#excuse my writing style

[lazylittledragon]

right now i'm very torn between "taking critique is important as an artist and it's not an attack on me personally" and "people commenting about my same face syndrome under my posts upsets me an unreasonable amount and i wish they would stop doing it"

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Now that I know more about writing, I'm upset at all the writing advice that urged new writers to find the one best way to write stories, when they should be telling us to play with writing techniques like toys.

Don't tell us to avoid certain points of view! Don't box us into the one currently popular prose style! Let us play and see what effects different techniques achieve, so we can learn the best ways to make use of them! Give us a whole ton of possibility instead of one cookie-cutter template!

[otaku553]

Something funny for your spy x family ASL au

Luffy took ONE look at loid and internally went 'oh sweet. He's a spy like sabo' and never brings it up while anya just stares at him horrified and like with ace and sabo, he just never brings it up.

This also happens with yor and anya makes a funny noise

(As i am typing this my dog has the zoomies and is running around like a maniac)

HAHA YEAH THIS WOULD DEFINITELY HAPPEN

I think loid’s a good enough actor that luffy wouldn’t figure it out immeditely from like just a few seconds of meeting him but give him a minute or a few and he’ll figure it out on vibes alone

[ifyougoillfollow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta & Kayama Nemuri & Shirakumo Oboro & Yamada Hizashi Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight, Shirakumo Oboro Additional Tags: Spin the Bottle, not tagging who smooches who but thar be smoochin here, Fluff and Humor, Banter, Friendship/Love, Rooftop Gang Shenanigans, Teenage dumbassery, cannot stress enough how teenaged in their dumbassery these fools are here, To whit:, Underage Drinking, Gay crisis, Unrequited Crush, Crushes, Pining, Mutual Pining, these losers have it all!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shirakumo Oboro Lives, You're Welcome, Gay Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Oblivious Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Non-Linear Narrative

Summary:

In the end, it's Yamada's painfully obvious and just as grating attempts to spare Shouta some mild embarrassment that makes Shouta abandon all sense of logic and agree to just play the stupid game. There are worse fates to endure than being patronized, Shouta's sure, but if there are, he's having trouble imagining them in the face of Yamada freestyle rapping for fifteen straight minutes to a chorus of increasingly heartfelt boos from the other two idiots.

And so Shouta finds himself watching Yamada and Kayama suck face for the third time this evening. That's certainly a worse fate, Shouta decides, all the more so because he should have seen it coming.

They're playing spin the bottle, after all. ___ Rooftop Gang plays spin the bottle. Need I say more?

[surelysilly]

may 25th: blame ❀❀❀

You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see. 

-  “ The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether” by Edgar Allan Poe

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀❀❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

believe nothing you hear (and only one half that you see)

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀❀❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom:  Danny Phantom 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply   

Characters: Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Danny Fenton, Various Character(s)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Older Danny Fenton, Underage Drinking

Batman: A Death in the Family

Timeline What Timeline

Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

Ghost King Danny Fenton

Canon-Typical Violence

Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Mild Language

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Non-Graphic Violence

Heavy Angst

Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Implied/Referenced Character Death

Canonical Character Death

Episode: s02e08-09 The Ultimate Enemy

Summary:  

Despite her recently tanked GPA and impending out of school suspension — if not outright expulsion — Sam's still the smartest person she knows. She can figure this out.

She just has to be brave.

[sociallyrepressed]

Oscar feels the irrational need to lock Lando in a gilded cage and let the sole key hang threaded around his neck. He wants to break him, rearrange his cells in a way that leaves an Oscar-shaped molding. He wants to consume Lando until they are one and the same down to their very essence. He knows Lando wants the same with the way he reaches for Oscar, offering himself mind and body. The way he’s laid bare underneath Oscar; he’s long since been boneless, breathy whines and the shifting of hips the only signs of consciousness.

Oscar can’t be bothered to pull away and study his face, not when he’s desperately taking everything he’s given. Vampires are selfish, needy, greedy creatures, and who is Oscar to deny that part of himself. Not when it can be gratified so sweetly by such an enthusiastic participant. Lando’s veins sing beneath his skin. His blood is warm and thick and steady from where it seeps out the pinpricks just above the hollow of his throat. There’re dark smudges all across his neck, a mix of smeared blood and teasing bruises.

Oscar feels insane. He needs to ruin Lando; to peel back his skin and shred his muscles and pick apart his ribs until he can hold his beating heart in the palm of his hands.

Long ago, when he experienced life with his own hot blood and warm skin, his pastor stood before the church and said: “will you have the faith in Our Lord to be able to stand on the mountain’s peak before the storming clouds with their angry winds and say calm. Will you be able to stand at the cliff’s edge before the raging sea with her mighty strength and say be still? Do you have the faith to stand before an oasis in the desert and deny it because the Lord has forbidden temptation?” Oscar used to think he could, but now he thinks of Lando. Thinks how Lando stood before him and demanded to have Oscar as Oscar is. He thinks of Adam and Eve unable to deny the temptations of a forbidden fruit. If man cannot endure temptation whilst in a utopia, how could Oscar have ever stood a chance at denying himself Lando.

A trembling hand grasps the back of his neck, scruffing him as his sire had back when he couldn’t control his urges. Unlike his sire, Lando pulls him ever closer, as if he could seep through their skin contact and be joined as one. Oscar’s mouthing lazily at his neck, popping blood vessels and pulling another purple bruise to the top of his skin. They’re connected at every point. Oscar can feel Lando’s heartbeat pulsing, reverberating in his own empty chest cavity. It’s not enough to tamp down his desire of mutual destruction, but it does soothe the jagged ache. He’ll take Lando however he can.

[everythingwasnormalhere]

never getting over princess kenny being the greatest style shipper ever

dude she's literally letting a guy sleep on her husband's bed she slays so hard

[blueyluu]

howl jenkins pendragon x gn! reader

The living castle chugged steam from it's tall engines, emitting smoke up into the crystal-blue sky after every lanky movement. With each savage huff that escaped the living home, you teetered across the rugged wood floors.

You were busy cleaning away at the lonely rooms, each inhabiting disparate articles of knick-knacks and eye catching souvenirs. It was like caring after a bunch of children really, Howl and Markl always on the move and not bothering too clean up after each other.

Perhaps that was just the reason the fire demon had 'hired' you too clean up this place.

You had spent long, atrocious hours sweeping away at each room, shooing pesky soot gremlins that had found their way into silent corners. The hard work was appreciated from Calcifer, the occasional coal stirring praises from his flame-coated mouth, but was quick to be destroyed when Howl came dragging himself through the house.

You perked up to see Markl bounding after his mentor per usual while the blond dragged a green substance across the mostly-clean floors, now stained with goo.

"Now this won't do, Calcifer keep the castle headed west, down to the folding valley." You corrected the direction before throwing the demon a hefty stack of wood that he eagerly gobbled into the flickers.

The trip running up the stairs and down - twice - was a brief exchange. You had croaked out directions to the child and a full Calcifer. Going as far as to draw a steaming bath in the nearest lavatory, next rushing a sticky Howl into the room.

"Well then, I'll need you to cooperate if this is going to work out. Arms up-" The only noises that left his mouth were strangled mumbles about god knows what, but it was obvious in the way he sank against the rim of the tub that he was out of it.

"You only get like this if one out of two things have happened," you huffed into the steaming room, busy putting your elbow into scrubbing off the green liquid from his person "you've bitten off more than you can chew or someone's rejected your feelings."

You could tell by the way he grumbled on cue that it was the latter. Occasionally some foreigner, man or woman, would whisk Howl away to keep their minds (and bodies -) busy for a while. But in the end, he was always the one sulking about passionate feelings and the strands of hope he had clung on to for a relationship that was doomed to break. Sometimes you'd wish one of these failed flings would knock some sense into the hopeless romantic but the next thing you knew, he was smitten for the first vixen passing through.

Regardless of the repetitive broken hearts and sob stories that he spewed out from pretty-pink lips, you were always there to calm the storm, wiping salty tears from his face.

"Don't waste your tears on that woman, Jenkins, she was no good to begin with." You usually quipped up a response with honeyed words and embraces but you were honest with him this time 'round. "She doesn't deserve your heart, so don't bother dwelling on what could have been. It's best to look past that and move on, dove."

Anyone could tell you it was easier said than done but you had already heard that over the many break-ups and each time, you reluctantly soothed him.

In the end it was you and him in a steam-filled bathroom, wind-chimes twirling up against the high windows to fill the silence, along with the swirling waves of bubbles that pooled over the rim and leapt in crashes. You had a puffy-eyed Howl leaning up against the edges of your shoulder while he sniffed away remnants of his story, hands tugging at the hems of your white sleeve. He was dramatic, truly, but you let the emotions reel on.

The negative aura seeped out of the room after his last tear fell, the crystal arching over his cheek before leaping into the unknown. By then you had cupped his cheeks into your hands, thumbs brushing away the evidence from his skin.

"Thank you," Howl spoke in his lilted voice for the first time in that interaction, throat bobbing when he swallowed down the pained emotions.

In reality you had cleaned away the gooey mess from his body, but you'd also stripped him of the grief weighing him down. Giving him a chance to breathe.

[scarnemo]

Gummies, a short comic

(I’m no writer so bear with me)

Nika is acting strange

grabbing hold of the mechanic’s hand

Chuchu takes Nika to the Earth House dorms to see what’s up

Once standing now her back suddenly against the floor

Chuchu realized

she was the bottom of this relationship

Woah…Nika…

She’s on top of her

uniform unzipped

Where did the tie go?

The mechanic was leaning closer

she’s so…wobbly…ah…she fell over

Nika was now lying beside her making grunting noises

What’s gotten into her?! This isn’t like her at all…

“Nika-nee…”

Wait, what is that?

What the hell?

Gummies?

Is this what’s causing her to act so strangely?

Where did she even get these?!

Chuchu glanced over at Nika

She’s sitting now

and…chewing something..!!

She got it out

Nika on the other hand was now clenching Chuchu’s jacket tightly

She would NOT let go

Damn it Nika…

The mechanic brought the jacket down to Pom-Pom’s feet and pulled

Chuchu reluctantly stepped out of it as Nika kept pulling

The mechanic fell back, jacket in her grasp

Ah…she took my jacket…

Chuchu raised a hand to reach out towards Nika to give it back

but she was hugging it dearly

no clear sign of giving it up

Chuchu blushed

Cute…

She turned around, scratching the back of her neck

Well, it can’t be helped..

She looked back at Nika who was rubbing her face all over her pink jacket

Nika…

Chuchu walked over to her mechanic

squatting down, arms over her knees

Nika fell over to her side, giggling with the jacket in her face

Chuchu chuckled,

“You’re so drunk, Nika-nee.”

This wasn’t the time to play around though

even Chuchu knew that

She placed her hands under Nika and lifted her up

carrying her in her arms

Yeah she can carry her

Nika was taller but it wasn’t going to stop Chuatury Panlunch

Chuchu had notified the other Earthian girls via text to come to the dorms

She explained the situation and handed the near-empty bag of gummies to Aliya

Lilique placed her hands on her knees and looked down at a now sleeping Nika

She was worried

Nika wasn’t looking too good

The three knew they couldn’t take Nika to the nurse’s office

They would get in so much trouble for having these kind of gummies on campus

knowing they wouldn’t even get a chance to explain because they’re Earthians

then again

How did Nika even get these? There’s no way she’d eat these if she knew what was actually in them

Did she not notice the taste? Well, Chuchu didn’t know how they tasted like

For all she knows they could taste the same as regular gummies or even better!

Someone must have given these to Nika, saying they were just normal fruity gummies

Chuchu was going to get to the bottom of this

but for now

she’s going to stay by Nika’s side and look after her

Bonus:

[azaisya]

in which i get enough of my curufinrod thoughts together to write 1k words about it. featuring the aftermath of the messiest breakup ever, finrod's inability to be chill about the bëorians, and curufin's inability to be chill. [ao3]

The door to the King’s chambers yielded before his hand as easily as it ever had, and Curufin’s voice filled the familiar space like the cracking of ice beneath their feet. “Art thou mad?”

Finrod’s answering laugh was fey and wild. His temper was still upon him, his mind closed, and the light in his eyes was the light of the King of Nargothrond, for all that the silver crown gleamed not at his brow. “I? ‘Tis the madness of thine own tongue, Curufinwë, that has turned our people’s hearts against my hopes. If I am mad, it is only because thou hast left me no other path.”

They were alone. Finrod had sent his meager ten with Beren to prepare. Curufin closed the distance between them, kicking aside supplies half-packed, unflinching from the anger in those grey eyes. “Thou let’st thy fondness for the Secondborn blind thee to what is before thy nose.”

Felagund did not back away, though their faces were close enough that their breath mingled between them. His lip curled into a snarl, canines flashing in the candlelight. “Thou hast spoken enough already! Insult me again, and thou wilt not have the chance to do so a third time.”

[keep reading on ao3]

Curufin’s fury kindled, but he kept his mien cold and still with his will alone. How many times must he be reminded that he was the lesser, that their long years of closeness, their youth together, their quarrels and love, were nothing compared to Felagund’s infatuation with these mortals and their mayfly-quick lives. For the briefest of heartbeats, further poison gathered on the tip of his tongue. In his mind’s eye, he saw Felagund pushed further into wrath, saw the wild flame of his eyes. Would he draw his blade, as Fëanor once had against Fingolfin? Or would he close his bare hands about Curufin’s throat?

Felagund so loved to pretend at placidity, at gentleness, but his anger slumbered ever beneath those still waters. It shone, as bright as the summer blaze of his joy, and it was real. Curufin loved Finrod most when he was real.

The temptation was there. Curufin knew he could do it. But he did not insult Beren, or Barahir, or even Bëor. He said, cool, “Thou knowest that this was ever a fool’s journey, even hadst thou managed to rouse an army. The gates of Morgoth will not yield before the likes of thee.”

“Perhaps!” Felagund’s voice was sweet with rage. “But now we shall never know.”

Curufin’s eyes narrowed. “Thou wilt walk into doom for some mortal’s flight of passion, for Thingol’s whim?”

The back of Felagund’s fingers brushed, feather soft, against Curufin’s cheek. The touch was alight with the memory of thousands of other caresses, alive with the danger between them. His grey eyes were full of something unspeakable. “Wilt thou grieve for me, Curvo?”

It was the last thing that Curufin had expected. He flinched backwards, his mind unfurling, and beneath his anger his terror was laid bare.

“Ah,” Felagund said, the barest exhale. Gone was the might and majesty of the King, and in his absence there was only Finrod, small and pained and full of sorrow. “Thou wilt.”

“I’ve no desire to,” Curufin hissed. It did not matter whether he was met with softness or hardness; he could do nothing but arm himself with knives. “I desire naught but for thee to come to thy senses and abandon this futile quest.”

Finrod did not snap back. It would’ve been better if he had. He laughed, the sound soft and bitter and private. “I see! I had thought— Well, it does not matter what I had thought. Thy schemes have done naught but set my doom in stone, Curvo mine.”

The terrible thing was the way his small-name sounded on Finrod’s tongue: as tender as the press of lips against his neck, as solemn as the light of stars reflected in grey eyes, as laden with love as it ever was.

Curufin, rather abruptly, was forced to realize two things: Finrod did not love anything by halves, even now, and the love did not matter. 

Perhaps he should’ve realized that long ago.

“There is nothing I can say to change thy mind,” Curufin murmured, before he could think better of it. Unable to meet Finrod’s eyes any longer, he looked at the supplies scattered about the bed, the floor. He had not packed enough food. 

“There never was.” Gentle, gentle, as ever. From Curufin, it would’ve been a blade sharp enough to pierce the heart. From Finrod, it was just the truth. “I swore an oath to Barahir and his kin—”

Curufin’s hands fisted beneath his sleeves. “Do not speak to me of oaths.”

“—but I need no oath to compel me to Beren son of Barahir. I am bound to the House of Bëor by my own will.” The weight of Finrod’s gaze was a nearly physical thing, prickling across Curufin’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. He still did not look up. 

Finrod resumed his packing, haphazardly throwing things into his bag. One of his men would need to repack it for him. Curufin watched the quicksilver grace of his movements, the careless turn of his head. It should’ve been insulting, that Finrod thought so little of Curufin’s danger that he paid him no heed. But perhaps they simply knew each other too well for that. 

“I will not guard thy crown for you,” Curufin said, “Thou art dooming thyself and thy kingdom both.”

“Nargothrond is strong, when she is not sipping from thy cup of lies,” Finrod replied, and there, like the sun between clouds, was the splintered remnant of his anger. It was a weak thing now, muted by the helplessness between them, but not dead yet. “I’ve faith enough in Orodreth.”

Curufin sneered. “Yet more madness.”

“It is done, Curvo. There is no path for me but forward.”

There are many more paths than forward for thee, Curufin nearly snapped, but he made the mistake of meeting Finrod’s eyes. 

They were bright with treelight, with love, with doom. 

Curufin’s breath caught in his chest. He had no foresight to speak of, but he knew that this was the last time he’d see those eyes. 

Finrod smiled and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Farewell, Curvo. I hope I haunt thee.”

Curufin was helpless to do anything but watch him leave. 

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[fictionadventurer]

Trollope telling us "the character found out Dickens wrote a novel about their situation" might be one of the funniest plot points I've come across in classic literature.

[neeksnicoboytoy]

PPARTY ROCKERS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT. bokuto shows up in the worst outfit you've ever seen but hes confident so really it doesnt matter (or does it) he claims he is bringing "The Drip" to the party. no one agrees with him except nishinoya which really is a bad sign when you think about him as a person. konoha threatens to burn his closet down when he's least expecting it and that man is SERIOUS. bokuto actually briefly feels a full body chill . EVERYTHING about he's wearing is neon and mismatched nishinoya fucks with it soooo hard hes actually kind of jealous!! i think bokuto would wear a snapback i'm sorry he cant dance either. but just like with his outfit he is so outrageously confident that it does not matter all that much (to him). at least SOMEONE'S representing the bad dancers on the floor am i right? ha ha. actually no take that man away this is hard to look at. tries to do the worm and fails miserably so he's probaly bruised all over the day after!! claims the bruises are battle scars even though they are bruises and not scars!! cmon now. he attempts the worm every party everyone is fed up with him. i feel like hinata WOULD be able to do the worm which really should not be the thing that gets you impressed about someone but bokuto LOVES it and he tries to get hinata to dance with him every chance he gets. he reaaally wants the aux but all his friends are not impressed with Pitbull and bokuto IS a crowd pleaser after all so he refrains.

akaashi trailing behind the crowd wearing something so normal you wouldnt look twice at it but it looks insane when you look at the scene -> neon lights confetti loud ass music etc etc. this man is in BUISNESS casual like he's about to attend a moderately dress code wise relaxed 9-5 office job. when you ask him about his choice of dress he just blinks and wanders off to talk about something pretentious like the musical arrangement in radiohead songs with daishou (who has managed to incorperate his "edge cutting" read edgy style in everything he's wearing so he's basically gone eboy. it looks horrific but kuroo thinks it's cool either way. not that he would admit that though) he's not entirely sure why he became friends with daishou seeing that he doesn't like daishou all that much but he supposes it is nice to talk shit with someone. bokuto thinks they match (they don't) and is very excited about this. akaashi is the weirdest fucker at the entire party besides maybe kageyama. he dances shockingly badly for someone that pretty but everyone loves him and knows he's kind of shy so they support him either way.

hinata has looked up cool teenage party outfit multiple times before going so he would look just right but in the end he figured he would just go for what's comfortable and ends up wearing sport shorts and a sweatshirt kageyama gave him. the important distinction between his athletic wear and bokuto's mess is that bokuto picked something athletic on purpose and hinata just doesn't have any other type of clothes someone help him please yachi is in constant disbelief and horror. he was so nervous that he almost puked before showing up but once he arrives at the party he realizes they are in Japan and thus no omnious solo red cup will be showing up like he assumed(guys there is no alchol involved dont WORRY they are MINORS) (besides tanaka i think. that guy is insane). after that he is in his ELEMENT and goes bonkers. he talks to everyone in the house and everyone not in the house and everyone likes him! fucks up the dancefloor. good for him. starts playing volleyball in the backyard with kageyama once he's had his fair share of the dance floor and promptly passes out in the midst of a set. kageyama would be very concerned but has at this point gained so much acceptance for the miracle that hinata is that he assumes hinata is Just like That so he sort of chills besides the stiff and unmoving body of his best friend for a while

other special mentions on this topic:

-oikawa is a really good dancer but everyone tells him he's bad to piss him off. he gets so mad at this that he trips

-iwaizumi shows up in a muscle tee and the party goes quiet for a bit. sexualities are reconsidered and self-discoveries are made. it's a really ugly and ratty shirt with godzilla on it but since the focus is not really on the shirt no one minds besides kentarou who is sort of torn between feeling betrayed and proud

-kageyama bonds with kenma. kenma is not willingly participating in this but kageyama doesn't really care. he's too busy getting his ass kicked n mario kart (plays as mario)

-tsukishima doesn't like parties but yamaguchi LOVES them and dresses up all cute for them. tsukki gets dragged along every time

-tendou absolutely fucking HATES!!!! popular music. he says it's too boring and also too mainstream to appeal to him so he starts bringing along his own speaker to parties . it always clashes horribly with the already playing, louder music and everyone BEGS him to turn it off but tendou is nothing if not persistent so he just turns the volume up. what a man. i respect the hustle

-ushiwaka, sakusa and kageyama passionately talk about volleyball together. akaashi joins in for a bit but then is lovingly (read: aggresively) pulled to the dancefloor by bokuto and the group gives up any kind of rescue mission once they've caught a glimpse of bokuto's biceps. sorry buddy you'll have to handle this by yourself i guess

-yaku starts doing pushups across the room to flirt with nishinoya. it works a bit too well because nishinoya sees it as a challenge and they end up doing pushups for a while. nishinoya loses btw

-i do think that they ^ kiss later

-suga and oikawa both dress cunty and real recognizes real so they exchange numbers. i do think oikawa would piss suga off to no end but for a while he (suga) manages to ignore that. once the party is over they never talk anyone

-tanaka gets a new haircut impulsively. he and nishinoya march out of the bathroom and all of sudden he's blonde. no one really knows what to do with it but tsukishima despises that they're both blond now. the other blondes are seriously impressed and accept him into their group

[wistereia]

Wisteria's Bio is finally done! You can find that here!

[dayntee]

Finishing my Pillars journey was really just a necessary step for me to move on to writing about other disaster wizards. So don’t worry, if you enjoy watching the dumbest, smartest men be in love and make mistakes, hoo boy, JUST YOU WAIT-

[fideidefenswhore]

Really liked your ask comparing alison weir's book excerpts to that of historians, do you have any other examples like that?

this one?

and sure, again, the important thing to remember is that pop history is digestible and straightforward; but that this doesn't make it 'better'. the genre is dependent on a misapplication of the adage, 'when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras' to any single primary source. a better rule of thumb to go by would be that 1) where there is a general consensus by a variety of sources, and a single aberrant, it's reasonable to assume the former was true (rather than a conspiracy that only the aberrant has 'outsmarted')-- or, at the very least, widely believed to be true --, and 2) where there is a total contradiction between sources, it's reasonable to assume that the truth lies somewhere in between.

pop history also deals in truisms that do not allow for the complexity of history, nor the people of history: that praise was either always genuine, exaggerated, or disingenuous, that invective always reflected fact and complete understanding, and was never motivated by self-interest, that self-fashioning always reflected truth. as such, it does not give space for individuation and it assumes homogeneity.

this is the comfort and the insidiousness of pop history: the neophyte reader often feels that the scales have dropped from their eyes, that they have been privy to the unwrapping of the mysteries of the universe for the low, low price of £2.99...when, in reality, what they have read is merely a summation of primary and secondary source quotes with no true interrogative research and nothing approaching historical methodology, with some narrative fashioning and paraphrase techniques threaded throughout.

since you asked, i'll continue to use weir as the exemplar of these contrasts (which i'll get to, i promise, scroll down for that part if you want to reach it first, it'll be cued in red): i'm not a 'fan', but i won't diminish her efforts by denying that these books are her life's work in the sense of how much time and effort she must have put into every single one, in reading, in research, and in writing (six wives of henry viii, her first, alone had 656 pages, so did her likely second most popular, henry viii and his court, her book children of henry viii was 385 pages, her biographical books on the boleyns alone, lady in the tower and the mistress of kings, a collective 900, so altogether of her most popular that's...2593 pages, and bestselling, no mean feat...but it continues, 366 from her katherine swynford biography, 494 pages from "she-wolf of france", 640 pages of her mqos biography, 544 pages of her elizabeth i biography, 336 of her book about the princes in the tower, 441 for her biography of eleanor of aquitaine, and her book about the wotr, at 512 pages, clocks us in at 5560 pages from 1991-2010).

but there's a reason weir's published fifteen nonfiction books since 1991, and there's a reason twice as many degreed historians (the 'power couple' of john guy and julia fox), despite their collaborative efforts, together have published a comparable volume only within a much longer amount of time (if we limit to the above timeline of 1991-2010, we have his mqos biography of 574 pages, his biography of margaret roper at 448 pages, the tudors: a very short introduction at 128 pages, and julia fox's dual biography of catherine of aragon and joanna of castile at 464 pages, her biography of jane boleyn at 416 pages, clocking in at 2030 pages total...again, for perspective, this is the output of two historians in the same twenty years as a single pop historian, drafts of their upcoming books notwithstanding, they probably existed in some format, somewhere, unready for publication); and the reason is that the process of historical methodology and rigorous research takes much, much more time (not to mention, expertise...) than the process of pop history.

As a non-fiction author, I write 'popular' history. The term has sometimes been used in a derogatory sense by a few people who should know better, because all historians use the same sources. History is not the sole preserve of academics, although I have the utmost respect for historians who undertake new research and contribute something new to our knowledge. History belongs to us all, and it can be accessed by us all. And if writing it in a way that is accessible and entertaining, as well as conscientiously researched, can be described as popular, then, yes, I am a popular historian, and am proud and happy to be one.

let's say i'm not going to quibble with the generalizing, obfuscating statement of "all historians use the same sources" (is alison weir accessing archives directly? is she fluent in the languages of these sources in their original form, or is she relying on the translations of others? is she making any attempt at all to research and integrate various sources of the same events??); and for argument's sake, let's say i accept it at face value. for argument's sake, that brings me back to my earlier point: what weir's readers are accessing is a narratively entertaining summary of primary and secondary source quotes with no true interrogative research or historical methodology behind the narrative. as such, it is often teleogical and presentist. they are accessing something they anyone could recreate with their own "voice", so long as they have the same list of quotes, verbatim and paraphrased, that they could putty their own narrative cohesion in between: so long as they had the free time, the financial support, the skill, the will, the interest, the drive, the discipline and the stamina.

"history belongs to us all", yes! "history can be accessed by us all", i really wish that were true, but it isn't, not entirely. that's not me 'gatekeeping', that's me acknowledging that there are sources and books not everyone has access to, quite unfortunately. not everyone can visit museums or historical sites or archives or universities in person (whether due to cost, or disability, or both), not every book or article can be accessed without university (library) access or at quite great financial cost, even in the case of academic papers that have been made available on open access websites, some might be in a language the reader is not fluent in, and the translation either does not exist, or is not open access... not every library will have every paper, book, or access to online archives that the researcher is searching for, not every library has an ILL (interlibrary loan) program.

at least two of her most popular books were published before the advent of wikipedia, but there is, again, a reason that many chapters from many of her books read like expanded versions of wikipedia articles. they read as encyclopedic 'everyman's' entries because that is what they are, subjectivity masquerading as objectivity. anyone can have a point of view, but a pov alone does not make a work "conscientious". her usage of 'conscientous' as a self-descriptor is rather revealing in and of itself, because my impression is that she is referring to her own writing as being driven by her personal conscience, rather than any prevalent ethical standards that define the 'conscientious historian' within the professional study of history:

Q: Is it not the case that testimonies can be manipulated and distorted to serve certain interests? If so, what critical tools must we avail ourselves of to unmask such manipulation? A: In order to answer this we must refer to the epistemological structure of historical knowledge. The fundamental objective of a good historian is to enlarge the sphere of archives, that is, the conscientous historian must open up the archives by retrieving traces which the dominant ideological forces attempted to suppress.

(brief interruption here to offer my own commentary specific to the subject: a huge drawback of tudor pop history, not unique to weir, but imo, is that it acknowledges protestantism as an-- eventual, and sometimes, arguably, prescientally early-- dominant ideological force, and does not regard catholicism as a dominant ideological force in the same way...even during mid-henrician, edwardian, and elizabethan eras, catholicism was the dominant ideological force of 'christendom', at the very least, even if not in england...& at risk of losing forest for the trees, i'd also argue protestantism /= henrician anglican supremacy/caesaropapism, but i digress...)

[con't] [...] In admitting what was originally excluded from the archive, the historian initiates a critique of power. [...] The historian opposes the manipulation of narratives by telling the story differently and by providing a space for the confrontation between opposing testimonies. We must remember, however, that the historian['s] [...] [condition] dictates that we can never be in a state of pure indifference. The historian's testimony is not completely neutral, it is selective activity [...] it is, however, far less selective than the testimony of the dominant [...] Here we should invoke [the need for] 'reflective equilibrium' [...] between predominantly held beliefs and the findings of critical minds represented by professional people such as historians. Such a mechanism helps us distinguish good from bad history.

so, what is highlighted, well...weir fails to acknowledge any of this, nor does has she (and arguably, has never, or at the most generous i could be, rarely) practice any of this, and i'm about to demonstrate an example...

(if you've read this far, you're a real one, bcus i am finally going to delve into a specific, parallel example, like the former ask:

"In October 1535, Cromwell brought the King devastating news: Tunis had fallen to the Emperor, and the Turks had been crushed. Chapuys told his master that Henry and Anne looked 'like dogs falling out of a window", so distressed were they by the news. As if this was not bad, enough [...] Anne was blamed [for the bad harvest and bad weather] by the common people [...] It was not a happy homecoming when Henry and Anne ended their progress at Windsor on 26 October [1535]." The Six Wives of Henry VIII, by Alison Weir

so, let's break this down: although citations would have made an easier flow, weir has, at least, done right by at least integrating and specifying the source for the first claim: "chapuys [wrote to charles v] that [this had happened". let's examine that primary source:

"Remarks on the Emperor's military achievements. The English are much pleased at his victory, in accordance with the incredible affection which they almost all bear to him; except the King, the concubine, Cromwell, and some of their adherents, who, as a man whom he sent to the Court reports, are astounded at the good news, like dogs falling out of a window. Cromwell could hardly speak." Chapuys to [Granvelle]. 13 Sept [1535]. Vienna Archives.

is this the entire story? is this more than one angle? it's not even really an exhaustive summary, weir hones in on the reactions of henry&anne (rather than the reactions of cromwell and 'their adherents') to underline the conclusion of the summary: "it was not a happy homecoming...[for] henry and anne". it's clear that it's a partially redacted image, because as the excerpt from weir's book continues, she continues to adhere to the single source in question. i'll discuss and expand on others once i've done the comparison between her summary and the relevant report for the second highlighted piece:

"The said ambassador expressed his astonishment to me at the English being still allowed to import corn from Flanders. This, he said, would not be tolerated in France under the circumstances. My own opinion is that the affair ought to be looked into, inasmuch as the harvest here has been very poor, and people begin to murmur. The King and his concubine, who formerly had it preached from the pulpit that God favoured particularly the English by sending them fine weather, have it said now that, "whom God loves, He chastises."" + "This would be the best time [to invade England], while the people is provoked by the great cruelties daily committed and the worse than tyrannical extortions practised on Churchmen, the expulsion of monks and nuns from their cloisters, and, most of all, the famine which threatens to prevail in consequence of the bad harvest, all which is imputed to the bad life and tyranny of the King."

well...again, this is all very interesting. as weir states, chapuys reports harvest is poor, the weather is poor, and that 'people begin to murmur' at these happenings... but he doesn't specify, actually (at least in relation to the bad harvest and weather), that it's anne boleyn who's blamed by the people. actually, what he specifies here is that the famine is imputed by them to the "bad life and tyranny of the king", not the queen (or, as he names her, 'concubine'); it's reasonable to assume that 'the concubine' is part of the 'bad life' they're condemning, but she's not specifically stated as the cause of the 'murmuring', it's henry viii's actions that are (and, it makes sense that he's pushing this, because it's an uprising against henry specifically that he's promoting, here).

so, what was happening here when weir wrote this? imo, a classic case of confirmation bias. i don't think weir actually was reading quotes from the archives, i think she was reading their summaries, as given in the divorce of catherine of aragon, by james anthony froude:

"The harvest had failed; and the failure was interpreted as a judgment from Heaven on the King's conduct. So sure Chapuys felt that the Emperor would now move that he sent positive assurances to Catherine that his master would not return to Spain till he had restored her to her rights. Even the Bishop of Tarbes, who was again in London, believed that Henry was lost at last. The whole nation, he said, Peers and commons, and even the King's own servants, were devoted to the Princess and her mother, and would join any prince who would take up their cause. The discontent was universal, partly because the Princess was regarded as the right heir to the crown, partly for fear of war and the ruin of trade. The autumn had been wet: half the corn was still in the fields. Queen Anne was universally execrated, and even the King was losing his love for her. If war was declared, the entire country would rise."

that would be my assessment of this particular excerpt: it's froude that connected the 'murmurings' about the bad weather and poor harvest to anne being 'universally execrated', and it's weir, using froude as a source, that followed suit. there's the flavor of "the king was losing his love for her", asw, even if not explicit ("it was not a happy homecoming for henry and anne"...speaking of, let's see what historians say about that specific period of time in reference, post-progress, late 1535:

"Henry and Anne’s marriage doesn’t seem to have been on the rocks [at this point][…] In the autumn and winter of 1535, they were constantly described as being ‘merry together’, which is probably [when] Anne conceived […]" Suzannah Lipscomb

"Secondly, Chapuys' gossip must bet set against the far greater weight of evidence that shows that Henry and Anne were often happily together and that despite occasional outbursts, their marriage seemed set to last. On many occasions the king and queen were reported as merry, notably in October 1535 [...]"

Power and Politics in Tudor England: Essays by G.W. Bernard

weir doesn't examine the context and various sources about henry being informed of charles v's victory at tunis, nor does she here interrogate the authority and credibility of chapuys as a source. but, luckily, for the purposes of this ask, an accredited historian, does:

"Additional information came from the most varied sources, such as Joan Batcok, a resident in the empress’ court in Spain, who obtained copies of letters from Charles V to the viceroy of Navarre and sent them to her uncle, John Batcok, who forwarded them (and the copy of a letter from the bishop of Palencia) to Cromwell on 5 August, along with details he had gleaned from talking to men already back from the North African war.[...] Chapuys was ignorant of all this. [...] It was not until 14 August that Chapuys learnt of what he called the glorious and most important victory in La Goleta from the imperial ambassador in France, and sent a courier to Henry VIII with the news. There was no public audience where it could be publicised. Henry VIII gave the envoy some money as customary, and sent a deer he had hunted to the ambassador, which was interpreted as a sign of his great pleasure.

Later Chapuys found out that Henry VIII had already known of the emperor’s success and had neither celebrated it or shared the information. In fact, the king distanced himself as far as possible without breaching protocol. He instructed Cromwell to relay his «pleasure» at the emperor’s success and Cromwell did so in writing rather than in person. By contrast, when they heard that the French ambassador had news of the meeting between Mary of Hungary and Leonor, he was summoned to speak with the king and taken hunting [...]

The king again instructed Cromwell to give him some money and to inform Chapuys that he could not have been more delighted with the victory if it had been his own, and that he congratulated the emperor warmly. On 10 September Cromwell transmitted the message in writing. The offense was so patent, Chapuys reported the bare facts and commented bitterly: «God knows how much more he would have given [the envoy] for contrary news». According to the envoy, however, the reaction of the English king and courtiers to the news was extreme. He claimed that Cromwell had been left speechless, and the English courtiers so astonished and dismayed he thought they resembled a pack of dogs falling out of a window. Chapuys contrasted this with the rejoicing of «the English people» outside the court who loved Charles V. The king and his court remained inaccessible to Chapuys, who persevered by sending information. He had to be content with polite letters from Cromwell informing him that Henry VIII was «very interested» in the details, and that some of the accounts were so vivid Cromwell could almost imagine himself there.

It took repeated demands from the ambassador before even Cromwell agreed to meet him - on 13 October [1535]. Even then, it took place late in the day and in private. Chapuys’s disappointment is reflected in his comment that he hoped Henry VIII would be punished for «his impious folly and dishonourable joy at the descent of Barbarossa on Naples and at Tunis [in 1534]». To add insult to injury, false rumours spread that Charles V had written friendly letters to Henry VIII during the campaign and entrusted him with the defence of the Low Countries. Worse still, the victory made no difference to Henry VIII’s policy, nor did it ameliorate his treatment of the Catholics or of Queen Katherine and princess Mary, as the imperialists had hoped. Indeed its impact was negative: it heightened fears that Charles V would now attack Henry VIII, as the English Catholics were urging him to do. Katherine thanked God for «the great victory» and the emperor’s safe return because he could now devote himself to relieving the suffering of English Catholics, not least herself and Mary. It was not only the emperor’s covert enemies but his closest relatives and supporters in England who called into question the value of his victory. Chapuys urged Charles V to devote his efforts to saving Catholicism in England which was his duty and more meritorious than anything he had done in Africa. Some English Catholics publicly stated that helping them and organising a general Council of the Church were «more praiseworthy deed(s) than the conquest of Tunis, and more necessary than the recovery of the lands of Christendom from the Turk». Princess Mary, having praised his triumph in the «holy expedition», complained that he had clearly failed to understand the gravity of the situation in England since he had chosen to fight in Tunis. He must rectify now and do this service to God in England in order to gain «no less fame and glory to himself than in the conquest of Tunis or the whole of Africa»."

«NO GREAT GLORY IN CHASING A PIRATE». THE MANIPULATION OF NEWS DURING THE 1535 TUNIS CAMPAIGN, María José Rodríguez-Salgado

i wanted to offer up that broader, overarching context, but to settle back into the report weir offered uncritically: the broad timeline of events is that chapuys informed henry of charles v's victory in august, to which henry sent him money and a gift. he informs him again, weeks later, to which henry sends him his congratulations, and money, again. chapuys then claims (to granvelle, charles v's advisor) that henry (who already knew about it) was shocked by the (second) message, and cromwell (who already knew about it) was too stunned to speak.