#''what can you expect from a middle grade book'' i can expect what the author implicitly promised books ago

[gingerslemonade]

I don't think I can even, like, begin to describe all the ways and levels in which SSGN makes me mad.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: Den Prep

Author’s note: I feel like Joe is very dramatic about things he can’t control and impending parenthood is definitely chaotic. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece!

All you wanted to do was take a nap. You weren't asking for much. Just an hour, maybe an hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.

But no. That would be too easy.

The cars that lined the driveway couldn't be a sign of anything good. Joe wasn't really one to throw parties, and with exactly four weeks before the baby's due date he wasn't exactly the most chill or relaxed man in America. If anything, the cars were a sign that you wouldn't be getting that nap in any time soon.

A gigantic sigh leaves your body when you walk in the door. There are people—strangers— in your home, scrubbing every square inch of the place.

"Joe?" You call out, attempting to scoot past the people dusting the vents.

"He's upstairs in his office," a woman responds kindly, in the midst of scrubbing baseboards. Your friend Nikki, who was with you all day, stares at everyone in shock before helping you up the stairs.

You caught your breath a little while running your hand over your baby bump, feeling like you climbed Everest. Nikki knocks on the door and waits for Joe's voice, telling you two to come in. Your husband was seated at his desk, highlighting sections of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be, surrounded by several other parenting books.

"Joseph..." Nikki begins since you still can't breathe. “What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Joe says without looking up from his book, "he can hear you."

Nikki turns to look at you and you shake your head, not wanting to get in the middle of it right now. Your eyes were telling her to just focus on one problem at a time, the biggest issue at hand being the cleaning crew taking over the house. She seems to agree. "Okay, let me try that again," he nods, finally looking up, a disinterested look on his face. “Don't know if you know this but, there are people downstairs treating your home like it's a warzone on germs."

"I know. I hired them to do exactly that. Because it is." He says in a matter of fact tone. “I want everything to be perfect when the baby comes home. The house needs to be as clean as possible so he has a safe environment.”

“Joe, this isn’t prepping for the end of days. You realize babies don’t come out demanding hospital-grade cleanliness, right?” Nikki jokes, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe doesn't find it funny. “Do you even know how many germs are in the average house? I read it’s millions. Millions, Nicole. I’m not risking it.”

You sigh, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He was adorable when he got like this—focused, determined, and completely over the top. It was endearing, but you could already tell you'd have to reel him in before he booked a hazmat team to inspect the nursery. “Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But we’re supposed to be relaxing these last few weeks, not running ourselves into the ground.”

“You’re the one who should be relaxing,” Joe said, standing and gently guiding you to sit in his chair. “You’re growing a human being. That’s a full-time job. I can handle everything else.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Joe, I don’t need you to handle everything. We’re a team, remember? And besides, I don’t want you burning yourself out before he even gets here.”

“I’m fine,” Joe insisted, his tone firm but caring. "I promise. I just...want everything to be right for him. He’s going to depend on us for everything, you know?”

Nikki sat down on the couch in the corner of the office, still grinning. “I’m not gonna lie, this is kind of impressive. Most dads just install the car seat and call it a day. But you? You’re basically turning this place into a baby-friendly, germ-free utopia."

Joe shot her a look but didn’t argue as you let out a yawn. "Are you tired?" He rushes out, "they should be done in our room, you can go take a nap if you need it. I was serious about you getting some rest."

"And so was I about you getting some rest. We won't be sleeping as much when he gets here so getting a head start on sleepless nights isn't the wisest business decision."

"Okay," Joe folds the corner of the page that he's on and stands up, kissing you on the side of the head. "What if...we kick Nikki and the cleaners out and we go take a nap?"

"Um hello?" Nikki waves her hand in the air, "still here, in the room, with both of you. I can hear everything you're saying."

Joe doesn’t bother acknowledging her, his eyes focused on you as you nod with a laugh. “I love you, Nik, but he’s right. I need to lie down before I collapse.”

Nikki smirks, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “You’re so lucky you’re carrying my baby, Y/N. Go take your little nap, I’ll see myself out.” She pokes Joe in the chest as she passes. “Joe, co-parenting with you is going to suck, but I gotta admit—you’re going to be a killer dad. You just don’t need to stress yourself into a heart attack to prove it.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "For the last time, it's OUR baby. Not yours. There is no co-parenting."

"Sure," Nikki smiles, patting him on the back, "sure buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, good luck kicking out the cleaners. I'm pretty sure one of them is power-washing your oven.”

She’s gone before Joe can reply, leaving you shaking with laughter as he mutters, “I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

When you woke up from your nap, Joe was gone. You found him downstairs, scrolling through the notes on his iPad, intense focus that you'd really only seen when he was going over film. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking impending fatherhood as seriously as he took his job. In a way, being a dad was like taking on another job. With endless hours, no days off and no pay. But the rewards? They were going to be worth everything.

Sinking into the spot next to him, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

"Going over the checklist," he replied, his hand automatically resting on your belly, absentmindedly tracing small circles with his thumb. "We've got a bunch of deliveries coming tomorrow to get the nursery done which will probably take a couple days. Then we need to start getting the fridge stocked and pack our hospital bags. I was also thinking we do a trial run to the birth center."

"A trial run? Why?"

“I need to time it,” he said, his fingers still drumming softly against your bump. “Traffic could be bad, you’ll be in pain, and I’d rather not have to deliver a baby in the car. I mean, I can learn how to, but I’d rather not.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his focus shifted momentarily, his hand now lightly tapping your belly like he was sending a secret code. “Joe, we’ll be fine. We’ll get there when we get there. Not everything is gonna go to plan so let’s not waste time but trying to plan out every detail.”

“I hear you and I get what you’re saying but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard,” he muttered, flipping to a new note with his free hand. His other stayed firmly planted on your stomach, as though he could steady the world by keeping a connection to the little life inside. “Oh, and dinner with our parents tomorrow…that’s going to be something.”

"Be nice. They mean well," you reminded him, nudging his arm.

“Sure, but last week my dad said something about bourbon on baby gums helping with teething. I had to pretend to choke so I wouldn’t laugh in his face,” Joe said with a soft laugh of his own. Then, without thinking, he leaned down and whispered against your belly, “Just ignore your grandpa, buddy. We’ll do teething the right way.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you reached out to thread your fingers through his hair. “Joe, you’re already such a good dad, you know that?”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his hand still cradling your bump. “I just want to get it right, for him… and for you.”

"You will. And you know how I know?" He shakes his head, his eyes locked in on you, searching for your answer. "Because once you put your mind to something, you don't let anything or anyone stop you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his gaze softening before he speaks. “You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?” He reiterates your words, his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans in, sneaking a kiss.

Your laugh is light, but your heart swells as he places his lips on yours one more time. “Kid’s pretty lucky,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back. “And he doesn’t even know it yet.”

The rest of the evening is spent ironing out some minor details of Joe's fool proof baby plans.

Your husband is not the handiest person in the world. He's more of a "I'll hire someone who's more qualified" kind of guy. Exhibit A? Full time chef so he doesn't have to cook. Exhibit B? Full time cleaning staff. To be honest, he probably doesn't know how to change a tire. But he also probably has access to triple A and one phone call from Joe Burrow might actually have everyone working that day rushing out to answer the call. With all that being said, you assumed that putting together furniture would not be something he'd be inclined to do. And then a few weeks ago he, Jimmy and your dad spent three hours building a custom Bellini crib. Now that he had a taste of satisfaction in knowing that he put it together with his own hands, he wanted to build everything in the baby's nursery.

Today's project consisted of your dad, Jimmy and Joe putting together a bunch of things that were delivered while you, your mom and Robin sorted through baby clothes and collected freshly washed laundry to place in his closet. Every tiny sock and little hat sent butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your own tiny person wearing these clothes in just a few short weeks. It was both daunting and exciting.

Throughout the day, more people were walking into the house, Ja'Marr came in first since he pretty much lived next door. Sam showed up 30 minutes later, a tool-kit in hand. A few high school friends even drove from Athens to help.

"Guess Joe called in the calvary." Robin says with a laugh, putting the onesies she just pulled out of the dryer in neat stacks to count and fold.

A few hours later, the three of you took a look at the inventory laid out before you. Your son probably had enough clothes to last him through four outfit changes a day for the next few months. You mentally reminded yourself to cut everyone off from buying any more articles of clothing until further notice.

The doorbell rang and Joe magically appeared downstairs to answer it, his Jeff Ruby's catering order had arrived. A few staff members carried in all the food and Joe thanked them on their way out. Before you could even ask, he said "you don't think they're all working for free do you? Had to give them a few incentives." You simply shook your head, a smile forming on your lips as he disappeared upstairs again.

When the guys were finally done, everyone gathered downstairs to eat dinner, casually chatting about life, Ja'Marr giving a recap of his offseason so far and what trips he had planned. Everything was actually normal until your mom spoke up.

"So, who are you guys gonna have in the delivery room with you?"

Joe nudged you under the table with his knee, giving you a look like "here we go."

"Um...we're still finalizing details of the birth plan. I was just thinking me and Joe for now, the less people seeing me at my worst, the better," you joke, trying to keep it light.

"Well what about visitors?" Robin chimes in. “How soon after are we going to be able to meet the little one?"

"We were thinking the next day. Gives us time to settle in, get some sleep and then have you guys meet him," Joe says casually. That seems to satisfy all parties, your parents nod in understanding and you breathe out a sigh of relief that the conversation doesn't go any further.

Pretty soon after dinner, most of the guests are gone and Joe asks if you want to see the nursery. You immediately hold out your arms and let him lift you to your feet, keeping a hand on the small of your back until you reach the room. Before he opens the door he covers your eyes with his other hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," you let out a small laugh, the anticipation eating away at you, "you've been hyping up these packages for weeks let's see what you’ve done."

"Alright," you hear him open the door and he guides you inside by the hand, still keeping your eyes covered. "3...2...1."

Some of the big things had already been put together. The walls had been painted, the closet space was set up, Joe had brought an LED starry-night ceiling projector (on top of the chandelier that was already in the room) and a sleek, modern changing table with a with several gadgets you weren’t ready to mess with. Yes it was too much. No, he wasn't going to return any of it.

Your eyes scanned the room: a plush, white rug that looked too soft to step on without socks, a glider that seemed to have more tech features than your car, and a Dyson purifier glowing faintly in the corner. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the hands that had come together to make it perfect. “He’s not even here yet, and he’s already so loved,” you said, your voice catching slightly.

"He definitely is," Joe says happily, knowing he and his team nailed it. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." He gestures toward the window, "blackout curtains. I read that they can help babies and toddlers sleep better. They can also help regulate the temperature and reduce noise. For temperature though, I got a Dyson obviously, it's supposed to be the best.” He walks you over to the next spot. “Over here we have the changing table."

"Does this...have a built in warming pad for wipes?"

"Yeah isn't it great?” He beams, “so his little butt is warm when we change him in the middle of the night."

You let out a soft laugh at how much of a softie he already is for someone he hasn’t met yet. "He's gonna be mad we're changing him either way, warm wipes or not. But I know you’ll be using it so it’s fine.”

He opens the top drawer of the changing table, "I put some miscellaneous stuff in here. All organic. Silk-blend crib sheets, swaddles, and burp cloths that I washed yesterday so they're ready to use. Over here is the feeding station and the mini fridge, which I'm really excited about."

"Why do we need a mini fridge in the nursery?"

"Think about this. I'm on overnight baby duty and you're catching up on sleep. Our baby is sobbing because he's hungry. Instead of making him wait while I go downstairs and grab a bottle, we just have the bottles in here. And then this little compartment on this side is a freezer so we can have milk storage bags in here too since the bottle warmer is right there. And watch this,” Joe said, pressing a button on the bottle warmer. “It’s like a Formula 1 pit stop but for babies. Two minutes tops, and he’s good to go.” You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his comparison.

"You know what? I'm not mad at it. Keep going."

"Right next to the fridge is the actual feeding station so we've got a couple pillows here next to the chair, burp clothes and then a little table in case whoever is in here needs water or to set something down. White noise machine is over here. You gotta play with the setting there's like 100 sound options and custom settings. The baby monitor is cool too, it has HD video, two-way audio, sleep analytics, the whole nine.” Joe pick up the expensive contraption. “Here, let me show you some of the noise machine settings."

He was too excited for you to decline, so you motioned for him to go ahead. "This one is ocean waves," he said, hitting a button. A soft crash of waves echoed through the room. "And this is rainforest sounds. Oh, and this one—"

"OW!" you yelped, clutching your belly and bending forward slightly.

Joe froze mid-button press, the sound of chirping birds now filling the nursery. "What? What happened? Is it happening?" His voice rose an octave as he practically leapt across the room to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh through the sharp jolt of pain, waving him off with one hand. "Relax, Joe. It’s not labor. It’s uh...lightning crotch."

"Lightning what?" His panicked expression turned to utter confusion, and he blinked at you like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

"It’s this sharp, sudden pain down there," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward your lower half. "Totally normal. Just your kid punching my nerves like one of those UFC fighters you're obsessed with."

Joe stared at you, wide-eyed. "That’s a thing? That’s allowed? Why does no one tell dads about this stuff?"

You shrugged, still giggling as you slowly straightened up. "Welcome to pregnancy. Every day’s a surprise," you reassure him, patting him on the back.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely rattled. "Okay, so let me get this straight. So far, there’s morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, weird cravings, and now lightning crotch? What’s next? Spontaneous combustion?"

"Would you calm down?" you teased, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s not that bad. Just part of the process."

Joe let out a dramatic sigh, muttering, "You’re making a whole person, and I can’t even keep up with the symptoms."

"You’re doing great, babe," you said with a smirk. "Now, are you gonna show me what’s in the next drawer, or should I add 'Joe having a meltdown' to my list of pregnancy side effects?"

That earned a laugh from him, and he shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fine. But I’m looking this lightning crotch thing up later," he said, giving you a playful glare before opening the next drawer.

Joe is going through the various assortment of baby blankets but what catches your eye is the bookcase. You step closer to it, running your fingers over the leather-bound spines. "Are these…first editions of Goodnight Moon and Oh the Places You’ll Go?"

"Collector's editions," Joe corrected with a sheepish shrug. "My mom used to read these to me,” Joe explained, his voice soft. “I figured…maybe I could do the same for him. Only with the fanciest versions, of course.”

"Of course,” you affirm. “You're adorable. This place is...a lot. But it's genuinely perfect Joe, you guys did an amazing job, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, I should be thanking you. You're making us parents soon."

"I know. Being in here and seeing it finished makes it feel more real. There's gonna be an actual person using this stuff. That's insane."

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the room, "it is insane. And I can't wait. I wonder what he's gonna look like."

"I hope he looks like you, that would be so adorable. Having a tiny version of you would be a dream."

Joe chuckled, a soft, boyish sound that made your heart flutter. "You’re setting the bar pretty high for this kid," he teased, then paused, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But really, no matter what he looks like I know he'll be perfect."

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the hallway, the soft hum of the mini fridge in the nursery the only sound. For a moment, everything felt perfectly still—just the two of you, on the edge of an adventure that would change your lives forever.

You said goodbye to the last of your visitors and you turned around to Joe standing in the middle of the living room holding a notepad and a pen. "Where did you even get that, weren’t you just hugging your mom?"

"I had it on the coffee table. We’re supposed to watch the video for our prenatal class, remember?"

"Right now?" You ask, looking at your phone. It was only 9pm but it felt like at least one in the morning. You felt like Joe with his strict bedtime during the season.

He nods, already reaching for the remote. "I have big plans for us tomorrow so yeah, now is the perfect time."

"Alright, put it on." You relax into him, grabbing your blanket. "You're really gonna take notes?"

"Yeah. This is for educational purposes, I need any helpful tips I can get."

"You're sure you're gonna be able to watch and write things down? I don't want to scare you but, it might be intense."

"Babe, I get chased by grown men who want to take my head off for a living. Intense is my middle name," he places the notebook on the table and ditches the writing utensil, lazily placing his arm around you before starting the video. "You know what? I might not even take notes this time, I'll probably watch it again in my office in a few weeks when we get closer to the due date and take notes then."

You shrug, letting him do his thing. "Whatever you say, babe."

Joe's relaxed posture slowly turned a bit more tense as the video went on, the graphic image of the baby crowning was unfortunately going to be engrained in his memory for a long time. You had to stifle a laugh as his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor cracked like a fine china plate dropped onto tile.

"Is...is that what we're gonna go through? What you're gonna go through?" His voice was shaky, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Yup," you emphasized the ‘p’ sound. "That right there is the beauty of childbirth Joseph." You could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

"Oh my god." Joe muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he tried to mentally recover.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You know, it’s not all that bad. It's just...well, it’s a lot. And it’s very messy.”

He blinked at the screen, still not sure how to process what he’d just witnessed. "Right, sure, a lot. Just—" He exhaled dramatically, trying to find words. "I need a drink. I don't even like alcohol. Or we should maybe just call it a night and go to sleep. I need maybe a small...break from the miracle of life."

You chuckled, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and snuggling into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Joe. Just wait until you're actually in the room. This was just the trailer."

Joe leaned back, a hand on his forehead as he processed the visual overload. "Little man needs to stay in there a little longer. I'm not ready to watch that horror film."

After declaring that the two of you needed a break from baby stuff, you and Joe took it easy the next day, diving into a true crime marathon after he came home from his morning workout. It was the perfect distraction from all the overwhelming baby prep. But today, he was back at it—better than ever.

"Did you know that newborns don’t have kneecaps? They have cartilage where they should be. They don’t get kneecaps until later."

"Wait what?" you ask, clearly confused.

"Yeah, I read it this morning, it's crazy. He isn't gonna have knees for weeks. I could've used that trick in 2020," Joe adds nonchalantly, his tone as casual as ever as he brushes off his knee injury from years ago. The way he brings it up so easily makes you laugh.

"What else did you learn?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Joe glances over at you, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I read that dads who are involved early on in caregiving—like diaper changes and feedings—bond with their babies faster and more strongly. So I’m all in on that."

"Baby?" you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look over at him.

Joe pipes up, looking away from his hospital bag, still gathering his things. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have a choice on that one. You were gonna feed him and change his diapers whether you liked it or not," you laugh and easily catch the t-shirt he tosses at you. It just happened to be your favorite one you liked to steal and it smelled just like him. That was definitely coming with you to the hospital.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, checking everything off your list. You had comfy clothes, fuzzy socks, four outfits (just in case), a phone charger, a portable charger, a water bottle and a robe which you'd never worn before but Joe insisted you bring it because what if this was the one time that you actually needed it. "What's in your bag?"

Joe opened the Nike duffel and let you take a look. "Why do you have your backup iPad in here?" you ask, a little puzzled.

"OTAs start two weeks after he's born. I need to glance through stuff and make sure I'm ready," he explains, glancing at you with a shrug.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, but what are these doing in here?" You pull out his Bose noise-canceling headphones. "Are you gonna tune me out while I'm in labor?"

Joe looks at you with wide eyes, practically dropping the headphones in surprise. "What? No!" He quickly pulls out another pair, a sheepish smile on his face. "I brought some for you too, just in case you want to listen to music and, you know, maybe tune me out a little."

"You're really thinking ahead, huh?" you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joe shrugs, his smile growing. "I try."

You nod, crossing your arms. "I mean, I guess we’ll see if those headphones get a workout during the labor part."

Joe gives you a playful look, his tone still light-hearted but his eyes full of genuine excitement. "I’m just saying, if you need a little escape from my endless rambling during contractions, at least you have options."

"Oh Joey, I love you."

“I love you,” he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, feeling steady kicks against his stomach. "And I love you too, baby boy. Kid can't stand not having the attention on him," he smiles, his voice soft but filled with affection.

"Taking after his dad already?" you tease, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin.

Joe pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a mock-serious expression. "Now you know that’s just not true."

You chuckle softly, resting your head against his chest. "I guess we’ll see, huh?"

He lets you go and the two of you go through all three bags one more time before Joe announces the next task. "Are you ready for our hospital trial run?"

"I still think it's ridiculous but if it'll make you feel more comfortable then I'm in."

Joe carries all the bags down the stairs, tossing them by the door and has the stopwatch open on his phone. "Okay, here we go." He presses 'start' and grabs the keys and the bags while you stand in the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you waddle to the car.

"Babe, why are you going so slow? We're on a time crunch here."

"Well if you must know, your son is crushing all of her internal organs and grinding my hip bones together. If I walk too fast I’ll pee. And then you'll have to get me new clothes and I'll have to change. That'd be really bad for your time crunch."

He drops it immediately. "Okay you're right, take your time."

Once he helps you in the car he rushes around to the driver's side and buckles in, opening the garage door and pulling out of the driveway. You're holding the phone, watching his time as he drives carefully but efficiently, weaving through the streets like a man on a mission. "What if there's traffic that day?" You ask.

"Then I'll figure it out. I just need ballpark range how long it'll take us to get there." He checks the stopwatch again, the third time in the last five minutes.

"Joe, you don't have to treat this like you’re at the two-minute warning during the Super Bowl when you’re down one score."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel despite your words, his jaw clenching as he glances at you, "better to be safe than sorry."

You shrug, reclining in your seat to take some pressure off your back.

"You good?" He asks gently, his hand finding its way to your leg. "How’s the baby doing?" Joe asks, glancing at you between turns, a hint of concern in his voice. "Should we pull over so you can stretch?"

"No, I'm fine," you sigh, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle in more comfortably. "I could really go for some ice cream right now though."

"We'll get some on the way home," he laughs, a relieved chuckle escaping him. "Call it a reward for a successful trial run."

He pulls into the parking lot of the birth center with a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone in your hand. "13 minutes, not bad at all," he says with a sense of accomplishment.

"Yeah, that's great," you smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "I want a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of raspberry sorbet. In a bowl."

"Together?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Yes," you reply, grinning.

Joe pulls out of the parking lot, a proud smile on his face as if he just completed an Olympic event. "Mission accomplished. Ice cream in five minutes."

A week later, Joe was going over a food list with his chef Morgan. "For quick snacks, I was thinking Greek yogurt with granola and fruit, hard-boiled eggs—she'll need the protein. Maybe some string cheese or cheese cubes, nut butter with apples or bananas. We’ll definitely need to stock up on protein bars," he lists off items, looking through the fridge and cabinets.

"What‘a going on in here?" You walk into the kitchen and spot Morgan jotting down every word Joe is saying.

Joe looks up and smiles at you but then pauses for a moment, his eyes tracking your every movement as you waddle over to the counter. He raises an eyebrow. "You alright? You're walking like you just got off a horse."

You roll your eyes playfully but feel a grin spread across your face. "Nice to see you’re paying attention."

"Seriously," Joe says, now focused on you with concern. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he watches you shuffle around. "That’s a pretty pronounced waddle. You okay?"

"Yup, just one of the perks of carrying a tiny human in there." You shrug, trying to act casual about it, but it's hard to ignore how much effort it takes to move these days.

Morgan, glancing between the two of you, stifles a laugh. "It’s the baby," he explains with a knowing look. "The weight shifts, and her body’s getting ready for the big day."

Joe doesn’t look entirely convinced. "I don’t know, babe," he says, lightly tapping your belly. "Maybe we need to get you some support or something. You shouldn’t have to waddle all over the place. Like one of those belly belt things to help take the weight off your hips.”

You smirk. "Trust me, I’ve got it covered. But thanks for noticing."

Joe looks at you, giving you a soft smile that says he’s both amused and a little concerned. "Yeah, no problem. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thanks, Joe," you tease, giving him a playful nudge before you turn to Morgan, who’s still scribbling on his notepad as Joe turns his away again. "So, what do you have so far?"

Morgan lists off everything he’s written, "Trail mix, chia pudding, pumpkin or sunflower seeds—"

"We never have those in the house," you note, crossing your arms. "Why now?"

"They're high in zinc and other nutrients that support lactation," Joe says simply, not looking up from the fridge.

"That's helpful but I really will probably need fruit, veggie sticks and hummus since you're interesting in me increasing my protein intake, maybe some avocado toast and smoothies too? Keep it simple, Morgan. I’ll also need the lactation cookies I sent you."

"Noted." Morgan says, catching Joe’s shake of his head as you laugh.

"Just get her whatever she wants," Joe sighs, exasperated, but with a fond smile. "I’m actually glad you brought up the cookies, Y/N, because I wanted to run something by you. Both of you, actually."

You sigh, already dreading the conversation, and the chef looks up from his list. "What’s up?"

Joe pulls out a folder from one of the kitchen drawers, showing Morgan the list of the “best” lactation cookie and energy bite recipes he could find.

"Babe," you groan, "I told you that you're overthinking the cookies. They’re just cookies."

“Lactation cookies,” he corrected, already flipping to another recipe. “These are important. They’re, like, your fuel.”

"My apologies your honor," you laugh again, "carry on."

Morgan laughs too and Joe playfully glares at him. "Yeah—yeah, laugh it up guys." He gestures toward the folder, "I highlighted the key ingredients on each recipe.”

The chef raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of recipes. “You want me to make all of these?”

You stand up and take a peak at the extensive list, "you don't have to do that Morgan, just make a few batches of chocolate chip and call it a day," you sense Joe tensing next to you and you rub his back a little, "you're doing that thing again. Where you're freaking out instead of relaxing. You need to relax," you say with a small smile, guiding him back to calm.

You take your eyes off of Joe and focus your attention back on Morgan. "Thank you for never flinching at his insane requests, but if these cookies don’t work out, you can just order some. As long as they have oats, flaxseed, and brewer’s yeast to support milk production, then I should be fine."

Morgan nods, jotting a few more things down before he leaves to head to the grocery store. Joe looks at you, his expression softening. You nod at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s done their research,” you say, nodding your head as his lips twitch into a smile.

"I’m impressed.” He gives you tiny claps, the playful gesture breaking the moment of seriousness. “Speaking of research...I may have one more surprise for you."

"I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," you groan, "can you just tell me what it is?"

"I don't think you know what a surprise is," he laughs rubbing your back, "let me just show you and then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

"That's a lie,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. It’s definitely a lie," he admits with a sheepish grin, shrugging like he’s caught red-handed.

Joe takes you to the most unlikely place to reveal a surprise. "Joe...why are we in the bathroom?"

"This is the surprise. Do you see anything different?"

You look around, not sensing anything extremely out of place. Until you see it and tears start pooling in your eyes. "How did you—when did you do this?"

"It's just a little something I put together to make things easier for you when we're home. There's another one in the closet downstairs. I'll move it out so you have easy access when it's time." He pauses, taking a second to collect his thoughts. "I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I know this is going to be tough on you, and I...I want to feel like I’m helping, even if it’s in a small way."

A postpartum station, not the most glamorous gift in the world, but it was one of the most meaningful things he'd ever done for you. Imagining him sitting in his office or sitting up in bed at night doing all this research to ensure you were comfortable made you want to cry. You never thought the sight of adult diapers, nipple cream, and a portable stool could bring you to tears, but here you were, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it all.

Joe gently wipes at a tear that slips down your cheek, his expression softening as he says, ‘hey, don’t cry. I want you to have everything you need. You deserve it."

You blink back the new tears threatening to spill over, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you thought of all this. Thank you, Joe.

"Pretty much," he shrugs, giving you kiss on the side of the head. "Just one more thing to check off the list."

"And what's that?"

"Bringing him home and having him here, physically with us."

You laugh, resting a hand on your lower belly, on top of Joe's hand. "Oh yeah...that one minor detail."

“Minor detail?!” Joe grins, his eyes bright with amusement. “I think that’s the main event, babe. Let’s hope I don’t need a stopwatch for that one.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, “Thank you, Joe. For this…for thinking of everything. If you’re this amazing now, I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

His expression softens, his gaze dropping to your belly as if imagining the tiny life inside. “I just want to make sure you both have everything you need,” he says quietly. He spoke with such quiet certainty that it left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just a job to him; it was everything.

The lump in your throat returns, but this time you let it linger, because this—his quiet devotion, his unwavering effort—is why you fell in love with him. “You’re already doing it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re doing it perfectly.”

Joe smiles, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. Now let’s get through the rest of this list before he gets here and turns everything upside down.”

Your laugh echoes through the bathroom, the two of you standing there in the glow of anticipation, knowing your lives were about to change in the most beautiful way.

[winstonsns]

i read your cuteness aggression for the curtis!reader and i’m in love! can you maybe do preferences with a curtis!reader who’s a year younger than pony? thank you and have a wonderful day/afternoon/night! ☺️

the gang and 13 year old curtis!reader (request)

pairings: ponyboy x reader, johnny x reader, soda x reader, darry x reader, dally x reader, two-bit x reader, steve x reader

warnings: cussing

authors note: this is strictly platonic guys!! i feel like i’ve been falling off lately LMAO. i hope u guys enjoy though 💗

word count: 1.0k

PONYBOY CURTIS

the two of you are the closest in the gang, being the closest in age and him being a protective older brother to you

he doesn’t always feel the closest to his siblings because him and darry are always arguing, soda’s in the middle and doesn’t interfere anymore

but you’re always one to comfort pony after he gets into a heated argument with his oldest brother

he helps you with homework a lot since you’re not far behind him, he helps you study and get super high grades so darry isn’t on your ass for shitty grades

pony also reads you books when you’re stressed, it’s also just something he enjoys doing in your presence

quality time means a lot to him because his brothers are never home, he’ll read a magazine or do homework in a room with you, it gives him a sense of safety

JOHNNY CADE

the two of you aren’t exactly the closest in age but you talk to each other about everything

you and johnny hang out at the lot and sometimes fall asleep there, when you wake up, you direct him to your house so he can sleep there too

sometimes he’ll give you little gifts for fun, remembers a lot of things you tell him

if you talk about a book or item you want once, he’ll get it as soon as he can

he really appreciates your friendship and will do anything to keep it and strengthen it

probably let’s you borrow his switchblade even though he always has it on him, has backups too

SODAPOP CURTIS

he’s the most annoying but loving brother to you, always asking you if you have a partner yet and teasing you if you do

“ooooh.. who were you hangin’ out with today, y/n? you like them?”

“soda, i’ve been friends with them for years!”

“yeah, but do you like them?”

he’s the embodiment of the trend ‘i know love is real because (name) is real and they are full of it’

soda makes sure you have a lot of attention and love, doesn’t necessarily try to replace your parents but is somewhat nurturing to you

he doesn’t rant to you often because he knows it can be overwhelming, you’re just a kid, as he puts it and shouldn’t be dealing with others problems

sometimes he’ll take you to the DX after school so you can gossip and you can learn about working

DARRY CURTIS

darry’s your eldest brother and is extremely protective of you, always checks up on you and asking about your day

he has the same expectations for you and ponyboy, he checks over your homework but is calmer with you

he wants you to be with some sort of guardian wherever you go, even if you’re walking down the street for fun

he knows it’s not the safest for you to be alone, especially at night

because he doesn’t have the best relationship with his brothers, he makes cake with you more often than he does with the others

he does not let you participate in rumbles, he says it’s way too dangerous for you to fight

DALLAS WINSTON

he fucking hates kids so it’s a surprise he enjoys your presence

you remind him a bit of himself, you’re a bit of an ‘outcast in the outcasts’ because you’re the youngest and told you can’t do anything

so dally teaches you how to live in case you ever get put on the streets, teaches you what to do in the worst case scenarios

he’s hard on you though, it’s tough love and he can get really frustrated if you get hurt or in trouble because he’s taught you how to protect yourself

steals random stuff for you, most of the time it’s candy or random sweets like popcorn from the drive in, sometimes it’s a drink

TWO-BIT MATTHEWS

you remind him of his younger sister, he feels obligated to protect you in some way

most of the time, soda and darry are working so they aren’t home most of the time, pony’s hanging out with johnny so keith watches over you

sometimes he calls himself your babysitter because he thinks it’s funny, it’s even better that he knows you’re fully capable of taking care of yourself

he’ll tell you super inappropriate jokes and when darry’s there, he’ll smack him on the back of the head

“two, knock it off. she doesn’t needa hear that stuff!”

“i didn’t even do anything, super—“

he steals stuff for you too, whether it’s something related to your studies or a random item you want for some reason

STEVE RANDLE

originally didn’t want to be around you, he doesn’t want to be around ponyboy and you’re with him all the time

but eventually, steve warms up to you and lets you hang out with him and the gang sometimes

he’s actually pretty smart and not many people expect that from him, he helps you with homework even though he can get frustrated at times if you don’t understand

if you’re into cars, expect him to teach you all about them and for him to invite you to the DX

maybe he lets you help him fix some of the cars, of course you won’t get paid money, instead snacks he gives you for free

soda will come up to you in the morning as you’re barely awake, talking to you

“steve said to come to the DX after school, gonna teach you some stuff about cars.”

[wttcsms]

“she fell first, but he fell harder” with any inarizaki boy of your liking please! 🩵 have a good day~

pairing rintarou suna x f!reader word count 2.6k content contains mutual pining, tutor!au, right person/wrong time, bittersweet ending, unrequited love, slight angst author’s notes maybe not what u anticipated hehe

i.

You don’t look up from your book even though the slamming of a bookbag on top of the table obnoxiously announces the arrival of another student, one who’s obviously going to take the seat next to yours. 

“Hey—” So it’s a boy then.

“—can I ask you for a favor?” 

Now you look up, partially annoyed that he’s interrupted you while you were in the middle of reading a particularly interesting paragraph, but more curious than not. You tilt your head, taking him in. Of course, you know Rintarou Suna — it’s hard for any student in the school not to know him. But just because you’re aware of his existence — and if you dare to allow yourself to be bold enough, you think he’s aware of your own — doesn’t exactly make the two of you chummy enough to ask each other for favors on a Tuesday morning. 

You must have a bad poker face because he raises both hands in mock surrender. “Look, just hear me out. I need to pass this English class or my coach and captain won’t sign off on allowing me to play in the next few matches. I’ve seen the rankings; you’re top of our class. You know this shit a lot better than I do.” 

A beat passes. 

Two startling and equally scary revelations:

Now that you’re finally seeing him up close, Suna’s eyes are a much lighter shade than you thought they were. (Not that you’ve given his eyes much thought up until now, anyway.) It suits him. And,

Suna is absolutely aware of your existence.

“I’ll owe you one.” He says, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s playing at being nonchalant, but you can see it in those lighter-than-you-thought eyes of his that he’s practically pleading with you. 

“I want you to convince Atsumu Miya to do an interview for the school paper.” You finally say. 

Raised eyebrows is the closest thing you’ll get to seeing emotion on his face, you think. “Done.” And then, “Why Atsumu?”

“He’s not an easy person to get a hold of, but I know being the first person to ever interview him will probably mean something in the future.” 

He nods, taking it in. “So it’s not because you’ve got a crush on him?” 

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not; his voice and facial expression give nothing away. Shifting a bit in your seat, you frown. “No. His bad dye job makes him an eyesore.” 

The corners of Suna’s mouth curve up at that. 

ii. 

“I didn’t know you wrote for the school paper,” Suna says. 

“I’m the president of the club.” You push a paper covered in red pen marks, all of them corrections and criticisms against him. “Suna, we’ve been going at this for almost two weeks now. How have you barely improved?” 

“Maybe you’re just not a good tutor.” You can read him well enough to know that he’s only joking. “You wanna be a journalist or somethin’?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. At least pretend to look over your paper.” Sighing because you know he won’t actually do anything unless you appease him, you shrug. “I want to be a sports reporter.”

“So that’s why you were so excited to meet with Atsumu!” You don’t expect him to actually be invested in your life, but you excuse his exclamation as him being bored out of his mind and savoring any distraction he can get. 

The idea of being just a pleasant distraction from the pain of schoolwork makes you feel weird. 

iii. 

As you near the two-month mark since your tutoring sessions began, you make progress with Suna. He’s funnier than you realize, both of you sharing the same dry sense of humor that has jokes that can only properly be delivered if you say it with a straight face. He’s shown you about 200 of the images and videos cluttering his camera roll, and you pretend there’s no intimacy in that. His grades in English have substantially gotten better, to the point where you’re certain one day he’s going to decide that he doesn’t need tutoring anymore. 

(For some reason, that makes you kind of sad.) 

For now, you’re content to just be sitting next to him, both of you silently working on your assignments. He’s rewriting his essay due tomorrow (he’s a bit of a procrastinator, really) and you on your latest article for the school paper. The silence in the library — the silence wrapping the two of you together — is surprisingly comfortable. 

Sometimes, Suna can’t make it to the tutoring sessions, and you pretend that it doesn’t matter. You just shrug and smile and move on. After the third time he does, he confesses that it’s because he’s seeing someone. 

We’re just talking, he tells you. But you know that he must really like her because Suna doesn’t usually waste his breath talking about things he doesn’t care to talk about. He’s the one who brought her up completely unprompted. You actually would have been more than okay with remaining completely oblivious to whoever Suna decides to enter the talking stage with. 

He yawns, stretching his arms while he does so.

It should be illegal, you decide, for someone so out of reach to still be so close to you. If you shifted your body back against your chair, nothing would stop the inevitability of his outstretched fingers brushing against your hair. The thought of that happening makes you far more excited than it should. 

(He never tells you when they stop talking, but you know when they do because somewhere in between all these tutoring sessions, you started to learn him.) 

iv. 

“You really think I’m just messin’ around?” He’s got his elbow resting on the library table, cheek and chin laying against the open palm of his hand. When Suna smiles, it’s a little crooked, almost like a smirk, yet warm enough to cause heat to rise to your cheeks, especially when he’s smiling and staring at you like that, like you’re the one person he actually wants to see. 

“You’re always messing around,” You point out. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” There’s that familiar pleading look in his eyes that contains enough superhuman strength to pound away at your steely resolve. It’s the same look he gave you all those months ago when you two were nothing more than classmates exchanging favors. It’s the same damn look that got you caught up in all sorts of messes: rearranging your schedule to tutor him, suddenly spending more time making sure you look good for school, rejecting the other guy who first asked you the same question Suna’s asking now… 

“I’m serious. Please go to the dance with me.”

“You didn’t even give me chocolate or flowers.” You manage to say, trying to ignore the pleased sensation that overtakes your body. It’s a different reaction from what you felt when your other classmate asked, and he at least had the decency to bring you your favorite drink from the vending machine when he did it. “This doesn’t seem like a very serious request.” 

He snorts. “Would you have even wanted me to show up to homeroom with a poster and a bouquet and the twins serenading you as I asked you to a school dance?” 

He knows you well enough that an extravagant proposal like that would have you wanting to run into the nearest bathroom stall and lock yourself in there until school ended. The fact that he knows you would hate anything remotely close to that, less dramatic or not, makes you agree to go with him.

(Perhaps he’s spent these tutoring sessions learning you, as well.)

v.

“Hey!” 

You turn around at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling when he comes into view. Donned in the same oversized gown, graduation cap hanging from one hand, Rintarou Suna is smiling back at you. 

“Knew you would graduate top of our class. Congratulations.” 

“And you were ranked within the top twenty. Being a volleyball star just wasn’t enough for you, huh?” 

It feels good to be out here, freshly graduated and knowing the rest of the world is out there, just beyond the boundaries of your high school. The heat is getting the best of everyone wearing the thick graduation gowns, but instead of looking like a sweaty mess like the rest of you mere mortals, Rintarou just seems to shine, as if he’s made for summer. His hair sticks up, probably an effect of being stuffed in the cap for so long, and you find yourself pressing down on his hair. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help him tame his cowlick, and the action is so familiar, that it doesn’t even catch him off guard.  

“My tutor carried.” He says, grinning at you. 

(You feel considerably warmer now, and it’s not because of the sun.)

The laugh you give him makes his grin only grow wider. You sound equal parts pleased and surprised, just like how you always do whenever he decides to randomly compliment you. Is it bad that he wants to make you laugh like this for the rest of his life? 

Before he can make a proper quip, one that will surely have you laughing even harder, someone is gently tugging you away from him. 

“Hey, babe, my parents wanted to get pictures of us together.” And then, as if realizing Suna’s right there even though he’s tall enough to be hard to miss and close enough to tug you back towards him, the boy stares at him. “Oh, hey. Suna, right?” 

Everyone here pretends as if it’s not already obvious that you all know each other. 

“Congrats on nationals, man.” 

“Thanks.” Suna says, without sounding the least bit thankful, even though he should be. He thought the two of you broke up already, and he’s been preparing for how he’s going to confess his feelings for you for the past two months now. At least now, he won’t have to suffer your rejection and embarrass himself for making a move on a taken girl.

“C’mon, my mom’s going to hate us if we keep her waiting any longer.” Your boyfriend is holding your hand, leading you toward wherever his parents are. You turn your head, looking like you want to say something to Rintarou, anything at all, but instead you give him a shrug and a small smile. 

He keeps that smile of yours tucked safely in his pocket, not knowing that it’ll be a few more years until he gets to see it again. 

vi.

Staying in touch is hard, but Suna is nothing if not stubborn. A random TikTok sent to you at 2 AM here, an attempt to meet for lunch if the two of you are in the same city at the same time there. 

Getting drunk from your high school reunion and sneaking into the library the two of you spent the better half of your high school years pining after each other in is the most fun Suna’s had in years. The two of you are lying on the plush carpet, too drunk to care about how dirty it must be.

“Gosh, we spent so much time in this place.” You’re looking up at the ceiling, tacky glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to it, remnants left behind by students who graduated way before you two. 

“Some of the happiest times of my life.” He’s being too honest without realizing it. 

You laugh, thinking he’s just joking because you always think he’s joking every time he tries to hint at his feelings for you. Feelings that didn’t hit him until he realized how pretty you are, even with your hair tied back and your bottom lip being bitten to death by your teeth as you type away at an article none of the students in this school will even bother to read. Feelings that he wished he confessed to you on the dancefloor, when the two of you slow danced, and you asked him are we doing this as friends? and he didn’t have the balls to say anything but of course it’s as friends. 

“Yeah, I bet having me roast the shit out of every paper you wrote was the highlight of your second year.” 

“It’s because it was you doing it that made me so happy.” 

You laugh even louder at that. “Oh my God, Rin, you’re such a sap when you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not just sayin’ shit just to say it, y’know? I mean it.” He tries his hardest to make the sincerity in his words stick, but he’s drunk, and his words are kind of slurred, and his intentions just slip and slide away. “I liked you back then.” Still do, he doesn’t say. I still like you.

“No way, really?” You turn to face him, wide-eyed with a tipsy smile on your face that lets him know that you just don’t know how serious he is right now. “Because I had the biggest crush on you in high school too!” 

He always assumed the feelings were returned, but the possibility that they weren’t — that him confessing would just fuck up your friendship and have you leave him — was too large for him to risk it. Swallowing hard, he asks,

“Did you… Did you ever think we would end up together? Back then, I mean?”

You hum, too inebriated and maybe too distant to him now to recognize the pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted us to, but then I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell you would actually like me back. Gosh, this was all so long ago, though. I can’t believe we used to like each other, isn’t that so funny, Rin?”

The used to reveals enough to him. 

vii.

You’ve made a name for yourself now. You’re not just a mere sports reporter (he doesn’t know that he’s the first person you confessed your dream career to), but every professional volleyball team in Japan has deemed you their favorite reporter to see out on court. Rintarou blames the fluttering of his heart and the excitement that floods him every time he sees you at one of his games on your popularity, but he sees through his own flimsy excuse. 

You don’t show favoritism when it comes to conducting your post-game interviews, but tonight, you’re standing in front of the camera with him, smiling up at him with a microphone in your hand. He’s happy you’re here, but the only question he cares to answer is the what if? that’s been haunting him ever since that reunion. What if he confessed in high school? What if he sobered up after that night and told you the truth? Would this interview be different, then? Would you still say,

“Congratulations on a game well played!” 

And would he still say,

“I heard some more congratulations are in order.” He’s giving you the same lopsided smile he always gives you, the smile that rests on his face yet belongs to only you. It’s all anyone could talk about. Pictures of you flood his timeline; his teammates, other players, and sports fans alike all were overjoyed at your happy announcement. You didn’t just win his heart over, but a good portion of Japan’s as well. 

“Congratulations on your engagement.” 

You smile at him, practically beaming, shining so much brighter than these stadium lights, and he holds onto this one even tighter. A smile just for him, placed right next to the memory of the one you’d given him at graduation.

[jesncin]

Hi there!! I was wondering if you could talk a little bit about what the process of being published was like for Lunar Boy? Were there any struggles you faced trying to get it seen? Any tips for others trying to get their work published? Thank you in advance and I love your work! :)

Hullo there! Sure! Unfortunately things have changed a lot since I pitched years ago so I don't know how replicable my publishing journey is nowadays. But I'm willing to share!

So! I always knew I wanted to write for kids, but in art school we were trained to be cape comic artists. Back then (if you can believe it), making middle grade comics was considered something that would sink your career. At that point in history, American comics was trying so hard to prove "we're not for kids!" that they left a chasm in the market for children's comics. Then Raina Telgemeier's bestselling books proved there was a hungry readership of kids and suddenly the trad pub industry is excitedly picking up middle grade graphic novel pitches (ironically, including cape comics).

I was studying my Masters in the US as this was all happening, and decided to use my time in the program to generate as many middle grade pitches as possible! The first one I made was Lunar Boy, but the story was so well received that it ended up being the one we pushed forward as a pitch and develop the most across classes. On Twitter there was this event: #DVPit, which is a pitching event for marginalized authors looking to seek editor interest on their pitches but also! To get agented. In its heyday (before Melon Husk ruined everything. This event is no longer on twidder sadly. Many pitching events have ceased to happen or are on hiatus from how unusable that platform is now) it was a fantastic event. I got agented on my 2nd try of the event, and it got the industry an early look at Lunar Boy and made them excited to see it out on submission.

My agent, Britt Siess, was extremely helpful with giving us feedback on how to refine our pitch. Not only did she give us story feedback, but I was surprised also by her comics feedback- that was more nuanced than I expected (little did I know that she's a huge comics nerd). She had connections to all the editors I was interested in pitching Lunar Boy to, and we were out on submissions right as we graduated with our Masters degree (during the start of the pandemic lmao).

I already had early editor interest in Lunar Boy which I think helped a lot with getting it picked up. I've been told that it helps to meet editors in person and get chummy with them before pitching to heighten your chances, but that wasn't really the case for me. I've never met my editor (Carolina Ortiz, I love her she's amazing) in person, but she did actually reach out to me long before we went out to pitch- on a Simu Liu tweet trend of all things lmao.

(I didn't end up looking like evil boy band members in pastel clothes in the final book, I went for cultural clothes instead which I think is the more bespoke choice haha) Carolina reached out to me from this tweet and we actually talked back and forth about Lunar Boy, refining the pitch. I felt like she understood the story despite asking for big changes. I don't think she'd do something like this anymore, but I really appreciated it at the time (I wasn't even agented yet). All the editors I met in person for events like Editor's Day at school liked my art (and would even hire me for colorist work and the like) but they weren't interested in Lunar Boy. This was reflected when we finally went on submissions too.

We got a lot of rejections, vague language like "we don't know how to edit this" or "we already have a book like this" (??? press X to doubt). Compounded with all my interactions with editors in person, I felt like I was "marketable" as an artist but not as a storyteller because our stories were so unapologetically QPOC- with culturally specific queer identities to an already underrepresented identity. The editors that were interested in Lunar Boy had personal connection to the story (they were either also from blended families or QPOC themselves). But hey, you only need one yes to get a book deal. We ended up with Carolina as our editor and she's been our rock and champion for this book since the beginning. We were out of submissions in just a week (which is really fast in the industry).

My big tip for getting into the trad pub graphic novel industry is to study the market. A lot of people mistaken publishing as a vessel or platform for their untold story, when really it's a business we compromise with. Pay attention to trends, book deals, shifts in the industry, read your peers' books, everything. Research is key with getting your foot in. Lunar Boy may look like an out-there book, but at its heart it's a story about culture shock, trying to fit in, along with family and friendship problems. In trad pub especially, locking in to sellable tropes and trends is key. Find clever ways to innovate and work within those limitations at the same time. Be open to feedback and changes. I know so many people are held back from getting book deals because they're too attached to their story. It helps not to be phased by rejection and or take things personally. I've been very desensitized to talking about books like a business, since that's what it took for someone like me to make it out there.

I hope that was helpful!

[when-wax-wings-melt]

Keeper of the Lost Cities: A Love-Hate-Love Relationship, And What It Can Do To Your Psyche 

This is the essay you guys wanted to see after this presentation dropped; to be clear, this is the final draft. The presentation was made from the rough draft, so it's rather different.

Also, the essay prompt was to make it personal. So the italicized bits are where I was trying to do that, and they are both separate and a part of the essay. They break up the flow, but are also a response to the normal bits of the essay. You get it. Here we go.

In total, the Keeper of The Lost Cities (KOTLC) series by Shannon Messenger has over 7000 pages, split between nine and a half books (Book 8.5 was, uselessly, a novella) with a planned tenth coming in late 2024. It’s the kind of series that hooks you the same way a fisherman hooks a fish: with a promise of a treat that goes very, very unfulfilled. This is to say: KOTLC is a good series, at least at first. It’s certainly been my core obsession for a good (or bad) five years. It’s a hook because you can’t escape once you’ve begun. It’s my own personal brand of heroine, as Edward Cullen might say if Bella were a too-long book series that doesn’t resolve any plotlines or character arcs and instead piles more information on top of worldbuilding until contradictions are more plentiful than the packed main cast.

KOTLC is a good series, but the idea of recommending it feels like I’d be violating several articles of the Geneva Convention. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, and yet the thought of it ending is an impossibility on the scale of the apocalypse and I hope (I’d rather) the world ends before this series does. KOTLC is a minefield of sloppy worldbuilding, deeply compelling characters, and---where am i without it?---bits of myself woven into the many, many words, sinking under my skin and revealing what I think I have to offer. 

Sophie Foster is the protagonist of the series, trudging the long, never-ending path to what hopefully will be a happy ending. Like the author, Sophie has blonde hair and brown eyes, making her unique among her fellow elves, who all have blue eyes, including the rare-among-the-main-cast people of color.

There are so many things that make Sophie weird, strange, unique, attractive to every boy who sees her, and otherwise out of the ordinary: for example, she has five special abilities that allow her to teleport, read minds, inflict pain, speak any language, and enhance the abilities of others---i cannot do what she can, but she breathes and i do too---There are certain things she has very much in common with her fellow elves, such as her slender build and flawless skin, but much more makes her, as her childhood bullies would say, “A Special Sophie-Flake.”

Sophie was raised by humans, which not only means that the steadily growing pile of unique traits is now tottering dangerously above my head, but also that she’s clumsy and wildly insecure. This insecurity has a purpose and a source, making it one of the most annoyingly (and terrifyingly) accurate depictions of teenage anxiety in middle-grade media (if I were a vampire pulled from normal vampire lore rather than Twilight and I looked at her, I’d be invisible)---so do you get it? do i? 

which one of us is me---Sophie has intense imposter syndrome, never believing she’s worthy of the overwhelming support, approval, and desire heaped upon her throughout her years in the Lost Cities. In Book One, four teenage boys were no less than obsessed with her, possibly because she, presumably, talked to them sometimes. Valin, a “drooly boy” (named due to his constant drooling, as one might expect), is forced to ballroom dance with Sophie in detention, and later gives her a card and a bracelet professing his admiration. Dex Dizznee manages to sustain his crush until he finally makes his move in Book Six, and is rejected in humiliation after she kisses him to make him realize his feelings aren’t actually real---when I know that he was lying to himself, is lying to himself. truth is a phase and it ends once you hit age eight---After Book Six, only two remain: Fitz and Keefe, each of whom has made their crushes very, desperately, embarrassingly clear to someone who very clearly returns both sets of feelings.

“Sooner or later you're going to have to solve the triangle. Or should we get real and call it a square?” (Messenger Neverseen), notes Keefe, with his usual subtle confession of his feelings---only leaving me with questions: did he want her to know at all? is he chasing the person or the change? the girl or the excitement? the wanting or the wanted?---The love polygon of however many vertices is both acknowledged and not by Sophie— she’s aware of her feelings for Fitz from chapter two of Book One, becomes aware of her feelings for Keefe in Book Nine, and mentally friend-zones Dex every other sentence, even when it’s not really relevant to the rest of her inner monologue. Her inability to believe with confidence that she might be worthy of a crush (or any sort of positive acknowledgment) is layered beneath every thought where she considers the possibility of being liked, and then promptly dismisses it.

---she knows that admitting it means being wrong. i will be wrong, unless i guess right and am big-headed, full of myself. who am i---

Sophie’s oblivious nature stems from her human upbringing, directly resulting from the trauma of developing the ability to read minds at age five. She hears her parents wishing she were normal or better at making friends and fitting in, her sister complaining about her presence, and her classmates at school judging everything she does.

She sticks out like a sore thumb in the human world, only to come to the elven world and be called a freak, malfunctioning, a genetic experiment, and a failure, just when she thought she might fit in---when i am a puzzle piece, a corner without the connection---Her alienation in the human world (referred to as the Forbidden Cities in the series) comes from her level of success, skipping five grades due to her elven intelligence and photographic memory, and getting into Harvard at age twelve.

While she hates the combination of jealousy and admiration she’s constantly showered with there---who hates it and loves it at the same time? isolation and contradiction---in the elven world, she’s hated for other reasons: accidentally breaking laws, making mistakes, or simply being a blip on the seemingly perfect streak the elven world has for peace and security. Is there any mystery as to why she would never believe that people actually, genuinely care for her? She’s formed her protective coating of denial that lasts her through every time Fitz gives her a gift and she convinces herself it means nothing, or every time Dex shows his jealousy, or every time Keefe goes to her before anyone else.

Even when she kisses Dex, after he tells her in anything but words that he likes her, she doubts herself—are two sides of the same coin, where heads is insecurity and tails is egotism. question: who is she?---She doesn’t think he actually likes her, appreciates her, admires her. This doubt works its way into everything she does, every relationship she has, platonic, romantic, or otherwise. Yet again, she shows her status as a reflection---answer: she’s a mirror. i know who i am because she exists---reading into everything and still not believing or trusting that it truly exists outside of her imagination.

Any time Sophie sees a girl she perceives as prettier, more elegant, or smarter than she is, she instantly develops a jealousy complex—relating either to how Fitz acts around them, or how they project the confidence and normalcy she wishes she can achieve---to tell me whether or not i am alone---She surrounds herself with people who are described as incredibly stunning even in a world where every elf naturally matches the ideal Western beauty standard.

Yet she refuses to believe that she, too, might be beautiful, and instead considers herself dull and boring next to Biana, Linh, Marella, and Maruca---(and ten books later, i still do not have an answer)---Even Stina, who has committed the number one crime (it’s a federal offense) of having “a mass of frizzy curls” (KOTLC 164), is considered beautiful when her hair is “tamed” and slicked back. This framing of beauty applies to the boys, too, but none of Sophie’s descriptions are quite as detailed, quite as admiring, or quite as wistful as when she’s describing Biana Vacker’s heart-shaped, perfectly glossed lips---so, yes, i look at her and see myself. is that what i’m trying to say? is that what i am?---

But the queer-coding doesn’t stop (or begin, really) with Sophie’s dedicated denial of both her worth as a human being and her desire to kiss her pretty girl friends. A connection called a “Cognate Bond” is often referred to in the text as the closest two elves can become, emotionally and mentally.

Cognates exist when two Telepaths (such as Sophie) have such a deep and unbreakable trust bond that they become more skilled together than they were apart. In creating and maintaining this bond, they have to complete trust exercises and not hold back secrets keeping them from total confidentiality---she thrives on secrets---Sophie’s cognate is her friend (and love interest, and, debatably, ex-boyfriend) Fitz, whose romantic relationship was in a large part focused on their cognate one. Their trust exercises involve staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, having matching rings, and Fitz telling Sophie that she’s the only person he can truly trust.

Fitz also asks his father at one point if cognates are allowed to date each other— his father affirms the statement. Notably, Alden has the authority to do so since he himself was a cognate, only undergoing a nasty breakup— sorry, only losing the bond, after his cognate, Quinlin, kept too many secrets. It’s implied that two other characters were once almost Cognates, only to grow too far apart when one of them, Prentice, had his sanity forcibly shattered and was locked in prison, leaving his (gay lover) best friend, Tiergan, to raise his son---while cognatedom thrives on truth, and also regret, and also the denial of both---The choice to parallel Fitz/Sophie, Alden/Quinlin, and Tiergan/Prentice was possibly not a conscious one but it still resonates with hundreds of queer teen readers who look at the portrayal of utter devotion and trust between two men and think, Wow. This is what I see in myself---but without the denial, without the regret, what are we left with? what do we see?

we see the truth.

We see ourselves.

There are so, so many other issues that I could easily delve into in this series (such as the strangely Western portrayal of gender roles, the racism concerning the Song family, irresponsible adults and the ethics of genetic experimentation, the girlboss and cardboardification of quite literally every woman, etc) and just as many things that make Keeper of the Lost Cities worth it (Fitz’s anger, the development of villains, Sophie’s trans-coding, Keefe’s trauma, physical ramifications of guilt, Marella and Fintans’ pyrokinesis/queer-coding, whatever Dimitar has going on, etc).

The series tends to skew to the “not good” side, although on occasion it will topple abruptly into the “incredible work of art and exploration of wildly interesting character dynamics” before rising like an angel back to heaven into its original position as “questionable in terms of taste.” Mostly, what defines KOTLC is how it’s interpreted rather than the content itself. Someone far different (and with far worse taste) than I might see Fitz’s quest for vengeance and call him a red flag in elven form, while I call it a ridiculously interesting exploration of what grief, near idol worship, toxic standards, and guilt can do to a teenage boy past his limit.

But I am not the voice of the fandom (even though I definitely should be). I look at Sophie Foster and see myself, but that does not make her me. These characters always feel so painfully real, desperately relatable, as if Messenger cobbled together a main cast from bits of my life, but they are not. In the end, they are just characters. In the end, it’s just a series made for middle schoolers, in the same way the sun is just the sun, and the stars are just there to twinkle merrily and not to be explored.

(where am i without it? I cannot do what she can, but she breathes and I do too so do you get it? do i?  which one of us is me when I know that he was lying to himself, is lying to himself. truth is a phase and it ends once you hit age eight only leaving me with questions: did he want her to know at all? is he chasing the person or the change? the girl or the excitement? the wanting or the wanted? she knows that admitting it means being wrong. i will be wrong, unless i guess right and am big-headed, full of myself. who am i when i am a puzzle piece, a corner without the connection who hates it and loves it at the same time? isolation and contradiction aretwo sides of the same coin, where heads is insecurity and tails is egotism. question: who is she? answer: she’s a mirror. i know who i am because she exists to tell me whether or not i am alone (and ten books later, i still do not have an answer) so, yes, i look at her and see myself. is that what i’m trying to say? is that what i am? she thrives on secrets while cognatedom thrives on truth, and also regret, and also the denial of both but without the denial, without the regret, what are we left with? what do we see? we see the truth. We see ourselves.

[in-halingstardust]

hi love! i saw your hsr matchup event is live and i'd like to send my request~ pronouns: she/her/they/them gender: female spice tolerance: spicy personality indicators: intj 5w4 ; melancholic-choleric signs: pisces sun / taurus rising / taurus moon hogwarts house: ravenclaw alignment: neutral good alignment preferred gender to be matched with: male

personality: studious, business-minded, tech-savvy, a little bit of a perfectionist, tends to overwork, stubbornly independent, calm and composed, intimidating at first glance (according to colleagues), reserved and extremely introverted, protective to loved ones, obedient and respectful to authorities but will not hesitate to call them out if necessary, blunt, idealistic, highly organised, loves to play video games or read and write books on spare time, passionate, drawn to mysterious, historical, gothic, and horror subjects

hobbies + likes: researching abandoned and haunted places, writing, reading, exams, stationery, business-related topics (esp finance), coffee shops, bookstores and libraries, electronic shops, technology, video games, dark royalty / dark academia aesthetic, classical literature, classical music, detective/crime/mystery/horror stories (esp. from 19th century), cats, history, listening and belting out to musicals when alone, greek mythology

dislikes: bugs, studying repetitive subjects without gaining new knowledge, failure to meet own expectations, unnecessary change

physical description (in case you need it): dark brown hair that reaches the middle of the thighs, brown almond eyes, warm ivory skin tone, top hourglass figure, wears glasses and switches them out with purple contacts sometimes, always wears a necklace and a pair on rings on both hands

if you need anything else, feel free to ask! thanks!

First of all, I want to say I absolutely love your works with the TWST fandom! I have read through so many of them on my "main" (well more like my dead) blog. This is a little longer, but more of a thank you for me for your stories :,D

I'm going to pick Dr. Ratio for you! ⋆⭒˚.˚.⋆⭒˚.⭒˚.⋆

You and Dr. Ratio I feel have similar interests. Like-minded individuals striving to know more about this dysfunctional world. High expectations, a sort of strive for the greater knowledge of the world. There are only a few who can stand on the same stage as you two.

It's almost a sort of rivalry. A small smirk that is passed with one grade is higher than the other, the glances while the other is presenting, the small inside jokes that are layered between sarcasm and logicality. If any one of your classmates were to explain this they would simply say genius' brains are on a different universe. It's not because of that.

Lets be honest. It's because of the sex,

❥ For the serious front that you both pertain in front of your colleagues, your neck itches from the tight blouse buttoned up to your neck. What’s wrong? Ratio states, it’s a question he already knows the answer to. Don’t want to show off my handiwork? Underneath thin cotton you hide a line of bite marks from the previous night, littered across your body in an arrangement of shapes. ❥ He gets this way when he is in a good mood. ❥ You give him a little push, enough to calm the faint tint across your cheeks. It’s hard not to think about last night. Reminiscent of strong muscles holding you down by the hips- bruises still forming-, his hands wrapped around your hair pulling gently to gain more access to your neck. The way you cried out for him last night and his muffled groans against your skin… ❥ No. You breathe in and out. It’s just a distraction from the presentation. Besides, if you both passed there would be a reward afterwards…Not that you have ever failed.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for almost killing my 8th grade english teacher? (warning: racism, sa mention)

I (M16, 14 at the time, white (this is important later)) was part of the newspaper in middle school. The teacher running the newspaper (F… 50? 60? i have no idea) was always really nice to me, and we got along really well. I was ecstatic to see that she would be my english teacher in 8th grade.

That is, until the class actually began.

This english class we mostly read books about oppression and historical atrocities and genocide because our history class wouldn’t cover that for some reason (the reason is racism). It seemed like this teacher would have done a good job of teaching this material, but well. you can see where this is going.

a week into the school year the whole class saw that she was pretty racist - not like overtly racist; she sort of said she cared about fighting oppression and then… was a part of that oppression. like she’d say “i could never be racist” and then she would be racist. it’s hard to explain. she would always be incredibly weird about disciplining the Black kids in the class, blaming one guy in particular for like. every time a guy in the class acted like and eighth grade boy would act. she was also really condescending to him; she’d constantly make comments about how he couldn’t follow rules (which obviously isn’t true). she did this to an extent to all the other Black kids in the class as well; later when some of them went to the principal to talk about what happened they said they didn’t feel safe in her class.

additionally, pretty much nobody even stood for the pledge of allegiance (we were usually busy reading cause the library in that school was really nice and had a really good collection of books), and when they did they’d never actually say it. this teacher had a problem with this, and every time she saw absolutely nobody in the class standing for the pledge of allegiance, she’d make the entire homeroom (oh yeah i was in her homeroom too, forgot to mention that) tell her why they didn’t for literally the entire class period. Every time someone mentioned systemic racism or racist history she’d butt in either saying “my parents were immigrants and they stood for the pledge” or she’d start talking about her gay son. some kids told stories of being called slurs when they were younger. some kids cried. she would always bring up her gay son as a rebuttal. and i get that being gay is hard, i’m gay myself, but that is not in any way applicable to the situation at hand here. This happened on three separate occasions - sometimes a single person would stand for the pledge just so there was at least one person doing it and so we wouldn’t have to have that conversation.

And then there was the actual teaching. oh boy. so, as i said before, almost all of our books in this class were about some sort of historical atrocity because the history class didn’t have time for it apparently. and uh. uhhhhhhh yeah. with this teacher it was not a good experience.

We had read books about racism for summer reading and we were reading the novel Chains at the beginning of the school year, and the teacher would always talk about how “resilient” the characters in the books were and how they made the best of their situations and fought back, but never about how these characters should have never had to be in these situations in the first place and WHO PUT THEM IN THESE SITUATIONS, WHAT SYSTEMS PUT THEM IN THESE SITUATIONS YOU KNOW THE KIND OF STUFF ONE WOULD NEED TO KNOW FROM A COURSE LIKE THIS TO MAKE SURE HISTORY DOESNT REPEAT ITSELF. Later in the year we read Warriors Don’t Cry and it went exactly how you’d expect. “Resiliency”. Also worse than you’d expect. The teacher victim blamed the author, a real ass person writing about real fucking events, for almost being assaulted at a young age. And though we focused more on the systems of oppression, thankfully, we also watched and interview with the little rock nine and some of the people who harassed them in school, and one of them, a white woman, said the n word and refused to apologize. and this teacher defended her???? On another occasion we had a lesson about feminism and we read some of Sojourner Truth’s writing, and she interpreted it as solely being about womanhood and not race - and when I tried to talk about how race is an important factor in the message of one of the speeches, the teacher called my parents. We also read books about the holocaust and this teacher was surprisingly respectful throughout the whole thing. No victim blaming, no talk of resilience, nothing.

I had talked to her about all of this before. We knew each other from the newspaper, and it even seemed like I was her favorite student. She would not budge. Sometimes she even made the argument that I was smarter than the other kids, that I cared more than the other kids, that I would notice these things and care about them but other kids wouldn’t and I should just shut up because nobody understands me because i’m just so smart. which made me fucking pissed. i don’t care any more than the other kids who told you stories of being harassed and ridiculed at 8:30 am on a weekday so that the whole class could excercise their freedom of speech. i’m not any smarter than the other kids who cited countless examples of the atrocities this country committed against people of color to you who you didn’t listen to. in fact, i’m not even that smart. i’d say i’m kind of an idiot. and i want to be an idiot, because then i’m not put on a pedestal to push other people down.

This happened two years ago so i don’t exactly remember the order in which these next three events happened.

Since during these talks sometimes i’d start to cry, in may my french teacher asked me if i wanted to transfer to her homeroom and i did. It was a lot better there.

Around this time about eight of the kids from my old homeroom went to the principal to talk about this teacher and how her class made them feel unsafe.

Anyway, my backpack is very heavy. I usually have a lot of books in there, until this year I used five subject notebooks, I never clean out my folders and I brought a laptop as well. Even with all this though, my backpack always ends up being heavier than I expected.

So, one day my anger toward this teacher boiled over. On my way out of english class, when she went to say goodbye to me, I shoved her to the side with my backpack. It turns out that broke her hip, and she was out of school for two weeks. When she came back she said she had almost died in the hospital. She also announced her retirement, and that she was going to go and “end racism”, ironically. She knew I was the one who hit her, but she didn’t say anything about that. I was still her favorite, apparently. It left a bad taste in my mouth that she still thought of me like this. Eventually I graduated from that school and I haven’t seen her since.

tldr: A teacher of mine was racist and making a lot of the kids in the class feel unsafe, and she tried to keep me from arguing with her about it, so I hit her with my backpack and broke her hip, almost killing her.

AITA???

What are these acronyms?

[antianakin]

hiii, it's me again, someone who keeps popping in to say things nobody asked for lol. i was wondering if people who've been in the fandom longer (like you) agree with my impression that the novelizations are reallyyy important context for fanon interpretations? i didn't realize this until a discussion i had today iwth someone who helpfully summarized some of the popular prequel novels, which seem to match up really well with headcanons & fanon personalities. apparently stover emphasized obi-wan's devotion to anakin and how he's a ride or die for him. and apparently another popular novel wrote an adult obi-wan "as if a teenager in emotional maturity" which also would, you know- explain a lot.

the novels i've actually read are the jedi apprentice series, which i don't have much issues with, even though they certainly spin the trauma wheel lol. maybe it's been qui-gon and obi-wan both feel as if they are trying their best and their misunderstandings due to mutual action, rather than pure passivity? or maybe that even though the books have very dramatic conflicts that certainly put obi-wan in woobifiable situations, they more often than not help draw out distinct characteristics and strengths of his through those situations?

Just for clarity, I have NOT been in this fandom all that long by my own standards. I obviously did watch Star Wars as a kid and read some Star Wars fanfics when I was really young, but in terms of "participating in fandom" as such, that's really only been happening since like... 2021 maybe? It was basically a COVID byproduct, I had the time to consume some Star Wars stuff I'd never managed to get around to before and things devolved from there. And I honestly have read hardly any of the novels or comics myself, including the official film novelizations. Like you, the only books I've actually read are the Jedi Apprentice middle grade books, and that's really it.

So while I can speak to some of the experiences I've had in this fandom since I got into it a few years ago, I cannot speak to what fandom has been like since those novelizations were released almost 20 years ago now.

Matthew Stover's ROTS novelization seems to be pretty popular and considered one of the better novelizations. I've had people tell me that there's SOME evidence Lucas had something to do with the book and so it's often considered a fairly high level of canon as a result.

But the passage you're referencing where Stover emphasizes how Obi-Wan is "ride or die" for Anakin is genuinely one of the reasons I've never bothered to read it, no matter how pretty people say his prose is. If you want to actually see it yourself, I'll copy it below.

The line in question comes from an extended version of the scene in ROTS where Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Mace Windu are discussing Anakin's reaction to being asked to spy on Palpatine as Yoda heads off to Kashyyyk.

“I think," Obi-Wan said carefully, "that abstractions like peace don't mean much to him. He's loyal to people, not to principles. And he expects loyalty in return. He will stop at nothing to save me, for example, because he thinks I would do the same for him." Mace and Yoda gazed at him steadily, and Obi-Wan had to lower his head. "Because," he admitted reluctantly, "he knows I would do the same for him.”

Interpret the scene how you will, I guess. The Anakin characterization meshes with how I tend to understand the character, but the Obi-Wan characterization could not be farther away from how I see him in canon.

I don't know anything about whatever novel wrote Obi-Wan as though he had the emotional maturity of a teenager. That doesn't ring any bells for me. It wouldn't surprise me at all if there are authors who've written Star Wars books that just simply don't like Obi-Wan all that much and so if he shows up in their work, he could come across as having the emotional maturity of a teenager because that's how that author chose to write him. It would seem odd for it to show up in an official film novelization, I would expect it more in some of the Legends content, but I suppose it's not impossible.

Legends content in general DOES have an impact on fanon and fan interpretations of Star Wars because, for a long while, it was the only way to GET more Star Wars content beyond the films themselves. For a lot of people, they were canon because there was nothing to refute them. And even once there was, people sometimes were still so attached to those stories that they preferred them to the story told in the films.

So, yeah, it can have a major impact on people's understanding of things. Often if you get into discussions about, say, the Jedi or the Force, people will bring up Legends content to prove their arguments. You shouldn't feel like this means you personally have to consume any Legends content you don't want to consume. I tend to avoid it most of the time. It is perfectly for you to just stick with the films or the shows or whatever books you find most interesting. And even within that, what you consider canon doesn't have to include literally everything you've chosen to consume. I've read the Jedi Apprentice books and enjoyed them, but it ISN'T real canon and I don't necessarily take any of it into account in my own interpretations of the characters. Legends content and Disney EU content is, in many ways, just officially licensed fanfiction. If you don't consider every fanfic you read to be canon, you do not have to consider every Legends book or comic you choose to read to be canon, either. Sometimes it's fun to just see other people's takes on Star Wars even if there's no way to fit into the canon story of Star Wars (as a side note, this is why I love Star Wars: Visions so much as a show).

I don't know if this really answered your question. As someone who doesn't consume a lot of Legends content and hasn't read a single one of the official film novelizations, I may not be the right person to ask about this.

[angrybell]

An Israeli author was supposed to appear and give a talk about her books at the Pushkin House, part of the University of London. It was due to occur on . With the date approaching the people at Pushkin House sent the following to Ms. Rubina.

Good afternoon, Dina

The Pushkin House advertised our upcoming discussion on social media and immediately received critical messages regarding your position on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. They would like to understand your position on this issue before reacting in any way.

Could you formulate your position and send it to me as soon as possible?”

Natalia! “

Ms. Rubina responded with the following open letter.

An OPEN LETTER

from Dina Rubina

“Dear Natalia!

You have written beautifully about my novels; I am very sorry for the time you have wasted. But it seems we’ll have to cancel our meeting. The University of Warsaw and the University of Torun have just cancelled lectures by the remarkable Israeli Russian-speaking writer Yakov Shechter on the life of Jews in Galicia in the 17th and 19th centuries – “to avoid aggravating the situation”. I suspected that this would also happen to me, because now the academic environment is the main nursery of the most disgusting and rabid anti-Semitism, hiding behind the so-called “criticism of Israel”. I was expecting something like this, and even sat down three times to write you a letter on the subject… but I decided to wait, and so I have waited.

That’s what I want to say to all those who expect from me a quick and obsequious account of my position on my beloved country, which now (and always) lives in a circle of ardent enemies who seek its destruction; on my country, which is now waging a just patriotic war against a violent, ruthless, deceitful and sophisticated enemy:

The last time in my life I apologised in the headmaster’s office, in the ninth grade. Since then, I have done what I think is right, listening only to my conscience and expressing only my understanding of the world order and human laws of justice.

And so on.

I’m really sorry, Natalia, for your efforts and the hope that you could “cook something with me” – something that everyone will like.

Therefore, I ask you personally to send my reply to all those who are interested:

On Saturday 7 October, the Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah, the ruthless, well-trained, carefully prepared and perfectly equipped with Iranian weapons Hamas terrorist regime ruling the Gaza enclave (which Israel left some 20 years ago) attacked dozens of peaceful kibbutzim and simultaneously pelted the territory of my country with tens of thousands of rockets. Atrocities that even the Bible cannot describe, atrocities and horrors that make the crimes of Sodom and Gomorrah pale in comparison (captured, by the way, by the frontal and chest cameras of the murderers themselves and boastfully sent by them in real time to the Internet), can shock any normal person. For several hours, thousands of gleeful, blood-drunk animals raped women, children and men, shot their victims in the crotch and in the head, cut off women’s breasts and played football with them, cut babies out of the bellies of pregnant women and immediately beheaded them, tied up small children and burned them. There were so many charred and completely burnt bodies that for many weeks the pathologists could not cope with the enormous burden of identifying individuals.

My friend, who worked in a New York hospital waiting room for 20 years and then spent another 15 years in Israel identifying remains, was one of the first to arrive in the burned and blood-soaked kibbutzim with a group of rescuers and medics… She still can’t sleep. A medic used to cutting up bodies – she fainted from what she saw and then vomited all the way back to the car. What these people have seen is beyond words.

Together with the Hamas fighters, the “civilian population” rushed into the holes in the fence, joined the pogroms on an unprecedented scale, robbed, killed and dragged whatever they could get their hands on into Gaza. Among these “peaceful Palestinians” were 450 members of the UN’s UNRWA scum. Everyone was there, and judging by the stormy total joy of the population (also captured in these inconvenient times by hundreds of mobile cameras) – there were a lot of people – Hamas supports and approves, at least before the real fighting starts, of almost the entire population of Gaza… The main problem: our residents were dragged into the beast’s lair, more than two hundred of them, including women, children, the elderly and non-essential foreign workers. About a hundred of them are now rotting and dying in the Hamas dungeons. Needless to say, these harassed victims are of little concern to the “academic community”.

But that’s not what I’m talking about. I am not writing this to make anyone sympathise with the tragedy of my people.

For all these years, when the world community has literally poured hundreds of millions of dollars into this piece of land (the Gaza Strip) – and the annual budget of the UNRWA organisation alone is a BILLION dollars! – All these years, Hamas has used this money to build an empire of the most complex underground tunnel system, to stockpile weapons, to teach primary school children how to dismantle and reassemble a Kalashnikov assault rifle, to print textbooks in which the hatred of Israel defies description, in which even the maths problems go like this: “There were ten Jews, Shahid killed four, how many are left?” – with every word calling for the murder of Jews.

And now that Israel, shocked at last by the monstrous crime of these bastards, is waging a war to destroy the Hamas terrorists, who have prepared this war so carefully, planting thousands of shells in all the hospitals, schools, kindergartens… – here the academic world of the whole world has risen up, worried about the “genocide of the Palestinian people”, based, of course, on data provided by… who? That’s right, by the same Hamas, by the same UNRWA… The academic community, which was not concerned about the massacres in Syria, the massacre in Somalia, the mockery of the Uighurs or the millions of Kurds persecuted for decades by the Turkish regime – this very concerned public, wearing “Arafat” around their necks, the trademark of the murderers, rallies under the banners “Free Palestine from the river to the sea! – which means the total destruction of Israel (yes, many of these “academics”, as surveys show, have no idea where this river is, what it is called, where some borders are…). – Now this very public asks me to “take a clear position on this issue”.

Are you serious?! Are you serious?!!

You see, I’m a writer by profession. All my life, for more than fifty years, I have been folding words. My novels have been translated into 40 languages, including Albanian, Turkish, Chinese, Esperanto… and many others.

Now, with great pleasure, without using too many expressions, I sincerely and with all the strength of my soul send all the brainless “intellectuals” interested in my position to the ASS. In fact, very soon you will all be there without me”.

Dina Rubina

[local-queer-classicist]

I finally got to read Chalice of the Gods and I was not disappointed. Ganymede is probably one of my favorite characters in Greek myth but I wasn’t ever sure he would get to be properly portrayed in the series due to the nature of his story combined with the constraints of a middle grade series. I was afraid if he ever did properly show up the darker elements of his story would get brushed over and that would kinda suck, so part of me never wanted Rick to even try with Ganymede. But I really like how he handled him in this book. The clear terror of Ganymede throughout, how gross Zeus feels (“I like watching him walk away” die in a fire you piece of shit I swear to god), but all handled in the way you might expect the same heavy topics to be handled irl when there are children in the room. The story isn’t gone, the effects are very much there and those who know can see it, but nobody says it and it makes sense that they don’t. Ganymede wouldn’t be comfortable talking about it to a bunch of teenagers he doesn’t know, the other gods/goddesses we meet along the way would either be too uncomfortable with the subject matter in general (as many if not most people would be), not want to tell Ganymede’s story for him, be hesitant to draw Zeus’ ire by portraying him in a bad light, or just not see the situation as a problem due to their nature of being terrible people. It absolutely makes sense that nobody says what’s going on. So even when it feels like it’s being brushed over, it feels like the characters in the world are doing that for their own reasons, not that the author is doing it to spare the innocence of his young readers.

(It’s also pretty on-brand that Percy knew next to nothing about the myth and didn’t look it up. His assumption that the myth would probably be told from Zeus’ side and therefore not be terribly helpful is understandable, but he failed to consider that Zeus is such an asshole that “Zeus’ side” might still include some pretty damning details because Zeus would fail to recognize that he’d done anything wrong that he might want to leave out. I was impressed that Percy took the time to try and look Gary up, though, even if the attempt was unsuccessful. That’s character development hard at work, folks.)

[aroaceleovaldez]

I’ve seen quite a few people discuss TSATS specifically in the manner that it’s supposed to be a middle-grade book, and I’d like to throw my two cents into the hat.

Particularly, I don’t think it’s reasonable to excuse the failings of TSATS just because it’s supposed a middle-grade book. The failings of the book are primarily structural, both narratively and just in basic writing structure, neither of which are excusable of a middle-grade novel - Especially given this is Mark Oshiro’s first major foray into middle-grade, as they typically write YA. It also seems that TSATS’ rating is actually upper middle-grade, so there’s even less excuse for the quality of the book. The problem isn’t that the book is bad to a non-middle-grade reader, or even bad as a middle-grade book, the problem is that the book is bad in general. So much of the book’s quality and execution feels just so poor in ways that you would typically expect to get caught very early on by the editorial team. Being middle-grade doesn’t excuse it being structurally bad for any reading level. It feels like the editorial team didn’t care about the quality of the book at all. There’s an unreasonable amount of places where the sentence and paragraph structures are poor, the writing is unclear, there’s basic continuity errors within the same sentence, the pacing is bad, and an overall lack of grammatical consistency (you can actually tell which portions of the book are written by Rick Riordan versus Mark Oshiro based purely on the use of s’ or s’s - if you see something like “Hades’s palace“ then it’s Riordan, and if it’s something like “Hades’ palace” then it’s Oshiro - this type of inconsistency should have been made consistent by the editing team).

The book also completely fumbles its attempts at handling its intended themes with any kind of grace or respect to the reader. TSATS being middle-grade (particularly upper middle-grade) doesn’t mean it can’t feature heavy themes, or that it has to dumb them down for a younger audience! I speak as someone who is extremely familiar with the Animorphs series - which is actually lower middle-grade. It’s basically like the poster-child for presenting complex themes and ideas appropriately in a middle-grade series. The way middle-grade is formatted is it’s about the writing structure (how simplified vs complex it is and so how easy is it for a middle-grade reader to understand) and how the concepts are presented, not about the actual concepts themselves. Animorphs is a really good example of this in that most of the books are less than 300 pages and the language is very simple. However, it doesn’t shy away from strong topics or dumb concepts down for the audience. It balances heavy topics with jokes in stride (see: The entire book about psychochemical warfare and the ethics of that, but the psychochemical warfare in question is dumping instant maple and ginger oatmeal on space slugs). And a lot of Animorphs books are actually ghostwritten! I would also argue the Warrior Cats books are another good example, particularly the novellas. They’re a similar length to TSATS, again written by a team of authors, are middle-grade rated, and don’t shy away from some pretty graphic stuff. They’re not the best books in the world, I mean, they’re rapidly churned out cat books for middle-schoolers. And they also tend to be full of errors. But at the very least most of the errors in the Warrior cat novellas aren’t basic structural stuff that you’d expect an editor to comb out within the first couple of passes or major basic details for a very prominent character or worldbuilding. Something equivalent to the types of errors in TSATS would be like a warrior cats novella about Brightheart not remembering how she got her scars or who Swiftpaw was or what Shadowclan is called, and every three chapters you read the jankiest sentence you’ve ever seen.

There are absolutely ways for the types of themes they were trying to handle in TSATS to be presented to a middle-grade audience appropriately, effectively, and with respect. TSATS was not even close to that. Again, I point to Animorphs! You wanna talk about writing PTSD for a middle-grade audience? Animorphs is your series. Animorphs gets into some heavy shit. But the way it’s presented is always appropriate for a middle-grade audience. Middle schoolers can handle more than people give them credit for (have you ever read middle-schoolers roleplaying warrior cats? I have. they do not hold back.) - they’re at the exact age where that type of stuff is not only interesting to them and they want to read about it, but that it’s important for them to begin to be introduced to those types of concepts in a way that’s appropriate for their age so that they’re prepared for when they encounter those topics or themes when they’re older.

The first Percy Jackson series actually does this really well! Percy has PTSD in the first book from Gabe! This is very clearly acknowledged and referenced throughout the first series (and even into Son of Neptune!) - and it’s specifically from Gabe, not being a demigod. We see characters grapple with grief and witnessing death and being in shock from that (the “dam” scene post-Bianca’s death, and the explicit acknowledgement that all the characters are so emotionally exhausted and harrowed from witnessing Bianca sacrifice herself for them that they get all giggly over stupid “dam” jokes). TSATS refuses to allow any emotional pay-off from the scenes. The Gorgyra interludes are the only thing keeping the pacing from being absolutely abhorred for half the book. There’s tons of narrative set-up that goes nowhere. There’s sentences that are so disjointed you wonder how they got written in the first place. This book shouldn’t have gotten past the editors, honestly.

[llamasaysrandomstuff]

the fear of mediocrity

sylvia plath was right when she so relatably said

what horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

i too believed myself to be brilliantly promising, brimming with potential. maybe this delusion was constructed by my consistently high grades and praise from authority figures. however it came about, it stuck with me. carried into my college years. made me despise the person i am.

academic validation. a noose, a vice, a chaotic destruction. nothing ever good comes from it. movies have been made and books have been written to try to decipher the utter wreck it can make a person. because what am i if not the worth of the results in front of me. the romanticised notion of dark academia. chasing that high is something i should have left behind. taking it one day at a time is the only thing i'm currently capable of.

it is said that reality is often disappointing. in my case, it was fine. i never expected a bright future, a big house or a shiny car. i just wanted to live on my own terms. so when none of these things seemed to be actually happening, i was relaxed, cemented in reality. but still. i had potential. i was smart. i was talented. i was at the top of my class. what happened. where did it go. i wasn't supposed to be just average, forever cornered at the crest of something great.

i feel stupid. i am stupid. wrong decisions at every step. no future plan. because how am i supposed to work towards something that i don't believe exists. always in the back of my mind, since i turned into a legal adult, a voice saying i wasn't supposed to live this long. so if it's borrowed time anyways, what does it matter. failure and mediocrity should then be embraced. but there are expectations. people more stupid than u have done this so why can't you.

justifications and excuses for failure, ready beforehand. realising that no matter the effort i put in, it won't compare to my own potential. fuck the other people, i can't even compete with myself. it has led me to not even try, because why do something that is doomed for failure. but. regret. i could have done more. i know I'm smarter than this. i know i can do better. then why can't i do it. it kills me knowing that i let something so achievable slip through my fingers. not because i want it or care for it but simply just for the satisfaction of it. to prove a point. to maybe feel like life isn't that hard.

what ifs have a grasp on me. detaching from the present to live in a hypothetical. rarely do i tap into what's happening around me. even then. disappointed, i withdraw.

there is this undying, pestering want to achieve everything. a want to do everything, be everything. never settling for one thing. losing everything as a result. opportunities gloss by me. too scared to reach out and cement a future. settling for mediocrity is the last thing i want. but. mediocrity is my undeniable truth and my heaviest burden.

if that's not enough, i am but the myriad of the things i want to achieve. but trying to be good at several things and lacking excellence in all is not praised. yk jack of all trades master of none and all that. but then what am I supposed to do? carry on with something i'm not naturally perfect at? absurd.

perfectionism. procrastination. laziness. doubt. hindrance to what i could have had.

and for fucks sake, i know I'm young, i know i have my entire life to figure it out, i don't need to achieve everything right this moment, but the crushing burden of expectations and hope is right now. you can figure it out later. your 20s are for you. but. establish a career in your 20s so u can enjoy the later years. both can't be true. one is a condolence in the face of failure the other is reality.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

:)

(almost) 258 for 📖 (x2 for the other ask)

---

Buck doesn’t really know what to do. He doesn’t know how to be. This isn’t… This isn’t his strong suit. 

It might have been. He almost got there. With Abby. When her mother died, Buck had been all in. He tried to comfort her. Was there for whatever she needed, twenty-four seven. Helped with the funeral. All of it. But he supposes, now, that it wasn’t enough. 

He’s never known how to be enough. 

“Uh,” Buck mumbles now, watching Eddie. Who he doesn’t owe anything. Who isn’t expecting him to be anything at all. “Let me know if there’s any extra support I can offer to Chris, okay?”

Eddie nods. “Thanks, man.”

And that’s it.

He doesn’t see a lot more of Eddie Diaz that year. 

2020

ix.

“Okay, you ready for the study questions?” Buck asks. 

“Yes!” Chris replies confidently. 

“The Statue of Liberty was a gift to the United States from which country?” 

“France!” Chris answers. 

“Nice,” Buck praises.  “Independence Day commemorates what event?” 

“The Declaration of Independence,” Chris says. “Duh.” 

Buck smirks. “Correct. In what year did the Civil War begin?”

“Uh… 1860?”

“Not quite,” Buck says. “Close though.”

“1861!”

“Did you actually know that or was it the next easiest guess?” Buck asks skeptically.

“Well, was it right?” Chris asks cheekily. 

“It was…”

“So I knew,” Chris says. 

Buck chuckles. “You’re trouble. But, trouble that’s ready for his American history quiz.”

“Yes!” Chris cheers. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Chris is still coming to the library several times a week. Buck has gotten pretty familiar with his classes and homework. He helps Chris more than any other kid. Not because Chris necessarily needs more help or isn’t getting it elsewhere. That’s not it. Just… They kind of have a good thing going. Buck understands how Chris learns best, and he has fun helping him research. From the fourth grade equivalent of a book report, to a science project on bugs, and now, for basic American history. 

Today, they’ve got extra time. It’s over half an hour after Eddie or Carla - or occasionally Christopher’s aunt, Pepa - comes to pick him up. Most of the other kids have gone home. No one has come for Christopher.

“Hey, Chris, who is coming to get you tonight?” Buck asks as Chris cleans up his history workbook. 

“My dad,” Chris says. “After work.”

Ah, okay. Firefighter shifts can be unpredictable, Buck has learned. You don’t just clock out in the middle of an emergency because your shift is over. You wait it out. Unlike the library. Which is closing soon. 

“He’s probably just stuck at a fire, huh?” Buck asks.

“Or a car accident or medical emergency,” Chris recites dutifully. 

“Alright, well we can be patient,” Buck says. 

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Can I read some comic books instead of homework?”

“Of course you can!” Buck says. “Homework help hour is over.”

Another half hour passes, and it’s time for Buck to close up the library. Chris is the only visitor left in the building besides Jackie. Jackie is an older lady who does puzzle books on the couch of the front foyer several hours a day without fail. She comes to a lot of the library’s special programming too. The kind that isn’t for families and kids, like author talks and craft nights. She’s pretty sweet, and always heads out as soon as Buck starts closing shop. Buck gives her a little wave, and she tells him to have a good night.

“See you tomorrow, Jackie!” He calls as she leaves. 

Buck gives it ten more minutes. Watches Chris reading comics in the kids’ section. Eddie still doesn’t show up. It’s dark outside. Rainy. Buck has heard thunder at least twice. He starts to get worried. 

He logs back onto the library admin computer and looks up Eddie’s number. He calls from his personal cell. It goes to voicemail. 

“Hey, Eddie. This is Buck. Uh, the librarian. You know who I am. Anyway, the library is closing and I’ve got Chris here with me. Just hoping to get an update on your ETA. Thanks.”

A few minutes pass. Eddie doesn’t return his call. He tries Carla. She doesn’t answer either. Buck doesn’t have Pepa’s number. This isn’t good. 

“Buck,” Christopher approaches the desk quietly. “Is my dad going to be here soon? I’m hungry.”

Yeah, so is Buck. It’s definitely past dinnertime. 

“I, uh… I haven’t heard from him.” Buck admits. “But let me make one more call and see what I can do, okay? Maybe I can order us some takeout.”

“Okay,” Chris mumbles. His voice is missing its usual spark of joy. He’s scared. Buck understands why.

But Buck has one more option. He doesn’t have Chimney’s phone number, so he steps away from Christopher for privacy, and calls his sister. 

“Evan?” Maddie picks up after two rings. “I’m on break. What’s up?”

“Hey, can you send me Chimney’s number? Or, like, call him for me?”

“Sure, but he’s working. He won’t pick up for a while. Why?” 

“Well, I’m here with Eddie’s son,” Buck explains. “The library is closing and no one has come to pick him up.”

“Oh, shoot. No one came? I guess that means you haven’t heard.” 

Buck’s stomach drops. “Heard what?”

“The call Chim and Eddie’s firehouse is at… It went kind of bad… It’s on the news.”

“H-how bad?” Buck asks.

“Well…” Maddie sounds nervous. “I don’t know for sure what’s going on. But I think…” 

“What, Maddie?” Buck presses.

“One of them, not Chimney, is trapped underground. I saw Chim being extracted on the news, rescuing a kid. There was a mudslide… It could be Eddie.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Buck says. Library language be damned. 

“Yeah…”  Maddie sighs. 

“Okay, listen…” Buck groans. “I can’t get in touch with any of Christopher’s approved pickup people. There are procedures for this, and I don’t like them. So… I’m going to break the rules.”

“What do you mean?” Maddie asks.

“I’m going to take Chris to grab dinner, and then I’ll drive him to the firehouse. Can you tell Chimney to tell Eddie? And update me if anything else happens?”

“Are you going to get in trouble?” Maddie asks.

“Only if Eddie files a complaint.”

📖

“So something is wrong with my dad,” Chris says, over a McDonald’s dinner. Buck could have probably done better than this; but he had no time to prepare and it’s not like anyone has ever taught him to cook. 

“Why do you say that?” Buck asks. 

“Because if he was just running late, he would have called you,” Chris explains.

Buck takes a sip of his Coke. He doesn’t know how to handle this. This kid lost his mother not even a full year ago. He’s probably terrified of losing his dad, too. 

“Well, okay, Chris… Something is going on.”

Chris pauses, midway through reaching for a chicken nugget. 

“What is it?” Chris asks. 

“Well, you know how my sister works for 9-1-1?” Buck asks.

Chris nods. 

“She says that your dad’s firehouse responded to a pretty scary call,” Buck explains. “So he’s out there being a brave hero right now. And that might take a while.”

Chris sighs. “Okay.”

“Are you still okay to hang out with me until we hear from him?” Buck asks.

Chris nods. “Yeah. Thank you for the Happy Meal.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” Buck says. 

📖

He gets the call from Chimney an hour later. They’re in the car, driving to the fire station. 

“Hey, man. Maddie says you have Christopher?” Chimney says when Buck answers the phone.

“Yeah, I do. Uh, you’re on speaker. I’m driving to you. Chris is in the backseat. He can hear you, okay?”

“Uh, okay. Hey, Chris. How’s it going, buddy?” 

“It’s good. Buck bought me chicken nuggets,” Chris says.

“Oh, that’s great, kid,” Chim replies.

“Uh, so, h-how is Eddie?” Buck interjects.

Chim takes a moment to reply. 

“Well, listen. He’s okay. But it was a hard call. And Eddie… Your dad, Chris, he was… He was underground for longer than we would have liked. He had some trouble getting out. So he’s pretty cold and a little banged up. But he’s gonna be just fine.”

Buck feels a wave of relief.

“That’s great, Chim,” he exhales. “Thanks, man. We’re on our way. We cool to stop by the firehouse?”

“Yeah. We’re on our way back, too. I think Eddie would really like to see Chris.” 

“I want to see my dad!” Chris exclaims. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Buck promises.

[pidgeeepombo]

°•*RADIO SILENCE*•°- Alice Oseman

°•book review•°

Hi my dear space readers! How are you?

Firstly, I'll say: this post will have many >MANY< SPOILERS!

It's just a personal opinion about this book that I love so much, and I have no one to talk about, if you want, comment your opinions about it too! Oh, and English isn't my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors! And sorry for the long post btw🌷

Well, I finished another osemanverse book, Radio silence. And I have many considerations to make.

But first of all I wanted to say WHAT AN AMAZING BOOK. MY GOD ALICE IS A LEGEND! I just love it

So, this book took me much longer to read than it took me Solitarie, even though it was shorter, the beginning of the book took a while to capture me, but as I read and understood Francis's feelings more, seeing the construction From her friendship with Aled, the revelations about Carrys and also the entries into the universe city, I simply fell in love with the book.

I even think that Francis and Aled are my favorite characters.

(I already say that i love this book?)

I was able to identify with Francis (even though my academic life is much more similar to Carys' in terms of grades) and I thought it was really amazing How the author brought up this theme of "do I really have a real personality or do I Am I just pretending to everyone??" this is just incredible.

Besides, reading this book makes me see how HORRIBLE internet fandoms can be. The discovery that RADIO was ALED reminded me a lot of the events in "I was born for this" (another book by the same author)

My memory is horrible, I just know that on one page Aled and Francis were just being happy and a few pages later I was in tears. The scene where Francis says sorry to Aled gave me strong crying spells in the middle of class.......... (In fact my friend who sits next to me started reading this page with me, she told me that "I would never read anything I was reading again because I only read sad things" while he looked at me almost crying)

By the way, Omg, IS SOMEONE PUTTING CAROL LAST'S OLD LADY IN AN ASYLUM??? SHE'S A TERRIBLE MOTHER, MAN SHE KILLED ALED'S DOG, I ALMOST THROW THE BOOK AT THE WALL IN THAT PAGE #ihatethatwoman.

I confess that I miss seeing Aled's view of the events a little, since his only points of view in the book are in the Universe City eps. but I think that at the same time the universe of the city was the only way that Aled had to express himself, and as Daniel says in the book that it seemed that the universe of the city was the only thing that Aled really liked to do, it also gives the feeling that he was “trapped in his own world”, as is also mentioned in the book.

Aled Last shows us even without a POV how depression separates us from others. And how narcissistic mothers ruin their children's mental health (I hate you Caroll)

And Francis shows us how everything other people expect from ourselves shapes our personality. Even though we convince ourselves that we know ourselfs.

One of the phrases I liked most in the book was: "I can take some aggression from time to time. I'm strong. I'm a star. Cyborgs live and fall apart, but I'll never fall apart. Even when the dust of my bones flies over the walls From the city, I'll be living and I'll be swaying, I'll wave and laugh." -universe city ep 132 (book: radio Silencio by Alice oseman)

Sooooooo this is it! Bye space readers! See yaa on another post!✨

Art by @aliceoseman!💖

[ink-flavored]

12, 16, 18, 19 for the ask game!

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨

thank you @bloodlessheirbyjacques !

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

Wish 1: Once I self-publish, all of the marketing for my books is done for me, at the level of a professional... marketer... person. I hate marketing and I wish someone would be do it for me, but also I refuse to tradpublish lmao

Wish 2: I don't know how else to phrase this, but I wish editing didn't make me want to peel my skin off. Genie, please make editing more fun or at least satisfying.

Wish 3: Some kind of Writing Pocket Dimension, where I could go to write when I feel motivated, and time in the real world would not pass while I was in there. Theoretically infinite writing hours.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

I don't really use weird things as bookmarks. I have a whole pouch of them, I've even made my own bookmarks. So... idk probably a receipt when I couldn't wait to get home to start reading a book I just bought? I've used the "hold" slips from the library like that, again when I just couldn't wait until I got home.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

You can read the whole story this passage is from (one of my anthologies), but here is a little piece of it:

She ducked under a curtain of vines and Candice followed. She hadn’t touched a plant in years, but since meeting Maggie at a terrarium build-off, she was warming up to trying again. After all, her gray-banded kingsnake, Barbecue, was going need a new enclosure soon. If she could overcome her plant-killing tendencies and make it a vivarium for him, she would be the proudest snake parent in all of Athendrolyn.

Well the backstory is "I need Candice to have a reason to go to the plant nursery so the rest of the plot can happen." Luckily for me, the incredibly necessary character sheet I created for building the characters for my anthologies has a "pets" section! Candice has a reptile, so maybe she's building a vivarium. But she doesn't know what she's doing, so she needs help. She turns to her friend who is literally a plant for advice! Success!

I'm also trying to influence the minds of my readers and convince them getting a reptile pet would be awesome. Is it working.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I've been writing and telling stories for as long as I can remember, but the journey to wanting to write professionally happened in middle school. It was a couple things actually!

We started our poetry unit in... seventh grade, I think? During that whole 6 week period or whatever it was, we were expected to write a poem every day to start class. Everyone always praised how good my poems were, and I also thought they were pretty good!

Then, either that year or the next year, I saw one of my favorite authors give a presentation/book signing at a local university. I remember vividly, walking out of the building with my giant freshly-signed book in my arms, thinking about how much the book had influenced me, and desperately wanting to be on that stage one day, giving my own presentation and answering questions about a story I wrote. That moment was when I decided what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, and here I am!

[send me a weird writer ask]