#a sentence that is technically correct that should never have been technically correct

[hilacopter]

hey remember that time social justice activists boycotted a film company into erasing jewish representation from their movie

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass. 

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space. 

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape. 

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention. 

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile. 

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu. 

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same. 

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose. 

But really what could you do? 

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye. 

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip. 

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements. 

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer. 

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself. 

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead. 

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person? 

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients. 

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly. 

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark. 

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’ 

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock. 

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm. 

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.” 

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you. 

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’. 

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels. 

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible. 

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much.  (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind. 

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins. 

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it. 

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation. 

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet. 

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle. 

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’ 

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face. 

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor. 

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis. 

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before). 

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peek lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off. 

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control. 

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves. 

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage. 

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe. 

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork. 

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though. 

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes. 

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain. 

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation. 

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak. 

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity. 

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms. 

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. 

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out. 

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?” 

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it. 

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space. 

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword. 

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.” 

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys. 

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal. 

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!” 

You slam the door with finality.

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[whityoungplushie]

hello fellow aliens. I AM HERE TO DISCUSS SOMETHING ONCE AGAIN!! this time, instead of discussing xandvid. IM GOING TO TALK ABOUT CHARWHIT!!

(once again this could be spoilers for the new drdt episode, aka chapter 2 episode 12)

in the newest episode, i noticed something, that every single time charles would talk, whit would finish his sentence, this goes both ways. (whit saying something and charles finishes the sentence.) its also kind of weird that whit knows charles doesnt have a alibi, but this could just be a coincidence, we will never really know. BUT WHAT WE DO KNOW IS THAT CHARLES AND WHIT HAVE GOTTEN WAYYYY MORE CLOSER THAN AT THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME. WE CAN ALSO TELL THAT CHARLES IS TRYING TO BE MORE KIND TOWARDS WHIT. like for example, in chapter 2 episode 2, whit says "Oh, right. I did say he was my "friend" during that trial, didn't I. To be honest... That was a total lie! I only said that to make everyone believe my case! But I guess he took it to heart, or thinks he owes me, or something, because he's been weirdly nice as of late." blah blah blah whit goes on to say hes changed his mind, and that they are friends.

and yes, i know. THIS COULD ALL MEAN NOTHING. but JUST THE FACT THAT CHARLES BECOME KINDER TOWARDS WHIT EVER SINCE THE TRIAL IS JUST. JUST SO SWEET I GUESS YOUD SAY??

so technically, what im trying to say is charwhit, no matter if you ship them romantically or platonically. THEY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER!!! in my opinion that is, and it's okay if you dont ship then at all, because at the end of the day everones opinions should be respected!

once again, thank you for reading all this. whats your opinion on the new episode?? id like to know! any theorys you guys want me to address?(if any of this information is wrong or something spelt wrong, please tell me so i can correct it! THANK YOU!!!)

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (4)

4. An Icy road

MASTERLIST

Summary: You come face to face to Cregan Stark again, and to ask no small thing out of him

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoif customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, talks about having sex, might miss some warnings +18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.8k

Notes: IT’S HERE PEOPLEEEEEE, THEY ARE MEETING UP AGAINNNNNN

Stunned was the word that described more properly the face of the Warden of the North.

Your proposal had been so blunt, and unabashed that it was completely out of guard.

“My Princess…”, he started, but cut himself off, he looked behind him and they were all stunned as him was

That had been an hour ago, now, he had invited you in while he took counsel with members of his Winterfell court. And you walked aimlessly through a room that you guessed was to receive people.

The castle, unlike their outside, was comfortable and warm on the inside, every room held a big fireplace, tapestries in the walls, and warm color dressed each room you had been in, it was pretty.

The Red Keep was the most luxurious place, but this was… homey.

“Psst”, someone tried to catch your attention, and as you looked at the corner of the room, you saw a girl, the same one that cheered after your abrupt proposal. 

“Come this way”, she said, and you followed her, she guided you through a small corridor, in the middle of it, there was a vent, from where you could hear what was happening in the main room.

“I’m Sara Snow by the way, Cregan’s half sister”, she whispered, and you smiled

“I’m (Y/N)”, you introduced, “Is nice to meet you”

“I was waiting for you”, she whispered

“What?”, and then she shushed you, and you both listened in

“Nobody will discuss it, that she is a nice, beautiful Princess, but, my lord, what you need to do is marry a Northerner girl, with blood of the first men pumping through her veins!”, said Lord Karstark, palming his forearms

“Someone like your own daughter?”, mocked the Lady of the Dreadfort, “your motivations are so transparent”

“We all heard the rumors about the princess, that she is dismissed from her own family, unwanted, a pariah… her own birth, if not for King Viserys, she would be a bastard, technically…”

“That’s enough”, sentenced Cregan 

“She traveled half the continent to offer herself to you my lord, she has no shame”

“I said enough”, he said again.

“Say thank you, but no thank you”, reasoned another, “send the princess back to King’s Landing, she is a Targaryen, dragons don’t fair well when they come North”

“She might not be what we expected from a princess, but she was sent by the King, refusing her would be refusing the King himself”, fighted another 

“She is the daughter to Aegon Targaryen!”, interrupted one voice, the maester of arms of Winterfell, “I don’t like the Targaryens more than any of us, but “the conciliator” was the kind of man that shows up once in a lifetime!”, he continued, making you smile, “he improved the roads throughout the North, he managed to lower our taxes during winter, and created bonds with the Tyrells for us to get more and better grains…And they sent us his only child to marry our Lord Stark, we should be honored”. Your eyes filled with tears, there he was again, your father, taking care of you even if he was gone

“I agree”, relented the other, “But she is more lamb than dragon, I’m afraid”

“Perhaps that is just what we need”, said the maester

There was a silence, a good silence

“She is just a child”, muttered Cregan, and your heart broke a little bit

“She has been of age for the last two years”, said the maester, “she is a woman” 

“I’ve known her since she was a child”, corrected Cregan. “She follows other gods, other cultures, she…their houses go against our beliefs…”

“She was born a natural daughter from Falena Stokeworth and Aegon Targaryen, she was not born off of incest”, reminded one, and you knew that he was looking for excuses. 

“We could never afford feeding her dragon especially in winter”

“But we would have a dragon as an ally to the North, the greatest ally”

“My Lord”, sounded the same similar voice, Lady Bolton, “you are the one that is going to marry her, sleep by her side every night, and give her your children, it's your decision, and we will support you, no matter what you decide”

You didn’t want to hear anymore, Sara watched your face and followed out of the passageways.

You came back to the same room they asked you to wait in, and Sara accompanied you

“It was nice to meet you but I think they will send me back to King’s Landing”, you said bitterly

“I don’t know about that”, she said, as Cregan came out of the hallways and walked towards you, you took a step towards him with a scared look on your face.

“Your grace”, he said solemnly

“My Lord”, and as he looked at you he pondered, about you, about the first time he ever saw you, about the second one, and that he hadn't seen you in five long years. “Please my Lord”, you whispered, “don’t send me back…”, you begged him with your eyes and to him, you turned to be that thirteen year old again, hiding from her own family, and that turned his legs to jelly. You were begging, but you didn’t care.

You might have been desperate, you might beg, but this was your only shot, you need to make it count.

You didn't want to go back to King’s Landing, and he didn’t want to be pestered anymore about taking another wife, this… might work

But you were a young southern girl, did he have the patience to teach you, to guide you through the wilderness? The North wasn’t like King’s Landing, it was cold, and inhospitable.

As wolves didn’t fare well in the south, dragons didn’t do it in the North.

“I beg your grace to give me a day to think about it”, he said solemnly, “in the meantime you will be our guest here, in Winterfell”, he muttered

“Of course”, you muttered with a shy smile. “All the time you need, I will happy to spend the day here, I have never traveled so far North”, you said with a shy smile, and he drew one small one as well

“Good”, he then with his eyes looked for Sara, and nodded, “I trust than my dear sister can show you and tell you everything you need to know, and see”, he said with a smile, a fake one.

“What about you?”, you asked without even thinking

“I have meetings with the Lords, have come to discuss measures to be taken throughout the winter”, you nodded

“Of course My Lord”, so that’s why everyone was discussing you, you arrived at the worst possible moment. He left and Sara came close to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I’ll show you around”, she said and you smiled, you were starting to like her.

She took you all over the castle, and even though you were cold as hell, you remained thinking it was cozy and inviting.

You had heard awful things about the North, how it was a wasteland, a paramo. A mood pit, but when Sara took you to the battlements from which you could see Winter Town and a whole valley decorated with ice and snow, towards the right, you could see a beautiful green forest 

“It is breathtaking”, you whispered

“You like it?”, she asked, smiling widely, but your smile turned bitter

“I love it, but I might not get to see it again”, you said sadly

“You will”, she muttered

“He is not the man I remember”, you whispered. Sara looked at you sympathetically 

“He has been through a lot”, she said gently. She took your hand with a shy smile. “Let’s see the rest shall we?”, you nodded enthusiastically, and after the castle had been already seen, she took you outside. Where the charm and beauty continued.

You took a stroll through the Gods Wood, it was even bigger than the one in the Red Keep, a small creek ran through it.

You were not a religious person, but even you could tell the aura in this place was different, mystical, your breathing became heavy and when you were here you could feel there was nowhere else in the world

“It takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”, she asked, and you nodded

“It does”, you whispered, not wanting to interrupt the aura of the place. 

You took a seat by the roots of the heart tree

“Do you follow the new gods?”, she asked

“the seven?”, she nodded, “no, I… I’m sad to say I don’t quite follow religions”, you said, “Is Cregan devoted?”

“Yes, to the old gods”, she whispered, “we all are”. 

“I could follow the old gods”, you suggested with a smile, “do you think they will take me?”, she laughed 

“Of course they will”, you smiled gently, but with a little nostalgia. “Tell me about you”, you suggested 

“Well, I don’t know who my mother was, she gave me up in the gates of Winterfell when I was a baby, Lord Rickon Stark raised me”, she said

“Do you like living here?”, you asked

“I love it”, she admitted. You smiled, but as you looked behind her, golden eyes returned your gaze amongst the trees. As you looked more determinedly, you saw black fur and…

“Sara”, you muttered, “I think there is something in the woods”, she turned around to look at what you were seeing, and then she turned to you.

“That is a Direwolf”, she said

“A direwolf?”, you asked, “I thought that they were a legend”

“They are rare”, she muttered, “He is bound to Cregan”

“Really? like I’m bonded to my dragon?”, she didn’t answer as you both looked at the majestic animal, he didn’t take his eyes off of you as he roamed amongst the trees, not ever approaching you

“Is he going to eat me?”, you whispered, and Sara shook her head

“But Cregan might”, she giggled

“Stop it!”, you laughed. The sound of your cackle might have attracted the giant wol, as he patted his way through the snow towards you.

“Don’t panic”, Sara warned.

The Direwolf approached you, it was huge, taller than you standing up. It was black and gray, shaggy and wild. He came so close you could reach out and touch him, but you didn’t dare, you just stood really still. His eyes reminded you of Vhaelar, they were like melted gold. 

“Please don’t bite my face off”, you begged, and he only sniffed you, and he let out a small growl, and then he left. “He hates me”, you mocked

“He doesn’t”, you both looked at the entrance to the Godswood and Cregan was standing there, “our guest is freezing Sara”, he chided, “lend her a cape, can you?”, he asked 

Sara, more than happy, left the Woods towards the castle. You stood up hastily, as you encountered him 

“How are you finding Winterfell, princess? I bet it’s quite different than King’s Landing”

“It is”, you said with a shy smile, “but not badly… I mean… good different, not bad different”, and you started babbling, oh gods why were you so nervous?? He seemed amused by your nervousness, so you just stopped yourself, and then you took a long breath. “It is beautiful”, you confessed looking up at him. “it is a bit cold but the snow, and the acoustics.. and the colors…”, you started looking around with a big smile on your face. “You have a beautiful home, my lord”, you said finally, meeting his eyes again. You noticed that he was staring at you, his gaze probably never leaving yours.

“Thank you princess, I see you have met my Direwolf”, he muttered

“What’s his name?”, you asked

“Autumn”, he told you, you smiled

“It’s beautiful”, you said, and you looked down at your feet. “Would you like to meet my bonded animal?”, you asked, looking up at him. He nodded

As you were walking outside, Sara met you, and offered you a fur cape. It was gray fur and black fabric, and you placed it around your shoulders.

You could feel Cregan’s gaze on you, but you pretended you didn’t, your blushed cheeks gave him an idea. 

You walked outside the castle walls, where a mountain of snow had gathered. As she felt you nearing, she raised her head, appearing in the small mountain, she purred

“This is Vhaelar”, she cooed when she saw you, the kids of Winter town had gathered around her, each of them wanting to see her more closely, but hiding, not daring to approach.

She acted as she didn’t even saw them

Cregan seemed nervous, but he looked down at you and you smiled reassuringly. 

“Would you like to touch her?”, you asked, and he seemed weary, but nodded. You approached her first, and invited Cregan to do the same. 

He removed the glove from his hand, and then he let you grab it gently. Vhaelar purred and she neared you slowly, until she could be in your reach, and then you placed Cregan’s hand over her snout

She purred again, sniffing him, she closed her big eyes and when she opened them again her pupils were enlarged, her eyes looking almost black as you released him and took a step back, leaving him alone against your dragon.

And Cregan smiled warmly. 

He would never admit how nervous he was, but that had vanished, when he felt the noble beast take to him

“She likes you”, you observed and Vhaelar cooed, like agreeing with you

“And I like her”, he said, and you smiled widely. He then turned to you. “Ride with me?”

“What?”, you asked

“You do ride horses? it’s easier than riding a dragon I’d venture”. He muse

“I do”, you said, and you couldn’t hide your excitement.

Perhaps he was testing you, and Cregan actually was.

Sara liked you, Autumn didn’t bite your hand off, and you loved his home. You did. And the cape fits you like you were born a northerner.

Could you ride through Ice, snow and forest?

He had all setted up and when you both arrived back inside the courtyard of the castle, the maester at arms himself, Barth, had saddled your horses. 

Alright this was it. You accepted the remains of a beautiful mare of brown mane. You climbed easily, and Cregan did the same to a black stallion, and you let him lead you out of the gates that they opened for him, and out of the lands of the castle. 

He led you through the snow and towards the wolf’s wood. Far to the right you saw the big wolf trotting alongside you, and went into the woods. 

These woods were different from the ones of the King’s wood, the trees were more leafy, and taller and the logs thicker. It was autumn, so the snow wasn’t sticking yet, but it looked beautiful nonetheless. 

You were so distracted watching the scenery, that you didn’t see as Cregan looked at you trying to gain your attention.

“Why?”, he asked, pulling you away from your thoughts and back to reality

“Why?”, you asked back

“You flied your dragon all the way North, just to offer your own hand in marriage to me, why?”, and you froze, and you clinged into the reins of your calm horse, who didn’t even need guidance to lead you through the woods she probably knew so well.

“It was the small council’s idea”, you said, trying to tell the truth, but at the moment you didn't think bringing up Aemond would be a good Idea. “They were trying to find a good match for me… And they agree you would be… good”, you whispered, but because of the acoustic and the snow, he heard you just fine. “And I remembered you fondly, so I decided to take matters in my own hands”. You added more cheerfully

“You said you didn’t want to get back to King’s Landing”, he said then, and that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Well…”, you muttered nervously, “I never thought of King’s Landing as my home…” you admitted. “I want to have my own chance at happiness”, you admitted, “I wanted to get away from that place”, this was it, you gathered all the courage you could muster, and looked deeply into his eyes. 

Yes, this could work, he thought, you were pliant, willing, good, no evil behind your actions. You liked it, you liked it here, in the North, at his home. You wanted to get away from King’s Landing… the lords, ladies and counselors will stop hunting him… 

You needed a refuge, he needed a cover

“Princess (Y/N) Targaryen”, he said, “I Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and warden of the North, accept King Viserys’ proposal, for us to be wed”

taglist! ❤️ @severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013

[yuurei20]

Dialogue Comparison, EN vs JP: Subject Pronouns

It is not uncommon for subject pronouns like I, you, etc., to be dropped from a sentence when you are speaking in Japanese, but English often requires them in order to make sense, which means JP->EN translators have to be extra careful: they're inventing words that don't exist in the source material, and if they get it wrong, they can completely change what is being said.

There was a great example of this in the Tsumsted 2 event where Ace and Deuce return from their tsum-based adventure and Ace says, "Just finished taking the tsum for a walk."

This is almost a literal translation of the original Japanese line, which also does not specify who, exactly, was out with the tsum, because it isn't necessary. From context we know it was Ace and Deuce without him needing to specify.

This is what a lot of sentences are like in Japanese!

Pronouns are also where a lot of changes to the game turn up on EN: In a conversation about when he was a child, for example, Jamil does not actually say that he and Kalim have both attended elementary school.

Jamil was talking about himself, so while there was no subject in his sentence, we know he meant himself. This is further confirmed in Kalim's birthday vignette, where we learn he has only ever been homeschooled.

A similar mistake was made during Spectral Soiree:

Rook introduces Sebek as the subject of a conversation, and EN accurately added "he" to Trey's response, even though he is technically not saying it.

In his following line, however, EN changed Trey's subject to "I," having him say that he was "making fun of Deuce for being a crybaby."

Not only did we see Sebek--and not Trey--mocking Deuce for crying earlier in the event, but Trey even tells Sebek to leave Deuce alone. If you thought it was strange for Trey to make fun of a possessed and crying Deuce, you are correct!

This was a mistranslation--is not something that he did.

In Book 1 "we" was added to Ruggie's line after he wakes up Leona for supplementary lessons, insinuating that both he and Leona need to be taking after-school classes.

But Leona is taking those lessons to compensate for poor attendance, and in the original game it is never insinuated that Ruggie is taking supplementary lessons at all, for poor attendance or otherwise.

A similar issue arises during a chat between Rook and Vil, where Vil tells Rook that he should be working harder as vice-housewarden.

Vil does not specify "you" or "Rook" in his dialogue but we know he means Rook and not himself, as Rook is who they are discussing. There is also the speech bubble, which is pointing at Vil!

But the subject "I" was added instead of "you," so EN-Vil is promising to work harder as vice-housewarden.

Vil is caught up in another subject miscommunication in Jade's dorm vignette, where Jade mentions seeing a note that Vil left in a magazine.

Jade does not specify Vil in his original line and the sentence was written (on EN) as if Vil was the one saying it ("I recall leaving a note,") but it is Jade who is speaking. As a result, it sounds like EN-Jade was the one who left the note.

In Book 6 there is a line where Ortho goes out of his way to specify "he," in quotation marks, as he references dead-Ortho while intentionally not invoking him by name.

This was changed on EN to, "original Ortho."

Cater has a voice line that was rewritten from asking if the prefect would like to try on his clothes to saying that he should wear them more often himself, but this might have been an intentional change by Aniplex USA rather than pronoun confusion.

Lastly, for voice lines, Crowley was removed from Ace's complaints on EN, while the prefect was removed from Trey and Cater's lines about going out to lunch!

It is not clear if these were mistakes or intentional changes.

[tikiloowho]

While watching this week I had a lot of thoughts on the newest federation building.

---

The correctional facility has 24 rooms total. There are 2 floors that are visible from the outside that have cells. 16 of them have windows. There is a third floor of cells that have no windows at all. the final 8 cells have no windows and are much smaller.

There are a total of 9 islanders that I am positive will be put into the correctional facility.

BBH - Tubbo - Forever - Baghera - Fit - Philza - Aypierre - Bagi - Etoiles

If we also go off the list that foolish provided for the arrests. We can assume the 9 I listed will be put into the facility. Possibly spread between floors. 3 for each.

So... who do you put in each floor?

The 6 that have windows likely will have a lesser sentence. People who are newer or who have broken fewer laws.

Bagi, Pierre, Etoiles, Fit, Baghera

The federation hasn't really had issues with this group and or has other reasons to trust this group in some way.

Bagi is newer. She's refused a task and broken into the facility a few times but hasn't been toool pesky. An annoyance at best.

Pierre is nosey and chaotic but he actually keeps his machines far away and works actively for the federation.

Etoiles has only ever broken a few rules and is mostly just a combatant. He's sassed cucurucho when asking about philzas location and burned coins before. But in his loss he could be seen as more "tame" the federation is likely unaware of his alliance with the code.

Fit regularly causes trouble but in disguise. He cleans up messes and while present at the chaos itself he was covering himself for the most part.

Baghera has broken a lot of rules but with her recent time spent with the federation and her new memories of her past. She is less likely to cause any true harm.

The last 2 I am conflicted on are philza and forever.

It's possible they might give forever a lesser sentence since he's the president and could be seen as needing just a reminder to behave. or he could be put under heavier containment due to insubordination.

Philza... has never liked the federation and has been a leading cause for a lot of recent chaos. Despite his recent "bird cage" punishment for lava casting the main office. He still protests and leads other to fight back. However... in foolishes report it was extreamly light. Foolish himself was hesitant to pin the blame on philza. His biases may be enough to keep philza out of the higher security section.

Now, the court room is where I see things going bad for, say, philza. He has gotten away with a lot because he wasn't seen leading things. But video evidence can easily put him into hot water. Leading people to fight back, making plans. His speech for "a cage for a cage" would be the icing on the cake.And if they are using his refusal to acknowledge his time spent in the birdhouse. Technically... philza was never actually punished.

Tubbo also has outright told others "oh yeah me and phil covered the building in lava" "oh nah, philza is the mastermind behind that" "it was philzas idea" Phil has consistently been the one people look to as well for the protests. "Toby, I think you should build a drill. Pierre? Can we use your factory for dirt? We're gonna need a lot of it..." "Fit, do you remember how to make a lava cast?" "How many hearts are we supposed to have? Do you need more of those spirit orbs? Take these." We've seen the federation use "go-pro" footage before. Nothing is stopping them now.

Tubbo and bad are for sure going into high security containment. Both have been heavily blamed for things and foolish did not hold anything back. He pinned everything on these two.

The return from Brazil is going to be... interesting.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

VH - Job Interview (1/2)

(Ever wondered how to recruit a near-invincible vampire into your hero agency? Well, read this and learn.)

Tw: a bit of body horror, but it's two or three sentences, so. You do you.

*

It was a known fact that the Hero agency director had never been in a fight or killed anyone – not directly, at least. She spent most of her days in her huge office, a cube of transparent walls with a magnificent view on the town. A lot of her work consisted of doing the paperwork and giving meeting after meeting. Some guests were less willing than some to strike an arrangement with her, but somehow she always pulled through. People smiled when they saw her for the first time. When she left them, they still grinned, but maybe their eye twitched a bit with the effort, or their clenched fist was shaking.

However, it was also a known fact that the Hero agency director had never been killed once in her life.

Sometimes, when the circumstances called, or curiosity got the better of her, she ventured far from her office to see the situation for herself. In this occurrence, it was a little of both. She had seen a lot of incredible things in her life: humans gifted with unbelievable powers, wars avoided because of a technicality, one (1) meeting beginning on time. It was the first time, though, that she’d ever heard of a real vampire in this century. She couldn't miss the opportunity.

The home she walked in was pretty much the antithesis of her office. She frowned at the disorder, the burnt and torn books on the ground, and most of all the putrefaction stench looming in the air.

The superheroes team who waited in the roome looked at her both like a god to be feared and a precious thing to be protected at all costs. Only one of these things was correct. It was led by a Superhero so superheroish she was called UltraHero. The latter stepped up, her left hand rubbing her neck.

“Well?” asked the director.

“Well,” hesitated the tall, bulky woman, “it all began with my neighbor, you see. She’s retired and so she spent all her days in her house. We play chess sometimes, and she told me that the son of her cousin’s first wife who was staying with her had heightened hearing. It’s not really a power, just a major inconvenience, he hears unpleasant sounds all the time, like last week when a cicada -”

The director had a tense smile. Ultrahero was as sweet as she was powerful, but she tended to ramble when she was nervous.

“I can live without knowing about the cicada. Can you make it shorter?”

“Erm. Yes. Anyway, it’s hard for him to know when a noise is alarming or not since he hears all kinds of things all the time, so when he complained about screaming, my neighbor assumed that it was a very unhappy or a very happy couple. Only the sounds came from under the ground, so he came to find me and I checked to see if everything is all right, but the house was empty, and I found a secret passage, and, uh- here we are, I guess.”

The director drew in a calming breath.

“Ultrahero”, she said in a low, deliberate voice, “can you tell us exactly what’s inside?”

“Oh uh- yes. I should have started by that, I suppose. Well, hmm, a corpse, to begin with. A man. He doesn’t look like he’s in a good state – even for a corpse, I mean. He’s been, like, clawed or something. There’s not a lot of blood, though. It’s like he’s been dried. Also, there’s a pretty lady in the room. She’s in a glass coffin, but she doesn’t look dead at all – like Snow White, you know? And there’s…”

She hesitated.

“There’s a thing", she said at last. "It’s chained. I don’t know what it is. I don’t really wanna know.”

There was fear in her voice. The director nodded.

“Let’s see.”

She closed her eyes and focused. Images flooded her brain. She opened her eyes wide.

“Oh,” she whispered. And then: “Oh.”

The superheroes looked at her with anxiety. It was a rare sight to see the director bemused. She licked her lips:

“The man is dead. The woman and the other are alive. They think. Unfortunately.”

“What did you see?” ventured Ultrahero, while the others looked at her with incredulity at her boldness.

The director patted her thick arm:

“You do not want to know.”

She walked in the secret passage. She didn’t pay attention to the corpse in her way and stopped in front of the thing instead. Ultrahero hadn’t exaggerated a bit. The director knew it was a vampire and conscious, but it was hard to admit it. It was vaguely human-shaped. But the skin. Dear gods, the skin. It formed layers around the body, folded like huge petals of some monstrous flower, smelling like rotting flesh. The rest covered every orifice on the body, including the nostrils and the gaping mouth. The eyelids had melted into the cheekbones. The chains that held it to the wall were not around, but burst through the torso. The thing was curled on itself and didn’t move, but she could hear its thoughts loud and clear, and that was the most alarming.

Fascinated, the superhero team saw her shudder for the first time, and that knowledge snapped her out of it. Her voice became even drier and colder than usual:

“Execute him.”

“But, Ma’am... why?”

“Look at him. That’s a mercy kill, isn’t it? That’s only justice. You have no idea what this thing had done. End him.”

They all hesitated, looking at each other or at their shoes. Killing someone in cold blood wasn’t easy to them.

“But – can you tell up an example, at least?”

She told them. Their faces went pale. They all jumped in and tried to kill it,“tried” being, of course, the key word. They used knives, cursed knives, axes, fire, firearms, grenades, lasers and energy beams. All they could do was breaking the thinner layer of skin, the one that covered the mouth and the nostrils. For all their efforts, the creature was in fact getting better.

“Stop.”

The director crossed her arms. Now that the first moment of surprise – and she had to confess, horror – had passed, she took note of certain facts. She had in front of her an apparently invulnerable specimen. She didn’t believe in invulnerability. However, she didn’t mind if her foes did. A small smile formed on her face.

“What about the lady?” asked Superhero.

“No one approaches her. She’s more dangerous than all of you reunited. We’ll find a way to kill her that is safe.”

She spoke with her eyes glued to the vampire, and saw what she expected to see. Despite his state, despite his chains, he had twitched.

“Isn’t that interesting,” she whispered.

Then, her tone louder, she ordered:

“Cut his chains. We’re bringing him to the agency.”

“But what are we doing to do with that?”

“I have my idea.”

*

Vampire Hero is a recurring character. His job is to troll current villains. Check the Vampire Hero Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with him.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[mareenavee]

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

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

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

What is an editorial pass?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What happens when you read to edit?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any advice to get better at the whole editing thing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[swamp-chicken]

My word any of those prompts sound amazing but may I request 14 for ethubs? Thank you! :D

14. I hate singing but I will sing for you // 758 words

“No, seriously, how have you never heard of Auld Lang Syne?”

“I don’t know, it’s never come up!”

The coffee shop was bustling this evening, hermits curled over their warm drinks, quiet chatter occasionally punctuated by the whoosh of milk being steamed at the espresso machine. It was technically open mike night, but no one had volunteered other than Joe, who had been steadily reading through Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” for the better part of an hour.

“It’s a new years tradition, Bdubs.” Etho insisted. He was sitting at the counter, slapping the bar top emphatically. “You gather together with your friends, you sing the song, you cheer.”

“I don’t believe you. What does that even mean? Old lang sin?”

“It’s,” Etho paused. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a tradition.”

Bdubs poured a latte into the shape of a… heart? Well, maybe a pinecone. He handed it to Tango and turned back to Etho. “You should sing it for us, then.”

Etho blinked “Me? No way. You’re the one that can sing.”

“As we’ve established, I don’t know the song, Etho.” Bdubs tugged the clipboard that held the open mic sign-up sheet across the counter. “So I’ll put you down for one rendition of ‘Old man sing?’”

“Bdubs!” Etho hissed, trying to wrest the clipboard away from him. “No way!”

The balcony door opened and Cleo let herself in. She spotted Joe, frowned and made a beeline towards the counter. “I thought we were doing christmas carols?” she asked Bdubs, hushed.

Bdubs grimaced. “You and me both. No, it’s apparently the novel.”

Cleo groaned. “Joe.”

Bdubs smirked at Etho. “This guy, though, he’s volunteered to sing us something! Old sing long.”

“Auld Lang Syne,” Etho corrected offhandedly. Then, catching Bdubs and Cleo’s smiles: “No, I am not singing.”

“Oh, Etho, I think it would be lovely.” Cleo cajoled. Etho swore he saw something dark in her smile.

Bdubs though, was smiling at him genuinely. He covered Etho’s hand with his own. “Come on, you would do great. And it would really liven the place up.”

Against his better judgement, Etho wavered. “Well…”

“Please?” Bdubs asked. “For me? I love to hear you sing, but you never let me.” He pouted.

Bdubs eyes were shining, his cheeks pink from the heat of the room. Etho didn’t stand a chance. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “I’ll do it. For you.”

Cleo nudged him. “Look at you, being so sweet.”

Etho rolled his eyes. He tried to will down the heat in his face.

Bdubs didn’t notice. He had snatched the clipboard back and was scribbling down Etho’s name with a beaming grin on his face. He finished writing with a flourish, and raised his eyebrows at Etho. “Are you ready to go on now?”

“Am I… what?” Etho stuttered.

“Thank you so much, Joe!” Bdubs announced, loudly. The cafe quieted. Joe, interrupted mid-sentence, merely blinked. Bdubs walked around the counter and grabbed Etho by the arm, hauling him behind him. “Thanks so much for that great story! Next up is our very own Etho!”

“Oh,” Joe said. “Well, that’s Dickens everyone. I hope you enjoyed!” There was some scattered applause. Nonplussed, Joe closed the book and sat next to Cleo.

Bdubs lowered the mic. “Like I said, next up we have Etho, singing… what was it again?”

“Auld Lang Syne,” Etho sighed.

“Auld Lang Syne!” Bdubs proclaimed. “Feel free to sing along if you know it. Etho says it’s a tradition but he is frequently wrong, so.” Bdubs stepped back and gestured at the mic. “All yours!”

Etho stepped forward, heart suddenly pounding. Bdubs hopped off the stage, returning to his place behind the counter.

“Right,” Etho said. He tried to re-adjust the mic. “As Bdubs said… wow, this is low. Bdubs, you’re so short.”

“Hey!” Bdubs squawked.

There were a few laughs, and Etho peered into the crowd, relieved to see Scar and Grian giggling in the corner.

“As Bdubs said… he doesn’t think this is a real song. So, please help me prove him wrong.” More laughs. Impulse, Pearl, and Gem were smiling at him from a table.

“It’s absolutely a real song!” Beef shouted.

“Yeah, let’s show him,” Tango agreed.

Etho let out a breath. These were all his friends, here in the crowd tonight. He glanced at Bdubs, was was watching him from behind the counter, eyes bright with affection. “Everyone… on three! And a one, and a two…”

The whole shop joined in.

[gomzdrawfr]

one day, three autumns | 一日三秋

This is the first time I've ever posted any fic related thing, so please go easy on me :p feedback is appreciated! English isn't my main language so if i made any mistakes, please let me know! Pairing: Zimo x Horangi Warning: ANGSTTTTT Some translations are added below each mandarin sentences :) for the title, its a chinese idiom that means when you miss someone so much, that one day felt as long as 3 years again huge thanks to Chrizz on Twitter for this ship "You never cared, did you?" I did. "All of this was just a joke, I was the only one serious, the only one who thought we could have something more than just whatever the hell we had!" I was serious too. "I hate you!" I love you.

A thousand words flew everywhere in his mind, yet none were uttered. A thousand pleas and desperation, clawing, burning in his throat, yet none were delivered. He never said anything. Always cold. Always calm. Not even when Horangi was screaming, prying his vest, and crying on his shirt. Not once did he flinch, nor showed any changes in his expression.

The moment when Zimo realize the heavy, heavy gravity of him on their 3rd encounter, he knew he was in trouble. Being in love with your enemy, it was as if you're asking to be tortured. Despite that, with every hug, every wave and every moment shared, he couldn't stay away. He knew that things had to end, one way or another, he just didn't expect it to happen on the day when he wanted to propose, a pair of silver rings hiding snugly in his pocket close to his heart.

人生有三错，一步错，步步错 别让我失望了。 "you made your mistakes, don't disappoint me” The words ringing in his mind, he had been careful, always had been, so how did the superiors find out? it didn't even matter at this rate, questions long forgotten as reality weights heavily in the air, almost suffocating. "Say something, goddammit!" He wanted to, he really wanted to, hell if he can scream out everything he ever wanted right now at this moment, forget everything and just have him in his arms again, he would do it. But he didn't, because he knows there are watchful eyes. 如果爱你是错，我宁愿永远不对 "if loving you was wrong, then I never want to be right" Yet he remained still as a tree, not moving, eyes still cold and emotionless. The only reply Horangi got was the pouring rain and the loud thunder, it seems like even nature was mocking their relationship. He still stood there, drenched in the rain even after Horangi stormed off hours ago. Never moved an inch, for in his eyes, nothing was worth it anymore, where can he go even if he does move? There's nowhere to go, because the world had already left him.

technically the translation for the "don't disappoint me part" is not the most correct meaning, the first idiom used before it translates to "There are three mistakes in life, if you take one wrong step, the following steps will all be wrong" I didnt really know if i should put that there, but i just wanted to signify how the superior basically said "you fucked up, dont fucked up again kind of vibe if you get me" also feel free to draw or write a fic based on this! just remember to tag me :D Anyways, pass me the towel to cry on-

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Family Affairs

Sierra Aguirre has been in this holding room for six hours, twenty-four minutes, and fifteen seconds, according to the clock in the cage on the wall.

She should probably get used to it. She messed up, got caught, and she’s not entirely sure what they do to vigilante vampire hunters. She’s never heard of any trial or sentence that goes with that crime. If it even is a crime. The Morris Avengers were a little vague on that front.

It must be, to whoever these people are. And one thing she does know, that the Avengers were very clear on, if you get caught by the 'Men in Black', you don't come back.

Given that the people who apprehended her were wearing black leather jackets like a biker gang and driving a black Pontiac GTO (with a ton of aftermarket mods, and a performance enhanced engine she’d like to get a look at), she’s fairly sure that’s who has her.

When the door lock clicks, she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“My name is Carmen Stoker.” The name drags Sierra’s eyes up from the scarred metal table. The figure in the doorway is a sturdy, square-shouldered woman with silver-streaked black hair in straggling bun, her clearly once perfectly-pressed crimson suit wrinkled. She doesn’t look like some kind of underworld public defender, but she also doesn’t seem like the polished and poised person Sierra would have expected to hand down her fate.

And that name…

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I very much am not.” The woman sits down in the chair across from Sierra’s. “Almost everything in that book was the truth. But you already know vampires are real.”

“Real, and dangerous.” Sierra snaps. 

“Some are. But what you and other vigilantes are doing is still wrong.”

“I think holding someone without charging them with a crime is also against the law. Or was last time I checked.” Sierra raises an eyebrow. “How do I even know you’re a legitimate branch of law enforcement? No one showed me any ID. Just some badges anyone can make these days.” To be fair, there’s no more validity to an ID. She’s had a fake one since she was fifteen.

“Are you familiar with the Treaty of Blood?” The woman asks. Sierra shakes her head. She feels like it was mentioned somewhere in the whirlwind training sessions, but given she cared more about the correct grip on a stake and how to make a clean takedown with a silver bullet in 30 mile an hour winds, she hadn’t paid much attention to a document they fully intended to disregard anyway. “Agencies like this were established outside human justice systems. We’re not bound by the same technicalities. For good reasons.”

“Reasons that went out the window a few years ago when some agency in LA lost control of a daywalker.”

The woman flinches slightly. That’s right. We all know it was hunter incompetence that brought vampires into the open. You people like to flaunt the ways you’re above the law, can operate outside it, but at the end of the day it didn’t do what you wanted.

Finally the woman nods, as if acknowledging a point she has to concede. “Procedure moves slower than public opinion, but rest assured, as of right now, this agency still has the power to hold you indefinitely at its own discretion as a perpetrator of vampire-related violence.” She slides some papers across the table. “However, we also have the power to pardon any such offense in exchange for cooperation with a larger effort.” 

“So basically, you want me to inform on the vigilantes in exchange for not spending the rest of my life rotting away in a legal loophole. For doing your job, and doing it better than you.” 

“These people don’t care about justice. They don’t care about what’s right. And they don’t care about you.”

Sierra snorts. She knows that. She never was fool enough to believe they did. They just want more warm bodies killing vampires for them. But she wanted to kill vampires. So it didn’t really matter.

“You have a choice, now. Amarillo wants the Morris Avengers. Badly enough to overlook your unsanctioned stakings in favor of the greater good. Help us dismantle them, and you’ll have a chance to start over, doing what you do the right way. For the agency. Refuse, and we can’t in good conscience let you walk away knowing what you do, with the skills you have.”

Amarillo has arrested vigilantes like her before. She was warned about the risk in training. But they’re offering her a deal. She doesn't like something about it. Clearly no one else agreed. Or they didn’t succeed at the attempt. Either way, there's something strange.

“You give this speech to everybody you bring in and hope someone bites?”

“We’ve tried, before. But the others we’ve captured have a near fanatical loyalty to their cause. Or are too afraid to go up against a group that well organized.”

“Why should I be different?”

“Because if you’re anything like your father, you’ve got what it takes. And somewhere inside you, you’ve got his moral compass.”

Sierra laughs, a hollow sound that echoes in the cold room. “News flash, my dad ran away from us when I was ten, and not so much as a postcard for the last decade. And Mom knew enough to know she shouldn’t ask him what he did for a living. So you’re right, but it’s not going to work in your favor.”

“Trust me, this agency has a file an inch thick on that man. But you and I both know he’s not who I’m talking about.” 

Carmen pulls out a faded polaroid and lays it on the table. Sierra recognizes that face. She’s seen it in the photos that were tucked away with the journal in the box in the corner of her mother’s attic.

“This is my brother. Gabriel Stoker.”

For the second time in six months, Sierra’s world comes crashing down around her with six small words.

I staked my first vampire tonight.

This is my brother, Gabriel Stoker.

Sierra knows what the song and dance earlier was about, now. Carmen was trying to convince her to turn on the people she might reasonably have been expected to consider a family. But they’re not family. Family is right in front of her. 

She’s no true believer, not in their cause, not in their view of vampires. But if these are the people Gabe worked for, they’re her best shot at finding out more about him than that journal will tell her. This is the only shot she has at real answers. And maybe the name of the vamp she needs to kill to make things right. 

“What do you want me to do?”

@nade2308 @catwingsathena @the-one-and-only-valkyrie (I lost my taglist for this story so please let me know if you want to be tagged in Compass-related stuff!)

Read this story and more from the Magic & Silver Universe on my WorldAnvil here!

[scoundrels-in-love]

I waaaaaaaaaaant 2, 6, 10, 11 (for no reason, I'm just cuuuurious) and 14. Please!

Hi love, you're wonderful, do you know that?

2. has a comment someone left on a fic of yours ever made you cry?

Oh yes! I do not actually cry easily from good emotions, but even so, the answer is yes.

I do keep all my comments pretty much screenshotted, even random nice things people say to me in replies or conversations, to find later and relive the joy of them. Even small things mean the world to me. There are several from our conversations that have made me tear up!

But as for comments posted on Ao3, @zillychu left comment series on I was caught in a crossfire, I was still as the night (You were an angel in the shadows) that made me tear up, every one of 'em. It was the first thing I had written after a long break and I was quite anxious about it and their kind words really helped me feel like I had the ability to say something that others would enjoy or need to hear.

Those comments, and this one, which also made me tear up, are some that I go back to as one of the first when I feel like there's no point to me struggling through the effort of writing, that I can't find words or meanings behind them that are worth sharing. There are already so many good fics out there, so why must I suffer to add just something to the list? But then I reread them and it feels like, maybe there is a point.

I hope you have found some consolation, dear person. That you continue to find some peace and quiet. We are not faking it, because then we would not doubt it, we would know we are. Us tearing ourselves apart benefits no one, least of all ourselves and our tattered hearts that can never go back to the-befores.

6. what is your favourite sense to incorporate in your writing and why?

I honestly think I forget about them all too often. Sense of touch and hearing beyond communication nuance is often incorporated only to show signs of being overwhelmed, for example. I'm trying to be better about it.

I think writing in Trigun world has been an interesting challenge because lot of things I would love to show through senses often stem from my familiar and beloved, very green world.

Overall, I think it has to be sight that appears the most, but I don't know if it's necessarily the favorite.

10. what word do you keep using like it’s going out of style?

I feel like I literally noticed new one in the feral au ch1 but now I've forgotten. I definitely use things like tender and gentle a lot, but that's not on me, that's on them being tender and gentle.

Smithereens is one, has been haunting me for near decade now, I think.

I definitely make Meryl squeak a bit too often.

I feel like my readers might be more aware of it at this point, oops.

11. what grammar mistake do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you? Maybe fuck you a little after all. Come one and come all, I think we as community should stage intervention for English language's addiction to articles. When the sentence has like 5-6 articles for 20-30 words, that shit's GOTTA STOP.

Seriously. I swear I am trying. They're just bullshit and they keep multiplying and they don't exist in my native language and-

14. what trope would you refuse to write even if you were paid to do it?

Yandere things, s*xual assault, assault and domestic violence in general, stalking and violently possessive behavior, not just references but in graphic detail and especially if happening between my OTPs.

Not only these are things I do not want to explore, they also just don't fit the characters I enjoy and write, so having such content would be breaking them heavily in ways I do not enjoy. While technically these aren't tropes, at least some of them, these are things I've seen floating around as AUs/scenarios. There are some I would fiddle with extensively/twist them on their heads to ever consider engaging with, such a pregnancy fics (regular or MPreg) or a/b/o things, but if I was paid to do them and was allowed to do my own thing... Idk.

Send me ask about fic writing?<3

[josefavomjaaga]

Letter from Joseph to Napoleon, August 1810

Please bear with me, this will be lots of text again, but this letter sums up Joseph’s position and his view on the Spanish quagmire pretty well.

For context: The first quarter of 1810 had been a triumphal success for Joseph. Led/guided/accompanied (depending on who you ask) by his new chief of staff Soult French troops under Joseph’s personal orders had marched into Andalusia, trashed whatever little resistance they found, and the province, minus Cadiz, had fallen into his lap like a ripe fruit. The Andalusians had not only welcomed but celebrated him. On 30 April, however, Joseph wrote to Soult that he wanted to go back to Madrid, leaving Soult in charge of all the army corps of Andalusia. (And of whatever else there was to do, because who else would do the job?)

In the meantime, bad things were preparing for Joseph in Paris: Napoleon had just decided to create several military governments under direct administration of the commanding generals and marshals. Originally this concerned only the provinces in the north of Spain, but when Napoleon learned that Soult was factually already governing Andalusia, he more or less extended the new system to Andalusia as well. (He basically told Soult that he was officially still under Joseph’s command but should be the one in charge and making the decisions. No, I do not understand how this should have worked either.)

By August, Joseph started to suspect that Andalusia had been taken away from him, too. And that’s when he wrote his brother the following missive:

Joseph to Napoleon, Madrid, 8 August 1810

Sire, my position in this country, always difficult, often deplorable, is such today that it cannot continue any longer, if the measures already taken and those I am yet threatened with are carried out.

I will see to it that the reply I await from Your Majesty finds me in Madrid; but I beg Him not to make me wait for long, for things are stronger than men; and the day when I am completely abandoned by my guard, by my service, by everything which constitutes a government, I will have no other option than to go to France at Your Majesty's disposal, asking Him to deem it proper for me to be reunited with my family from which I have been separated for six years, and that I regain, in domestic oblivion, the sympathies and calm that the throne has caused me to lose, without having given me anything in return, since it is only a place of torment for me, from which I passively contemplate the devastation of a country I had hoped to make happy. Today I cannot even find a refuge in the army as I did last year. In fighting the enemies of Your Majesty and of Spain, my eyes were distracted from the spectacle which afflicts me today, and at least my position was compatible with honor. If all that is rumoured by the officers who arrive from Paris, made probable by the letter of the Prince of Neufchatel of the 14th of July, is verified; if Your Majesty takes away from me the command of the army of Andalusia, and exclusively assigns the revenues of these provinces to the army, I have no other course to take than to quit the game; and this decision has been so much enforced that it cannot even be imputed to me.

Dissecting Joseph’s long sentences: In how far it had been Joseph who had fought “the enemies of Your Majesty and of Spain”, and in how far it had been the generals and marshals under his command (Jourdan and Soult, mostly) is at least debatable. But technically, Joseph had been in command, and he had been with the army, that much is correct. And as to those rumours being verified: As stated above, yes, they were true, and the administration of Andalusia was to be given to Soult. Did Joseph go through with his threat to “quit the game” in this case? Of course not.

In the present state of affairs in Spain, the general in chief in command of a province is its king. All the resources of the province can never suffice, because what is called the requirements are not determined, and this general increases the requirements in proportion to the resources he anticipates; from which it follows that all the provinces commanded by generals who are not under my orders are null and void for me. It is Andalusia alone where I can hope to find some resources, after having assigned to the army what has been judged sufficient, if Your Majesty continues to send 2 millions per month: […]

Just to clarify what Joseph is talking about here: according to Soult's memoirs, Napoleon paid, for all French soldiers in Spain, two million francs per month, part of which was destined for Soult's Armée du Midi, but by no means always reached them. To that sum, Joseph added "what has been judged sufficient", according to Soult ~530,000 francs, falling short by half of what was really due. Continuing with Joseph’s endless sentence:

[...] but to give the command of the troops to a general who does not recognise my authority is to give him the administration and the government; it is to take away from me the only province where I could hope to live; it is to reduce me to that of Madrid, which yields 800,000 francs a month, while my most indispensable expenses amount to 4 million francs a month. I am surrounded here by the debris of a great nation; I have a guard, the depots of the army hospitals, a garrison, a household, a ministry, a council of state, refugees from all the provinces, etc. This state of affairs, Sire, cannot last two months, when honour and a sense of what is due to me could make me bear this humiliating position.

“A sense of what is due to me.” Yes, I will believe that you have a very good sense of that, Joey. 😁 It is also interesting that Joseph apparently needed more money for the (mostly useless, because functionless) “debris of a great nation” than Soult for the army of the Midi. As to the situation “not lasting two months” - it would last two more years, and Joseph would still stay in Spain.

For, after all, what will I be if the army of Andalusia is taken from me? The caretaker of the hospitals of Madrid, of the army depots, the guardian of the prisoners? Sire, I am your brother; you have presented me to Spain as a second you. I feel the exaggeration of this praise in terms of my talents; but I will never be inferior to you in the truth of my character, in the nobility of my feelings, in my tender affection for my brother.

In 1808, Napoleon actually really had told Spanish authorities after the double abdication of Carlos and Ferdinand that in Joseph he was giving Spain “un autre moi-même” (another me). Which, considering how different the two brothers were in character, temperament and political opinions, was at least a daring statement.

I have always hoped that Your Majesty would come to Spain; I have endured everything in this expectation; but today this hope is receding and circumstances are pressing: I am forced to take the step I am taking.

Oh my goodness! Now it's getting exciting! Is Joseph really going to do it? What step is he about to take?

I am sending Your Majesty Monsieur d'Almenara, who has held the portfolio of finance since the death of Monsieur de Cabarrus, and who knows both the deplorable details of this department and the other ministries well enough for Your Majesty to be able to take a decision with full knowledge of the facts.

Oh. O well, I guess yes, that is also a step one can take.

As for me, Sire, who owes you my opinion in full, and who gives it to you following the unshakeable determination that I have expressed above, I think that: 1° if the French army is put under my orders; 2° if I have the right to dismiss the officers who would obviously behave badly; 3° if I am authorised to reassure the nation about the changes of government and the dismemberments which all those who arrive from Paris threaten; 4° if Your Majesty has in me the confidence which is due to me, by allowing me to say and write to the Spaniards what I believe to be appropriate to their situation and to mine, without giving credence to the poisonous interpretations of malice and argumentative mediocrity, I promise : l° that the French army will not cost France a penny beyond the 2 millions which Your Majesty allocates to this service; I even hope that soon Your Majesty will be able to be relieved of this burden, which would be especially necessary to me in the first months; 2° that Spain will soon be pacified, as was the kingdom of Naples; 3° that Spain will soon be as useful to France as it is harmful to her today.

Alright, that’s another long sentence from Joseph, containing four conditions and three promises, and all deserve an extra look:

condition no 1: The army needs to be under Joseph’s orders. Well, putting it bluntly: it would be, in 1812. Which resulted in the battle of Salamanca and the loss of Andalusia.

condition no. 2: Joseph wants to get rid of certain officers. I am unsure if their number, at this point, already included his future favourite boogeyman Soult. I suspect it didn’t. Until now, Joseph already had accused several generals of misbehaviour and embezzlements. DuCasse usually only gives the first letters of their names but one of them clearly was general Kellermann (the son of the marshal). Soult, on the other hand, was explicitly mentioned as “renders us the greatest possible services” in a letter to Napoleon from January 1810. Soult and Joseph actually even shared some ideas about how to proceed in Spain, for example about employing the locals in a police force (and they also shared Napoleon’s displeasure with regards to that measure).

condition no. 3: This probably refers to the (not unfounded) fear that Napoleon would try to annex parts of Spain to France, like he had just done with Holland.

condition no. 4: Joseph wants to be allowed to say and write what he wants. - This is the most interesting part, as much of Napoleon’s indignation was caused by newspaper articles that had been published under Joseph’s watch and that – in Napoleon’s eyes - glorified the Spanish insurgents or insulted the French army, and by certain statements and orders of the day from Joseph (at one point, he had published the real number of troops the French had in Spain, and he was known to publicly critisize the French in order to endear himself to his Spanish subjects). As to the “mediocrity” who was trying to see something bad in such a mere political move, I wonder whom Joseph means with that. (The expression “mediocre” makes me think of Eugène but I am unaware of Eugène even being in the know of what was going on in Spain.)

As to the promises, those are easier to understand. I guess the most polite way to comment is to say that Joseph was seeing the situation in Spain in quite a rosy way. I also do no think that it could really be compared to that of Naples, and I guess we could argue as to who contributed more to the conquest and pacification of the Kingdom of Naples, Masséna or Joseph.

If, on the contrary, I am forced to withdraw, if the provinces are divided into military governments and governed by generals, I fear that Your Majesty will not see the end of this terrible upheaval.

A prophecy that, of course, came very true. The point in question is: would there really have been a different outcome if Joseph had had his way?

I beg Your Majesty to see in this letter and in its smallest expressions only what I wanted to put in it, the pure truth, dictated above all by the brotherly friendship which has attached me to you from the cradle, and which will accompany me to the grave, whatever happens. - The emotion I feel at this moment and which suspends the end of this letter would thus be caused by personal egoism, by cowardly regrets! No, Sire, I do not think so; I weep over the miseries of human nature, over the dispersion of a family once so united, over the change that has taken place in my brother's heart, over the gradual weakening of an immense glory, which must be eternalized by the memories of generous and heroic sentiments rather than by immense power. Sire, if this last part of my letter does not remind you of the tender and worthy friend of your childhood, if it does not tell you that I am for you what no man on earth is, it only remains for me to withdraw.

This is Joseph defending himself against the accusation (that he apparently considered possible) of only writing this because he wanted a) more money and b) more power from Napoleon. What he writes about the family situation is, sadly, only too true. By mid-1810, Napoleon had managed to alienate each and every one of his brothers: Lucien and Louis had run, Joseph was suffering in Spain, whereas Jérôme served as Napoleon’s punching bag whenever His Imperial Majesty needed somebody to critisize. As for the relatives by marriage, Napoleon had divorced Josephine, disinherited both Eugène and Hortense’s son, and seemed determined to make Murat’s life in Naples hell.

P. S. In the two days since I wrote this letter, my position in Madrid has become even more critical, and I intend to go to Andalusia; I will probably already be there when Your Majesty receives this letter.

I’m not sure if Joseph here refers to his financial situation becoming even more critical, or the military one. As to the latter, according to Soult’s memoirs whenever there was a rumour about insurgents/highwaymen showing up somewhere in the region of Madrid, these rumours were greatly exaggerated,so Joseph could keep more troops under his immediate command »for reasons of security«. The second journey to Andalusia he hints at in the postscript of course never took place, mostly because Soult did everything in his power to avert it, writing to Berthier that he really had no use for Joseph showing up with all his Spanish ministers and administrators and treasurers and royal household in tow, as this would inevitably lead to conflicts with the military administration he had just set up, and deprive the army coffers of valuable sums.

Also interesting of course that this letter was sitting on Joseph’s desk for two days unfinished.

[buriedsecretspodcast]

On humanity, writing, and digital dead malls

Typos and humanity

Over the weekend, I read a chilling line in a marketing-related newsletter[^1]:

A typo is no longer just a typo, it is a signal the writer is not using AI.

The context was that the author was saying that there's no excuse for typos—which this writer seems to obliquely posit as a form of humanity—because now you can just ask large language models (LLMs) like GPT-4 to edit your stuff. (Which is what the newsletter writer did to produce his "typo-free" writing. More on that later.)

So I suppose writing with less humanity is good, actually? Because it's more technically "correct"?

As someone who has made a life of reading and writing—both for fun and as part of my career—this was a disturbing thing to read. To me, writing and reading has always been about connecting with other people as humans. So, to me, every attempt to strip humanity out of writing nullifies its very purpose.

Private writing

Even in the case of journal writing, writing about connecting with your own humanity. I am a big believer in morning pages, something that was popularized by Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way (though the concept existed before that). Morning pages are a way to dump your thoughts onto into writing so you can move on with your day without being weighed down by your worries and anxieties.

Cameron doesn't even consider morning pages "writing," because they're not intended to be shared. Instead, they're a sort of preparation for the day ahead, a way to get your mind in order. As such, they are a deeply human practice, almost like meditation. They are a way of connecting with our humanity, the flawed parts of ourselves that are full of bad ideas, worries, and imperfections. Because they are not meant to be shared and should be written as quickly as possible, they are full of grammar and spelling mistakes and unclear sentences. The whole point is that they are unedited stream of consciousness.

Public writing

Of course, writing that is meant for other people to consume should be more polished. The purpose isn't a brain dump; the purpose is communication.

To that end, sentences should be sensical. Grammar and spelling rules should be generally followed, at least to the point of ensuring that the writing is legible.

But everyone has their own idiosyncrasies, their own voice. And that doesn't need to be smoothed out and filed down into technically correct but personality-less prose.

Writing as a path to thinking

In a masterful article for The New Yorker, Ted Chiang gives one of the best and most easily understood explanations of what large language models (what we typically call AI), are actually doing and how they function. He also talks about the importance of writing. Just because LLM can write quickly and easily, in generally correct grammar, doesn't mean that LLMs should do all of our writing for us.

Chiang writes about how it is necessary for humans to write in order to discover their own ideas—even if when they begin writing, their work is unoriginal and derivative:

If students never have to write essays that we have all read before, they will never gain the skills needed to write something that we have never read.

It's important for students to learn how to articulate their ideas, not to prove that they've learned the information, but to develop their own original thoughts. Whether someone is a student or not, they likely develop their original ideas through writing. If humans aren't creating our own original writing or learning how to write, our ability to think creatively could atrophy.

"AI" as a tool, "AI" as an authority

I'm not one to say that "AI" tools should never be used during the writing process.

After all, I use Microsoft Word's spelling and grammar check daily.

I also wrote the rough draft of this blog post using Nuance's Dragon dictation software, which uses "machine learning" to better understand what the user is saying and translated into text.

Right now, I'm writing this on Nuance's mobile Dragon Everywhere software, which certainly leaves a lot to be desired in terms of accuracy. (Though it's still better than Google's free voice typing, which I also use daily.)

It certainly isn't like "machine learning" is infallible when it comes to writing. In fact, many of the typos that make their way into my writing are introduced by Dragon or Google voice typing not understanding my accent.

Perhaps an AI booster might say my accent (which that now-paywalled New York Times dialect quiz claimed is a mixture of North Texas, western Louisiana, and Oklahoma City) is the problem, not the software.

On days when I dictate a lot for work, I notice that my accent shifts slightly to become more "comprehensible" to the software, even though the desktop version of Dragon is supposed to adapt to my accent, not the other way around. There's a whole 'nother essay I could write about how the software we use tries to polish away our culture and histories (I'm Cajun and grew up in North Texas) and homogenize us into something that computers can best understand.

Writing in "AI voice"

In my day job (which involves editing other people's work), I've started to be able to spot when people have fed their fiction through "AI" editors like ProWritingAid.

It's a bit hard to articulate what the AI voice is; I'm just beginning to develop an eye for it.

But it looks like overly efficient sentences that seem to be missing something. They've been rephrased to be the most grammatically correct that they can be, on a technical level, but they often read as if they're incorrect.

It's an uncanny valley for writing, something that looks and seems human at first glance, but there is . . . something . . .  missing. It's too efficient. Not everything needs to be over-optimized. At a certain point, perfectly correct prose stops sounding human.

Limits and uses of AI editing

As someone who works in Microsoft Word for hours every day, I frequently see Word's spelling and grammar check try to make corrections that are straight-out wrong. The changes might be grammatically correct but awkward in practice. Often, however, they misunderstand a grammar rule, and if implemented, the changes would make sentences incomprehensible, turning well-crafted prose into gibberish.

I always feel unaccountably pleased when the computer makes these mistakes. They feel like a confirmation of my own humanity, somehow.

Microsoft Word's spell check and even tools like ProWritingAid and Grammarly have their place. Not every piece of writing calls for a human editor. (For example, my blog posts don't get edited by anyone other than me. I rely on the basic spell check in my markdown editor and then send my writing out to the world.)

Also, not everyone has the money or time for a human editor, and it can be incredibly helpful to have a piece of software that can help polish the rough edges of your writing (especially if you're writing in a language that you're less familiar with).

All this is to say that machine learning, LLMs, AI—or whatever you want to call it—can be useful as a tool. But we should beware of letting it shape our expression and redefine our voices. Or circumscribe our thoughts.

To me, there's a big difference between having an AI catch your spelling and grammar errors vs. having them rewrite and rephrase your sentences to "improve" your writing (or having them write a first draft which you then edit and expand upon).

The sentence about typos has a typo

I loathe grammar nitpicking, but because it's directly relevant to this conversation: Ironically, the sentence that inspired this post technically contains a typo (a comma splice).

A typo is no longer just a typo, it is a signal the writer is not using AI.

If you wanted to be grammatically correct, you might write it as "A typo is no longer just a typo; it is a signal the writer is not using AI." or "A typo is no longer just a typo. It is a signal the writer is not using AI."

But I guess because the AI didn't catch it, it isn't a real typo? That raises an interesting question. As people rely more and more on machine-based editors, will that change how we think of grammar and writing? Will some things that are technically "correct" be considered incorrect, and vice versa?

Like I mentioned, despite being someone who knows grammar rules intimately, I despise dogmatic editing and have no patience for people who are pedantic about grammar.

And, to be honest, I don't mind comma splices and similar "errors" in casual online writing (including my own).

Because I edit things for a living, I feel confident exercising editorial judgment and deciding that some typos are fine. In publishing, there is a common phrase, "stet for voice." It's an instruction to ignore a correction because doing so will preserve the voice of the author or character, and it is more important to keep that voice alive than it is to be grammatically correct.

We read to learn, to connect with others, and to go on adventures. We don't read because we relish samples of perfectly grammatical, efficient prose.

Junkspace and the internet as a dead mall

In January, I read a tweet about how the internet now resembles a dead mall.

Google search barely works, links older than 10 years probably broken, even websites that survived unusable popping up subscription/cookie approval notifications, YouTube/Facebook/Twitter/IG all on the decline, entire internet got that dying mall vibe

I haven't been able to shake that comparison. I have also been haunted by the 2001 Rem Koolhaas essay "Junkspace," which I've been reading and rereading since November. The essay, which is ostensibly about the slick, commercial spaces and malls that popped up in the late 20th century, is uncanny in its accurate description of the dead mall of the internet.

In an internet made up of five websites, each full of screenshots of the other four, how can we not feel like we're wandering through a dead mall or junkspace (which Koolhaas described as having no walls, only partitions)?

Add to that the impersonal bullshit texts that LLMs and LLM-powered editors help people churn out, and it's easy to feel like you're walking through the echoing corridors of an empty shopping mall. Occasionally, something catches your eye, and you turn your head to greet another human, only to be met by an animatronic mannequin that can talk almost like a human—but not quite.

That's how it feels to search Google and come up with a bunch of SEO content-mill, LLM-generated articles that mean nothing but rank in the algorithm because they've followed all the rules. The mall is dead and full of ghosts. And not even the fun, interesting kind of ghost.

Koolhaas calls junkspace a body double of space, which feels suspiciously like the internet (or, worse, the metaverse that tech ghouls keep trying to make happen). In junkspace, vision is limited, expectations are low, and people are less earnest. Sound familiar?

I'll certainly talk more about junkspace in future blog posts, but I can't stop thinking of parallels between the polished perfection of commercial junkspaces and the writing and editing churned out by LLMs.

If our mistakes make us human, I'm perfectly happy to make mistakes. To me, that is preferable to communicating with robotic precision and filing down all of the things that gives my writing a unique voice (even when those things make my writing "worse").

[^1] I'm not including a link to the original because I'm not trying to put anyone on blast or critique any one individual's views, necessarily. This is more about a larger trend that I'm seeing in the discourse about "AI" and humanity.

[fouralignments]

For the “get to know your writer” ask game - 3, 13, 20, 27, 74

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

I get sparks of inspiration. I get bad dry spells as well, so it comes and goes. Often times I make little outlines on my phone with checklist features; to give me a sense where I want the conversation to go and what plot points need to be in there. From there I write, I usually like setting the scene with descrubtion to get my audience emerses. Sometime even though I have an outline, when I'm writing its more about finding where it all goes and letting it develop organicing or trusting my story of what and where it wants to go and where it wants to stop.

Sometimes, I have to step back and look at it from a different angle, for the answer to come to me, but its always been there, I just needed to find it. For example in chapter 7, I had this conversation between Peter and Sabah Nur and I need a transition between the next point because real conversation doesn't follow smoothly.

But when inspiration hits me rather that be from the podcasts that I listen to or film analysis or reading; I rework what they said and put them into the word doc. Sometimes I get ideas and have to write them down in my note section of my phone or even phrases that slip into my mind.

I go back on work on sections or move past trouble areas to work on the next point in the outline and go back and worth between them. Rinse and repeat until I feel its done. But, I have the bad habit of editing as I go and chasing rabbit holes thus increasing my chapter length. I sometimes worry that my audience will not like the length will skip over what I have wrote

Then check to see if everything makes sense. It takes me an entire day to upload, I go into word and type out the summary and whatever else is needed on ao3 and just copy/paste on there.

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

(It should be noted that I have never EVER taken a creative writing course at the university level) Sometimes your writing has to catch up to your artistic eye.

It has three level:

1: you gotta get your basics down for technical wise like your sentence structure, word choice, using the correct punction etc. Like you gotta know the rules, before you know when break them and bend them when it comes to creative writing.

2: This is best summed up by Glenn Hetrick in the tv show Face Off said multiple. You need to have a reference library of shows, tropes, to see what came before and build on top of it. Understand why tropes, different readings of a show of movie, work the way that they do. Sometimes its better to watch and observe and analysis what went wrong on terrible show than a good one. Just engaging with the text

3: Read shit. Read on topics that you don't know about. Read think pieces.

I took classes on women studies, did survey course on the middle east, read 18 books on semester ranging from populism, poverty, 1954 Guatemalan coup d'état and 28 Mordad coup d'état. First you get exposed to ideas that can inspire you and depending on what your reading word choice, sentence length, I could go on. It helped me greatly better than my previous university did in teaching me how to write. I also started re-reading more writing how to books that I bought sometime back and took their advice seriously. This. helped me develop the language I needed to describe what was in my head. Also the power of the semicolon, run-on sentences I fear you no more!

I have to tell that I use to SUCK at writing, but in the process of having to write short essays and even a couple research papers per semester. It forced me to get better. Really get things down. The professors took the time to tell what I did wrong in papers.

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

DOMESTIC SHIT

Its been pointed out to me that I write vulnerable moments between the characters rather that be between Erik and Peter, or Erik and Charles, or Peter and Sabah Nur.

What do you mean its not political?

Lots of food porn.

DADS

father-son relationships

For Erik:

I try my best to highlight his Jewish background and even in stories where it isn't apparent.

He does metal art like mystical menagerie of Ziz and leviathan, that do make an appearance in some of my fics.

Give my protective Dadneto any day; he's just so vulnerable around his son. He often sees his mother's eyes in Pietro.

Only Erik calls Peter, Pietro

His beard is called fuzzy. I find Fassy's veiny arms sexy and attractive.

He's very witty and sarcastic, but very worldly.

SHARKS

Yeah yes, Charles swimming with Erik in Shark form!

His singing and breadmaking, just him cooking is described as soulful. As a ritual for both himself and Pietro to help with establishing routine they sing Modeh Ani and Elohai Neshamah for the morning or blessings over food.

For Charles:

I've called his hair fluffy and feather-like mane many of times. He's associated with lavender, which is medicinal as he wants to heal both Erik and Peter but its also calming; also with pastel, lighter grays. His hands are soft and scholarly; I play up that aspect of his character. Shortbread and tea. I associate him with the spring, wildflowers, gardening.

Balancing out Erik in the parenting department. He's very motherly.

For Peter:

I associate him with hummingbirds. When describing his hair I often look up different slivery elements; I was very pleased with the tolkin reference in my Assassin Creed one-shot with Mithril.

Often described using celestial bodies and space, and metals.

He's neurodivergent and he flourishes under a patient teacher like Charles. He is very caring and kind, but suffers badly from self doubt and self esteem issues, a common problem in my fics. However, he doesn't think through things, but he's smart no dumb Peter here. He's trying to figure himself out and who he is.

For En Sabah Nur:

I've tired to my best to ignore or even re-imagine how Sabah Nur looks, so I focus on his eyes because Oscar Isaac has gorgeous eyes. For the character since he compesned with his eyes, voice and hands; I think why a lot of people didn't realize it was him was becuase in post ESN had to be dupped he really changed his voice for the role making it sound old.

I based much of his mannerism off of Oscar Isaac and if you see like him with Pedro Pascal or behind the scenes photos the dude gives good hugs and physical affection.

I also have given the nickname of En Sabah Nur giver of good compliments. Those are his two love languages that he primary uses.

I tired highlighting the milky prophet eyes. layered of his voice

Though surprisingly, I don't write the bite down on his lower lip tick that he has.

Though that may change in the future for the human less blue version in the future.

I am also giving him a fucking hobby, have it planned out, but he enjoy pottery. It turns out that yeah um Ancient Egyptians had pottery wheels. He also has an architect eye. With his powers it would probably help knowing material engineering, metallurgy, and chemistry.

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

My least favorite part of writing is the first draft and actually getting over the hump of writing enough where I all I want to do is finish it and write glore.

When I am in the zone and the words flow through I feel like I can write for days; I stay up till 1 to 2 o'clock in the morning just being in that moment, while listening to ambient music that helps me get there.

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

My descriptive language and just how I write the characters, its very disincentive. See answer above.

[jonathankatwhatever]

Totally unsure where I am later on 7 July 2023. I feel unsettled, up in the air, which is literally true for you, and I wonder what the connection is even though I see it every day, like the way I hear your lyrics to certain melodies which aren’t even the ones you set them to, like I’m hearing you writing the same as I write now.

I am drawn to this topic because I’m caught in an oscillation, a Coordinate Rotation, which has put thoughts of death in my head exactly in relation to my realizing that not only can we link gravity to quantum through grid squares, but that I had this all correct the first time through, but couldn’t prove it was correct in sufficient detail. This makes me wonder if I could have taken another, less self-critical path, but I don’t see how that would have worked because the work I do on this side is way off the charts creative mathematics. I’ve understood that at some levels before, but it’s never made sense to me because I have to wonder if I’m crazy, and then prove that I’m not. The question I continually ask myself is whether this is enough. Can I truly say it is proved? What would I like to know better? I’d like to be able to translate the ideas of modular forms better because I see it is a very technical field connected to elliptical forms and I need to get deeper there.

As I remember, we treated elliptics as a gs space and I think it was a cubic space, which is why it becomes a hole, that it’s putting an edge to that space which it generates. So they’re trying to connect that to a modular form, which is a group connected to IC, meaning 2x2 matrices. You can string these together to make LC, and so on. Yes, I need to accept that this means fCM occurs, which you already know because IC invokes fCM, which gets at the local-global issues. What’s the disconnect? What can’t I accept? We have grid squares and that makes grid boxes, which are cubes. That’s the real linkage between the forms, right? I mean now they’re versions of gs, which of course makes complete sense because we’re constructing a D3 Space when we look at x^3. I think that’s a hangup, meaning a place where the 1Space understanding isn’t efficient and thus doesn’t spark accurately across. There’s a lot in that sentence, including pain. So accepting this could be really useful.

Oh, I see: the issue is the divergence of x^n and 2^n, where the former counts multiples of itself and the latter doubles with each iteration. That conception is Halving. And we generate that out of Triangular, using the midpoint line, with that then occurring in various forms in higher dimensions, but the same folding conception in which an End is split into 2 Ends and a 3rd End is the Observer and Halving occurs over the midpoint line. This enables folding and folding and folding, both within an object and using it with other objects or in relation to them. It’s identity: SBE where S and E foldover to make the 1 they are except for the existence of B, which forms Triangular and gs. Should we note here that this means an ordered process in certain spaces, meaning Noetherian, if I spelled Emmie’s name right. I’ve been thinking about Hilbert more lately.

I get the idea of 0’s of polynomials because 0’s are where you match 1’s, which means a potential universe of 1’s in the contexts which demand and fit. I mean from 1 to gs primes as 1’s, to Irreducibles as 1, to Things as 1, which means a lot of Things within a 1, and so on. These all require a lot of 0’s to exist.

I just realized I’m not kidding. Any object, any tangible Object or tObject, is surrounded by 0’s or it lacks a Boundary, at least within our perception. An electron occupies a certain amount of D3-4 Space, which means there are grid squares. If I’m not mistaken, the mass of an electron is a 16 of some small size, which indicates it is a cloud because it represents different states which represent Irreducibles, but I haven’t put any thought into it because mass represents stuff like quarks, which we can conceptually explain as being equivalent to, thus manifesting f1-3. I assume that this mass accumulates to this very fCM looking value because this is a fundamental particle and it isn’t massless like a photon, so it fits to the simple form. I doubt I’ve put 5 minutes of thought into this in 20 years.

But of course, apart from physics, the conceptual arrangement is necessary: we need 1’s and 0’s because the 0Space has to connect to the 1Space. That’s one of the lessons I learned in the Family Storyline: the more I struggled, the more completely the wall, the barrier, the net entangled me.

————-

Continuing. I hope. Yes, I want this to be unassailable. It needs to be. And I know I’m not entirely there, but it’s inexorable. And full of pain for me. I don’t like that part.

Just had an interesting realization that didn’t lead anywhere at all. So I’m dropping it. Not even bothering to erase the words to make it look like I didn’t make a mistake. A mistake of this kind is different from a result mistake, meaning the calculations return a wrong value directly. This kind is indirect, so there’s a 1-0 flip occurring. I hope I can explain that.

So, imagine there’s a tape machine and you put data in and run one of the basic operations you can run and you get an answer at each step. I can see wrong answers emerge as the non-choices among roots. It sounds a lot like the old idea, which I think I picked up from Latin, that you would read an entire sentence only for the meaning to flip at the end when you reach the verb with the subject made clear, when the action which has pended over the construction of the sentence takes an unexpected form by the choice of how the verb and subject meld. How can you get the wrong answer? A misreading or miscount. Or maybe because of rounding. A miscount can occur like counting chickens before they hatch, which isn’t actually bad unless you do it naively, because you should estimate yield. But the idea is counting at the wrong time. How many soldiers do we have? Look at the paper strength of units or look at their actual strength? That’s counting at the wrong level, which is a form of wrong time, meaning you count before the depth you need to reach. Having everything become gs process is extremely clarifying.

I’m leaving out the melancholy about not seeing you.

See how intimately connected the work is to you? I’d love to be able to fit groups in my head to this better. That would be a big help. I often find myself puzzling: how do they do that? I understand there are permutations and thus ones that work, ones that form symmetries, which to me means a transit and thus transitive.

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Forgot to keep thinking about errors. I worry about them a lot. And I make plenty. An indirect error would be a correct process but the value is not the fit. That’s again about a layer enclosing the prior layers, which constructs using CR