#bluerose writing

[bluerosesonata]

Stop me if I’ve made this post before, I’m just feeling a little melancholy.

Science fiction has always been a reflection of the times it was written in. The stories and themes of science fiction stories, intentionally or not, will always speak to the social issues and fears of the author’s present day, and (in hard SF, at least) the ways we engage with emerging technologies.

For about a decade now, it’s been getting harder and harder for me to think about the future of tech with any feeling of awe or hope. And I know I’m not alone.

I can only speak as a USamerican, but when I read older SF, sure, you get the US paranoia of Japan as a manufacturing superpower. You get the concerns about manufacturing jobs being lost to automation and jobs moving overseas. You get the fear of government surveillance, of corporate omnipresence and consumerism.

But there was the idea of tech as an equalizer. That kids raised online, frequenting hacker forums and building their own rigs from scrap could do something.

And before that, there was the idea that global unity was possible. That it was our destiny to go to the stars, and that there would be a population of people both on earth and in space.

Yes, there would still be wars. There would still be inequality. There would still be poverty and exploitation. But we would cure disease. We would live longer. We would have lives that were improved by tech, even if it caused problems of its own. And when those problems outweighed the benefits, we could always trust in the human spirit and human kindness and determination to overcome those problems.

There was hope.

But now, I feel like it’s harder to ask a reader to suspend their disbelief and invest in the idea that the advance of technology could unilaterally make our lives better. To believe in the human spirit and misfits overcoming corrupt omnicompanies or crooked government. To believe in a future where the Earth is inhabitable.

It feels like a bridge too far to ask them to look to the future in wonder and awe. Because it’s hard enough for me to feel that way and not feel like a fraud.

It just feels like it’s easier to ask readers to imagine an alternate history or to believe in space magic, because that goes down easier than trying to address where we go from here, and to make them believe things can be Cooler and Marginally Better, instead of just getting bleaker and more hopeless.

[bluerose5]

Don't mind me. I'm constantly thinking of an au where Mr. Astarion "You're only the first person who I truly care for" Ancunín actually shows more emotion at durge's death than what we get in-game. I can understand why the limitations, but that doesn't mean I have to accept them at such a crucial point of durge's story. I mean, it doesn't even have to be overly sappy, but I want that Dorian Pavus "I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard" type of energy. I want that cold chill of realization to be felt the second Astarion hears durge's heart stop. Give me that moment where he's on his knees, shaking durge's lifeless body, cradling them against him as he rocks them back and forth, shaking his head in denial as each sob grows more intense until it's just a constant scream of "noNoNO!!!" Because the gods never dared to help him before. Of course it would be a god that robs him of his love now.

Give me that point when the Emperor tries to command Astarion to take the Netherstones and leave, only for Astarion to tell it to shut the fuck up because he's not leaving without them.

Give me that broken whisper of, "We were supposed to be free. Together." as he is faced with the fact that they're not coming back.

[bloseroseone]

Top 10 Author Podcasts Every Aspiring Author Should Listen To

If you’re an aspiring writer, there’s no better way to learn than by immersing yourself in the wisdom of experienced authors, publishers, and industry experts. Podcasts have become a go-to resource for writers of all levels, providing accessible and often free advice, inspiration, and guidance. Let’s dive into the top ten podcasts that every aspiring writer should check out!

1#. The Creative Penn Podcast - Author Podcast

The Creative Penn Podcast, hosted by Joanna Penn, is an invaluable resource for anyone interested in author podcasts, especially those exploring self-publishing. Joanna provides expert guidance on all aspects of independent publishing, from effective book marketing to essential writing techniques. This author podcast caters to a broad audience, whether you’re drafting your debut novel or promoting your latest self-published book, delivering practical insights that support writers at every stage of their journey.....Continue reading

[bluerosesonata]

If I may, I’d like to butt in with a small addendum in regards to sentence fragments, especially re: prose style.

If you’ve made the decision to write dialogue in the vernacular, sentence fragments are extremely common in casual speech.

I would suggest keeping this in mind if you’re writing a script intended to be read out loud by other human being, because it can sound much more organic. It may not be “correct,” but as with many aspects of vernacular English, choosing to have someone speak “incorrectly” can help to capture the personality of the speaker.

On a related note, if you have a child character who speaks in run-on sentences, I’d still highly suggest using commas (or other appropriate punctuation) to help a line ‘scan’ better when written on the page.

(By the way, thank you OP, it’s always nice to be reminded of proper grammar and punctuation practices. Thanks for taking the time to act as a public resource.)

Common Punctuation Mistakes

Last time we did punctuation rules, now we’re looking at mistakes you might be making in your sentences!

Sentence Fragments

This is an incomplete sentence—it lacks a subject, a verb, or a complete thought.

Wrong: “Because it was raining.” Fixed: “Because it was raining, we got soaked yesterday.” Or “We got soaked yesterday because it was raining.”

Run-on Sentences

This is two complete sentences that are joined together where there should be a pause, or they express more than one thought.

Wrong: "I never drink Starbucks it tastes burnt." Fixed: "I never drink Starbucks. It tastes burnt." Or “I never drink Starbucks because it tastes burnt.”

Comma Splices

This is when you connect two independent clauses with a comma.

Wrong: "Anna wants to go to the beach, Linda doesn’t want to go with."

Fixed: "Anna wants to go to the beach, but Linda doesn’t want to go with." Or “…go to the beach; Linda doesn’t…” Or “go to the beach. Linda doesn’t…”

Any other common punctuation mistakes you can think of?

[lilysroserealm]

i love writing these dumbasses.

ignore the spelling mistakes this is a draft for a remake of day 1 in my fic :)

[bluerose-sims]

[Bluerose-sims] Male summer set 2024

New meshes

Wet tank top 15 swatches

Short 1 - 45 swatches

Short 2 - 50 swatches

Shirt - 50 swatches

Custom Thumbnail

All maps

Compatible with Base Game and HQ

Avaible color slider, info here

DOWNLOAD EA

TOU

The recolors of my clothes are not allowed, unless it is for personal use

I don't allow conversions of my content to any platform, unless it is for personal or free use and the credits of the original mesh

Please don't redistribut If you have any problem with my clothes, write me, if you use my clothes tag me on instagram and tumblr

[goodluckclove]

Hey so I got tagged in that OC interaction thing by my colleague @illarian-rambling! I've been wanting to play this for a long time but I was too nervous to jump onto the tags of people I didn't know. Thank you for including me, and introducing me to Elsind. Below the Read More I describe a day spent with her and my boy Scott in Bluerose, Oregon in the setting of Migration Patterns, book two of Songbird Elegies. So minor spoilers not in terms of plot but, like, character development? Maybe?

I tag my dear ones @mushroommanchanterelle @aroaceghosties @lychhiker-writes @ivaspinoza and @cssnder because I feel like literary fiction writers don't get enough love in games like these.

Let's get started!

Elsind Cavernsight is a 20 year old changeling with a nervous disposition and a romantic heart. They can take on any humanoid form they've observed before. In his true form, Elsind is a skinless-looking humanoid with no face, a long tail, and petal-like fins that ring the back of his head. They use the pronouns of whatever form they're in, while using they/them in their true form. When referred to in abstract, she gets Shrodinger's pronouns.

Until she was thirteen, Elsind had a happy childhood and was raised by a single mother in a book shop. However, changelings are a valued commodity in Skysheer. They were kidnapped to be used as the court freak of one Marquis Sunflight - a cruel man who forced Elsind to do many abhorrent things for his 'entertainment.' After five years of this, Elsind managed to run away with a rebel group seeking to overthrow Skysheer's nobility. He now acts as an infiltrator and assassin.

As a person, Elsind might’ve suffered greatly, but she never lost her kind spark or huge capacity for empathy. They love to help people and even if they tend to be really nervous and awkward about it, they seek to make everyone's day better if they can. She's a bit of a chatterbox, especially when things are tense, and cries easily. Though she doesn't necessarily enjoy it, she is a great liar and infiltrator. This, combined with his easily underestimated bravery, makes him quite the spy. Their greatest passion are romance novels. Elsind is an avid reader of all things steamy and decadent. Out of all my characters, they'd be the most likely to have a blog on this site.

Scott Skylark Kaufner is a 31 year old human birthright from the Bluerose Refuge Hub, a witch town on the coast of Oregon. He is intersex, born with Kleinfelters Syndrome, and chose to undergo a masculine puberty and identify as a man. Scott is Greek-Romanian and I think German on his dad's side? I haven't established that yet. But he's a shorty at 5"5, with long and wild black hair and large, dark blue eyes. He identifies as a man, but prefers to dress in loose dresses in fun colors and soft materials. No shoes.

At his best Scott is friendly and talkative, though he tired quickly socially - as much as he tries to hide that fact. He loves the ones closest to him deeply and passionately and he has a tendency to get weird and overdramatic about it. There is an undercurrent of some manic intensity to him that most choose not to bring up and he doesn't seem to notice.

Scott is a bipolar variant birthright, which means he once had the ability to reflect his emotions onto those around him. But after travelling for years to find Eddie, he used his powers so often to get through social situations that they were infected, forcing him to inadvertently control the intentions of anyone that made eye contact or extended physical contact with him. Usually this ended with the person wanting to sleep with him. As a sex-repulsed asexual, this resulted in a rough few years for Scott. The fact that he was unable to see human faces due to the torture of the Eldritch horror trying to possess him did not help.

He's an obsessive piano player since infancy that can't read music but can learn anything by ear if you give him time. He also has perfect pitch but pointing that out embarrasses him. Scott loves the library and thinks that librarians, service workers, and anyone in the medical field are the most important members of society. Especially librarians. He loves reading books of Greek mythology but has a different relationship to them since his upbringing in magic causes him to think most mythological/supernatural things could maybe be true. He also loves a good snack and he's not great with technology but he's really good with Excel.

Their interaction!

So Scott is from a Refuge Hub, which is a type of witch town that houses and supports social services cases and anyone who needs harbor (abuse victims, runaways, children), so his first impression would be regret that they weren't able to help Elsind when they needed it.

She wouldn't need to mimic any human shape if he didn't want to. As long as Elsind could explain that he naturally doesn't have a face and Scott didn't just revert suddenly for unknown reasons, the concept of changelings would be perfectly reasonable to him. Birthrights are naturally nonjudgmental, but he is probably one of the most nonplussed of his kind.

He would definitely show him the library. Very kindly ask the librarians (some of them have known him since he was a child and adore him) where "the most erotic stories were" and smile calmly when they balked at him. Scott would take her to the small bakery in town where they make little cakes and pastries. He would be very insistent on feeding her the tastiest treats he could find, just to make sure Elsind felt taken care of.

They'd talk a lot in the mustard fields outside his childhood home or by the beach. Scott would ask Elsind if she ever got sad pretending to be someone else. If she still had an awareness of who SHE was. He would ask if she knew any fairies or cryptids.

Elsind would probably go home with a lot of books and carefully wrapped treats. Scott would offer him a friendship bracelet. I do not think it would be made well. He's still learning.

Haha that was fun!

[bluerosesonata]

I was really excited to take all my students to the Eskew historical society for a field trip at the end of the month, but i woke up yesterday and learned it has been on fire for the last 100 years, which is obviously a big issue since we have quite a few students with asthma. I told the principal we could still go, and just have them wear respirators, but he shook his head and said that wouldn’t be fair to the less fortunate students whose families don’t have more than one respirator in the house. Besides, he said, they’ve already had slashes to the school budget twice this year, so even if we bought respirators to provide them for students, we would only have enough that they could share one for every two students. Unless, of course, I would be willing to pay out of pocket for more respirators- which I obviously cannot afford.

I think one of my students must have overheard us, though, because today when I arrived for work, I had an extremely upset crowd of parents waiting for me outside the school. One parent- a members of the parent teacher council- called out to me, and demanded to know why their child would even need a respirator to view the burning historical society. How dare I try to deprive their children of inhaling such important, historical gasses? Many of the other parents in the crowd agreed, chiming in with the memories from their own Eskovian childhoods where they all recalled going to the historical society, and how back then, no one even thought to complain about the smoke and the asbestos smell burning your nostrils. They simply went, and didn’t complain about it, because it was a rite of passage. And who was l, they demanded, to coddle their children from this? To turn them away from real history?

I tried to tell them that it wasn’t my intention to do so, but I needed to take the safety of every student into account. One father laughed incredulously, and cried out, what was this world coming to, where a teacher would assume to know better than a child’s own parents what their child could and could not handle? He came from a family of proud Eskovians with strong, hearty lungs, and HIS boy would NOT be denied the chance to breathe in the same smoke his grandfather did. To deny him that was practically censorship, for God’s sake!

At this point, the very agitated mob of parents attracted the attention of the principal, who has a terrible habit of coming in late. Amid threats to complain to the superintendent and the board of education for my conservative views, the principal reassured them all that the discussions were ongoing, and that it would be addressed at next week’s PTA meeting.

We ended up canceling the whole trip, and simply had the children draw pictures of the burning museum exhibits instead.

blog like we're all in eskew

[wolverinedoctorwho]

been thinking about what The Glass Menagerie would be like if it was set in 2023.

Laura's life would probably be the most dramatically improved. She could deal with her social anxiety by just. Making friends online. She could have a discord boyfriend. She could find a job or get a degree online. She would have a tumblr blog called "blueroses" with the title "My Glass Menagerie" that was just pictures of her glass figures and occasionally an audio post with a song from one of her dad's records (or cassettes, or CDs, or whatever).

Amanda...honestly there's like a 50/50 chance she wound wind up in a pyramid scheme, considering the whole "selling magazine subscriptions" thing. But I feel like she'd still worry about her kids finding their place in the world. She'd worry about Laura not spending enough time outside, maybe she'd have some reservations about finding Laura a husband IRL. Maybe she'd get onto Tom for being on that damn phone so much.

For Tom, in this au i'm imagining him still working his minimum-wage job, but rather than writing poems on shoeboxes he's got a blog or something to post them on. Maybe even a niche following. Honestly not much of his life would change, because the whole "working a dead-end job, living with my family, desperate to go out on my own" thing is uh. Pretty timeless. Even when he leaves at the end (we're assuming the events of the play still happen as they originally did, even if the circumstances are different) it's not quite as sad, because Amanda and Laura have a better chance at supporting themselves than women would have back then.

Jim's a weird one because I feel like his life would also stay the same, except since we're setting this in 2023 he DEFINITELY has a self-help/positivity/motivational instagram. Wannabe influencer vibes. Despite the fact that he is working at the same place Tom is, but higher up the chain (like a manager or something). Dude totally has a podcast.

Nothing needs to change with Mr. Wingfield. People still work for telephone companies and run out on their families.

The fact that social media would exist in this AU does allow for some interesting commentary. Maybe Tom has a twitter where he posts his poems? Maybe Laura got cyberbullied in high school? How would the added visibility and connection to the world affect the Wingfields, whose suffering is largely due to how isolated they are in the original play? How would the lessened limitations on women in the workplace today compared to the 20s-30s affect the plot?

(Projecting my own interests here but I also think she would relate to Bocchi the Rock. Puking on the floor on your first day of typing class 🤝 performing your first concert in a cardboard box and regularly climbing into trash cans.)

[publishing-pitaara]

Unveiling Success: The Rise of Amazon Bestseller Hitesh Abrol

Hitesh Abrol is a world renowned author of 3 Published books:

• Life-Planned or Unplanned

• Digital Distraction

• From Stoic to Strong: Men’s Mental health

He is known as Amazon Bestseller Author. Moreover, he bagged “Indie Author of the year-2022” from Scotland based Feedmyread community among many other Awards like Top 100 wordsmith for the year-2022, Bluersoe best Non-Fiction, Aesthetic Literary Lounge best Author, Pioneer Literary fest best Author, The Momma Clan Best Non-Fiction Author etc.

About Author Hitesh Abrol:

Hitesh Abrol hails from a small town Pathankot from Punjab. He has done his PGDBM from Symbiosys Centre of Distance Learning. He is into Pharma business. Reading and Writing are his passions. He started to write in the year 2019. With the launch of his book “Life-Planned or Unplanned”, he became the Amazon Bestseller Tag. These awards motivated him to write more and more.

The Topics like “Digital Distraction” & “From Stoic to Strong: Men’s Mental Health” make his readers hooked. All of his book received more than 4 star ratings over Amazon.

Achievements Of Hitesh Abrol:

If I talk about achievements of Hitesh Abrol Literary journey, Here are few of them:

• BEST NON-FICTION BLUEROSE BOOK AWARDS 2021

• INDIE AUTHOR OF THE YEAR-2022 FROM SCOTLAND BASED “FEEDMYREAD” COMMUNITY.

• Tagore Commemorative Honouree 2022

• Top 100 Emerging Wordsmiths in 2022

• Amazon Bestseller

• Literary Clan Awards for Best Non-Fiction • Author from The Momma Clan.

These accolades solidify his position as a highly accomplished individual in the field of literature.

About Hitesh Abrol New Journey:

Although this literary world has given so much to Hitesh Abrol but He understands the problems that the newbie’s in this noble profession have to face. So to help them in their journey, Hitesh Abrol has started a Book Coach journey, where He will help new ones and published Authors in their book writing, Publishing and marketing journey.

Anyone willing to have the one to one consultation for book writing, publishing and marketing journey, email at authorhiteshabrol@gmail.com. You can get the best from him and can learn from his journey.

[strings2book]

👉𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊:- 📚ⓉⒾⓉⓁⒺ:- My Dear Students 🖋️ⒶⓊⓉⒽⓄⓇ:- Arindam Dasgupta 🗞️ⓅⓊⒷⓁⒾⓈⒽⒺⓇ:- Bluerose Publication 🔤ⓁⒶⓃⒼⓊⒶⒼⒺ:- English 📖ⒻⓄⓇⓂⒶⓉ:- Paperback 👉𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒:- Student Life is the most soothing & beautiful phase of someone's life. . In that time, along with reading you will learn many new things those are going to add values in your life. . The book is basically penned down to add a new prospective in student's life to make them explore the unlimited exposures of life. . The book not only help them in Academic point of view but also it will develop the moral, spiritual, social values of students which is more important in today's era. . To know more about it grab the book & give it a try. 👉𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 :- 🙂 The cover of the book is subtle but designed beautifully to draw anyone's attention in one go. 🙂 The writing style of the book is good which is focusing in the depth study of a student's life & their different aspects of life. 🙂 Language used in the book is simple & easy to understand. 🙂 The book is penned down with a great idea & concept. 🙂 Author himself is a teacher, mentor, innovator & facilitator to thousands of students for last 15 years. So he perfectly executed his ideas in an innovative way 🙂 The best thing about this book is that you can read the book along with experiencing it. 🙂 Book is quite fast paced & a free flowing read which gives you a perfect reading experience. 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑:-🌟🌟🌟🌟 (at Odisha Odia - ଓଡ଼ିଶା ଓଡ଼ିଆ) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnXJ9YjJoqd/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bluerosesonata]

Enya (Tav OC)/Astarion- to be named, to be known

[author notes: Takes place before the invasion of Moonrise. Contains vague Spoilers for Act 2 and Astarion’s storyline.

I still have not finished the game (currently mid act 3. yes I’m in the crypt and suffering) so be kind and don’t tell me Jack shit.]

[AO3 link ]

Given everything that was going on in his life, Astarion reflected, this whole situation was a bit absurd. Here he was with a mindflayer parasite eating holes in his brain, monster hunters on his trail, a demonic contract carved into his back, working with a team of the weirdest people he had ever met to kill a necromancer that refused to die— and yet somehow, four simple words had him out in the woods, pacing, feeling the most anxious he had in weeks.

“Can we talk later?”

It was clear Enya had meant ‘alone, in private ’— and the gentle cadence of her low voice implied ‘about Us.’

Us.

A few nights ago, Enya had used that word to ask him about— well, whatever was going on between the two of them.

It was an apt, but aggravatingly simple way to describe it. Enya and Astarion. Astarion and Enya. An elf and a Tiefling. A man and a woman. Us.

If he was a normal man, maybe that’s all it would be. Just another word your lover(?) used to talk about the two of you. But he wasn’t a normal man, and the word had unexpectedly made him…ache. That he…liked it.

And that worried him.

It certainly didn’t help that just a few days ago, the whole thing with the drow lead him to tell her how he wasn’t…what people wanted him to be. How he didn’t…well, he didn’t hate sex. That would be an oversimplification of things. But it had become something he just…Did. A wretched routine for a miserable little puppet. And that he was still not quite used to being his own person.

Astarion fully expected her to be upset. Annoyed, even. But in response, Enya just said that she…cared about him. That she never wanted him to do anything he didn’t want to. She quite literally embraced him— not as pretense, not as foreplay— but held him, in a way he hadn’t been touched in…god knows how long.

It was all… too perfect.

She was too perfect.

That was what really put his teeth on edge about all of this. Because there was no way she was actually perfect. Enya was a very good liar. Astarion had seen her get away with feeding people some of the most bald-faced bullshit he’d ever heard, and had them asking for seconds. On its own, he considered this a positive trait - it made her a powerful ally, and had gotten them out of a lot of scrapes. But Enya could also have an irritatingly tender heart.

So it wasn’t impossible she’d just been paying him lip service. That she’d shown him hope and gentleness and kindness all in preparation to cruelly, completely shatter him, just like— he stopped himself, rubbing his temples.

No. That wasn’t fair.

This…wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like him. He was getting himself worked up for no reason.

No matter what happened, he told himself, he would survive this.

He always had.

From about 20-odd meters away, in the shade of a copse of trees, a shadow watched Astarion pacing, her indigo skin blending gently into the blues and greens of the wooded twilight. She sighed to herself, her pronged tail flicking in irritation. You’ve really mucked this up, haven’t you?

The very fact she could just stand here and not be noticed by him was a testament to how badly she’d messed up. He was usually quick to notice traps, and he could almost always tell when they were being watched. But now…

Why didn’t you just say something normal? Something like, ‘I want to spend some alone time with you,’ or literally anything else, she scolded herself.

Well, actually, she’d specifically decided not to say something like that because it sounded like wanting to have sex, which would be more than a little gauche right now. For all her so-called eloquence, she couldn’t find a better way to put this besides “talking later.” She absentmindedly ran a taloned finger over the silver rings set into the cusp of her ear, and bit her lip. No time like the present, I suppose. She stepped out into the evening light, and called out to him.

A bit later, they sat side by side, on a fallen log nestled into the hillside, where they had a lovely view of the setting sun. It could have been romantic, even— if the two of them weren’t buzzing with anxiety. Their respective parasites, resonating with one another’s distress, only made them even more attuned to the already obvious tension.

For a few minutes, nothing was said. They just sat there, not looking at one another— not even using the tadpoles to delve deeper, for fear of what they would see— as the sun crept lower and lower in the sky. At the same time, both broke the silence.

“So…”

“Sooo….”

The tension couldn’t sustain itself. They both chuckled and grinned sheepishly at each other, sharp canines for sharp canines.

“You’re wearing your hair loose,” Astarion observed. Enya nodded, giving a weak smile as she tucked a long strand of purplish-red hair behind her ear. Typically, her long hair was neatly rolled up, braided, and pinned into a configuration almost reminiscent of folded wings. Today, it hung wavy and loose, tumbling over her bare shoulders, framing her collarbone, partly obscuring the centipede tattoos on her cheek and shoulder.

In truth, this small change made Astarion feel even more nervous. It felt…significant. Almost like he was being tested, somehow.

What about? He had no clue. But it made him feel wary, like the two of them were dualists circling one another for an opening, or animals sizing each other up for a fight.

On top of that, Enya’s hair being loose made her long, slender neck even more appealing, and it was taking a lot of self control for him to not glance at it. He forced himself to look into her eyes— her lovely, blue-orange eyes, with sclera black as pitch— but he saw something there that made him look away.

There was affection, yes, but under that…

Guilt.

Ah. So, this is it, then.

“Can I…hold your hand?”

He offered it limply, numbly. Possibly for the last time. Sure. Why not.

Careful to be gentle with her talons, Enya held his hands in hers, gently rubbing her thumbs all over in small circles, almost like she was trying to return circulation to his pale hands.

She loved his hands. They felt somewhat incongruous with the speed and nimbleness they moved. They were not particularly slender, nor were not particularly soft or rough (unlike her fingers, callused from plucking lyre strings) but they were still strong and quick with a bow. His nails were short, unvarnished— but he clearly worked to keep them clean and buffed, which she found very charming and dandyish of him.

They were so… different from other hands she’d held in her life. Pale, of course. Always moving, always being used in conversation. Not cold, like you might expect for someone who was dead, but pleasantly cool. She liked that, since Tieflings always ran a little warmer. (Or so she’d been told.)

“So… I’m sorry for the way I called you out here.” He didn’t respond. “I just thought, given how much I know about you, you deserve to know more about me.” After all, we might not get another chance, but she left that thought unvoiced.

He blinked.

“I- erm, you…what?”

Enya grimaced.

Oh dear. I’ve broken him.

“Well, only if you want to. You don’t need to—“

He sat up straight, drawing his hands back from hers, and the atmosphere shifted rapidly. Enya watched as he opened this mouth slightly, then shut it, his face flashing through several emotions— confusion, relief, joy, irritation— before settling on indignation, brow furrowed. His hands were still pulled up and back, fingers curled, as if someone had told him to surrender with his hands in the air, and then called him something particularly offensive.

“Darling, do you have any idea what I’ve been through today because of your little theatrics? I—“ he shut his mouth promptly, possibly realizing he was about to admit he had been emotionally compromised. Instead of admitting this, he gave a little huff of a laugh, crossed his arms, and looked away, pretending to be angrier than he actually was. “Well, out with it, then. For your sake, I hope it’s interesting.”

She couldn’t help but smile, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a direct contrast to the irritated, dismissive little wave he then gave for her to continue. Enya paused, trying to find the right way to begin.

“It’s funny. Bards typically have a story or a poem for everything and every occasion. But here I am telling my own, and I’m suddenly at a loss for words.”

“The beginning is a traditional place to start,” Astarion replied glibly. Seeing her brow furrow, he softened his tone and added, “…If that is important to you, that is.”

“No, no, you’re perfectly right,” Enya conceded. “The problem is,” she said, trying to pick her words carefully, “I…am not entirely ready to discuss some aspects of it, if that’s all right with you.” Seeing his slight frown, she added, “I’m not keeping it secret, okay, it’s just…” she made a vague, hopeless gesture. “The timing isn’t quite right.”

It was unfair of her, she knew. It was unfair to know the dark rooms of his past, to see the pain that was there, then ask that he not open certain doors inside of her. He looked pensive, then sighed.

“Could you at least promise me that whatever it is isn’t someone or something that’s going to try and kill us? Because I am quite over this camp having those come to light on a weekly basis.”

“No. In that regard, I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Her bitter smile must have said more than she thought, because his face softened.

“It’s all right, darling,” he smiled, “What’s romance without a little mystery, hmm?”

She considered it.

“Divorce, usually.” He lit up at that.

“Ohhh, now that would be novel. I’ve never been divorced.”

“Have you been married, though?”

“Now now,” he chuckled, “A gentlemen never tells.” She rolled her eyes in response, which made him laugh.

“So.”

“Yes.”

“Astarion, I….” Enya stopped, sighed. Fidgeted a bit. “My name isn’t actually Enya.” A single raised eyebrow.

“It’s not a criminal thing,” she assured him quickly, “and I have gone by Enya for a while now. It was a nickname I picked out for myself when I started working in Baldur’s Gate,” she explained with a sigh. “But I haven’t spoken my given name out loud to anyone in over a decade, and…” she trailed off. Maybe this was stupid. Why did this matter, really?

“Well,” he said, breaking through her thoughts, “I’d love to hear it, darling. Or we can just write this off as a waste of an evening. Your choice.” She pointedly ignored his little jab.

“My name- the name my parents gave me- was Lízellenya. Lízellenya Merlo.” He repeated it, softly, sounding it out, and despite herself, she felt a blush creep across her face. He asked her how she spelled it, then said it again, softer. It was strangely lovely when he said it, she thought.

“It’s a lot of syllables,” he said at last, making a face. “I can see why you changed it.” She burst out laughing.

“You always know just what to say,” she sighed, wiping away a tear. “Honestly, even as a kid, I didn’t like it very much.“

“I can only imagine. And Merlo? Like the wine?” She smiled.

“No, like a blackbird. Mehr-lo.” His brow furrowed.

“How the hell is that like a blackbird?” Enya shrugged.

“I dunno. It’s just what my dad said once.”

The two of them quietly watched the stars slowly fill the night sky.

“You know,” he said slowly, unsure of himself, “There are a lot of things I don’t know about you. Nor you about I. Perhaps we could change that. We could make a little game of it — a question for a question.”

“That’s…uncharacteristic of you,” Enya replied, suspicious. “What happened to all that stuff about mystery?” He smiled, sharp teeth gleaming in the twilight.

“Call it a…passing fancy. If you’re not interested, though—“

“No, no. It sounds…fun, actually. Maybe. As long as we make a few rules.”

“Such as…?”

“If either of us gets a question we don’t want to answer, we can pass. No digging. Just move on. Okay?” He nodded.

“Quite reasonable of you. I agree.”

She turned toward him.

“All right, Astarion. You go first.”

“Hm, well…let’s start with something simple. A little dry, maybe, but important to know. How old are you?”

“Astarion, really…” Enya chuckled.

“Ah, older than thirty, then.” Another fit of giggling. “Oh, please, that’s the only reason younger women ever get flustered about their age. I’m over 200, darling, I really don’t care. Just answer the question, please.”

“Fine, fine— I’m forty-two. Forty-three in a few months.”

“I see,” he replied crisply, “now, a follow-up question, because that means nothing to me— how long do Tieflings live, exactly?“

“Mmm, that depends— with or without an illithid parasite in their brains?” He gave her a withering look. “Okay, okay, sorry. A bit longer than humans, I think. 20 years longer, maybe 30 more. It’s not even a drop in the bucket compared to—“ she gestured to all of him, “you know. But the oldest I’ve ever met was 80.”

He was quiet a moment, taking that in.

“That’s…unfortunate,” he said eventually.

“Please don’t start acting like I’m on death’s door.”

“We are, though. All of us. Plus you’re always having us stick our necks out for some sad sack. One of these times it’s going to stick.” Enya grimaced.

“I regret agreeing to this.”

“Oh, come now. You haven’t even asked me a question yet.”

“All right,” she sighed, “What’s your favorite color?” He made that same little huff of a laugh again.

“That’s your question? Really? Anything at all, and you ask-“ he caught her gaze. “ugh, fine.” He shifted his sitting position, and sighed. “Seeing as I’m not five years old, I don’t have a favorite color.” he gave Enya a look clearly intended to be piercing, “But lately, I’ve found myself quite fond of blue.”

Enya simply stared at him, arms crossed expectantly, and raised an eyebrow.

“What, nothing? That was good! You have to admit that was clever!”

One of the things that Enya had learned about Astarion is that most of the time, if you just stared at him in silence for a bit, he would either fold like a house of cards, or work himself into a lather. Sometimes both.

“UGH, fine, goddamnit…” he muttered with a distinctive whine in his voice, “I- I don’t know! I know it’s not red. God knows I’ve had enough of red. Black? Maybe?”

“Black’s not a color.”

“The hell it isn’t!”

“It’s a neutral.”

“Oh, For fuck’s sake...” he grumbled, “well, what’s your favorite color then? Hmm?”

“Is that your next question?”

“Sure! Fine! Since it’s clearly of the utmost import that one has a favorite color.”

“Green,” she replied without a moment of hesitation, “Emerald green. But I like seafoam green and turquoise as well.”

“God. You’re insane.” Enya gave him a smug smile.

“I have been told that is a part of my girlish charm.” She crossed her arms. “My turn again, then. What’s your last name?” He cringed.

“Pass.”

“Okay. Fair. Won’t press on it.” A small, dissatisfied sigh. “Then…have you had many lovers in your life?” He gave a hiss-like exhale, his lips pressing together into a flat line. Enya realized quite suddenly she had crudely, stupidly stepped into something quite sensitive.

“Shit, Astarion, I didn’t mean—“

“Yes,” he answered, interrupting her. His eyes looked hollow and flat. “I have.” When his eyes flicked to meet hers, the intense look in them made her feel like the game had…changed. “Many. Very, very many. Does that hurt your feelings? Does that…bother you?”

He had gone very still, in a way that reminded Enya of a creature on the hunt— or was it was like an alerted deer freezing stock-still, bracing itself to flee…?

Either way, she thought, I should tread carefully.

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Is that your question for me?”

“No. I’ll ask the same of you. How many lovers have you had before me?”

That’s not really the same question, she wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes and his unnatural stillness made her think better.

“That’s…difficult to answer,” she replied slowly. The sweat was starting to bead on her neck. “Do you just mean, sexually, or…relationships?” He gave her a flat, charming smile.

“Whichever you think is more important.”

She didn’t need to roll high on investigation to know that was a trap, and they both knew it. The real question was, would she tell him? She shut her eyes and exhaled, knowing that she had gone still now, too.

“Three formal relationships. But…like you? Just the one.”

“Man or woman? Or neither?”

“Woman.”

“How long?”

“Around three years.”

“What was her name?”

Exhale.

“Pass.”

They both relaxed at the same time. Whatever had its claws in them seemed to dissolve, like someone’s concentration had broken during a spell. They sat in that quiet relief for a moment, both troubled by their own thoughts. When he met her eyes again, the look he gave her would be bordering on apologetic, if it didn’t look so pained.

“What do you mean by…’like me’?” His voice was soft. Not accusatory. Just…lost. Confused.

There was no point in lying to him. She turned back to the horizon.

“Our relationship was…intense.” Life changing. Inevitable. “She didn’t know what she wanted from me.” Until she did. “And she had her demons. It didn’t end well.” She met his eyes, silently begging him to let it go. “But that’s where the similarities end. Back then I was young, and I was stupid. That’s all.”

He wasn’t happy about it, and he knew she could tell. He wanted to ask more.

He wanted to ask, ‘what am I, to you?’

He wanted to ask, ‘am I just another episode in a long line of tragedies?’

And most of all, he wanted to ask her, ‘what are the odds that the two of us will end any differently?’

But instead of pressing, he gave her a tight smile.

“You’re still young, my dear. And judging by your plans to have us fight an immortal necromancer on his own turf, you’re still incredibly stupid.” She felt a smile tug at her lips.

“Hey. That makes you stupid for following me.” The moon had risen by now, full and bright, washing the two of them in silver.

“Astarion.” He turned to her.

She wanted to ask, ‘If we are cured tomorrow, will I ever see you again?’

She wanted to ask, ‘When I tell you everything, will you resent me for it?’

But more than anything, she wanted to ask, ‘Since we could die tomorrow, would you hold me tonight?’

Instead, she just asked, “is it okay if i kiss you goodnight?” He smiled, and she smiled back. Under the moonlight, fangs met fangs, and talons gently intwined with pale fingers.

For now, they both thought, this would do.

[bluerose5]

Zevran: You know, I have never considered using magic in combat. Then again, it was never an option for me back in Thedas, but that was kind of fun!

Astarion: Majority of elves know at least some magic here. It's in our blood, after all, but to think that you've only scratched the surface.

Zevran: That sounds promising! You must show me more, yes?

Astarion: Of course, it would be my pleasure, but uh... Should we help your friend out over there first?

Zevran: Who? Him?

Fenris, laid out on the ground, staring up at the sky because he cast a cantrip in the last battle without even trying:

Zevran: No. Look at him! He is simply resting. That fight must have taken a lot out of him.

[bloseroseone]

Marketing Strategies for Today’s Self-Published Authors

Introduction to Self-Publishing

In the ever-changing world of self-publishing, writers are using creative marketing strategies to increase their visibility and audience. Authors have the freedom to choose their own path as the conventional publishing model changes and digital platforms make access more accessible to all.

With the help of customized marketing strategies, self-published authors can now take charge of their publication path and avoid traditional gatekeepers by connecting with their readers directly and sharing their stories with the world.

The Rise of Self-Publishing

The surge in self-publishing’s popularity owes much to digital platforms such as Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP), Smashwords, and BlueRose Publishers, enabling authors to reach a global audience sans traditional publishers. For self-published authors seeking visibility, effective marketing strategies are paramount in navigating the crowded literary landscape.

Benefits of Self-Publishing

Self-publishing has been a game-changer for budding writers in the digital age by providing them with unmatched independence and control over their literary works.

The field of marketing strategies is where one of the biggest advantages is found. Self-published writers, in contrast to those who publish through established channels, are free to customize their marketing strategies to fit their particular target market and target audience.

Self-published authors can create unique marketing campaigns that connect deeply with their readership by utilizing social media platforms, building email lists, and investigating opportunities for targeted advertising. This degree of personalisation allows writers to flourish on their own terms by fostering real connections and improving exposure in a congested literary scene.

Challenges Faced by Self-Published Authors

Self-published authors face many obstacles in the cutthroat world of publishing today, chief among them being marketing. Writing interesting stories is only the first step; effective marketing strategies are needed to get such stories seen among the sea of content.

Self-publishers do not have the same powerful marketing apparatus that well-established publishing houses do, in contrast to traditionally published writers. As a result, they frequently have few resources and experience and must negotiate the complicated world of marketing alone.

To stand out in a crowded market and draw in readers, self-published writers need to constantly invent new marketing strategies, from creating a web presence to utilizing social media platforms wisely...Continue reading

[love-bookrelease]

Multi Colored Rain by Vinod Kumar Raturi

About the author

Dr. Vinod Raturi is a product of the School of International Studies JNU, New Delhi. He further carried out his academic pursuits at Moscow State University, Russia. Author of several articles and research papers, he has attended many national and international conferences on geopolitical matters. He has lived and widely traveled in Russia and the entire former Soviet space. Though he specializes in geo-strategic subjects, he has a keen interest in various sensitive issues of social concern. He takes writing as an exciting voyage to discover the essence of human experience that allows assessing the substantiality of life in futuristic and pristine ways.

About the book

This book is a collection of varieties of poems that depict deep-felt emotions reflecting different shades of human life. It expresses many kinds of sentiments, stemming from the personal experience of the author which investigates the hidden aspects of human feelings. These poems are free to flow of unfeigned yearnings, evoking emotions of passion, anguish, love a8 resistance, and lending voice to suppressed feelings against social, political, and cultural tyranny. Its content touches on the pressing issues of gender inequality, caste discrimination, domestic & gender violence, animal rights, substance abuse, exploitation of natural resources, displacement, and immigration.

Shop now from Amazon, Flipkart, and BlueRose Online.

[iamfabiloz]

If you are still taking prompts I'd love to see a BlueRose (BlueStar X RoseTail), they were such a good duo that no one really talks about much-

Yeah!! :] Their rlly cool n sweet,, Here’s a thing taking place like several moons before Rusty joins the clans, rosetail is an elder and bluestar is leader! I hope u enjoy <3

ThunderClan camp was positively buzzing with activity, every cat seemed busy with something. Bluestar’s old pelt ached as she sat in the entrance of her den. She had just come back from a two hours long patrol she had undertaken, making sure the territory was secure. Rumors were circulating about the new upstart leader of ShadowClan, Brokenstar, and Bluestar wanted to personally ensure nothing was amiss. 

Bluestar watched as her reliable deputy, Redtail, organized patrols, his bushy ginger tail tap-tap tapping on the floor beside him. Mousefur and Runningwind were excitedly hauling back a hawk they had snagged during a hunting patrol. The bird’s huge wings snagged on the camp entrance for a heartbeat, before they yanked it through. Bluestar felt a rush of fondness for her former apprentice, Runningwind. She was immensely proud of him. He had grown into a respectable young warrior alongside his sister. 

The pair raced to the freshkill pile, while Longpaw grumpily trailed behind them, holding a small mouse in his jaws. Darkstripe was frowning at his apprentice’s pitiful catch, his face screwed up in a embarrassed scowl. 

Poor kit, Darkstripe can be hard on him at times, Bluestar thought sympathetically. I’m sure in a moon or two he’ll be fully ready for his warrior’s assessment. 

Across the clearing, Willowpelt was play fighting with her kitten, Graykit. The little tom was pretending to be a monstrous badger, his little paws wiggling as he clung to his mother’s back. He jabbed at her pelt with tiny claws and Willowpelt flopped to the ground dramatically, pretending to be slain by the stinky badger. Graykit mewled in delight, darting around his mother in adorable glee. Bluestar felt her heart twist painfully but she pushed it away. It had been seasons since she had played with her own kits like that. She turned her head with a sigh, trying to focus on something else.

Most of the elders were curled up in a sunny spot at the center of camp, their old pelts glimmering gold as they basked in the warm light. 

All except one.

Bluestar carefully exited from her den, the tendrils clinging to the entrance shivering as she brushed through them. Redtail didn’t notice her as she stalked towards the side of the medicine den, crouching low to the ground. She didn’t want to distract him from his duties, and she didn’t want interruptions for what she wanted to do. 

The ThunderClan leader reached the fallen tree beside the medicine den, and quietly slipped under it and into the tunnel below. Her blue-gray fur was poked by twigs jutting out on the insides of the narrow passage, but she squeezed through and popped out the other side, now in the elder’s den. It was located under a branch that was part of the tree. Thick tangles of boughs and twigs made up the den walls, making Bluestar feel very secure.

A gray tabby she-cat was lying on a moss nest in the far corner of the space, her bushy pinkish-orange tail flicking restlessly. Bluestar cleared her throat and the cat’s head shot up instantaneously. Bluestar’s heart jumped as the gray tabby she had known since kithood beamed warmly, waving her pretty tail beckoningly. 

“Why hello, Bluestar! What an unexpected surprise! What brings you to the elder’s den?”  Rosetail purred, blinking innocently. Bluestar snorted, padding over to sit down next to her old ‘friend’. I come here every day! Bluestar huffed internally, though she felt her pelt begin to warm. 

“Just checking up on how our clan’s finest are holding up.” Bluestar said in a low voice, lowering her head to look at Rosetail’s face. 

Rosetail tipped her head up and grinned.

“You know I’m the only one here, right?”Rosetail said, gesturing with a paw to the empty den. 

“I know.” Bluestar replied, her voice smooth. 

Rosetail blinked, her expression changing slightly as she took in the implications. She chuckled softly, ducking her head low. Bluestar could hear her struggling to keep a flustered purr from rattling in her throat. Bluestar smiled, feeling quite chuffed. Rosetail screwed her face up before prodding Bluestar’s chest sharply with a paw. 

“All right, don’t act so tickled. You obviously got that wit by hanging out with me all the time!” Rosetail laughed, her tone teasing. Bluestar rolled her eyes, feeling her tired muscles beginning to relax. 

“Yes, yes of course. But…don’t I have my own charm, though?” Bluestar leaned forward, getting closer. Rosetail made a half-choked cry before bopping Bluestar’s muzzle with a gray paw. 

“Blueberry, where did this newfound confidence come from?” Rosetail rumbled, her eyes glinting. “Is it because my den-mates aren’t around to hear us babble about?”

“Partially I suppose,” Bluestar meowed, flicking her ears. She liked being called ‘Blueberry’, but only by Rosetail. 

“And what’s the other reason?” Rosetail asked, tilting her head playfully. 

“I’ve had a somewhat okay day today. When I went out on patrol everything was weirdly normal.” Bluestar flexed her claws before flopping hastily onto the floor, all four paws stretched out. 

“Everything has gone smoothly, no mischief of any kind, if you can believe that.”

Rosetail purred at the unusual sight and nudged her splayed out partner. 

“That’s great! See, for every rainy day, there’s two sunny ones.” 

The elder shifted so that their pelts brushed, gray on gray fur. Bluestar purred quietly, her ears burning. She sighed peacefully, closing her eyes. “I do suppose you’re right.” 

Rosetail grinned impudently. “I always am.” Bluestar chuckled heartily, a noise she knew Rosetail enjoyed. 

“I like seeing you like this.” Rosetail murmured, stroking her thick-furred tail against Bluestar’s flank.

“What? Undignified?” Bluestar opened her eyes and mrrowed teasingly. 

“No, berry-brains! Relaxed and happy. With none of the leadership stuff weighing down on you.”

Bluestar blinked. 

“Really? But it’s my duty to be strong for ThunderClan. They need me.”

Rosetail sighed, laying down her head to rest on her paws.

“I know that! But…you need to spend more time taking care of yourself. Some days, it’s okay to kick back and relax. The clan won’t combust, and it’ll do wonders for that big blue head of yours.” 

“Big blue head?” Bluestar meowed, feeling a little offended.

Rosetail wrinkled her muzzle. 

“Okay, normal sized blue head. But you get what I’m saying don’t you? Don’t think I didn’t notice your bedraggled graying face when you walked in here. You’ve been on another two hour patrol haven’t you?”

Bluestar nodded silently. 

Rosetail squinted at her disapprovingly. 

“I told you that you should take those in shifts! You can’t walk around the territory for hours straight then expect your paws not to fall off.”

Bluestar sighed, seeing the truth in Rosetail’s words. Her pads did sting immensely from treading on leaf litter and dozen of twigs all day. 

“Okay, okay I get it now.” Bluestar meowed, blinking gratefully up at her partner. “Thanks for reminding me.” 

Rosetail smiled, satisfied. 

“Just looking out for my dear mate.” She meowed in a sweetly-teasing voice. 

Bluestar purred. “Now I’m tempted to stay in here with you a little longer.”

“Good, because I’m making you stay here until you get a proper nap!” Rosetail jabbed Bluestar’s shoulder sharply before pressing her side against Bluestar again.

 “Whatever you say,” Bluestar yawned, feeling her eyes beginning to struggle to stay open. 

Rosetail purred and stroked her spine with her tail. 

“What did I tell you about me always being right,” She meowed cheekily. 

Bluestar snorted with mock contempt, but she felt herself smiling. “As if!”

Closing her eyes once more, the warm scent of Rosetail’s fur wreathed around her, soothing her drowsy mind.