#and that applies to all the chapters really. Some chapters are largely written by just one person yes but its pretty clear from the casting

[300iqprower]

Sorry if I had to say this: *Takes a deep breath while sweatdrop* Sakurai deserve better.

I used to be a sakurai defender like you, then I took an Olympus to the Frontal Lobe. Followed immediately after by a Heian Kyo to the Occipital Lobe.

I stand by everything I said in this post. I never said in that post Sakurai was competent. She was not, is still is not. She's long proven to be an extremely capable writer when given some guidance and/or when someone else is there to keep her fangirling in check. We have proof* of this in Summer 5, Little Big Tengu, Babylonia, and LB4. We also have proof that she's the world's most prolific character assassin when left alone for more than 5 minutes as shown with Shimousa, Septem, Summer 4, and the two aforementioned lostbelts.

*or as much proof as a game that refuses to properly credit its writers can be

It is fairly well documented that part of the reason Sakurai got immediately put so high up at Delightworks is because she was a Nasu superfan and Nasu pretty much just handed her the Prototype and Extra casts to go nuts with. That's not me saying she has no talent or merit and doesn't deserve a place in the industry - those claims are provably untrue. But it's also provable that she got where she is through Nasu's nepotism and that lack of qualification has shone through time and time again.

Lostbelt 2 is what best sums up Sakurai. It's both so bad that I "skipped" about 40% of it and got an empirically better story experience for doing so, and yet it's also so good that it has not one, not even a couple, but several of my favorite moments in the entire story to date.

Characters that have been directly credited to Sakurai like Douman, Tomoe, Xu Fu, Quetz, Sigurd, Napoleon, Surtr, Caligula, Gorgon, and more prove that Sakurai is capable of incredible writing.

None of that changes her track record of not only making the EXACT same mistakes every time she's called in to take the lead in writing a non-event chapter (and more than one event chapter), but arguably been worse about those mistakes every time she's put wholly in charge of a chapter, from Septem to London to Shimousa to LB2 to Olympus to Heian Kyo.

TLDR: Sakurai is not some objectively good or bad character. She's a real person who is not 100% consistent in anything. She's clearly talented but that doesn't change the actual work we've been presented, which has repeatedly indicated she needs someone to reign her in or her work inevitably tanks in quality due to her eccentricities that range from harmless to outright problematic. She is frequently derided as a scapegoat which is not only unjust and typically just how people try and shield Nasu himself from criticism despite her being part of his responsibilities as the one with the final say in everything, but also detracts from the genuine criticism Sakurai still deserves given some of the truly awful content that has been directly attributed to her.

Honestly I just wish she'd stick to writing events. Her style of heavily leaning into certain tropes and hamming it up more than other writers lends itself perfectly to events and lets her strike a balance of drama and comedy that other writers typically go too far in one direction to land, something that again is best exemplified by Summer 5, which was led by Higashide with her [implied to have been] heavily helping with things hence so many of her characters making up the central cast.

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Tag Game: Author Ask Tag

thxxxxxxx @sacratos for the tag!

Question Template: 1. What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it? 2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding? 3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness or help the reader grow as a person? 4. How many chapters is your story going to have? 5. Is it fan fiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it? 6. When did you start writing? 7. Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

1. What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it? 

Don’t be an idiot and actually communicate with those you love, lol. In all seriousness, I don’t know if my story has a main theme, but there are several themes for sure. The importance of having family that loves and supports you (whether found or biological), taking back autonomy of oneself, and the importance of community.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding? 

Other BBU/pet whump authors! If you have written for the BBU, trust me, I have used some idea of yours as inspiration somewhere. I also use middle school me’s obsession with dystopian novels as inspiration as well.

3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness or help the reader grow as a person? 

All my MCs are trying to heal, in one way or another and I want my readers to connect with my characters in some way. Not really teaching a lesson or having some big, major theme, but I want my characters to feel real and connect with the readers (yes, even if you want to kill them you cannot touch Star, he is immune from death)

4. How many chapters is your story going to have? 

Hahahaha ha ha ha. . . yeah, no clue

5. Is it fan fiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it? 

Original content from my brain! I post it here, and only here

6. When did you start writing? 

The minute I learned what stories were. I think I wrote my first “story” (bible fanfiction. No I will not be taking questions about that) when I was about seven or so, then my first full fanfiction at nine and I have not stopped since. 

7. Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Read! Seriously, I cannot stress this enough! Read! And not just to compare yourselves with other writers–please don’t do that at all–but read to see how others write emotion, descriptions, characters, plots! Take what you like and figure out why you don’t like other kinds of writing, then apply what you want to your own writing. Also, your writing voice will develop in time. Don’t worry about that.

A large chunk of people I follow are writers! Can’t list all of them here, but they know who they are and their writings have inspired and shaped both my style and my content. Ilyasm! 

Tagging (w/o any pressure!) @quietly-by-myself @whump-card @sparrowsage @whumble-beeee @whumpyourdamnpears and anyone else who wants to join in!

[multifandumbmeg]

One of most fascinating things about fanfiction is that it's fundamentally about stripping the characters down to what you believe are their core traits, and everyone has a different understanding of what those are. Yet there are also largely agreed upon understandings or trends which collectives sometimes agree upon even when there's no textual evidence (especially with characters that were originally written in a flat way or had very little time in the actual text).

There's an obsession with "accuracy" of how you write a character, when in reality we're all we're all making innumerable decisions (conscious or not) about which of the character's traits are most important for them to be recognizable, which traits would come up in this particular instance, which traits would be different IF [insert AU here]. Purpose is also a huge factor. Some people just want to recreate the character and even original text's voice as much as possible while writing a moment they didn't get to see in the main text. Some people ((calling myself out)) go way too deep with the psychology and write VASTLY different from source material AUs in which they spend countless hours considering how differently the character would be/behave under those alternature circumstances.

And then some people just really want to imagine their blorbo doing one specific thing, and if textual evidence or reasonable inference would strongly suggest character would never, who cares? Some people care a lot, I have been said person before as well, and it's tempting to just write it off as "bad writing", but you really shouldn't. For one thing, when somebody writes a goofy textpost, is that bad literature? No. Because they weren't trying to write high-brow literature. And perhaps more importantly, I would urge you to refrain from labelling (even mentally) anyone's fanfiction as "bad writing". Instead, consider what they were trying to do (really you should do that with all things you read, but the rest of these apply more to fics).

What core traits were they trying to portray?

Did OP just want to see blorbo in this random smutty circumstance?

Is this person writing in their native language? Did this person have a beta/proofreader at all? Remember that people are doing this FOR FREE and without the help of professional editors like a real piece of literature. At best we have honest friends to bounce ideas off of or point out our typos. Frankly, no one owes you the fully proofread version. I once had someone comment on one of my 100, 000 word longfics that English grammar in this chapter was a bit shaky (implying I'm not a native speaker, which is so rude to begin with), to which I replied I am a native English speaker, 100%-ed the English section of SAT, all AP English classes all A's, and I even TAUGHT English, but I often write late at night halfway delirious and I do not in fact proofread the 1,000, 5,000, or sometimes even 10,000 word chapters on these longfics before I post them DAILY. DAILY!! Appreciate that you can comprehend this garbage it all, or I'm gonna start posting in hieroglyphs.

But I digress, my point is really that collective fandom conscious and the inherent inferences and interpretations (really key word here) every fic author makes are fascinating and really represent the core skills of literacy. We should all appreciate that more.

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi all! Thank you @rimeswithpurple, @cutestkilla, @thewholelemon, and @forabeatofadrum for the recent tags! I can’t believe it’s already this late in the year. It’s not Sunday yet, but I’m working tomorrow so I’m just going ahead and posting early so I can feel like I did something. I know tomorrow can be a hard day for some, but here’s wishing a very Happy Mother’s Day to those of you to whom it applies, and a peaceful day to those for whom it’s a little more difficult ❤️

I’ve been relatively busy with my writing this week (GASP) so I have a couple of things to share. First, some Baz POV from the second chapter of The Field Trap—things are looking up at last:

Eight snakes and a dragon. I knew he would be wet when he came blustering in—it’s why I unpacked his rucksack and laid his spare clothes out by the lit stove—but I still wasn’t prepared for the sight of Simon Snow’s ridiculously thin t-shirt and uniform pants cleaving to his body as though they’d become part of his skin. His chest is heaving, his curls are dripping in his eyes, and he’s holding aloft a brace of four large rabbits that he’s already cleaned.

Honey, I’m home, he’d said, and I know it was a joke, but if I wasn’t dead before, I certainly am now.

“Wipe your feet before you come in any farther,” I say shortly. “Dry clothes are by the fire.” I turn my back and hear him laying down the rabbits and his bow and arrows. Two loud thumps signal his shoes coming off, and then there’s the slushy sound of wet cloth rubbing against itself as Simon makes his way over to the fire.

“You laid my clothes out for me,” he says, like he’s awestruck. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare up at the ceiling, trying not to visualize what’s going on behind me as I hear his sodden clothes hitting the floor. “Baz?”

“What.” Who am I kidding, I’m very much visualizing all of it.

“You can look.” His throat sounds dry. I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut now with the effort of holding my fangs in. “Do you not want to?”

I try to think about everything I told him earlier. He’s going to end up following the Mage to the end of our world someday, and I’ll have to stand with my family. I think about my fangs, ready to burst from my gums at just a hair’s more provocation. I think about how inexperienced with all this I am, and I feel hopeless. And yet…

I turn around.

My second share is from the piece I’m doing for COBB, which I’m really happy to say that the first 5000 word chapter is completely written for. I feel strangely…competent? LOL. Here’s a bit of Dev POV:

And he did. I watched with a cold sort of horror as my cousin, always the more powerful magician of the two of us, stood on our balcony and asked the universe for a handsome man with blue eyes, golden skin dusted with stars, and curls that were neither fully blond nor brown. He would be strong, brave of heart, and make the best sour cherry scones in the world (sour cherry? That’s not even a real type of scone, I wanted to say). Instead I’d said, “That doesn’t sound impossible,” in spite of the sparkly-sounding skin. Baz had given me stink-eye as only he could and can, before adding the coup de grace: “He will have the blood-red wings of a dragon, and a tail.”

It had taken all I had not to burst into laughter at that, but my headstrong cousin was already pressing rose petals into the potion and blowing his breath onto them as he tossed them out into the night air. “Baz,” I’d admonished, but the spell was cast, his heartbroken wish already caught by the breeze and curling up, up, towards where the full moon hung heavy and silent in the sky.

Have a great week everyone! No-pressure tags: @drowninginships @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @nightimedreamersworld @arthurkko @artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @iamamythologicalcreature @aristocratic-otter @tender-ministrations @valeffelees @mooncello @confused-bi-queer @beastmonstertitan @prettygoododds @youarenevertooold @raenestee @roomwithanopenfire @asocialpessimist @hushed-chorus @papierhaikuphoto @stitchy-queerista @orange-peony @brilla-brilla-estrellita @ivelovedhimthroughworse @bookish-bogwitch @c0nsumemy5oul @aceumbrellaheroes @larkral @letraspal @stardustasincocaine @cows4247 @shrekgogurt @j-nipper-95 @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @wellbelesbian @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @onepintobean @theearlgreymage @imagineacoolusername @mostlymaudlin @shutup-andletme-go @sailorblossoms @hertragedyconnoisseur @yellobb @ionlydrinkhotwater @alleycat0306

[rollercoasterwords]

oookay. finished the secret history let’s go

so the book itself was split into two separate books, book I and book II. for clarity’s sake, im gonna further split it into 4 parts, part 1, 2, 3 and 4. 

so first quick summary 4 bg information (no spoilers, as promised!!)

so basically a group of sexually repressed 20-something gays push the first homophobe they see off a cliff

OR

we’re told of Bunny’s murder in the first 2 pages, separating the book from other crime novels in that most of it was less a whodunnit and more of a whydunnit. in part 1, we’re introduced to richard papen, the narrator, who applied to a college, Hampden, miles away from his home state bc the colours on the brochure were pretty. he falls in with a group of students who are studying ancient greek; henry, bunny, francis, and camilla and charles (twins). So for a while, things look awesome. richard’s at a good college, with a large and tight-knit group of friends. What could go wrong?

this part transitions into two after richard and bunny find out about something terrible the rest of the group did in the past.

in part 2, bunny starts to become hostile to his friends after learning of it, while richard is able to wrap his head around it quite quickly. It escalates to the point where bunny becomes a potential threat, in that he might spill the beans to someone else. here, henry begins to plan bunny’s murder, and the rest of group just sort of goes along with it. parts 1 and 2 were pleasant, and paced really quickly. i was hooked the entire time. part 3 gets a bit dull, but it picks up again after Bunny’s funeral and hits the ground running.

book one ends right before bunny dies, and book two starts right after.

part 3 opens into a police investigation for bunny, who is believed to be missing until they find his body. in this part, tensions within the group begin to escalate. most of p. 3 is spent at bunny’s family’s house, who have invited many people bunny knew to stay with them during the funeral proceedings.

part 4, i believe begins after bunny’s body is found. here everyone’s like REALLY on edge. I will say most of it was just richard and francis running around frantically together while charles slowly goes insane with paranoia that henry’s trying to kill him as well. yk what, some of charles’ dialogue in this part is unsettlingly reminiscent of a panicked letter written by bunny that was found only after his death. In the book, there was only one passage of it shown, but that was enough. reading it, one could practically hear the panic, the desperation in bunny’s voice, one later mirrored in charles. vv psychologically thrillery. Im having hannibal flashbacks actually

and ohhh my god the ending. It was the climax to end all climaxes rae. ill never get over it. It was bittersweet ig, like all the best endings are. 

one thing i noticed is that throughout the book, there are these like future reflections littered through. like ‘thinking back on it now, i wish i had. . .’  or ‘funny, that was the last time i ever saw him’, which have the story a sort of They Both Die at the End quality. yk, like a tragedy waiting to happen. I think i remember you doing something like that once, rae, in atydsp. I believe it was right in one of the summer 1977 chapters but i could be wrong. I think something like that really makes a story gut-wrenching, especially with the whole looming impermanence that the reader is all too aware of. the very last lines in the epilogue read, ‘I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.’ see? whenever one of these bad boys is thrown in there, the scene changes from just a regular scene to something golden and significant. I think i once saw a post that read, ‘in movies time travellers are always scared of drastically changing their future by doing something small, but no one in the present ever things they can drastically change their future by doing something small’. thats what that reminds me of.

in the epilogue, richard refers to himself as a bystander, and he’s not wrong. he’s the narrator, of course, but in the end, the story’s not really about him. it’s about henry and bunny. I kind of get now, those lines at the end of the epilogue. Bunny’s death, and the events that subsequently followed, are so much more important than richard himself will ever be. 

TSH is famous for that one line henry has, when charles asks him how he could possibly justify cold blooded murder, and henry says, ‘I prefer to think of it … as a redistribution of matter.’ but the line that got to me the most personally was an unassuming one, camilla in the epilogue about her twin brother charles: ‘actually, charles and i dont really talk anymore. It’s broken my Nana’s heart.’ not that she and charles should ever be in the same room together ever (very fucked up things happened), but it’s just the impermanence of relationships. how two people who may be at one point inseparable just drift apart. it’s not any one big fight or falling out that snaps the thread of their connection, but that thread just wearing out and growing thinner and thinner until eventually nothing is left anymore. thats what gets to me.

andd also one thing that kept happening was that i’d accidentally (or on purpose) flip a few pages ahead and reading something really fucking deranged or unexpected and just be like ‘huh???? what??? how?????’ and i’d go back and read up to that point until it made sense. i’d love love LOVE to give examples but i’m not allowed spoilers :(( the book is just the right amount of deranged though it rlly tickles ur brain in just the right spots without being overly ick

I think someone said that it was a francis/richard/charles/camilla/henry love pentagon but its most like a love diamond. grab a pen and paper folks, it gets complicated. imagine charles at the top, francis on the left, richard at the bottom, and camilla on the right, with a line extending from camilla to henry. there thats tsh.

all in all 8/10!! if it’s on your reading list like you said it was, definitely move it to the top.

one day i WILL read tsh i promise!! unfortunately it cannot go to the top atm bc im working thru the books i already own 😔 love this review tho i honestly didn’t really know what the book was about & this actually sounds really good…

[lusthurts]

writing meme about me!

no official tag but thought maybe time to share more about myself! mostly because I want to know more about you all as well, and @sperrywink extended an invite to seblaine mutuals so I will do the same!

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I discovered it on accident as most of us do - I was on the Glee wiki I think? There was a link to select fanfics on the ship pages at the time, and I started reading one of the Finchel ones, and it was game over for me lol - I started writing my own a while after that, and I participated in a variety of Glee RPGs that inspired me to write other characters. I was in one of those massive Glee RPGs in like 2011 on fanfiction.net, and it was very formative for me in terms of connecting with the rest of the fandom and wanting to do more of that. RPGs are also so great for exposing you to ships you never would've liked or even thought of before, although all my current ships came from elsewhere lol

oh, and there was the whole escapism from family shit that was going down at the time thing - that was a huge factor for sure

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

I've almost exclusively been writing for the Glee fandom since the beginning, although the ships I've written for have changed drastically throughout that time. I've dabbled in some other things as well depending on my special interest at the moment, but I always come back to Glee. Other fandoms I've written for include The Outsiders, Degrassi, How I Met Your Mother, 13 Reasons Why, Girl Meets World, and Skam ! none of these are published anywhere anymore though as far as I know, it's all far too embarrassing (and yes I'm aware that's the most bizarre mix of fandoms ever)

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

at least 12, I wanna say I started around 2012ish?

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I genuinely think it's about equal, but it comes in waves. Sometimes I'm reading more, sometimes I'm writing more. I'm almost always working on something and I'm also almost always in the middle of reading a long fic.

5. What is one way you've improved as a writer?

I think I've gotten a lot better at writing comedy and ensemble dialogue. I like writing the silly goofy scenes with large friend groups a lot, especially when I feel like I've nailed the character's voices enough that I don't even need dialogue tags to know who said each line.

6. What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Ohio geography lmao - I like always have Google Maps pulled up trying to map out different locations and how far drives would be, etc. I also have researched a ton about various colleges (especially for my current WIP since these characters are actively applying for college rn) and France (never been there, constantly have to write stuff that takes place there).

7. What's your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

I genuinely do love all comments! I especially loves one that are specific/mention parts of the chapter or the fic that they enjoyed or thoughts that they had while reading. I also like chatting about the characters and canon and their predictions/hopes for the rest of the fic. The length doesn't really matter so much - I love long comments and short comments, and I try my best to respond to all of them.

8. What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Idk I kinda write a lot of infidelity and toxic relationship stuff. Seblaine is the main ship I write for nowadays, and the nature of their relationship lends itself to a lot of infidelity in their process of getting together. I also just love writing angst, so even when I'm writing established relationships, they end up being sort of toxic throughout especially given the traits of both characters. I just find it more fun and probable to write a slightly toxic relationship than a 100% healthy one.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

PWP - I struggle so much with writing smut, although I like to think I've gotten a bit better at it recently. I'm also trying to get better at writing ensemble fics, but it's definitely a struggle for me to give each ship/character enough attention. And I'm pretty awful at world building, so anything remotely fantasy, sci fi, etc. is a huge struggle for me.

10. What is the easiest type?

slow burns! I've gotten so much better at delaying the characters from getting together for a really long time in fics and it's soooo fun. I prefer a character centric slow burn with lots of sexual tension and an arc that involves characters moving from enemies/friends/strangers to lovers over the course of many months or years.

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I like to write outside of my own home - something about physically relocating makes me way more productive. I write a ton on planes (I travel a lot for work). I also love a good coffee shop, Panera, park, library, etc.

I write in Word and publish to AO3 - used to write in Google Docs but it's so slow and laggy so I much prefer Word. Used to publish on fanfiction.net but I will never go anywhere else now that I've transitioned to AO3, the far superior fanfic site lol

I am most productive with writing either during the day if I'm somewhere other than at home or in the middle of the night in bed - my most productive hours at home are between like midnight and 3 am

12. What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I recently got over my fear of PWP and published a one shot that I'm very proud of. I have many ideas for things similar that I'd like to work through in the future!!

Most of this is fandom specific though - I'm super intimidated to write for big fandoms because I've gotten so comfortable in the Glee fandom, especially writing Seblaine which has a relatively small audience in comparison. I'd love to write Marauders, but that fandom is HUGE and very intimidating because there is so much lore and fanon to mess up. I hope to give it a shot one day though!

13. What made you choose your username?

it's a song lyric! lust hurts comes from the song "Barcelona Boots" by Arlie - the lyric goes "Lust hurts, could you bear it for me?" and I thought that was very fitting for someone like me who's obsessed with romance in fiction but can't be bothered with it in my real life

any of my mutuals are welcome to participate! I'll specifically throw in a tag for @daisyishedwig @calsvoid @xonceinadream @andyandersmythe bc these are the ones that come up first when I go to tag haha

[armed-and-rwby]

So, and I know this is kind of bad timing in June, but I can't deny any longer than Yang's character was seriously compromised after V5

This isn't really a scripted thing and I've not written analysis in a while, so forgive the loose formatting here, just something I needed to get out.

I think the overall issues can apply to more of the MCs than Yang, which I'll bring up later, but RWBY has an unfortunate tendency of resolving character arcs without much overlap with the plot, and Yang definitely gets it worse than most (and she's my favourite).

Back in V5, Yang was exploding with directions for her character and I think the writers worked hard to touch on all of them, from her recovery, to her growing mistrust of authority, to her issues with her mom, to her reconnecting with her team (and of course the deeper angst with Blake in that), but resolution for all of these largely fell short IMO. The last time she's even talked about the scheming of Oz was in V6 when she called him a bastard, Raven has never been mentioned or some up since V5, and I don't think she's even spoken to Weiss since their heart to heart in V5 outside of plot functional dialogue. The same can be said on her relationship with her sister, which, beyond her sacrifice in V8 and an unresolved conversation earlier in the volume about Salem and their mom, also haven't actually interacted with each other. The only thing really addressed was her lost arm, which was an extension of Bumblebey and closed off when they killed Adam in V6, a great fight with very little to do with the actual plot.

In V7 and 8, she's a complete third wheel, she talks with Robyn and fights the Ops in 7, and doesn't even get a fight in V8. Weiss certainly got it almost as bad, she was a bit more involved, but still not much given how this is her kingdom and her family that was so central to the plot. It's a condition of a bloated cast, which they've addressed a couple times, such as the start of V6 and all of V9 (though with their various guides, the girls don't make a lot of relevant decisions on the flow of that story either). It really did suck that we got to see Ruby's suicide through Yang's eyes, only for us to not see any of their reactions, and even when they see her it's all pretty surface level stuff (Yang even just repeats what Weiss tells her about Ruby).

My favourite scene in the whole show was her confronting her mom, I thought that was such a perfect direction for her character, tying together both her conviction to her family with her backstory of her mom to drive her arc forward in some unique ways, only to be sidelined in following chapters as her ship left port. And while this post isn't here to bash Bumblebey, I guess there's a bit of a warning that, since that was almost all of her drama and driving force for the last 4 volumes, with it canonized, I worry she'll only drift further away from the plot and her own unique character moments.

Wish I had some gifs or something to break up these paragraphs, but I'm just kind of vomiting out all these nagging issues that've been building up these last few years. Really does hurt to love a character like that and not see them utilized in the show

[alwayschasingrainbows]

Tangled Web Readalong

Chapter 1.2.

Aunt Becky, in my opinion, is written in a mocking way, as a caricature of all those nosy relatives that each one of us has in our environment. She is a typical aunt who, when there is an awkward silence at the Christmas table, will immediately seize the opportunity to stab the person sitting next to her, asking countless questions and expecting detailed answers. We, the readers, laugh at Aunt Becky's sarcastic retorts, but let's face the truth: each one of us has probably felt insecure in the company of a similar person at one time or another.

Maud's writing genius is best demonstrated while describing family scenes; she had a unique sense of humor and a sense of observation. Aunt Becky's party doesn't seem very pleasant: everyone falls victim to the sarcastic remarks of the head of the family; but everyone shows up anyway, each time.

I think almost everyone was intrigued by Aunt Becky's personality; she is undoubtedly one of the most interesting older women characters that Maud has created. I really liked her jokes and recalling family stories. A huge plus for the scene of applying rouge on the cheeks:

"It's no more than decent at your age," protested Ambrosine.

"Decency's a dull dog," retorted Aunt Becky. "I parted company with it long ago."

Then, Aunt Becky's reaction to Nan's makeup:

"Go upstairs and wash that stuff off your lips and cheeks," she said. "I won't have any painted snips around here."

It's a bit like Aunt Becky saying, "I'm eighty-five, so I'm allowed." Of course, this is pure hypocrisy, but it must be admitted that it is very funny one.

Speaking of Nan, her way of dressing should have resembled Ilse Burnley's, but it doesn't, not in the slightest. I have a feeling that Nan dresses to impress others, while Ilse dresses only for herself.

Nan's mother reminds me so much of one od Valancy Stirling's relatives: "Aunt Alberta, enormously fat, with an amiable habit of always referring to her husband as “he,” as if he were the only male creature in the world, who could never forget that she had been a great beauty in her youth" (Blue Castle),

vs:

"She was an enormously fat woman, with a rather deplorable penchant for wearing bright colours and over-rich materials, who had been very slim and beautiful in a youth." (Tangled Web).

Characters that caught my attention (and the quotes, describing them) are

Peter Penhallow

We know from chapter 1.1. that "had it not been for the jug, Peter Penhallow might to-day have been photographing lions alone in African jungles" (how delightful and wild!!!!).

In chapter 1.2. we find out that Peter is a free spirit and a nature lover: "Peter is here," said his sister Nancy Dark eagerly. "He's out on the veranda. You know Peter hates to be cooped up in a room. He's so accustomed to--to--"

"The great open spaces of God's outdoors," murmured Aunt Becky ironically."

Maybe it is me overthinking, but I can easily spot some resemblance to Barney Snaith; both men prefer open space and life wildness, surrounded by beautiful, untamed nature. They both seem to abandon accepted conventions and norms. Both of them do not fit into the quiet society of a small town, but seek experiences that other people cannot understand.

Gay Penhallow

She has some of Rilla's innocence and romantism in her! Gay seems as such a radiant, cheerful girl, who brings beauty and laughter everywhere she goes (very similar to pre-war Rilla). She resembles young Nan Blythe, too: Blythe by name, Blythe by nature. If Google is right, their names somehow match, too:

The name "Blythe" is both a boy's name and a girl's name of English origin meaning "happy, carefree".

The name "Gay"'s meaning: cheerful, joyful, merry".

Margaret Penhallow:

She just seems so sweet and kind: "her thin, sensitive face flushing pitifully and her peculiarly large, soft, grey-blue eyes filling with tears, went blindly to the first vacant chair."

Her description: soft, big eyes filling with tears, sensitive face reminds me a little about Aunt Laura from Emily of New Moon: kind, sweet, good-natured, but also rather weak and easily-bossed.

"Perhaps Margaret still wrote poems. A little shell-covered box in her trunk might know something about that. But the public press knew them no more, much to the clan's thankfulness."

Penny Dark:

"What's the matter with you, Penny? You're not as good-looking as you generally believe you are."

"He was a fat, tubby little fellow, with a curly grey beard and none-too-plentiful curly hair. As usual, he was as well-groomed as a cat. He still considered himself a gay young wag, and felt that nothing but the jug could have lured him into a public appearance under the circumstances."

He is exactly how I imagine Emily's cousin - Andrew Murray, or Emily's almost fiancée - Aylmer Vincent might look and act like, 30 years post series.

Moon Man (described in a separate post).

Uncle Pippin:

"Uncle Pippin shifted his wad of gum to the other side of his mouth and manufactured a cheerful lie instantly for the credit of the clan."

Chef's kiss!

[valyrianfreehold]

do you have any thoughts about the objectification of dragons, treating them as mere weapons when they’re still living breathing creatures etc

First and foremost I want to start this with the fact that dragons are not real and I don’t want to get into discourse about things like police dogs. (Police dogs are bad)

In this setting dragons were literally created for the purpose of combat but on the other hand I wouldn’t really call them domesticated you know? We see firsthand in Dany chapters that left to their own devices dragons will eat anything when not kept contained. In FB prior to the creation of the dragon pit dragons were largely left to their own devices and I highly doubt when they weren’t close to their rider they were off indulging in a strictly four legged diet. What is a peasant going to say or do when a family member gets picked off by royal property? The sad story of Hazzea and Drogon is definitely not a unique one.

Left to their own devices dragons will just as happily kill and eat each other as they would any human or sheep. We see that with Sunfyre and the Cannibal. And those two dragons and their actions are giant freaking allegories/metaphors for kingship and power. Like you simply cannot analyze dragons in any way without acknowledging this. Even Barth’s observation of dragons having mutable gender has more meaning than just biological fact.

Dragons ARE weapons. And while we have plenty of examples of riders who don’t use their dragons for combat we never are given any example of a dragon not totally gung-ho for a fight. I think it fits thematically as much as it does logically that dragons love combat because it was what they were created to do.

When it comes to normal wild animals, it’s simply not efficient to be always on the lookout for a chance to fight. When any animal does come to blows, there is a heavily weighted decision to do so from the instigator. Domesticated animals can be bred to be aggressive and get joy from aggression. War horses, for an easy relevant example weren’t made to be docile. But this all sort of circles back to the question of whether dragons are domesticated despite their origin. They can be tamed, sure, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous or unpredictable. Syrax still killed her rider’s son for trying to mount her. But it’s not like dragons don’t show restraint, they’re not off devouring every human they see the minute they’re hungry.

Idk it’s a difficult but interesting question to answer because you can only apply so much objective logic to a fantastical creature created by blood magic for the sole purpose of violence and written as an allegory or metaphor for power. It’s a question that Dany asks herself in some shape or form when pondering legacy and I’m very curious to see what conclusions she’ll draw especially after the killer cliffhanger we’ve been left with for over a decade.

I personally think that dragons in this setting are made to consume and destroy and riding them into battle in of itself was not cruel towards them. We do have examples of dragons that never saw human combat (Dreamfyre and Cannibal come to mind) and Silverwing’s story is an interesting one. She survived the Dance and like Cannibal just faded from history.

Tl;dr If they were suddenly struck by sentience I don’t think they’d raise much objection to being asked if they wanted to fight. Great. We are now entering the Paarthunax dilemma!!! Ifykyk.

[ldysmfrst]

Breaking and Entering (1) - Lovren

Status: Ongoing Series

Chapter number: 1 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 3,269

Word count for Story: 3,269

Genre: Werewolf

There are no chapter titles, but each chapter will have a name listed that indicates which POV the chapter is from. Mindlinks are in italics. Conversations with their inner wolf are in bold italics.

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, and m/m. This chapter does mention parent death and foster care.

Side note: This is the first story I have ever written. Since I am laid up on pain meds from almost breaking my ankle, I thought I would share something with you, my dearest readers. This will be posted on my Patreon as well. I hope you enjoy it!

BREAKING AND ENTERING MASTER LIST

LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

High school was the last milestone for youth everywhere. Mine happens to be at Lunar Ridge High. Like most high schools, there are three main cliques at LRH: The Clackers, The Worms, and The Invisibles. 

The Clackers are the popular students consisting of cheerleaders, prepsters, and jocks. I call them ‘The Clackers’ because the girls always wear high heels that clack on the school floor, announcing their presence wherever they go. 

The jocks and male prepsters are also classified as Clackers because where a Clacker girl is, you will find a Clacker guy. They follow them, acting like a starving dog after a juicy steak. It is disgusting and barbaric, but hey, they are teenage boys. What else would you expect?

The Worms are all the nerdy students, such as spelling bee champs, straight-A students, and World Peace-type kids. They controlled all the science labs throughout the day. If they were not there, they took over the bleachers and discussed the newest technology or scientific discovery. 

Oddly enough, though, LRH never really had a plethora of Worms in the Library, just hanging out and reading random stuff. Most were in and out as if staying longer would get them unwanted attention. 

Last and most certainly least is The Invisibles. The name should explain itself. They tend to be more intelligent and politically inclined to be a Worm but are “sneaky” about it. They don’t qualify in looks, popularity, or athleticism to be considered a Clacker; therefore, they are Invisible to everyone. Imagine every Invisible to act like Violet from “The Impossibles,” just disappearing whenever they need to. 

We won’t talk about the Outcasts because, technically, they belong to one of the three main groups but just rebel and refuse to fall into a clique. I always thought it was safer to fall into one but hide almost in plain sight. It kept people from asking questions, and well… I got left alone for the most part. 

One of the main reasons it was easy for me to pick a clique at LRH was because the Clackers and the Worms looked like they belonged on the cover of Italian Vogue. It was like some kinda fashion week was happening year-round. I swear this town must have something in the water or really outstanding genetics. 

This is strange because if they all pulled from the same genetic pool, then those crazy stories of deformed kids due to incest and such didn’t apply here, even though it was scientifically proven.

The LRH campus should belong in the middle of a metropolis, not some dinky mountain town. 

A strange thing about LRH is the lack of fencing around the school. There is nothing to define the edge of the school grounds. It has a vast parking lot out front and a large field that leads to a beautiful forest mountain range in the back. They don’t seem to care about people (or wildlife) coming and going as they please. 

It makes me curious about how the school deals with truancies. 

LRH is also the cleanest school in the history of schools, even with its large campus, which includes five double-story buildings, a pool, and a soccer field. 

The first buildings you see at LRH are the café and the gymnasium. Both are single-story buildings with very dynamic renderings of running wildlife—no, I take that back: running wolves. It is a beautiful mural, and with all the howling at night around this town, it makes perfect sense they chose wolves as the focus. 

Between them sits the administration building, the tallest building on campus, and in Lunar Ridge. The admin building is the only part of the school that is open year-round at 6:00 a.m., closes at 6:00 p.m., and allows anyone in town to come in and check out books. 

With its impressive size, the admin building is a gateway to the school. It is a significantly modernized building for a city this size. It has floor-to-ceiling windows, which creates a very open and welcoming feeling. It also has a 13 Ghosts-styled glasshouse creepiness to it. 

The first floor holds the typical High School admin offices, and the second through fourth floors contain the town library with pristine glass walls. If you love books, it is a breathtaking view not only because of the view from the windows but also because of the stacks of books inside. 

The top floor is restricted. 

Only those with a special badge can open the elevators, and business people come and go like it’s the Town Hall. Unlike the other floors, the top level looked like it had a glassy material, but you couldn’t see into it like the other floors. If it is the Town Hall, it makes sense that privacy must be needed. 

The cluster of buildings on the other side of the parking lot from the school would be considered the bustling town of Lunar Ridge. It is a simple town. There is a Main Street center, a few convenience and gas combo stores, two grocery stores, a twin drive-in movie theater, and a large city park with an aquatic center. 

There wasn’t even a “Starbucks” or “Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf” in sight, and the closest mall was in the next town over, wherever that is.

I live in Lunar Ridge with the Moores family: Rachel, Jonathan, and their daughter Selena. 

Selena is about three months older than me. She is the LRH varsity cheerleading co-captain, and she has the classic Barbie doll look—platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and perky body features—a carbon copy of Rachel. 

Rachel was the Varsity Cheerleader Captain when she attended LRH and doesn’t seem to age… at all. If you compare the photos of her on the walls to how she looks now, you would think she was her own younger sister. She works part-time as a receptionist for LRH to “keep herself busy.”

On the other hand, Johnathan probably was a Worm, possibly a jock Clacker, back in the day and is the current Lunar Ridge Police Chef. Come to think of it, I never see him in a police uniform, just all-black bouncer-type clothes. He has pitch-black hair with some gray showing that looks more like silver strokes of lightning. 

John has the brightest, friendliest brown eyes on the planet. He loves Rachel and Selena to the ends of the earth, and you can tell they love him back just as much. Jonathan welcomes me the most out of all the Moores family, making staying here a little more bearable. 

Selena is dating the soccer team captain, Mitchell “Mitch” Gunner. Mitch is your typical soccer guy, standing about 6’ 2” with a runner’s body. You wouldn’t know that he is buff until you see him practice. Then, you can finally see the rippling muscles under his sun-kissed skin. His eyes are blue but more dark blue than Selena’s crystal blue. However, their hair color seems like they got the same dye job. 

Mitch is also one of the only “kids” I know who has a badge for the private elevator at the library. Don’t ask me why.

Mitch and Selena were always the ones that had the most significant Clacker following. They both had suitors crushing on them regularly. They tried their best to gain a moment of their attention despite the lack of care from either Mitch or Selena. The followers acted as if their happiness depended on the presence of Selena or Mitch. 

Strangely enough, neither one of them hung out together in or out of school. Sure, they acknowledged each other in the halls, but you would not have pegged them as friends. 

That all changed at Selena’s 18th birthday party. Everyone and their brother seemed to be at the Moores’ home for the party. I stayed in my room for the party, especially since I wouldn’t stay long. I had only been with the Moores’ for about two months, and I didn’t want to deal with explaining who I was. 

Apparently, I missed out on something huge. 

Now, all of a sudden, Selena and Mitch go everywhere together. They are together at the park, at the house, and everywhere, and all their suitors suddenly stop pursuing them. It was as if there was a switch that intensified everything between them. It suited me just fine because that meant fewer people to avoid over the rest of the summer break. 

Selena continued blabbering about how they were High School Royalty because they were the first senior couple. It has done wonders for their egos, and I am surprised they can still fit through a doorway.

No, I am not related to the Moores. 

They are foster family number eleven, but then again, who’s counting? I can hardly remember anything about my parents besides what the incident report tells me. All it tells me is that they died on the scene of a car accident while on their way home. 

I was only seven when it happened, and every time I try to get a copy of the report, it is always blacked out. The doctors say I can’t or won’t be able to remember much of my life before the accident because of something to do with the Post-Traumatic Stress of losing them. I do know they were my only family, so I got put into the foster system. 

The Moores are considered family number eleven because I don’t belong as an add-on. I wouldn’t have lost my parents if the powers-that-be wanted me in a family. 

The foster families never seemed to care about spending much time with me or treating me like family, so why stick around? I made life exciting for me; besides, something in me never felt quite settled with the families I was dumped into. This leads to the main reason why I have been with so many families: I guess it aggravates the foster families when the cops keep bringing you home.  Then they don’t want you anymore as it is too much drama for them, even though I was just a paycheck. 

Before you know it, you are off to the next family to help them pay for their rent or addiction. 

Eleven families in ten years means I am with most families for less than a year. I don’t even count families I stay with for under three months. So far, I have lasted with the Mors for four months, officially making them family number eleven. 

My name is Lovren, which means “dear secret” in Old English, but I tend to go by Ren. No, I don’t care to have a last name. The foster system decided my surname would be that of whatever family I was with at the time. I have been with one too many to remember. 

So, technically, my last name is Moores. 

I am seventeen and have fair skin with some freckles splattered about. I stand at 5’9” and weigh about 240 lbs, most of which is in my butt and my thighs. I guess I am what some people call “curvy” or fat; which one they use depends on if they are talking to me or talking about me. 

I am proudly one of the few Invisible seniors at LRH. 

I was placed in the middle of Nowheresville in late spring, and because my grades are always stellar, I didn’t need to attend LRH for the remainder of my junior year. Besides, it would have annoyed everyone if I left before my 3-month “trial period” ended.  

When I moved in, the Moores gave me Selena’s old room, including her bedroom set, and, this time, I could bring most of my clothes. I only bring a little with me from house to house. It makes things easier for me. I want to save time and effort about little items getting lost. 

The only thing necessary to me is the only picture I own, and it is one of my mother and father in their engagement photo with me in her baby bump.

Honestly, I swear the system put me with this family and this town because they didn’t think I could cause much trouble. Don’t they know idle hands are the devil’s work?

My favorite place in this whole teeny tiny town is the library. I like to sit on the fourth floor in the southeast corner. There is a desk with a Mac, a comfy loveseat, and a perfect town view. I discovered it when I first moved here. I love watching the dark shadows return to the mountains as the sun wakes the town. 

In the few months I have been here, I have never seen anyone, aside from the random cop-looking guys, in this section of the library. They are all pleasant and leave me alone. I am not sure if it is because I am just sitting there “behaving” or if Jon told them who I was. 

My go-to section is the Romance and Fantasy section. All the shifter, vampire, and magic-styled romance, erotica, and adventure stories that I could read were my secret obsession. 

Sadly, with school starting today, I must be reasonable and focused on my studies. I had one of the highest GPAs in all my previous schools and want to keep that up. I don’t want anyone to know because I don’t want to be noticed by The Worms. 

I also need to figure out a way for the school board not to want me to be valedictorian. However, I only have eight more months before the Moores inevitably find some reason to kick me out. This means I will not be graduating from LRH, so what’s the point of fitting in and finding friends?

I have my day already figured out. 

Since I am a senior, they let me pick my class schedule. When not hiding in the library before and after school, I sit in the back corner of my classes nearest the exit. I prefer sitting there because I can get in and out of my classes without bumping into anyone. Like every new school, the teachers will keep trying to get me to participate. 

Most students who “are like me” don’t care to pay attention, get into trouble, and fail their classes. They were wrong about one thing: I wouldn’t fail any of my classes. My teachers typically learn not to call on me because I don’t want to answer their questions. I wouldn’t put it past some of the student body to end up thinking I am mute and probably dumb. 

I’m lucky to have a free period right before lunch, making it easy to get my food before anyone else even gets out of class. It will also allow me to go into the library to eat by myself without anyone noticing. I am pretty sure the librarian knows I have eaten inside over the summer break. Still, she’s never said anything to me. I hope now that school starts, she doesn’t decide to have a problem with it. I always ensure it looks like I was never there when I leave the area. 

Then again, that is how I tend to live everywhere I visit, hence my being Invisible. Now that you are up to speed let’s move on.

My routine will be simple; I will do it on autopilot after the first week. I wake up at 5:30 a.m., shower, get dressed, maybe get something to eat, and go to school. Today is the first day of my last year of High School. My clothing choices are mostly the same in style and color. 

Today, it consists of black ladies-styled boxer shorts with a matching black jersey knit sports bra. Black bootcut jeans, a black tank top tucked in with a deep purple crop top with sleeves made with black lacing that ends slightly past my fingertips. My outfit is complete with black Doc Martens and a pullover hoodie with an artist rendering of Harley Quinn in Joker colors, purple and green. 

My favorite colors are black and purple, and yes, I always like to layer my clothes like a Russian Nesting Doll. Trust me, layering my clothes is beneficial in many ways.

My brown wavy hair isn’t long enough to put into a tie and have all of it stay, so I brush it out and pray it doesn’t frizz. I don’t wear any makeup. After all, I don’t want to be teased by everyone for trying to be like The Clackers because I sure as heck don’t have the body for it. 

The absence of all makeup also allows me to draw less attention to my eyes, which is my favorite asset. I always thought my eyes were the one part of me that connected me to my parents. 

Why avoid others noticing? 

Because making eye contact with someone always turns the conversation from a pleasant one into a retelling of the story of my parent’s death. Ultimately, it always became a pity party that started because they wanted to know how I got to have two different colored eyes. 

One eye is brown, like muddy water, and the other is green, like smashed peas. I have learned that avoiding eye contact is the best thing to do, although it seems to make me stand out here even more since most of the talking at Lunar Ridge involves either staring at each other or staring off into space. 

Running downstairs, I grab my black leather backpack and a Monster Java Energy Drink. Don’t judge; Javas are my secret to being a morning dove, not a chronically exhausted pigeon since I have always been a night owl. 

I am out the door at 6:15 a.m. before anyone else in the house wakes up. Successfully avoiding the morning chitchat. 

“How did you sleep?”

“What are you doing today?” 

“Do you remember blah blah blah?”

I hate forced conversations with Rachel and Selena. When I talk with Jonathan, they never seem forced. It’s like he cares and is interested in what I will say instead of just wanting me to sit and listen to him rant or boast about whatever is happening like the rest of this house.

My classes don’t start until 8 a.m. because getting a zero period would gain Worm awareness of my presence. So I have plenty of time to walk to school. Selena has a Mustang that is bright pink and white. Her “pony,” as she calls it, is a typical Clacker car that I wouldn’t be caught dead in, don’t worry; the feeling is mutual.

Surprise, surprise, I don’t have a car, nor do I want to catch the bus. So yes, I walk by myself in the wee hours of the morning. Besides, I like the walk even though the Moores’ house is on the opposite side of the town. I enjoy seeing the quaint Main Street shops before the people start buzzing around. 

I know I tend to rag on this town's being small, secluded, and plain lost, but in a way, it allows me to feel calm. Watching the shops prepare to open, smelling the fresh bread from the bakery, and feeling the fresh morning dew relaxes my soul as I walk every morning. 

I have no doubt you have figured out that I like to keep to myself as much as possible. Walks like this allowed me to enjoy my last bit of alone time before facing the crowded school where I would be crammed into seven hours a day, five days a week.

((edited 9/14/24))

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[little-peril-stories]

2024

It's the time of year where many of us think about the future and what's to come. I don't really do New Year's resolutions, and I've never done a real list of goals before. But as I'm thinking about what 2024 will bring, I'm feeling for the first time the desire to lay out my goals - or, at the very least, create a to-do list.

It might be interesting to see how much I overestimated my ability to get stuff done next year. 😅

No pressure to read this, it's largely for myself!

The Queen of Lies

Continue posting semi-regularly. Given the way the first half of the school year has gone, I figure that's probably the best I can do.

Rewrite Act 3. I'm actually so excited for this, and it's all planned out! But it's still not written, even if a lot of the juicy dialogue is sandwiched between bullet points of what happens.

Edit it...eventually. Perhaps in the latter half of the year. Or perhaps that's a 2025 job. Who knows?

angsty heist wip

Reveal the title. Coming sooner than you think.

Post the WIP intro early. TPOT's came when it was about half posted, and TQOL's came only a day before Chapter 1. I think I'll mix it up for angsty heist wip. Nobody peek on my drafts and see how long the wip intro has been chilling there. 😅

FINISH WRITING THIS DAMN BOOK. It's just got to happen. I've hit 2/4 POV character's midpoints, and the delicious confrontation/finale still needs to be written. It's all the good stuff!

Figure out posting plans. It's not coming until TQOL is done, so this is a very vague and fluid goal.

Book 1

Review beta feedback thoroughly.

Make a concrete plan for what I actually want to change and what I don't.

Apply feedback.

Reread and edit for typos/little things.

Do a second beta round.

Start preparing query materials in earnest.

Book 2

lol. start it again? postpone to 2025? who knows. low priority.

The Prince of Thieves -- the journey to self-publishing

Okay, real talk: the list below is long. I've never done any of this before, so I have NO clue of what's realistic and what's not. Is all of this possible in the year 2024? Maybe not. Is that okay? It's gonna have to be! The point of it isn't to marry myself to this list or else I've FAILED, but to have a clear idea of what commonly needs to be done in order to self-publish a novel. If some of the stuff doesn't happen, well, so be it! I’m also quite aware that the list below is not exhaustive. There are probably a million things I haven’t thought of!!

DONE - ISBN account made and approved

DONE - decide on pen name. Finally!

Beta stuff! Send it off, wait for feedback, review feedback, and then apply it. I'm almost there.

Attempt cover design. I am 73% confident in my ability to do it well. With an artist AND a graphic designer/marketer in my family, I think I've got a team who can help me with the technical/Photoshop stuff.

Hire cover designer if failure. (Definitely a possibility.)

Decide on book format/interior design elements. Pretty confident I can do this myself. 96% sure.

Make an author website. For realsies. (aaahhhhhhhhh)

Increase social media presence. Try not to cry about the existence of TikTok. Try not to get in my own head about this. The truth is the thought kind of makes my skin crawl but I also understand how it is is pretty much a necessity.

Learn marketing and create a marketing plan. I got this. probably. maybe. ennnhhhh.

Consider character/scene art commissions. I am uncertain about this one. Finances will determine whether this happens or not.

Cry a lot and be okay with that. I think I'm going to struggle a lot with this whole process. And you know what? That's all right. I will learn a lot. And even if it's scary...well, that will make it all the more rewarding in the end. 💕

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

(Read on AO3)

"But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?"

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

     Russell never really understood why having read every book in the Library should be seen as something so remarkable.

     After all, he was a lifelong avid reader, and lived in the building besides. To him, having read everything was a simple inevitability.  It was a large number of books, true.  But the collection wasn't limitless, and his appetite for words was—or at least felt, to him—approximately so.  All things considered, it didn't take him very long to burn through the entire backlog.

     Indeed, "burning through" was an apt description for his reading habits in those lonely early days in Kardia.

     Russell had arrived in town a stranger and a fugitive; war-battered and disgraced, with little respite for his mind outside the comforting familiarity of ink on paper.  Dazed and half-shattered, he found himself falling into the pages harder than ever before, the agonized weeks and months passing by in a hectic, ink-scribbled blur.

     It wasn't until he was finally somewhat ready to integrate into village life that Russell realized he really had read everything there was to read, sometimes twice over.  And, knowing no other way to live, he kept up the habit even as his mind began to settle; reading every book that came his way, and returning to his old favorites for the third, forth, or fifth time over.  It remained a precious escape from past and self when he found he still needed one, and served as the ultimate fulfillment of a dear old dream.

     And of course, on a more practical level, it also helped him keep up with the slow, steady trickle of new material.  Having at least a broad familiarity with all the books and their contents, Russell figured, was an essential part of the job.  And, given his passing interest in nearly everything, it was probably the part of the job that he relished most of all.

     But all people have their preferences, and he was no exception.

     If one knew Russell well enough, it was probably less surprising to learn that he had read every book in the Library than it was to find out that there were some—indeed, many—that he hadn't particularly enjoyed.  It was something of a source of guilt for him, but it was nonetheless true.

     The most obvious examples were technical manuals concerning advanced, unfamiliar trades, which he generally found inscrutable, and often merely skimmed.

     Then there were the romantic stories written for a juvenile—or perhaps excessively timid—audience; the kind that always conveniently ended before anyone got up to anything interesting, leaving Russell feeling cranky and unsatisfied as he wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should just start skipping these.  Each one seemed identical to all the others, and no one but Tori ever seemed all that interested in checking them out.

     But, if given a choice, Russell knew he would rather read a thousand carpentry texts and a million treacly chaste romances than a single tome of military history.

     In his youth, he'd found it as dry and esoteric as the most complex of those vexing manuals, and could never quite create a picture in his mind of what was supposed to be happening.  Surely, there was some coherent story to be found, behind all those far-away dates and names and landmarks.  But, try as he might, he could never get it to emerge.

     And, if it was bad then, it had somehow become even worse.

     Back in those tumultuous early days of indiscriminately reading everything within arm's reach, Russell assumed having a bit of personal experience would help, but it never seemed to properly apply, leaving him more confused than ever.  Though he now understood a bit of the jargon, he still found that these texts seemed to talk right past him; telling a story in which, even now, he seemed to have no real part.

     It gave him the strange sensation of being flattened to nothing in those pages.  Like a dry autumn leaf, carefully pressed and promptly forgotten, the blood-vibrant colors of his life slowly fading away

     Still, Russell had read every book in the Library.  And, inevitability or no, it had become something of a point of pride.

     Just get through it, and you can read that nice big natural history encyclopedia you've been staring at.

     A new shipment had arrived the previous week.  And—confusing, unsettling, or otherwise—Russell couldn't just not read one of them.  So, when he unearthed yet another ponderous volume on Norad's seemingly endless border conflicts, he figured he would just go ahead and read that one first, to get it over and done with.

     Unfortunately, this was proving surprisingly difficult, mostly owing to the tome's recent publication.

     For one thing, the spine was stiff, and Russell had to make an active effort just to keep it open in front of him.  Of course, this got easier upon reaching the halfway point, but by then he was seeing descriptions of locations and practices that he actually recognized, which made his mind wander uncontrollably.

     Why can't I put it all together?

     (I remember everything.)

     Just yesterday, he'd read the description of a certain ambush technique, and lost the better part of an hour staring into space, running through the procedure in his head; surviving, dying, surviving again, and only grudgingly allowing himself to move on once his mind finally stopped letting him live.

     If you can't save yourself, have the sense to let it end.

     There were several such incidents, and they all made Russell feel as though he'd never get through the damned thing.  But still, as in most areas of life, he supposed he was making a stilted kind of progress.  He only had a quarter of the book to go, and was back to having to pin it open; a welcome, immediate annoyance.

     Having reached the end of another laborious page, Russell carefully flicked to the next, preparing himself for another dense and thorny, but mostly uneventful bramble of words he'd have to hack through.

     Not five seconds later, he felt his hair standing on end with the realization that he'd found something else entirely.

     This can't be history.

     Russell's brain snapped in electric recognition; breath caught in lungs that still held a faint rattle, heart feeling like it could have beat its slick way out of his mouth.

     At first, it was just an infantry number and a span of dates, somehow as strangely meaningless as any of the others.  But the page also contained one of the volume's few illustrations.

     It only took about a second to realize what, exactly, he was looking at.

     (Tin cups. Mud puddles.)

     (My grave.)

     A scratchy woodcut reproduction of a photograph; one that he had never actually seen, though he could remember the day it was taken as though it were just last week.  The kind of day that your mind holds onto not because it was particularly important, but more so because no other day had yet bothered to dethrone it.

     Far right end of the second row from the bottom.  It won't be hard to find.  Just take a look.

     Russell's eyes tracked across the page.  And, sure enough, there he was, right where he'd left him: the vague image of his eighteen-year-old self.  He stood at the very edge of the group, spaced slightly too far from the young man at his side and looking almost tacked on as an afterthought.

     The expectation was that he would either feel either a deep crushing sorrow, or nothing at all.  But, to his surprise, Russell actually found it slightly funny.  The photograph had been a formal affair, with everyone standing at attention and holding the camera in a steely gaze.  Meanwhile, that distant teenage Russell was, to all appearances, simply trying his best.

     Gods, this poor kid.

     He wore a round pair of glasses back then, and the glare on the thick lenses must have been such that the artist decided not to bother with his eyes at all, instead rendering the frames opaque.  This gave him an unreadable, somewhat hollow look, which made him look even more out of place.  And, upon closer inspection, his posture was slightly hunched, shoulders just a tad bit lopsided.  That, he supposed, could have been the misery of his new life settling into his young, green bones.

     Poor, poor kid.

     (You wretched little killer.)

     But no, Russell remembered that day well.  He'd been assigned to help with digging a trench the day before, managed to tweak something in his back in the process, and simply couldn't handle standing up straight for as long as it took to get everyone in position and process the photograph.

     Even now, over a dozen years later, he could feel it—if only vaguely—as he slumped at his desk.  The weight of his tired spine worrying at that frayed cord, a reminder of everything else inside him that had been pulled to near-snapping over the years.

     Despite it all, he had to laugh.  It came out as an awkward, breathy bark, followed by a slight cough, but it was laughter all the same.  Of course, the Library was nearly silent, and Russell had spent the last two hours sitting all but motionless, face set in a light scowl, so this drew the attention of the entire room.

     Which, thankfully, was just Tori and Cecilia.  And Lynette, he supposed, but she was stood against the far wall with a book propped in one hand—as was her way—and quickly decided that this didn't concern her.

     (Doesn't it, though?)

     His daughter and assistant, however, were a bit more curious.  Tori looked up from the card catalog that she had been sorting through, nervously fiddling with the end of one long, yellow braid.

     "...S-something funny?"

     Russell laughed again, more quietly this time, and shook his head.

     "Not really, I guess...  Mostly just surprised.  I'm...  I'm in this book."

     Tori tilted her head quizzically, and Cecilia craned her neck over the desk to get a better look.  Russell beckoned Tori over, and moved the book aside so Ceclia could settle herself on his desk.  He carefully held the pages open with one hand while gesturing at the image with the other.

     "See the one on the end here?  That's me."

     Those two words, spoken aloud, turned to ash on Russell's tongue, drying his mouth and making his throat feel slightly constricted.  He swallowed painfully, and watched as they took him in; the bad posture, the bad glasses, the daydreamy, serious face.

     A face that, he began to realize, hadn't changed much in all these years.

     It was starkly recognizable, even in this miniscule, ink-lined state.  This was the face that still met him every day in the mirror; though by now it had grown into itself a bit, and there were a few faint lines coming in around the eyes, breaking up the general blankness.

     Surprisingly, Tori was the first to speak up.

     "You l-look smaller..."

     Russell shrugged.

     "Well, there's a lot of us in one picture, so I guess we all do.  But I wasn't quite done growing until I was twenty, so you're probably right."

     Cecilia placed her own small hand next to her father's, leaning in for a better look.

     "What were you all doing?"

     What, indeed?

     "We...  Well...  I had to fight in a war for a while.  It was before you were born.  I guess they wanted a picture of everyone, in case someone wrote a book like this someday."

     Russell supposed that was technically true enough, and hoped she wouldn't press much farther.  Suddenly, it occurred to him—with some mild shock—that this was the first time they'd ever discussed his past.  Somehow, it just hadn't come up.

     And who made sure of that, hmm?

     Cecilia studied the image for a moment more, then tilted her face towards him.

     "Were you scared?"

     Another hard, painful swallow.  Russell had to clear his throat before he could continue.

     "Sometimes I was.  It could get scary."

     Cecilia looked grave for a moment, then smiled.

     "You were brave."

     That had nothing to do with it.

     Russell forced a smile of his own.

     "I think I mostly felt tired...  I like being here with you a lot more."

     Somewhat awkwardly, with his one free arm, he pulled his daughter into a hug.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder for a moment, then hoisted herself off the desk and scampered off to the remainder of her carefree afternoon.

     Sweet girl.  You're braver.

     (You don't even know.)

     "...Gods, those uniforms are like street clothes."

     Lynette seemed to be curious after all, and had joined Tori in hovering over the desk, regarding the image inquisitively with a single crimson eye.  Russell startled slightly when she spoke, gathering himself a bit before he could reply.

     "Yeah... They weren't great.  We had some other gear to layer on for active combat, but it probably wasn't much better."

     He didn't know why he felt the need to explain this to Lynette, of all people, because she certainly already knew.  Still, there was a slight disbelieving note in her voice.

     "...I frankly don't know how any of you are still alive."

     Well, for starters, a lot of us aren't.

     Russell readjusted himself in his seat.  His clothes were sitting funny across his chest, the friction causing faint pins and needles.  Still, he let out another small laugh.

     "I got lucky, I guess."

     That I did.

     By way of reply, his chest ached.

     Did you?  Really?

~*~

     Russell always found it funny how, even when you considered the obvious, the easiest way to tell that Cecilia and himself weren't blood relations would be to watch both of them try to go to sleep.

     Specifically, the way Cecilia never had to try.

     That night, as was their routine, he'd read her one of her favorite picture books; this time the one about an old tree in an even older forest, and how it gave life to all the birds and insects living in its leaves, wood, and branches, and the worms in the soil at the roots.  She kept herself awake just long enough for him to finish that familiar tale, then seemingly turned off her little body and mind like twin lamps as soon as he turned the last page.

     "Goodnight, Ceci."

     He kissed the crown of her head, then lay there in her small bed for a few moments, legs hanging awkwardly off the mattress, listening to her quiet breathing.  In the dim light of the room, he took in all the chaotic flotsam of his daughter's messy, miniature life.  The stones on the headboard, the feathers sticking out of an old jam jar on the nightstand, and the colorful crayon drawings that already papered the folding divider they'd installed in their shared room just a day before.

     Perhaps Cecilia's restfulness was contagious.  Maybe her body contained some naive wisdom that his tense, overgrown form could learn from.

     But, of course, there was no such luck.  Russell stumbled to bed, crawled under his own covers, and began the nightly waiting game.

    On the good nights, an hour or two of reading would be enough to lull him into a shallow but reasonably refreshing sleep.  A sleep that, by its very shallowness, would remain dreamless and blank.

     Somehow, as soon as he'd extinguished the lamp, Russell knew that this would not be a good night.

     I guess I should have figured.

     The previous night hadn't been very good, either.  And nor—at least when it came to sleep—had the night before that; lying awake and bruised in Lady Ann's soft bed, watching the falling snow through the window.  And neither, come to think of it, had the night before that.

     If he kept on looking back and back, Russell could follow this span of bad nights for weeks, spooling out beyond the horizon of recent memory.

     And now he had a new addition to the torrent of images that flooded his mind the instant he closed his eyes: the younger self, rendered rather carelessly in stark, black ink.

     It's not even the real picture.

     Russell wondered why the artist—who surely could have taken liberties if they'd wished—had bothered to include his crooked posture.  It was subtle enough to ignore, and surely, it would have been easier to just render everyone the same, as that had been the goal in the first place.  But no, there it was, the time he injured himself while clumsily shoveling mud in a trench, forever immortalized in print.

     Just as it was, he remembered again, in his own body.  The subtle ache in the tendon was bothering him, and he shifted again, trying to get comfortable.

     It's never going to be over, you know.

     It already is.  It's literally in a history book.  I need to sleep.

     Arguing with himself, Russell knew from experience, never got him anywhere good.  But what else did he have to do, lying there alone in the dark?

     You're okay.  It's just been a rough year.

     Russell blinked hard, and more pictures rose to the surface to replace that bespectacled boy, frozen in ink.

     Cecilia, lost in the volcanic depths of a cave, terrified and alone.  Himself, sitting in the dirt at the cave's mouth, mentally brutalizing himself for not being the one to go in and save her, for being such a poor caretaker that this even happened in the first place.

     For scooping her up off that battlefield, just to walk her straight into other dangers.

     No, she walked there herself.

     (She's too brave for her own good, is all.)

     Time had already ground a few sharp edges off the whole incident.  But, deep down, Russell still blamed himself.  Still woke from nightmares of a small girl's keening screams, of walking into pillars of fire.

     You've been keeping a better eye on her lately.  She'll be okay.

     Will I be, though?

     As usual, Russell couldn't give himself an honest answer.  Especially not from where he was right then, cold and alone in the dead of night.

     ...Not if you don't sleep.

     Then I guess I won't be.  Who the hell can sleep like this?

     Almost reflexively, He thought of Sabrina.

     The warmth of her body next to his own, and the silly conversations she would distract him with when he was too wound up to sleep.  Her hands, which never seemed to sense the contamination he could feel coming off himself in waves.

     And how almost surreal it seemed when she and Neumann reconciled that spring, seemingly out of the blue.

     Russell was happy for her, but had to admit it took the wind out of him.

     In truth, he wasn't even sure why.  They had only been exclusive for a few months, before which Sabrina and Lady Ann had been content to amicably pass him back and forth, with no hard feelings or jealousy that he could ascertain.  Hell, for all he knew, they were messing around with each other in addition to him.  But that was one of the many, many things that just seemed to never come up.

     No hard feelings or jealousy from me now, either.

     They remained close friends, as they had been since not long after Sabrina first arrived in Kardia.  And she seemed genuinely happy, which was all Russell could reasonably ask for.  But it had been an adjustment, and after the whole mess with Cecilia had taken so much out of him...

     (I almost lost my mind.)

     ...Well, his capacity to adjust was a bit compromised, to say the least.  Every empty bed seemed emptier, every lonely night seemed lonelier, and every unspoken fear threatened to physically corrode him from the inside.

     And so, when the tanks rolled in with the summer, was it any wonder that Russell felt fully prepared to face them head-on himself?

~*~

     It was an unseasonably hot, dusty-bright, uncanny afternoon, when the worst finally happened.

     For months, there had been an escalating whisper of siege and invasion that kept Russell steely-spined and frightened; painfully alert by day and restlessly wakeful by night, nerves crackling and ready for danger.  At first, it was only hearsay and rumor, which he couldn't fully believe.

     Told himself, again and again, that he wouldn't believe.

     But even so, whatever was left of the soldier within him still knew it was best to be prepared.

     Having spent so long trying to silence that malignant sliver of self for the good of the whole, the only thing Russell had ever been entirely unprepared for was the day when the paranoid whisper in the back of his mind finally spoke the truth.

     There were tanks lining up on the edge of town.

     And, when he began to hear the distant, familiar grind of heavy treads on gravel, he knew exactly what he had to do.

     With that brave young warrior-farmer down in the thick of things, there was no one left but Russell to defend the heart of the village.  It was all on him, and he was more ready to die for the cause than he had ever been in his soldiering days.  This wasn't some abstract fight for honor and country.  This was for his home, his neighbors, his daughter's future.

     What was his life, really, in the face of all that?

     Once he had made up his mind, Russell moved quickly.  He raided Leo's empty shop, borrowing a dull old sword, an ill-fitting iron chestplate, and a dented helmet with a creaky face guard.  Having outfitted himself as best he could in other people's damaged gear, he ran down to Raguna's field and grabbed as many fist-sized stones as he could carry.

     He knew well that it wasn't enough, but it was what he had.  There was nothing left but to station himself under the first arch of the main road, and wait.

     Sabrina tried to reason with him, tried to get him to abandon his self-appointed post and shelter in the sturdy stone cellar of the de Sainte-Coquille manor with her and all the others.  She reminded him of Cecilia, and Edward, and herself, and all he had to live for.  Cool and numb, as though he had just broken through the splintered surface of a frozen lake, Russell could only explain that he was thinking of Cecilia.

     "What else do I have to fight for?"

     Realizing that reason was getting her nowhere, Sabrina grabbed Russell by the wrist and started pulling; screaming at him that he was insane, that he would die, that there was nothing to prove here.  She was surprisingly strong for her size, and definitely the more athletic of the two, but Russell had received a good deal of formal training in how to plant his feet and hold his ground.  He wouldn't budge, and eventually Neumann took Sabrina's hand, shouting many of the same words that she had just been shouting at Russell.

     And then they were gone; dragging a sobbing Cecilia with them, leaving Russell alone to meet thirty tons of steel with a tarnished sword and a pile of stones.

     For a moment, he thought Camus might assist him.  The sturdy young farmer ran down the lane with his builder's hammer in hand, clearly filled with adrenaline and ready to see some action.  Russell couldn't understand his mindset, but was grateful to have some help.

     That is, until Edward realized what was going on and burst out of the Clinic in a fury.

     "What the hell are you doing!?"

     "I'm not just gonna let them destroy us!"

     "You can't fight a tank with a hammer, Camus!  You need to go and shelter with the others!"

     "You're staying behind!"

     "There's a difference!  I have to stay at the Clinic in case someone gets hurt!  You don't have to fight some machine that can crush you in an instant!"

     "Russell's gonna fight!"

     "Russell is crazy!"

     Not yet crazy enough to begin insisting that he wasn't, Russell simply watched their argument with half-hearted interest.

     And then Edward—a strong man in his own right—grabbed his strapping son by the collar and began dragging him towards the manor.  For a moment, he looked at Russell as though he wanted to grab and drag him, too.  But he must have thought better of it, for he quickly turned and left, with a protesting Camus in tow.

     Edward, after all, only had one free hand.  Russell was armed, driven, and—yes, perhaps—crazy.

     One would have better luck fighting a tank with a hammer.

     Or with some stones and a rusty sword.

     Alone.

     Alone, boiling under the unforgiving summer sun, the borrowed armor hanging loose and crooked around his frame and digging heavily into his shoulders, Russell spent the better part of a day standing at attention in that first archway.  With everyone else in hiding, Kardia was deathly still, and he found he could hear nothing but the far-away rumble of tanks and the ringing clatter of his own thoughts.

     Mostly, he thought of Cecilia, and wished he had thought to bring a pen and paper, to write her a proper goodbye before he was ground to nothing where he stood.  He wondered how it would feel to be broken under those heavy treads, almost grateful that the fate he'd run from had finally found him.

     It was a chance to get it right.

     Russell wouldn't run.  Not this time.

     He would stand tall.  He would do his best.

     And yes, he would be brave.

     Then, hopefully, it would all be quick.

     Though the plan was to hold his ground until the very last, for Cecilia and everyone else, Russell had—just as he had countless times before, during the fighting years—already accepted the likely outcome.

     And, same as before, the end never actually came.

     Raguna and Ivan, it turned out, had worked some strange Draconic miracle, and the tanks were stalled in place, held to the Earth with sturdy vines and roots.  There would be no invasion.  There would be no destruction.  Kardia would hold strong, with or without Russell and his pile of stones.

     Utterly exhausted, nerves fried from too many hours on the brink, he felt his legs give out beneath him and fell to his knees on the cobbles.

     A minute or an hour later, Sabrina and Cecilia returned, embracing him right there in the street.

     Russell knew they were speaking to him, a frenetic stream of teary gratitude, but he could hardly hear them over the empty roar of his white-noise mind.  They held him tight, but he still felt himself drifting backward, staring at the horizon for so long that he too felt collapsed into a flat, distant line.  Eventually, Edward emerged from the Clinic and helped him to his feet.  Russell nodded a weak thank-you, then staggered numbly into the Library.

     I guess it happened again.

     Once more, Russell was left to face the sort of world he could never imagine.

     A world where the horror had passed, but he somehow had to keep on living.

~*~

     My eyes blink open to the loathsome summer sun, and I realize how ridiculous I'd been, in thinking it had all ended so neatly.

     That was no miracle.

     It was only a dream.

     And I'm an awful soldier, falling asleep on my feet like that.

     But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?

     (All those lives you cut down, and for what?)

     I tell myself that I still have time to be better, if only by dying an honorable death.  The tanks rumble in the distance.  Terrable circles overhead.  I wait; though whether it's for a miracle or a catastrophe, I can't be sure.

     I wait only, perhaps, to be needed.

     I wait, always, for it all to be over, whatever that may mean.

     And then a munition whizzes up from behind the distant treetops, knocking the great Native Dragon from the sky.  The ground shakes.  Trees crack.  The world is thrown off-balance.

     (It really is on you now, isn't it?)

     I adjust the armor to stop its painful digging into my hips, get a better grip on the sword, and take up a stone.  I listen as the rumbling grows closer.

     I wait.

     The sun overheats my brain inside the helmet, and I suddenly remember that something isn't right here.  I shouldn't be hot.  I should be freezing.  But maybe I'm just thinking of my years in the trenches; which, in my mind, seemed to take place in a perpetual winter.

     (But surely, even then, it must have been summer at least some of the time?)

     (I try not to remember.)

     Luckily, I don't have time.

     The tanks emerge from the treeline and crash through the farm.  I plant my feet wide apart and square my shoulders.  I hurl my stone, and my aim is true.  It glances off the helmet of the unfortunate helmsman, but the impact still rung his bell pretty good, and I watch him slump forward in his seat, unconscious or dead.

     Then the tank keeps on rolling, and I realize the horrible truth.

     He was never in control.

     Neither was I.

     This machine was always going to crush me.

     So I drop my sword and let it happen.

     (It's only more waiting.  You can do this.)

     (I'm sorry, Cecilia.  I never had a choice.)

     Mercifully, I don't have to wait very long.

     The steel behemoth barrels toward and over me, making its vile destructive way into the town beyond.  I failed.  I was always going to fail.

     This was how it was supposed to end, and I was a fool for thinking I could ever escape.

     (It's okay.  Just as long as she can.)

     At least the chestpiece isn't hanging on me anymore.  The pressure of the treads crumpled it into my body, drove jagged dented metal into my collapsed ribs.  I can't take a breath, and I guess that's fine.  I don't have much use for air anymore.

     (It's over.  Finally.)

     And that's all I can think: "finally."

     Until, that is, I start wondering why I still have an intact head to think with at all.

~*~

     Russell woke with a start, hands flying over his ribcage in a panic.

     You're all right.  It was just another stupid dream.  Calm down.

     His chest was certainly a site of some genuine distress—lungs heavy with congestion, rib muscles achey from the persistent nighttime cough that had bothered him since autumn, scarred nerves sizzling in the wake of his hasty exam—but it was a far cry from the wreck of twisted metal and pulverized bone his half-dreaming mind had lead him to expect.

     Relieved, Russell sat up, coughed heavily, then collapsed back on the pillows.  He wasn't ground to a pulp in the street.  He was only right here; curled in a ball, blue moonlight, empty bed, daughter drifting peacefully on the other side of their divided room.  The dream had exhausted him, but he was too afraid of a repeat performance to chance sleep again.

     Not tonight, I guess.  I give up.

     Russell crawled out of bed and padded downstairs to the Library, where the thick book was still open face-down across his desk.  He lit a candle, flipped it over, and stared into his own younger, obscured face.  What, he wondered, would he tell him if he could?

     First, he tried it Cecilia's way.

     You're being so brave.

     As before, it rang hollow.  So he decided to try something else.

     I know what you're going to do.  Hell, I know what you've already done.  You make me sick.

     He tasted bile on the back of his tongue, felt his vision begin to shiver.  For a moment, Russell felt as though he was about to pass out from sheer white-hot rage, and was indeed so exhausted that it would have been welcome.

     Suddenly, a third thought; another message trying to propel itself across time, to leap into the illustration as through a magic portal.

     I know you're tired.

     Somewhere—perhaps buried in his own flesh, like a shard of jagged shrapnel—that lost boy must have heard, because Russell was overcome with something that felt too massive to name or express.

     He lay his head down on the cool scarred wood of the desk, and silently wept until dawn.

[letsdeconstructtogether]

Lab Rat

Chapter 1

Shadow was made to be the Ultimate Lifeform, he knows that very well. Its a major source of pride for him, the foundation of his very soul. His greatness radiates out of him just like the sublime light of the Buddha. He knows it, and he knows others know it too. He doesn't mind reminding them either.

Being the Ultimate Lifeform, however, has its ups and downs. He wasn't made to be paraded around, garlanded by fair maidens while the whole world worshipped his very form.

No, there was a cost, a purpose.

He is the Ultimate Lifeform because he was made to heal, to heal Maria, and maybe in a strange esoteric sense, the world itself.

His earliest memories were IV tubes. They never bothered to warm the saline before its administration so he felt a constant, inward chill that one could not escape, even with the thickest of blankets. The constant beeps of his heartbeat monitor echoed in the sterile room, his eyes strained against the humming fluorescent lights above.

He felt incredibly alone laying on the gurney, a loneliness that had rotted his bones. So alone, in fact, that he has forgotten that he was alone.

His visitors were robots who would visit to draw his blood or check his vitals. They never spoke with him, they only gave directions. If he didn't comply, they would simply wait. Since they were robots, they never ran out of patience.

One day, Shadow did not listen to a robot who was sent to retrieve a blood sample. The robot simply waited, repeating every couple of minutes, "Please reach out your right arm." Shadow turned his back to the robot as a sign of defiance.

The day drew to night and the light above dimmed automatically.

The robot waited.

"Please reach out your right arm."

"Please reach out your right arm."

"Please reach out your right arm."

"Please reach out your right arm."

"Please-" He complied.

Occasionally, Dr. Gerald Robotnik would come in.

Shadow wasn't a son to him, nor a friend, not even an acquaintance. He was simply a large lab rat. One that would glower at him with an unblinking intensity.

His glare would send a chill over Robotnik's skin. He wasn't used to his subjects being... aware. It is the difference between an ant and a crow. The ant sees you, the crow looks back at you. He saw a storm behind Shadow's eyes, an anger, a strength, and a resilience.

Robotnik wasn't used to this kind of test subject. He was used to the smaller ones, the ones that would squeal and squirm, those that he could easier submit to his lab experiments.

This one though, this one was strong. He once socked Robotnik in the mouth as he tried to restrain Shadow for another bone marrow harvest.

So, maybe not a lab rat, more like a lab rodent. A lab rodent he could collect data on, submit reports, and then win prizes. All of that was nice, earthly pleasures and all. But, what he really wanted, was to keep Maria alive.

Shadow's blood contained the promised antidote to her illness. He used the blood to develop a serum that would strengthen her immune system. He had to administer it daily however, or she would collapse into another life threatening bout.

To fund Maria's medicine, he signed a military contract with GUN. He agreed to develop the Biolizard as a bioweapon for GUN in exchange of a lofty budget, some of which he skimmed off for his personal project.

He also applied for research funds through his studies of Shadow's blood. Now, in every research proposal, you have to be quite detailed in your findings. However, Gerald wanted to keep Shadow a secret. He didn't want GUN to take Maria's only medicine away. Plus, how would he explain to the scientific community that he made a deal with the devil? Thus, Shadow was simply written into his papers as a 'genetically altered hedgehog', a simple caged animal the size of your palm. He was anything but that.

Just seeing Maria smile kept Gerald going with his schemes. He would allow her to grow into adulthood, yes, and he would see her married to her love. Yes, she will live, she must live. If only that hedgehog would comply!

-----

One day, after his daily blood letting, Shadow was doing his usual, slumping on his gurney, staring at his hands. They were large, firm, and nimble. Strong enough to break a wall, but gentle enough to hold and to love.

The door opened. Shadow whipped his head around to survey. This wasn't a part of the schedule.

A girl peeked into the room, astonished at her discovery. She then met eyes with Shadow. She gasped as her eyes widened, she didn't know he was here!

Shadow gasped as well, who was she?

She closed the door.

Shadow, sitting on the side of his gurney, kept his eyes on the door. Who was she? She was his size. Friend sized? Or enemy sized? His fists clenched as anxiety took over.

-----

Time passed, Gerald came by to take notes on Shadow's recovery from a recent surgery, then promptly left.

More time passed. Time passed until time was no longer a concept. He simply, was.

Close to bed time, Shadow started to tuck himself in. Another day was out. The sheets could only give him so much warmth...

Maybe he should escape. But, he didn't know what was outside that door. All of his operations occurred in this room.

He eats here. He bathes here. He breathes here, sleeps here, cries here, screams here, punches here, lives here, is here, am here, we're here, where's there? Outside, out there, in the open, what is out there? He wonders, he ponders, he's asunder.

Restless and a mess.

The next day, Shadow spurred change to Gerald's mind during a visit.

Rather than his usual game of glaring, he spoke.

He subtly asked, "Can I go?"

Gerald's world broke in that moment.

He started to realize Shadow was more than a lab rodent. The hedgehog just spoke to him! But you know, then again, he did make a deal with the devil. So, like, nothing is beyond the realm of possibilities... But the hedgehog spoke!

Gerald explained to him that this was his home and that he was to stay. Shadow simply accepted this, he didn't know better. Feeling pity for the hedgehog, Gerald, along with introducing meatloaf to his palette.

This was at the detriment of his data. Lab rat kibble was heavily standardized, meatloaf with mashed potatoes introduced a whole plethora of variables.

However, Gerald couldn't bear to it, to look Shadow in his eyes while feeding him dog food. He knew Shadow deserved at least some dignity.

He also placed posters of landscapes on the plaster walls. To give Shadow something to look at other than blank walls.

That was a mistake. Because now, Shadow knew that there were places other than this room... Places with lush grass, sweeping sands, rivers, mountains, and valleys... And that girl confirmed it, she had to have come from somewhere.

Before, he imagined that Robotnik and the robots would enter and exit a nebulous void space that existed beyond the door. But with a little imagination, maybe, just maybe, beyond that door, they were going to Italian beaches, or the Costa Rican rainforests. And that girl, that girl lived amongst them.

He wants to go too. Maybe that girl will take him.

-----

Another day, Shadow stared at the field of grass on his wall, imagining himself in the image. Was the grass soft? Why was the ceiling blue, and the lamp looked weird. The door opened once more, again off-schedule.

His eyes darted to the door. The girl from before peeked again.

Shadow leapt from his bed, he couldn't let her go again. Not without a word.

"HEY!"

The girl shut the door out of fear.

"Let's talk!" He said as he dashed towards the door. He leaned his ear toward the door, looking for any signs of her presence. Did she go back to the beach?

The door opened once more. She leaned her head inside, then turned to Shadow, making eye contact. They looked back at each other for a bit. He studied her, she studied him as well. They had the same height, but also the same heart.

"H-Hi." She started.

"Hello." He replied, the robots always said hello to him.

She hesitated, eyes darting around the room, then back at him.

"Who are you?" She asked.

Who am I? He had no clue. He did not answer.

"What do you do with my grandfather? He's always in this section of the spaceship... Are you his friend?"

Shadow contemplated for a little. Spaceship? He lifted his arm then pointed toward his vein.

"He draws my blood and runs tests."

She winced.

"Oh I know how much that hurts."

"You do?!"

She nodded. "My grandfather also runs tests on me. Everyday! It's so much, but I have to. So, I see a lot of needles day to day."

She pulled her IV pole into the room.

"I understand, I really do understand." It was an understanding he felt deep in his bones.

She scanned the room once more.

"Well I'm Maria, it's very nice to meet you." She smiled.

Shadow stared back, soaking in the kindness that radiated from her. It felt unusual, and nice.

"Do you read?" She asked.

Shadow continued to stare back.

In her arm, she held a book. "I was just reading before I came by."

He looked at the book. The only books he saw were the ones Gerald wrote in.

"Can I see it?" He asked.

"Sure!" She handed it to him through the door.

He looked at the art on the front. It was of a man in uniform riding a horse to battle. Everything else... He had no clue about. Absolutely none.

Maria gestured for him to open the book. He flipped past the written portions toward the drawn illustrations. They showed cannons, flags, battle formations, and swords.

He was amazed, he admired the illustrations. He wanted to have a closer look.

"I love to look at them as well." She said.

Shadow looked at her, nodded, then looked back at the pictures.

"It's about the American Revolution. When America fought against Great Britain for independence." She continued.

Shadow looked her blankly. American Revolution? America? Great Britain?

"Independence?" He asked.

"Freedom." She replied.

"... Freedom?" He asked.

"Freedom means, to do as you wish, without constriction." She replied.

Another chain broke in his mind. He could be free, by fighting?

He continued to study its pages. The men had rifles, batons, drums... Where could he get those?

"I'll let you keep it." She said.

Shadow was very grateful for that.

"Thank you." He replied, the robots said that too.

"Well, I should head back. It was nice to meet you..." She pondered for a moment, "So, no name?"

Name?

"... Okay, well, we'll think of something. I'll see you again!" With that, she dragged her IV pole with her to the other side of the Space Ark.

Shadow poked his head out to catch a glimpse of outside. He saw a hallway lit with the same fluorescent lights as his room. Except for her, no one else was in the hallways.

"Okay, so, it's not a void." He thought

He felt it within, freedom. Like a light breeze, a light taste on his tongue of what was to come. He could peek outside as much as he wished. He hungered for more, for change, for love, and for freedom. Those men in the book, they understood what freedom meant, because they had to fight for it.

Shadow, well, was also ready to fight for it.

[dio-the-thot-exterminator]

reflections n stuff

Post about me trying to explain some of the projects I got going on. Hopefully, it makes sense lol.

I guess to start, most of my writing and projects are…comedic? I just want to embody tomfoolery. Some of the projects I was creating with my coauthor, I've mentioned them before. (LOL if you saw my rant that one time), (and it wasn't just once my ass can not stop mentioning it) (yes I'm mad). They basically stopped contributing so ALL the projects were put on hiatus. Yeah :/ but I refuse to let all those years of hard work sit inside a Google doc never to see the light of day again. So here we go. 

TSO22 (Completed)

Hiii its me and my story. Titled semi-censored bcuz i uploaded it to YouTube and you can literally search it up and I'm not ready for that yet.

Anyways My second short film!!!! With real actors and a production team so exciting!! It's about a witch who seeks revenge on some children who wronged her! She casts a spell on a toy plushie and makes it come to life. She sends the toy to kill Fuzzy Lilypill, Large Plumjum, and Final Baddie (judging by their names you can tell this is extra goofy). Honestly one of the best things I've ever done, it was so much fun. Even though the film is hella cringe (kind of the point) it makes me laugh…like a lot and that's all that matters.

I need to tell everyone about the top-tier advertising like the way everyone pitched in to help was wild. We had lil signs and business cards and everything! The advertising was how I was able to book the actor who played Final Baddie!!

And ugh the bloopers in this film are so silly they were a lot of them bcuz nobody here has ever starred in a film before and it was a little awkward at first. But once everyone understood that this was just for fun and not really that serious we got some good content.

(Now I also need to do some complaining like I literally had to get down on my hands and knees and beg people to join. It was not fun. Why doesn't anyone want to create things anymore so sad) 

The Internship (Partial)

Yes yes yes all me. This was a script that I had written for another short film! It's self-explanatory.

The Killer finds out that the internship they applied for was given to one of their classmates! This can not be! Filled with rage the killer kills that bitch and the victim's friend group because of jealousy and whatnot. Since the first pick is…well dead, the killer gets a callback and now the internship is theirs! Wow what a happy ending. I’m actually living for this script :)

I did multiple rewrites and created some google form sign-up sheets for people to join the project.

created a storyboard of the film (will search for it later).

And I started creating a custom score for it as well.

Unfortunately, no one wanted to join :( so it never came to life. That being said, once I find an animation app and learn how to animate, it's over for you hoes. And I guess this goes for all my future films lmao. (unless I actually find people to star in them praying I do tbh). 

Beastly Bordello (wip)

This was a project we (me and my coauthor) started in middle school. It went through lots of rewrites like Jesus Christ. The first pass was garbage. I was crying when I reread it omg.

Anyways. How do I say this with the least amount of spoilers? There are 3 “books”, The first book draft is “complete”, we have the whole thing outlined, the first 2 chapters ready, and just need to fill out the meat of the texts a bit more.

This part of the story follows the human characters. We have the main character Debbie Smith, she is basically a bum loser 😷 and everyone hates her (it’s giving depressed!abused!timid! reader). We have Meredith Castaño who is like her cool best friend 😎 (I've drawn her with Dina. A side character who may or may not be her boo). And then we have Becky Maurice, Hanna Peters, and Lisa Blake (We call them BHL) . They are like the mean girl trio 🤬. Book 1 is meant to be a typical 2000s high school movie. Dare I say a “coming of age story” smh.

Becky is out for revenge and will stop at nothing to make Debbie's life a living hell (we are just bullying Debbie for 200+ pages).

On top of that, we discover that Debbie's homelife is not so good 😞 with her abusive parents 😭 and terminally sick sister, how will Debbie move on to the next phase of her life as she approaches high school graduation and adulthood 😱?

Omg the girls are camping! How fun! (totally not a slasher movie waiting to happen and 100% does not have a musical mid-way through).

People are dying 🪦!! Kids are going missing!?!?! Does this have anything to do with Debbie’s mysterious nightmares 🧠!? She's always had them, as she’s gotten older they’ve become more frequent, almost every day, and she even starts seeing 👀and hearing 👂 things while she's awake?

That's so scary. Oh nooooo she knows doom approaches and she is powerless to stop it :( silly silly complicit Debbie.

Like damn her life couldn't get any worse…and then BAM bitch it does!!! OMG supernatural 👹tingz and bloods🩸and crips 🔵 murder 🔪and oh shoot people are being kidnapped. Yikes.

This is book 1, Book 2 and 3 are not written yet (and honestly might not be written as I do not have my coauthor helping and it is a very ambitious project). As I said, we do have supernatural characters. The creatures. I'm pretty sure you've seen Octavia at least once? Maybe. We have our big baddies like The Lord, The Madam, The Master, The Empress, The Doctor, The Scientist, etc. Then we have our “good” creatures? They are just mf who were also kidnapped, like Alexa, Alexis, Mackenzie, Amelia etc. damn that's a lot of names that start with A.

This is reaching the spoiler zone so not sure if I should go farther. Anyway they work together to try and escape and find out where they are, why they were kidnapped and try to get home etc etc. More death and murder, staples in my work :P

This project has the most progress on it, if you go into the Beastly Bordello tag you can find some of the character designs. Not all tho because a lot of them…were meant to be drawn by the coauthor and I never got themmmmmmmm 🙄🙄.

I like really REALLY wanna continue this but gotdamn it's a lot of work and I get so discouraged easily <- lying my ass was carrying this book by myself for like 3 years.

If anything I'll design the rest of the creatures by myself. That's all I see myself doing, for now, oof. 

Beastly Bordello: The Musical (Completed)

LMAOOO THIS WAS A PROJECT I HAD TO DO FOR CLASS!!!

I had to make a jukebox musical thing and I chose the wonderful Emilie Autumn. The script is short, just around 36 pages and it’s like a transition between book 2 and book 3.

It follows The Madam and she is processing the new shipment of humans she just got in.

Which would be our lovely main characters (Debbie, Meredith, BHL, etc) and we are given a little tour of the brothel (is not actually a brothel we just call it that, think of it more as a farm, a meat farm).

We meet the other characters like The Master and those lil goat mfs (main characters in the original original beastly bordello). We also get a brief introduction to our main creatures (monsters) like Mackenzie, Jia, Isla, Amelia etc (you’ve seen them before).

They then get tagged by The Doctor and The Scientist (I love those gay niggas)

And then everyone gets split up and Debbie finally meets Octavia.

What do people say? OOC? I think that means out of character? Because we have to make everything fit the song, so they just be saying stuff at one point. But shhhhhhhhhhh it's okay.

Anyway, It's just more foolishness and camp and because it's a musical it gets stupid. But I love it either way. That's what I aim for yessir, like wow something beastly bordello related that I actually completed. Wild. 

Adventure to Find Jelly (wip)

 Hiii another middle school project, I was working on this with my coauthor. Okok let's see how do i explain this with no spoilers. This is apart of our “sentient object” universe.

It takes place in an apartment and the family has gone away to visit relatives so now every object can come to life and do what they want.

The story follows Peanut Butter (PB) 🥜, a quiet and kind jar of peanut butter who is tired 🥱 of living the simple life. And decides to sneak out of the cabinet to go to the club (inside a closet) and that day he meets Jelly🪼(she a jar of jelly but they ain’t have the right emojis)

She is the new girl in town (the family got her from the grocery store before they left). They instantly fall in love😍 and Omg this would be like his first girlfriend, PB finally got bitches 😤.

They spend a lot of time doing couple stuff 😘 bcuz PB never got to do any of that before. Jelly is very sweet and loving 🧐 but…something is off about her…just a little 😨.

PB doesn't seem to notice nor care. But his cooler 🍆 asshole brother (who is super overprotective) tells him not to trust Jelly and leave her🙅🏿.

PB’s parents are angry 😡 and disgusted 🤮 that PB would disobey them and go to the club🕺🏿. And spend a lot of his time outside the cabinet instead of staying at home and being a good son 🤓.

PB is tired of people thinking he aint that guy 🥲 and he decided to run away 🏃🏿 to live a life with jelly.

But in a twist of events 👃, when PB arrives at Jelly’s cabinet he discovers it trashed 🗑️💢!!! And jelly is missing 😱😱😱😱😱!!

He tries to tell the police 🚔but they don't believe him, they’ve never heard of anyone called jelly 🪼 before.

PB is confused but figures out he has to do this on his own 🦸🏿‼️, he has to go on an adventure to find jelly.

It's very cheesy but like my other stories it involved murder and drama. So it's not uneventful . Hmmm we outlined 10 chapters. And started outlining the sequel book. But we never actually started writing any of it.

I’m pretty sure some of you have seen jelly before. And possibly PB because I was just given his design a couple days ago. I'm definitely going to continue making art of them, and hopefully, we’ll get Sunbutter soon. But I'm not sure about writing out the rest of the story. It's a lil problematic.

Being A Fruit (wip)

Middle school project strikes again and yes you guessed it my coauthor was involved as well. Another story taking place in our “Sentient Object” universe.

From the title you can tell this series was going to involve all the fruit characters. Bananas, strawberries, apples, etc and I think I designed a good portion of the characters too. But y'all when I say drama. I mean DRAMA. Like “how to get away with murder” type drama. This story is batshit. And it's 10x more stupid because it involves lil fruits.

I'm going to quote this for you: our strawberry character Rosette is traumatized because she “watched entire family get chopped into a fruit salad”. And then we have our villain who “loves to abduct baby fruits”.

Besides character bg we don't have any chapters drafted. But to be fair we were going to make this into a mock podcast. Like the character fruits were going to call in and tell their stories, and the radio host would have to piece together what happened. And if someone stopped calling in then they got killed oop.

Because this is like a one-off, if anything has a chance to make a comeback it's this one. Idk if anyone would want this tho besides me. Because I will go crazy in the google doc and write this myself. This story is wild. 

When Two Erasers Touch

Damn did I peak at middle school? Another coauthor and me classic. This was I think the first book in our “Sentient Object” universe.

It is about lesbian erasers. Our first love story! They find each other bcuz their humans bring them to school and they chill inside a desk or something. I think we only wrote 2 chapters for this. We love a trendsetter though.

I don't think our two erasers Jika and Marei will make a comeback. But omg I am just rereading the chapters and is soo melodramatic!!! These lil erasers are going through it. Ok, I won't make any promises but…maybe we might do like a throwback chapter. Just once. Maybe. I'm not really a fan of Romance but It's so dramatic I can't even describe it. 

The Hecatomb Trilogy (wip)

Finally! Something recent and does not involve my coauthor. This is one of the stories that came to me in a dream. It's hard to recall because my dumb ass didn't type or write down all the information.

I drafted the introduction and the dialogue 10/10. It's a horror movie (I say movie but it's a book bcuz everything is a movie to me). Slasher movie, of course, just a lot of carnage and ridiculous stuff. I don't have much but I have a note on the side of the google doc, that says “3 survivors bond throughout the story, connecting over their trauma and become a polycule.”

So… I have priorities lol. The first movie takes place in the neighborhood and just follows everyday people, dying you know. The second movie is meant to take place in a hospital following the survivors. And the third and final film is meant to reveal who the killer is and their backstory.

From what I have written it just says the killer is dressed in all-black leather and is super strong ;P Damn now I kinda wanna pick this back up again and put some thought into it. I see the potential ngl. We'll see. Who knows. 

Adherence (wip)

All me this time. Another story that came to me in a dream. And I think everyone needs to write a gay vampire story once in their life. This one is mine. I guess it classifies as a slice of life? It's just a cute lil story about the “last” vampire adjusting to the modern world and falling in love with his would-be victim.

They do things like go to the corner store <3 and get robbed afterwards LMAOOO. The MC has to chase a naked vampire around the apartment bcuz that nigga is scared of the shower at his big age... The Vamp fucking loves modern tech and is thoroughly entertained by it. His favourite is those little toy bears that you find at like CVS and u press a button and they start dancing. The vamp meets his neighbor and she does his nails.

Just a lot of shenanigans and also of course killing. I know I keep talking about the dialogue but my god it's working my pussy out.

Damn…is this my humor? Idk why I'm surprised. Hmmmm I would want to complete some of my other projects before I start working on this. But who knows. 

(SU pearl and pink diamond fanfic) wip

I don't wanna claim this. I wrote a pearl and pink diamond fanfic on wattpad back in the day. And I actually got one of my SU friends to read it. It was great. I don't remember the name tho but I wrote like 8 chapters of it and I'm proud I made it that far. Scared to actually read my old writing so I will not be searching for it. Just know it is out there. 

_____________

And so soooo much more that I don't feel like listing atm. anyways sorry for typos i am not editing this i'm tired.

Ask questions if you want to, uhhhhh you wanna make something? I'll be happy to help, yeye byee

[barrenclan]

do you have any advice on comic-making / executing a story? i have one all planned but idk where to start now that its time to actually write / draw it out ;;

Sure! Here's some excerpts from a script I wrote awhile ago about making a comic, especially a Warriors-based one (though it mostly applies to any comic project).

"Off the bat, and before you make any bold moves, I do recommend a good amount of planning. But since you've already got that part done, the real best place to start is to just start. It sounds easy, but working up the nerve to really begin your project is what stops 99% of people from any creative endeavour. Don’t worry about quality, perfection, readership when you start your comic - those will come along the way. You should form your structure and lay down your foundation, but at some point you just need to start.

I am, at heart, a writer. I love and enjoy art, but writing comes easily and quickly to me, and I have years of practice at it. So for scripting, I wrote individual chapter summaries and a full script before I started TDS. But I know some comic artists who write the script as they’re going along! Generally, if you’re someone who wants more structure, you’ll probably want a full script. If you’d rather be more loose with your comic, chapter summaries and ideas with dialogue on the day would be for you. It can vary from project to project, too; for PATFW, I've written out full summaries for each issue, but I don't write the story itself until I begin to work on the issue in full.

Motivation is a tricky question, because most of creative motivation is intrinsic, and that is simply not something that you can gain in any easy way except real passion. It’s that feeling you’ll have if a story connects with you in a meaningful way, one that can’t just be rushed into. But I think extrinsic motivation can include things like setting reasonable and achievable goals for yourself. Promising to yourself that you’re going to upload one page every week, or do all the lineart for a batch of pages on Sunday, or that you’re going to write one sheet of your script every time you have an hour of free time, can help you stay on track and get used to the rigor of committing to a large project.

Lastly for this post, I cannot stress HOW important a buffer is. For those of you who don’t know, a buffer is just an amount of pages you’ve completed prior to posting your current page. For example, when I would post page 50, I would have already completed pages up to 59. Buffers are critical because they allow you to make room for unexpected or time-consuming events in your life without sacrificing your comic. They help you maintain a schedule, which as I already discussed is important for motivation and consistency. There is no “correct” amount of pages for a buffer, either. I personally work about ten pages ahead. I know people who work entire chapters ahead of posting. There are some people who only have a few pages in the hopper before they post. There are even those who finish their whole comic before posting any of it! It’s all up to you and how much you decide to do."

I hope any of that was helpful!

[theartofdreaming1]

Oh, I so feel you about reading what (some) academics have written about Northanger Abbey and just going - "Did we read the same novel?!"

I think that the "Catherine has to learn how to separate fiction from fact/reality"-take is way over-emphasized when dealing with NA - yes, Catherine does apply overexaggerated fictional tropes to reality and feels embarrassed about it once she realizes that it doesn't really work that way - but her instincts were correct! She lacked the experience (and language) to frame what she'd seen with the general, his behavior, and peculiar relationship with his children correctly (or at least, with the accurate terms, I guess), but she definitely got the gist of it. In chapter 30, after Henry explained the reasons for his father's abominable behavior towards her, the text literally says:

"Catherine, at any rate, heard enough to feel that in suspecting General Tilney of either murdering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, or magnified his cruelty."

So yes, while Catherine did learn that real life is more nuanced and complicated than literary conventions and tropes usually suggest, she actually wasn't all that wrong to look at General Tilney and see a villain! -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Luckily, there are some academics that come to Catherine's defense:

In Jane Austen: Women, politics and the novel (1988), Claudia Johnson argues that reading gothic novels actually taught Catherine important life lessons that helped her on her journey:

"Gothic novels teach the deferant and self-deprecating Catherine to do what no one and nothing else does: to distrust paternal figures and to feel that her power of refusal is continuously under siege." (Johnson, p. 39)

"Further, gothic novels teach Catherine about distrust and concealment, about cruel secrets hidden beneath formidable and imposing surfaces" (p. 40)

And in Speaking up for Catherine Morland: Cixous and the feminist heroine (2011), Joanne Cordón makes the argument that Catherine's openness and directness help Henry finally step up and rebel against his father:

"Though other factors affect the happy ending, Catherine’s happiness depends in large part on her being authentic in her self-expression. Her directness first sparks Henry’s interest, and her example helps direct his rebellion against his father. She speaks just well enough to be truly intelligible." (Cordón, p. 59)

So, while I (unfortunately) have to agree that too many academics seem to focus on the "Catherine gets too caught up in books to be able to separate fiction from reality"-take, while simultaneously downplaying or even disregarding Catherine's very good - and accurate! - instincts, I'm happy to report that there are at least some voices in academia that do not cater to this interpretation :)

Ri rants about Northanger Abbey

Now that I have finished Northanger Abbey, I'm reading/watching/listening to academic thoughts on it. I do not have a degree in literature, but it feels like a whole lot of people are missing that Henry and Eleanor's dad is emotionally abusive. ??? I'm not the only one noticing this, right? It seems to be The Thing To Do to criticize Catherine for thinking he's a bad dude and I'm here going, "but he IS a bad dude."

His kids are afraid of him. They pull into themselves when they're around him. Eleanor doesn't have any friends when we meet her. At one point, she's scared about being a few minutes late to dinner. In her own house. Meanwhile, Henry's got a massive ironic-humor-defense-mechanism.

Catherine picks up on this. She's aware that Something Is Wrong. Her only knowledge of the sorts of people whose children are afraid of them comes from books and she doesn't have the vocabulary to express what she's picking up on. She's trying to figure it out. When Henry finds her in his mother's room, she isn't immediately forthcoming about her concerns. He pries it out of her. She tries to change the topic numerous times; he keeps coming back to it.

It's not like Catherine ran into dinner and did a whole Grand Detective Reveal accusing General Tilney of being a murderer. She's noticed his children - her friends - are afraid of this man and she's trying to figure out why. It seems unlikely she'd have said anything but-for Henry not letting it go when he found her.

Catherine isn't stupid. She's not letting her imagination run away with her. She's got a bad feeling in her gut that she doesn't understand but her gut feeling is correct. General Tilney is not a safe person. We see this for ourselves when he turns on her and puts her in a dangerous situation. She's seventeen, and has never traveled by herself but he sends her out of the house to fend for herself. He refuses to send anyone with her, so there's no one to protect her if someone wants to rob her or harm her. She doesn't know how the public transit works. She didn't even have money to get home; Eleanor has to sneak some to her. He throws her out and he doesn't care what happens to her. (That she figures out how to get home safely evidences that she's brave and clever).

So basically: (1) Catherine's gut is suggesting this guy is a bad guy; (2) the guy is a bad guy; and (3) the guy even puts her in a situation where she could be harmed. And if something had happened to her because she was forced into this situation - if she fell in front of a coach and got run over or if something more nefarious happened - that's at least partially General Tilney's fault and would mean he was...negligent or even worse.

Have none of these great academic minds ever considered that it's Henry who changes? When Henry finally gets Catherine's fears out of her after finding her in the hall outside his mother's room, he defends his father. This is a really common thing with people who are emotionally abused (I defended my abuser for years even when I knew deep down something was off). Because the abuse is not physical, it's harder to identify. You start to think that maybe you misunderstood or are exaggerating things in your mind, that you're being overly emotional or that you're reading into things that aren't there. An abuser even knows how to play into those thoughts until you find that it is easier to explain away and lie to yourself (he cares "in his way"). Henry knows deep down that his father does not treat him or Eleanor right, but he's lived his entire life in this abusive situation. I wonder how much of Henry's speech to Catherine about being reasonable is actually him voicing the things he says to himself.

When General Tilney puts Catherine in danger, Henry's finally able to admit the truth to himself. Once that happens, he's able to free himself.

That's the book I read. I'm still not sure I read the same book the academics read.