wildly wrong about that.

I will say tho, most books are written in past tense. And that might, or might not, be more comfortable for the reader and writer. However, it is up you. Contrary to my former opinion, there is no right or wrong tense for your book to be in.

Here is a visual guide:

Once you pick one, though, stick with it. Jumping between past and present these, UNLESS it’s for any stylistic choice (character’s flashbacks, time travelling, etc.) will most likely be awkward to read.

The Step Two: The Importance of properly formatting dialogue

Quotation marks go THROUGHOUT a sentence.

“Why don’t you guys go look at my taco salad post” and “she said” is all ONE BIG SENTENCE.

“Why don’t you guys go look at my taco salad post.” She said. ❌

“Why don’t you guys go look at my taco salad post,” she said. ✅

Each dialogue before the end of the sentence completes with a comma instead of a period. Exclamation marks and question marks can be used in whatever dialogue format, since they’re tone indicators. There aren’t strict rules for tone indicators.

Commas and periods aren’t really tone indicators, so there’s a quick key on how to write that stuff:

Remember, if dialogue ends with a “she said” “she exclaimed” “she spoke” etc. etc. etc. it’ll be part of the same sentence. But, if dialogue ends with an action “she walked to the door” “she took a forkful of that taco salad” etc. etc. etc. it’ll be an entirely new sentence.

THIS is what it looks like:

Also, not every set of dialogue needs to have an end quote to it. This is what that looks like:

I mean, you could but brackets in dialogue. But I just want to warn you: I read a book like that, can’t recall the author’s name, and it distracted me greatly from the characters, plot, atmosphere, etc. I’d stay away from that.

The Step Three: The Writing Voice

So what is narrative voice, anyways?

This is essentially how you form your entire story. The tone, emotion, and descriptions of your story.

I know, I know, the idea that every single word you use reveals your writing style might sound daunting, but trust me, writing voice comes naturally. As long as you let it come naturally.

Essentially: people who know you really well, your closest friends and family, who recognize your quirks, your colloquialisms, and your speech patterns, will most likely recognize your writing style. Because it will sound like you.

And that’s all writing voice is. Your own style. Even this answer I typed out for your ask, it’s in my writing style. It’s in my voice. It’s a blend of eloquent words, long sentences, and a dash of humour here and there. My novel, albeit sounding obviously much different than me making a post on tumblr, also sounds like this. To an extent.

You write like how you speak, even if you’re writing from a specific character’s perspective.

An example is Rick Riordan’s writing sounds wildly different from Becky Chamber’s writing. Even though they’re both talented and hard working, excellent writers. Every book looks different Every book sounds different. Every book feels different.

So, how do you find your own writing style?

Of course, a published novel of yours will sound different than your personal diary. But, those differences aside, they both have your voice. So let yourself speak, let yourself write.

Your story is going directly from your brain, to your laptop screen, or pen and paper, or whatever. Let yourself get into it. Sometimes I read what I’m writing out loud. Sometimes I don’t. Do not overthink your writing voice, or try to force your novel to sound more formal, or more casual, or more poetic, or more or less descriptive, or more wordy. Just let it be.

The more you write, and the more drafts you create, you’ll find your writing voice without even needing to search around for it.

There is a website called, I Write Like This. You can copy and paste passages of your writing, a few hundred words at a time if you want, and it’ll analyze your flow of descriptions, dialogue, punctuation, and match it up with whatever famous author your voice sounds similar to.

I copy and pasted my entire second chapter, a few thousand words, and this is my badge:

My writing voice is similar to our beloved @neil-gaiman . Of course, our writing voice is not identical, as no two authors ever are, but the flow of the writing, the mood, the tone, the energy… it’s a little bit on the same page.

The bonus step four: write shit 💩

You said you write shit?

Good.

Write shit.

This is odd advice to give, I know. But when I say write shit, I mean as a start.

If you had sent an ask saying, “I’ve NEVER touched a pen, paper, or laptop in my life, I don’t know how to write!!” I’d be… daunted. Not an impossible task, but a daunting one. Just slightly harder to get into, slightly harder to give advice for.

I’d much rather you write like shit than not write at all. The hierarchy goes like this:

Good writing >>> shit writing >>> not writing at all.

I can’t remember where I heard this from, but to quote, “you can edit a poorly written page, but you can’t edit a blank page”.

So go, my lovely Sana. Be free. Write all the shit in the world. Fill up your pages. Get writers cramp. Get writers block. Recover from writers block. Make typos. Make messes. Write glorious, delicious, silly, stupid, and beautiful things. Your first draft is not supposed to be perfect. The time will come for pristine, polished, ready-to-be-published writing, and you do not need to rush into there. At all.

Write shit 💩 New-writing is the most necessary shit in this world.

[the-revisionist]

Questions for Writers

Jeez, I forgot I left this in my drafts! Thanks for the tag, @calunalilly

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

31

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

My initial reaction to this question was, why are these fucking people asking me to do more math? Then I realized it's listed in the statistics tab on my dash. Which tells me 792,881 words. That seems low to me? (My writerly self-image is a verbose motherfucker.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Last Tango in Halifax, Happy Valley, Collateral. In the past I wrote a lot of words about Xena, well, uber Xena.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Tristan Chord, the marriage plot, The Wandering Star, The Argentinian Maneuver, and The Wild Nothing.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely. If ever I miss a response, it's likely because I have my head up the ass of real life. So if you've commented and I've not responded, I apologize.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I feel like they're all angsty? But I'd have to go way back to the Xena stuff for the truly angsty shit, probably Coup de Grace or Venezia.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Maybe The Argentinian Maneuver or a good fixed star.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I've gotten a couple passive-aggressive comments here and there, but overall I'd say our tiny corner of fandom is filled with folks who have excellent manners and are very supportive of their writers. ;)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

On occasion. You have to dig through a lot of adjectives and dubious metaphors, but it's there.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I guess Happy Valley/Collateral is crossover territory, no? Unfortunately it's not crazy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of but if I find anyone who does, I will seriously go Catherine Cawood on your ass.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a series of old Uber Xena stories. Some brave soul translated them into French (!). I think there may have been one translated into Spanish as well. I have no idea if any of them are still available online.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Cowrote a mad little uber-Xena tale eons ago with my dear beloved @thelnjames. Good times!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Caroline/Gillian on LTiH, and the uber-Xena pairing of Mel/Janice.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would like to finish Perihelion, the crazy western LTiH AU I started years ago. Might have to rewatch Deadwood for inspo.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Knowing when all the shit I threw in the kitchen sink is too much (i.e., editing).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get too caught up in trying to write pretty and make everything a big old fucking metaphor.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

It gives me the shits. I tend to research a lot, so I would try to find a native speaker of said language to verify that what I've written is accurate.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Xena.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

This is like asking a mother, who is your favorite child?

I'm tagging anyone who's interested in doing this!

[marithlizard]

Fic recs: Helluva Boss

Haven't seen any rec lists on here yet, so here's 10 of my favorite Stolitz fics on AO3, in no particular order.  Tagging @fangirlforthewin for encouraging the idea.

There's so much great stuff being written over there that it was seriously hard to choose.  If you’ve got your own list of favorites I’d love to see it!

1.  Soaked and Sullen by  IchijouKenichiro and  mckittericks Those two are terrible at talking about their feelings, but I've rarely seen them avoid it as entertainingly as they do in this one-shot about a reluctant group vacation with their daughters.

2. Should We Voyage Far by audiopilot Would I have thought a Western AU would work? No. Did it?  Spectacularly.  Blitzo spends most of his time living alone in the woods, haunted by the past, until a traveler shows up wanting to rent a room.  I can't say enough about the grim atmospheric beauty of this one.  Complete with a sequel in progress!

3. if you could only see the beast you've made of me (held it in but now it seems you set it running free)  by Helpneedmorefanfics Not sure if it's true in canon, but I do enjoy the idea of Blitzo being not merely good in bed but good with ethical BDSM and teaching Stolas the ropes (pun intended).  This one-shot about the charged and complicated sex after "Truth Seekers" is hot enough to fry an egg on.

4. you were raised by wolves and voices; every night I hear them howling  by Helpneedmorefanfics The best kind of horror is rooted in dark emotions that the audience can't help but feel sympathy with.  Stolas...has a lot of those.   Another gorgeous one-shot.  (Also you want to read their entire oeuvre, trust me.)

5. The Mating Habits of Imps by AjWriter Lots of clever story ideas from this writer (not always happy, mind the tags). I picked this one because Stolas finding ways to make a wary Blitzo feel content and safe despite himself is just catnip as far as I'm concerned.

6. One Time by slinkinginshadows  Progeny by Paperbackedbastard  Taking Responsibility by AshInTheWind I was going to skip all the megapopular fics because they're easy to find, but then it seemed silly not to include these great continuing mpreg sagas. If you're in the mood for warm and fuzzy (mostly) family-building, they deliver.

7. Echoes by LovelyZelda Alternating between the past and the events of the show, adding so much bittersweet depth for both Blitzo and Stolas, this one is just a gem.  I love everything LovelyZelda has written but Echoes is my favorite.

8.  Before the Thunder Rolls  by Novaeris This take on the "Real Fast" night is excellent, but this author has so many good stories I almost had to roll a die to make myself choose one and I’m still wibbling even now about whether to swap it with “Dusk till Dawn”. 

9. The Awkward Neighbors Saga by AsagiStilinski I've gotten way more invested in this ongoing well-done human AU than I ever expected to.  RadioDust and Fizz/Ozzie (what's the ship name for them?) as well as Stolitz, with a particularly moving backstory for Blitzo and Loona.  

10.  Broken Laws of Attraction by agentstarling If denial is a river in Egypt,  Blitzo thinks he's an expert sailor. He is not. And this one-shot is a delicious shipwreck.

[spirker]

hi i'm too overwhelmed to watch rhys's murray cameo and i was wondering if you know of anyone who's posted a transcript somewhere? or if there's any chance maybe you would be open to telling us the best bits/highlights of the cameo? (thank you for your post about it with the fotc bloops video btw!!)

Oh hey! No problem, I’ll do my best.

So, Rhys is wearing a very cute Murray style ensemble for this one - beige shirt, Aotearoa themed tie, brown blazer.

He opens by calling ‘band meeting!’

First question is ‘where is Murray now?’

Answer - he’s been working hard, managing a band called Great Big Cow and getting them in to perform at the Troubadour in LA. The room sold out and the band played very well - a big achievement for Murray!

After that, he’s returned to New Zealand. He goes between NZ, LA and NY. FOTC was his heyday.

(I’ve written this next bit in full because I think it is excellent advice)

Life advice to note down: when you find yourself in a scenario you didn’t expect - don’t fret! Could be awkward, could be weird, you might be upset for some reason. Could be job you don’t want to do or could be some place you don’t want to be. But just think in the back of your mind - something good can come of this. The old silver lining.

Murray’s silver lining was that a couple of ‘cool-looking idiots’ turned up on his doorstep. They had a band that needed managing and Murray flourished in this new role!

They brought amazing comedy and music to the world, and there was a sense of sadness when it ended and they had to go back to NZ.

(Rhys gets briefly distracted by a plant in the background)

People related to Murray because he showed ‘fake it til you make it’, make use of any skills you have to level up - life is a ‘big theatrical escapade’, we have to put on a character everyday and pull something out of nothing to achieve in this world and Murray was the embodiment of that.

Murray is awkward, doesn’t quite fit in, but being like that you can still make it. Having a sense of humour is a big one, but you always have something unique about you.

Everyone has a sense of humour, some have a natural gift for it, but everyone has a certain set of skills to utilise.

(Then he talks himself out of giving advice - personally I love his advice and I always want to hear more but I think he started doubting himself here!)

Then he talks for a bit about improvisation in FOTC - a lot of it was improvised! They had so much fun.

Murray’s office particularly was always improvised - they had a goal to get to, a reason for the scene, but you could work anything into the scene. It was hard to stop each other from laughing!

Some highlights: arguing in front of the map, ‘I get ridiculed all the time’, ‘on your way to a dick meeting’, the dad guitar bit, ‘you’d have to be deaf to hear that’, ‘you could have a little bit of hay coming out of your mouth’ (🤣)

Rhys really enjoyed watching it back and he’s really proud of it.

Then he talks for a bit about band meetings and how Jemaine was always corpsing - he would be first to laugh and set Bret off. B&J would often have to leave the room and Murray would do the band meeting to two empty chairs because they were laughing too much.

Rhys would still hear them laughing down the corridor by the monitors so he’d call out ‘I can hear you! You’re gonna have to go back to your trailers!’

FOTC worked so well because of the connections they all had together as a cast and wanting each scene to be as funny as it could be.

You don’t want to rely too much on stuff you’ve written in a script, if you can do it (not everyone can) then improvising can be when you’re funniest. When Rhys gets a script he likes to do a run through where he adds his own stuff and people can see if they want to add in something different that he comes up with.

He then sings ‘Leggy Blonde’ as a thank you. He misses FOTC dearly and hopes they can get together again one day and do something.

(He includes all the parts of Leggy Blonde, including Jemaine’s rap, which had me in fits of laughter)

Wow that was long, I hope that my recap isn’t too overwhelming either! It was such a fun video and brought back so many memories of watching FOTC when I was a teen.

<3

[freeuselandonorris]

For the fic meme please because I know you're going to have a great answer for this:

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

ahaha thank youuuu 🙏 this is an EXCELLENT question!!

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

as anyone who has read my recent fic fills will understand, i have learned lots about vore and inflation recently!! it’s actually pretty rare that i learn about new kinks via writing fic because i tend to write from the other direction (i.e. writing kinks that i already have experience with or at least have some knowledge of from the frankly appalling amount of porn i watch and kink research i do for my own personal reasons (the reasons: i am feral)) so it’s been really cool to learn about some new stuff recently that i’d only ever come across in passing.

i’d also count the foot fic in this because although i had a fair idea about feet as a kink beforehand (and have played about with the trampling/footstooling side of things) i had less idea about the specific reasons why someone might get turned on by, say, a footjob beforehand (or, indeed, the logistics of how one works). writing that fic awoke some shit in me, man.

actually thinking about it i also had to research the logistics of double penetration for you won’t know what you like better!!

alright a slightly less horny and more sincere answer: when i write particularly canon-compliant pieces, it’s a really nice excuse for me to learn more about the people i’m writing about and the environment they’re operating in (usually motorsport, or hollywood in the case of my OFMD RPF).

so for the landoscar WIP, although i’m pretty knowledgable about the technicalities of F1 (both from being a long-term nerd about it and also because in a previous life i was paid to subtitle sky sports and thus have watched more episodes of ted’s notebook in forensic detail than is healthy) but not necessarily from a driver’s perspective. so writing this fic meant i got to learn a lot about, say, what the differences are between F2 and F1 in terms of media obligations; what the shape of an average race weekend might look like for a driver outside of the actual race sessions; what a driver’s general diet might look like (spoiler: pretty depressing). this is part of why i love fic so much — writing it helps me deepen my understanding of and love for the things i’m writing about! it’s a devotional act!

finally, i have written SO MANY fics set in or around monaco that i’ve basically learned the entire geography of the place. thought this was useless knowledge but i’ll get to use it when @lost-decade and i go for the Formula E next year!

fan fic writer asks

[thecurioustale]

Two questions:

1. You’ve mentioned before that you write on a very, very old laptop called Joshiba. Do you have your ATH and GF drafts backed up somewhere in case it dies? 2. Out of everything you’ve ever written, what’s your favorite sentence?

1. You’ve mentioned before that you write on a very, very old laptop called Joshiba. Do you have your ATH and GF drafts backed up somewhere in case it dies?

Oh yes. Data loss is one of my least favorite things. Losing some fanfic files on the family computer as a kid cemented that aversion into me. And yet I have lost data many times since then, most notably in 2010 when my laptop Archimedes died out of nowhere, which killed most of my music compositions from one of my most important periods.

I'm quite paranoid about data loss. These days I will typically make a backup every three or four months (or less if I have done a lot of writing or otherwise feel the need to back something up sooner), and I have more than one independent backup device.

I actually got a warning just this morning on my main computer about an impending hard drive failure, so I did a full backup of that one and ordered a replacement drive.

2. Out of everything you’ve ever written, what’s your favorite sentence?

That's a deliciously provocative question, and there are so many different ways I could tackle it.

It would very likely be a fiction sentence, as I both care about my fiction more and put more effort into editing and refining it. But I should at least mention that I've done some nonfiction sentences that I'm really proud of. I love it when I can elegantly bring a thesis together, or synthesize a truly fascinating new idea, or perfectly summarize a thing. In all cases, my great nonfiction sentences are masterpieces of insightfulness and clarity. Clarity and insightfulness are the common factors, the reason you would spend your precious time reading my often-verbose, self-indulgent ramblings.

I don't have any such sentences in mind off the top of my head, sadly, or I would happily share one. I suppose I can leave it to anyone who has been a longtime reader of my journal to volunteer any favorites they can think of.

To get on with the fiction:

I put a lot of thought into first sentences: the first sentence in an entire story; the first sentence in a chapter or section; the first sentence introducing a new character; their first sentence of dialogue. When it makes sense to do so, and when I have the opportunity, I also put a lot of thought into last sentences.

There are the "high art" sentences, the ones that attempt some feat of technical prowess or showcase my skills or artistry. These tend to be longer and/or highly stylistic.

There are the "punchy" sentences: short sentences that comprise their own paragraph to underscore a point, ideally to resounding effect.

There are sentences that I am personally biased toward for external reasons, such as ones involving Silence doing Silence stuff.

There are sentences that have deep, personal resonance for whatever reason.

There are the sentences that depart from literality and become in some way transcendental, often assuming an omniscient voice and openly musing in the company of the reader.

There are sentences that don't look like much on their own but become very powerful in context. (Not unlike the aforementioned "punchy" sentences.)

And of course there are miscellaneous sentences that I just like for whatever reason.

(It's also worth noting that, with the way I write, often the great stuff is only resolvable down to the paragraph level, not the level of individual sentences. And some of it is only resolvable down to the scene level, with no great sentences per se even if the scene itself is very strong.)

Different sentences can excel in different ways, each in turn making a compelling case to be my "favorite." I can like sentences because of some aspect of their structure—their rhythm, for instance, or their alliteration or some other literary quality, or their feel on the tongue or in the eye. Or I can like sentences because of their imagery, the contents they convey, irrespective of their structure. Or I can like them because of their meta function, their role in advancing or pulling together the story or important thoughts therein. And so on. I don't consider these various properties comparable, which makes it very difficult to conceive of one supreme sentence above all others.

Even if that weren't so, the way my memory works also makes it virtually impossible for me to select a favorite without going back and rereading all the fiction I've ever written (lol) or whatever subset thereof I think most likely to produce leading candidates for my favorite.

In lieu of this I am quite limited in what my memory is able to recall at the moment on its own. The sentence that has stuck with me the most in recent months is not especially remarkable on its own; it is one of those "Silence doing Silence stuff" sentences and it really loses a lot of its punch without the context of its paragraph and wider scene, and since it is also something of a spoiler I don't think I will post it here, but it's basically an affirmation of her power, which I love.

Since writing the previous paragraph I spent over an hour looking for a good sentence in order to give you something approaching a satisfying answer, but alack my brain was not plugged into creative writing mode at all today and so I have found this a most unapproachable, inapprehensible exercise tonight. It's funny how, some days, it's like the text itself changes. There are times when I absolutely love this stuff, and times when I just don't connect with it at all, and sadly today is one of the latter.

But perhaps if you could refine the question (and catch me on a better day)? I often find that this helps to unlock my mind, if the derivative question has some new substance which helps me to conceive of the query differently.

Anyway! I've written quite a few sentences in my life. Maybe, given my complete uselessness, it would be better to ask the people who have read some of them what they think. I'd be curious to know, myself.

I can tell you one of the leading candidates for my favorite sentences that I haven't written, however. It's from Dickens:

And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

For context, the preceding sentence is:

He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, "Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!"

And I suppose that says a lot about me.

[bots-and-cons]

Predaking, Shockwave, and Hardshell with a human s/o doing simple domestic things? Like grocery shopping(with Holoforms ofc), slow dancing, or just reading together?

That sweet shit just makes me heart go brrr

I didn't do Hardshell, because I’ve never written him before and he’s such a minor character I honestly don’t feel like I’ve got a good grasp on his character, so I did Megatron instead. I just did it as a mostly holoform. I’ve been having a bit of a hard time with inspiration lately, hence the lack of content, and even this took me hours. I’m hoping my inspiration returns soon

~Megatron~

•The first time Megatron came to your apartment in his holoform he was pretty intrigued by a lot of the items you have

•Books are interesting to him because for cybertronians everything is on datapads and he’s never read a paper book in his life

•You went to get some groceries, which is a bit of a pain with him, because if someone looks at him wrong, or by Primus looks at you wrong, he will throw hands

•You’ve gotta get in between him and whoever he’s about to beat up and just tell him he doesn’t want to get you in trouble too

•He’s super intrigued by a lot of the food items, and he would like to try a lot of the stuff that looks weird to him, which would be like all the very normal stuff like cheese and meat

•You teach him to cook and he sucks at it, he doesn’t understand the point of spices in human food, since energon is basically just fuel and doesn’t really taste like anything and you can’t change the taste

•It’s a fun time though even if he’s barely listening to anything you’re telling him, but the end result isn’t really edible so you order pizza

•You end up watching a movie and Megatron notices how nice it is to hold you when you’re pretty much the same size

•You fall asleep in his arms and he just held you the whole night until you woke up in the morning

•He leaves after you wake up, because he’s needed at the Nemesis, but when you come by later that day, he’s pretty affectionate

•He’s not really sure what he’s feeling, like just for a moment he wonders how it would be to be a human with you, but he quickly shakes off that thought

~Predaking~

•Predaking wasn’t really into the idea of using a holoform at first but when he realized he could just spend a day with you and see how humans live, it piqued his interest

•He gets to see your home too, and when you ask him what he would like to do, he just asks what you normally do in a day

•You tell him it’s cleaning day, but you also ask him if he’s sure he wants to do that and not something else

•Predaking just tells you he wants to know how humans live and he wants to experience some of it

•So you put him to work, he’s a huge help with moving the furniture so you can just vacuum and not have to change between the two

•You also do the dishes and collect all the laundry so you can wash it later

•You decide you’re too lazy to cook that day, so you just order some chinese food

•Predaking is a bit of a sappy mech, and he’s seen some older movies with slow dancing, which he thought was just a common thing for humans to do

•So he asks for your phone, to put on some music, and grabs your hand, pulling you close

•You two just sway together, while he quietly talks into your ear, telling you how he’s never gonna leave you and he’ll always love you 

~Shockwave~

•Shockwave was a bit against the idea of spending a day in his holoform, he had a lot of work to do, but you convinced him anyway

•He sighed and told you that he’d agree to 12 hours of uninterrupted time with you, but then he’d have to get back to work

•You got to your place and Shockwave was mildly interested in pretty much everything

•You have some plants and he asks you what they’re for

•You just tell him they’re decoration and that they’re actually plastic, because you can’t keep real plants alive

•You ask him if you’d like to cook with him, and he’s like “Create sustenance? I do not think I’d excel at such a thing”

•You just tell him it’s kinda like chemistry, combining different components to achieve the desired result

•Shockwave agrees and he actually gets quite into it too

•The food actually ends up being really good, even if it does have some odd nuances in the taste

•You made the food together and ate together and Shockwave actually enjoyed it surprisingly much

•He’s never really done anything like that before and he didn’t really think he would like it, but he was pleasantly surprised

•You just end up cuddling on the couch after eating and he’s picked up one of your books, just because he’s interested in what you’ve been reading and what you’re interested in

•The book is something pretty raunchy and he just sets it on the table beside the couch, like “I did not just read that”

•He’s blushing a bit and you’re just snickering, because he has such a funny expression on his face

•Since you’re laying on top of him, hugging his waist, he just presses your head to his chest and tells you “be quiet”

[theageoftheunderstatement]

The Sydney Morning Herald: Arctic Monkeys left planet rock a while back. Is The Car the U-turn fans wanted?

Written by Michael Dwyer, 13/10/2022

Alex Turner is looking shellshocked. The man widely hailed as one of rock’s greatest lyricists is nursing a green tea he hopes will nip his European jetlag in the bud and doing his best to answer the questions I’ve flown halfway around the world to ask him.

The Arctic Monkeys frontman says he was expecting the band’s latest album, The Car, would find them back on familiar ground following the polarising sixth album that unsettled some fans in 2018. But then he admits that they may not be “completely off the moon yet”.

Some time ago, he’d hinted that this forthcoming album would mark a popular return, of sorts, to the more sinewy live band stuff that made Arctic Monkeys Britain’s fastest-selling garage rock sensation 16 years ago.

But promises count for little when the muse drapes herself across the piano in a velveteen suit and yields a fabulous lead single called There’d Better Be A Mirrorball. If the sophisticated sci-fi of the Sheffield band’s last album, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, ruffled a few hoodies, The Car signals a continued, unrepentant evolution of sound and mood.

Turner agrees in his hesitant, oblique way. “I thought if I called it The Car it meant that I was back on Earth suddenly,” he half jokes. “But I’ve found it’s not that simple.”

Sitting in an otherwise empty bar at the east end of Hollywood Boulevard that’s been opened just for us, Arctic Monkeys’ singer, writer and conceptual architect looks earthbound enough in his bright blue jeans, neatly pressed khaki shirt and casually excellent coif.

He wears the job of explaining himself in the first round of another hundred interviews with a certain stoic deliberation. He’s clearly the kind of artist more comfortable expressing himself in the act of creation than in conversation, and I’m warned in advance he takes his time answering questions.

This is probably one reason we’re face-to-face here in LA rather than stumbling on the phone. Another is doubtless a strategy to regain some of the US/ international traction that slipped with that last mould-shattering album.

In truth, there’s little Turner can say that could match the wry, eloquent observations of his lyrics. “I had big ideas, the band were so excited, the kind you’d rather not share over the phone,” he sings on Big Ideas, an especially lush new track. “But now the orchestra’s got us all surrounded and I cannot for the life of me remember how they go.”

He smiles at that. “I like the idea that it knows it’s a record,” he says.

Born to a languages teacher and a swing band musician, Turner’s trademark poetic insight into his immediate surroundings was fully formed with the first Arctics album of 2006, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. But a first-class trans-Atlantic rock star upgrade later, the teenaged rough and tumble of Friday night in the clubs of northern England has naturally given way to more surreal subject matter, seemingly informed by the showbiz cocoon that this city is renowned for.

“I wouldn’t rule that out,” he says at last, more mystified than evasive. “I think it sometimes takes a degree of hindsight to assess how much or how little a place has influenced something you’ve done.”

He admits that there were certain moments on that last album, a loose concept outing set in an off-world luxury hotel, that “connected with this place”. The space-age lounge setting could be read as a bemused metaphor for life among the pampered rock star elite. “I just wanted to be one of The Strokes,” went the first line to the Hollywood cocktail bar opener, Star Treatment. “Now look at the mess you made me make.”

Prosaic album title aside, The Car is another clever metaphor, as the leader of Sheffield’s most celebrated gang of youths continues his escape into lavishly arranged and lyrically layered territory with ample reference to the resistance he’s encountered en route. It’s an album that knows how much its precursor polarised fans and critics miffed by the piano-led departure from the Arctics’ electric guitar roots.

“The setting” for any record, he says not unreasonably, “is the situation that I felt I knew the best. With [the first album], that is what felt comfortable at that time and then as time goes on that becomes perhaps less comfortable. You start to ask the question, well, should it be comfortable, even, now?

“I can’t completely concede that I’m still writing about my surroundings in that same way but … I can’t completely disagree either. But then, I don’t know if it always has to be totally honest, either. There’s times when I think it makes sense to reach into some unknown and see what you can get.

“That whole idea of how to write, and what am I going to write about, that question feels like it belongs very much to that time after that first record. I can vaguely remember wondering, how much more of this am I going to do? Not how much more of writing about the taxi rank, necessarily, but … I didn’t see this place where we are now, then.”

How could he have? In a few days, Arctic Monkeys will be the climactic act at LA’s three-day Primavera Sounds Festival, one of precious few rock acts in a global pop landscape completely transformed since young Alex Turner thought he wanted to be one of The Strokes. Today he’s thrilled when I mention that parts of The Car remind me of Nelson Riddle’s work for Frank Sinatra.

As one of the flagship acts (with Franz Ferdinand) on leading British indie label Domino, he clearly feels a responsibility, probably even a desire to maintain a certain status quo, if not commercial then surely in terms of the bond he shares with school buddies Matt Helders (drums), Jamie Cook (guitar) and slightly later recruit Nick O’Malley (bass).

But surely he must also feel a growing disconnect between the business he’s expected to do with his band of brothers at music festivals and the more elegant, perhaps ironic, and frankly more isolated music he’s making in the studio?

“I think that’s something I was more concerned with with the last record. I remember feeling like we’re gonna struggle to stick some of these things in the set. How’s this going to play out? But in the end, it sort of worked itself out. And that gives me the confidence now to think that we can do this... With the strings element of this record, I’m probably not going to go down that road in the show. But I don’t know even that. At some point, maybe.”

Sting says — Turner laughs, guessing where this is going — that grown men can’t be in rock bands. Life inevitably draws gangs of boys apart as they discover who they are and what they want to do. In the bigger picture, it’s tempting to see the mutation of Arctic Monkeys as a neat illustration of the end of the rock age: from old school garage band to bruised solo act (in all but name) in one epic, final lap. It’s hardly fair to ask the shell-shocked protagonist to comment on that theory…

But “the way it comes together now is different,” he concedes after careful consideration. He alludes to the work he’s released in various solo and collaborative settings – as Last Shadow Puppets with Miles Kane and as solo acoustic soundtrack composer and other creative guises. They’ve slowly steered him away from the group rehearsal room process in favour of multi-track demos created solo, then presented to the lads.

So to quote his lyrics back to him, is the band really always so excited about his Big Ideas? He laughs again. “To be honest, I mean… I can’t say no, can I?”

Nothing about any of this at any point in the last 20 years has given me a reason to believe that you can go backwards.

The Primavera festival crowd is at peak sunburn when Arctic Monkeys take the headlining Sunday night stage a few days later. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a snazzy swing tune by the Stan Kenton Orchestra that heralds their arrival: nothing to frighten the kids, but not something likely to crop up on their Strokes Radio playlists either.

What follows is a cracker Arctic Monkeys festival set, mostly drawn from AM, their platinum-selling American breakthrough of 2013, an album still in the Top 10 vinyl records chart in Australia. There’s also a smattering of hits from the rest of the albums and just one for now from The Car, the ironically apt I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am.

“We’ll have more by the time we play in Australia,” Turner promises.

Sure enough, within a couple of weeks, three or four songs from The Car will have earned their place in the band’s setlist, even if the holy grail for any established rock sensation remains elusive: a brand new song with the clout to close the show.

“I’ll be totally honest,” Turner says. “There certainly was the thought at the end of the tour in 2019 about … ‘Let’s do some songs that we can close the show with’. That was in my head, where I thought I wanted to go, but then I sort of came to realise that it’s not there any more.

“In that moment, at the end of the tour, it seemed like it’d be easier to get back there for some reason. I don’t know why I was so naive, because nothing about any of this at any point in the last 20 years has given me a reason to believe that you can go backwards.”

What he says next might be a veiled clue about what lies ahead for him in relation to the band he might, according to the Sting maxim, outgrow and retire any moment now. Maybe this latest, unapologetic leap forward comes with an implicit invitation for his fans and his brand to simply take it or leave it. Or like his lyrics, it might just be him thinking aloud, leaving us to join the dots.

“What I do think,” he says, “is in essence, something about that initial idea of this kind of show-closer thing does feel like it has stuck around in the creation of this record. It’s just like an inverted version of what that meant in my mind in 2019.

“I’m not saying that any of these songs are necessarily going to close a show and be like that moment in the gig, but I do think there’s something … if I squint, there’s something about that feeling that does exist.”

It makes me think of Perfect Sense, the gorgeous, elegiac closing song on the new record. “Sometimes I wrap my head around it all and it makes perfect sense,” Turner sings. “Keep reminding me that it ain’t a race when my invincible streak turns onto the final straight. If that’s what it takes to say goodnight then that’s what it takes.”

I mean, if you could find yourself an audience that would allow you to finish with that song, that’s kind of unbeatable, I suggest. He considers that idea for a while, as if for the first time. “Right, right,” he says at last.

[archandshri]

12 April ‘24 - [arch] Making a Comic in a Week, Disability and Burnout (all unrelated, of course!)

Hey Shri and folks!! LOVED seeing part three of the Lionheart Brothers cover. Stunning!! And awesome to see your process. Also cool to see what you’ve been looking at lately - I’ve just finished a rewatch of Firefly and the characters are still living in my brain a bit. 

Life is a bit relentless, huh. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy working on disability stuff - meal prepping, sorting silly government forms, all that sort of thing. Exhausting and super easy to burn out on - but also sets me up for the future in my personal life and for illustration! I want to discuss the balance of pushing and burnout this week with an excellent example - I tried foreshadowing to make a comic in a week. 

When I was in uni, it was easy to create cool stuff regularly - you’re constantly receiving prompts, doing activities, getting feedback etc. I still have access to these things, especially through my shared studio community, but it’s not as easy as it used to be. I miss creating finished books, in particular, so frequently. So! I challenged myself to make a comic in time for Something’s Fishy Zine Fair in Plymouth tomorrow, which was just over a week from when I started.

I had come up with the concept for the comic while travelling, written the script and done a couple of sketches. I often come up with concepts while travelling - I just don’t often follow through :P Here’s a couple of sketches I did on the journey.

I’ve been chatting to lots of people about what they enjoy about art - I’ve noticed that I tend to crave the end of the project and having the physical thing with high expectations of myself, which doesn’t lead to a very enjoyable process. Many people I’ve spoken to enjoy the ‘zone’, the focus of the project where you’re just figuring stuff out and not thinking about anything else. Bearing this in mind, I wanted to make the process as fun as possible - this comic is for fun and not for the purpose of having the thing at the end. 

I started with a few development sketches of the characters and the vibe. I used ink and my funky kakimori dip pen, plus some brushes. These mediums are hard to control, which makes them good for development for me - they don’t have to be good, this time is for gestural drawings and ideas generation. Some continued doodles in my sketchbook from some downtime :) Fish wouldn't leave my brain.

After a bit of character development, I began by adapting my script into pages - I read the script and try to feel the vibes on how I want to pace the comic, considering:

How much dialogue and plot do I want to put on one page?

Do I want it to be more text or image-heavy?

Do I want it to feel fast and snappy, or slow and dreamy?

Which parts of dialogue feel like a page-turner?

Are there any twists that should be separated from the rest of the scene by a page-turn?

Are there any moments that should sit next to each other on spreads?

You can see me changing some dialogue around, writing as I draw a bit. Also playing around with some weird looking fish?? With noses???

I got a bit stuck at this stage. I was scared my script wasn’t good enough. And worried about if I could even draw fish. After a couple of chats with art friends, and some rambling in my slides, I reminded myself that the lesson this time is fun!! Have fun goddamn it!! No point doing it if you’re not having fun. (it’s not like we make any money from riso printed zines anyway)

Screenshots from my slides - these things are wonderful for gathering inspiration and venting when you run into a problem with the project.

So I decided to just go for it. Not even thumbnail, but just take a scene and draw it. I asked a studio friend to choose a number, and I drew that scene.

Because of the chatty style of the comic, and how much dialogue there was gonna be, I knew there would have to be a LOT of panels. I decided to make it A4, and use a 8x6 grid. I’ll draw the images at A3, and than scale them down to A4 when it comes to printing.

left: A3 grid on the lightbox, for tracing over || Right: A4 grid with boxes of different sizes for me to reference while choosing the layout - this way I can see the final print size

First drafts of a couple of random pages from Moon Noodles.

The first day I drew several pages that I was really happy with! It gave me a lot more confidence in my script - seeing it come to life with the characters on the page - some pages even got some laughs which was nice. I would look at the page plan, script, and spend a few minutes thinking about the pacing and how I wanted the dialogue on the page, and the go straight in with the dip pen - with the awareness that it might be wrong. This process taught me an important lesson - you have to just do it. The thing is, if you do it and it’s bad, you just do it again but different. Repeat. Staring at that script thinking it wasn’t good enough wasn’t actually going to get anything done, be fun OR make nice stuff. You have to do the thing. Then you make it better.

The other thing I learnt from this process was to give it space. There was a day where I did one page, hated it and thought the pacing was off, and spent the next day trying to translate it into two pages. It didn’t work. I came back the next day and realised the first page I’d done was fine and just needed a couple of tweaks. Do the thing. Let it be.

Here’s a little picture of my setup.

(Sorry all of Printhaus for hoarding the light box and getting ink all over it :( love u)

Useful stuff!!!!

Finished pages to refer to, plus more A3 paper underneath for future pages

Laptop with script

Dip pen, ink and water for keeping that little guy clean!

development sketches for relevant scenes

Page plan (you can see I have shortened it considerably since last time - now it's 20-24 pages and noted on scraps of paper so I can move them around if there's any changes of plan)

A4 sheet with boxes to show the sizes of the final print

also scissors??? i don't remember why they're here

But then monday morning came. I realised that if I wanted to get it all printed by friday, I needed to:

Plan and 12 pages on Monday, and 12 on tuesday

Get the final files for every one of the 24 pages by Thursday 

Print friday morning

Travel down to devon Friday afternoon

Fair Saturday

Not only is that basically impossible, but it would be very bad for my health, make for a rushed comic, and most importantly, not be fun. The thing is, I’ve made whole comics in a couple days before. I figured I could still do it. But that’s not actually a good thing - my skills and taste have increased, I'm aiming for bigger, more ambitious projects and yet I expect the timelines to stay the same? It doesn’t exactly work like that now, does it?

But I kept going anyway. 

Tuesday morning, I decide to get the cover put together so I can get the preorder post-out. I get pulled into an unexpected meeting, and then spend the rest of the day inking this thing and getting the files sorted. At this point, I know for sure It’s not possible to get this done. Thankfully my two Printhaus besties were in. They helped me drop it. I love this comic, it feels fun and joyous and I’ve enjoyed working on it - lets not rush it and end up with a bad product that will bother me. Let’s take time, explore it and really enjoy the process!!!

All is not lost for Something’s Fishy Zine Fair, though! Originally, I had planned to do a print of the Moon Noodles Cover for preorders only, but why not print that for Something’s Fishy?? Anyone who buys the print will also get a discount code for the pre-order :D (also here’s the pre-order link)

So here’s a few images of the Moon Noodles cover print and the process!! I hope to see some of you at Something’s Fishy. It’s a joy to visit Plym again :D

Sketch printed out at A3, and 2 of the layers. I scanned these in and edited them on photoshop to get the files ready to print.

Coming to terms with the fact that 1) I don’t have illustration superpowers even if my expectations are that high and 2) I’m disabled (yes it’s been years and it’s still hard to face) is really hard!! I need to spend most of my time when I’m well preparing for when I’m not AND fight the urge to work until I burn out, which I always lean towards because it’s nice escapism. 

The thing is that living, and not being too exhausted to move is much more important than a comic. And if I am gonna spend my functioning time making comics, they’re gonna have to be enjoyable to make. Otherwise your life slips away from you and you haven’t been really living it.

Hope that hasn’t got too deep for you. I think that stuff is important to face, especially since the creative life is so incredibly busy.

Thank you for reading this goddamn essay, I hope that it helped in some way! As usual, feel free to drop an ask if you have any questions. 

Chat soon :D Archie <3