#i had a poem published for real once

[djarins-cyare]

Wedding Day

The air is thick with the scent of wildflowers, the earth hums beneath your feet. A copse of trees rises before you, a cathedral carved by nature herself. There, beneath a wooden arch crowned with blossoms, he waits.

For countless years, he hid his heart — a wanderer forged by loss, a heart hardened by solitude, a hunter cloaked in shadows and whispers. Yet beskar was no match for your affection. He chased you, and you chased back, and now he revels in new strength uncovered.

The courage to love.

Now, ancient vows bind your fate, soft as petals, yet strong as roots. Promises made of knowledge eternal — ni kar’tayli gar darasuum — before trembling hands lift his helmet.

Nobody sees but you. You are your own witness as brown eyes, once dimmed by sorrow, now alight with quiet wonder, look upon you with singular devotion.

And you know: From this place, your journey begins.

No longer hunter and prey, two hearts, once adrift, now stride across the stars, towards a horizon of endless wonders — together.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Rhythms

124k, 17 chapters, E, complete and on Ao3.

TK swoons when he discovers a sentimental scrapbook full of notes he and Carlos have left for each other – but he also unearths a book of poems that closeted teen-Carlos wrote about his struggles, including a few dedicated to his high school crush. An adorably mortified Carlos recalls the stir he caused when he was published anonymously in the high school paper, and everything he went through to write his wedding vows for TK years later. With TK as a hype-man, maybe Carlos can embrace his creative side again.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Love Heart: The day after TK and Carlos’ first wedding anniversary, TK is sent home from work sick. Back at the loft unexpectedly, he makes a surprising discovery about Carlos.

Chapter 2 - Club Can't Handle Me: In 2011, sixteen-year-old Carlos is both in the closet and in his high school’s wrestling team – and it’s all a bit too much. Perhaps against his better judgment, he turns to poetry and makes a decision that will change his life.

Chapter 3 - Crossroads: Daydreaming about his wedding vows mid-drive, Carlos gets pulled over for a traffic violation – and Gabriel isn’t happy. Reunited with TK, Carlos might be lost for words, but he finds another way to express his love and desire.

Chapter 4 - The Wrestler: Carlos’ poems are published – and he quickly learns there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle.

Chapter 5 - A Gay Fantasia: In the aftermath of being abducted by a serial killer, Carlos reflects on recent events and resumes work on his wedding vows.

Chapter 6 - La Tormenta: Carlos is devastated when Scott gets a girlfriend, and he finds himself in another snowballing situation.

Chapter 7 - Soulmates: When TK has a Huntington’s disease scare, Carlos finds he knows exactly what to say. But will it help him with his writer’s block when it comes to his wedding vows?

Chapter 8 - Man of Mystery: It’s the day of the Lake View High School Talent Show – and will the real Shadow Poet please stand up?

Chapter 9 - Crush: In 2011, it’s make or break for sixteen year old Carlos at the talent show. In 2024, TK becomes the hype man Carlos had needed over a decade ago.

Chapter 10 - From Behind: A couple of weeks before the wedding, Carlos is still working on his vows when a deeper rift develops between him and his dad. In 2012, seventeen year-old Carlos is spiraling after coming out to his parents.

Chapter 11 - The Other Wrestler: TK decides to lift Carlos’ spirits by learning how to wrestle.

Chapter 12 - Carlos Reyes Will Be Okay: At Gabriel’s funeral, Carlos regrets saying no to reading a poem in tribute – but during the wake, he finds himself under a whole new pressure. Later that night, he realizes the vows he’s worked so hard on for TK cannot be spoken yet.

Chapter 13 - The Closet: Despite some good news, Carlos ends up in the doghouse with his mom and with TK.

Chapter 14 - Once in a Blue Moon: Reeling from his confrontation with Andrea, Carlos seeks advice and admits a secret.

Chapter 15 - Raining on Prom Night: In May 2012, chaos erupts at Carlos’ senior prom.

Chapter 16 - Tyler Kennedy Strand: The wedding day arrives, and Carlos finally gets to recite his vows to TK.

Chapter 17 - Shadow Poet: Carlos attends his poetry reading with TK by his side and some important people in the audience – but will he actually perform this time?

“I was just remembering–” Carlos says, “The first time you stayed for a while after one of our hookups. It was, like, the third time we hooked up, I think. I asked if you wanted tea and cookies and you looked at me like I’d said the weirdest thing ever.”

TK’s exhausted, puffy face breaks into a dazzling grin. “You were being such a Boy Scout.”

“But then you said yes and you ate half the cookie jar.”

“You called me the Cookie Monster.”

“That was the first time I really made you laugh.”

“Tea came out my nose.”

“It was beautiful,” Carlos says, pausing then to qualify: “Your laugh.”

TK gazes up at him, his clear green eyes large and shining. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“The first time you made me laugh was when we were dancing at the honky-tonk.”

“Hey!” TK swats his arm. “I was trying my best!”

“You were so goofy,” Carlos chides. “I just loved it. I loved you.”

Read on Ao3

[gguk-n]

Chapter 2- Secret and Surprises

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N has lost out on a few of her publication dreams while juggling 2 jobs. Her crush on Max has only led to failed relationships. She dreams of one day meeting and being with Max. But Max has a girlfriend and a career she knows nothing about.

{Reader's POV}

I finally moved out from my parents's place a few years back when I decided to pursue Literature. It was a very difficult time for me but I had Max by my side. Trying to convince my parents that I want to understand the art of writing and then doing what I love was very challenging. I moved to a another city with my dream university. Even today, they detest my choices and hope that I would take my life seriously. It has been difficult but seeing them once or twice a year only has made it easy.

Max and I are still very close. I still have a crush on him; it got worse after we started video calling each other after I moved out. I wasn't about to get 'caught' talking to a guy under my parents's roof. The consequences would be disastrous. Max is still the same, slightly older, has a stubble. I still don't know his full name, but he doesn't know mine either and I don't mind keeping it that way.

Having Max as a friend has hindered quite a few relationships either because they weren't him or they were jealous of some guy I would drop everything for. He still has a horrible sleep schedule, I've scolded him a couple time, but he doesn't listen. However, he has the cutest cats, Jimmy and Sassy. They love their dad a lot; I really wanna get cats too but I'm barely keeping myself alive, I'll kill my pets.

My job pays shitty, I'm a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I had hoped that being an editor for bigger and well established authors would help me improve my writing and get my book or poems published; has yet to happen. All my clients are kind people and very understanding of my predicament. Alas, this doesn't leave me much time in the day; teaching, lesson planning, correcting papers, editing other's stories or poems, talking to Max. Max has gotten pretty good about not disappearing like he did a couple years back. I still have no clue what he does, not like he knows what I do specifically. But he said he does something along the lines of cars; I knew he loved cars. I hope his job pays him better since he moved a few years back when I was still at home. His place looks lavish, either he gets paid well or it's from the company. I will never know. He's seen the shit hole I live in, but has yet to comment on my poor living conditions. I have too much of an ego to let my parents know I am struggling; I would rather starve then let them know. All I would hear is that they were right and I should mend my mistakes. What mistakes should I mend when these were my choices and I'm happy with them.

I've compiled 20 of my poems and even wrote a book, I've sent it to so many publishers in hopes that it will get picked up. This is like my fourth or fifth time. I mean, I haven't exhausted my resources and till the day all the publications shut down I'm not giving up. I've been rejected quite a few time, sometimes at the initial stages or after first reading and preview. They make publishing a book look so easy on shows and movies. I wish it was that easy in real life, but it isn't.

Being on spring break makes it so much easier for a while, till I have to return. However, I can focus on my book and the editing gig since it pays better than teaching. There's this guy I'm editing for currently and he's so annoying. I want to stop working with him except he pays the best. The life of being chained to capitalism. I was fixing up his errors when my phone rang, it was Max on video call. We spoke on video call a lot after I moved out. He's attractive, blue eyes; truly all my weaknesses combined. When the screen popped up, he almost fell out of frame when Jimmy jumped on the phone. Max placed Jimmy on the floor. Max- Hey, Schat. Sorry about Jimmy. Y/N- Hi, honestly I would rather talk to Jimmy. (I laughed) Max- Sometimes, I think you are friends with me for my cats. Y/N- Yeah, I would've stopped being your friend had you not adopted them. Max- Wow! I'm hurt. (He placed his hand on his chest) Y/N- Stop being dramatic. I'm just living vicariously through you. Max- You should get cats too, you seem lonely. Y/N- I wish, I'll end up killing them since I'm so busy. Max- hmmm, I hope you find a companion. I did find a companion Max, every time I get a boyfriend, we break up directly or indirectly because of you I thought. Max- What happened to Finn? I thought he was smitten for you. Y/N- Yeah, things didn't work out. We both were too busy with work. In actuality, when we finally got close after months of talking and the first time we had sex I moaned out Max's name. He left immediately. I wasn't about to tell Max this. It would ruin everything, I believe. Max- What were you doing? Y/N- Editing that ass's book. Max- You know maybe, you should leave some blunders, not the most obvious ones but one's that would make him look stupid. Y/N- I wish Max, he pays me a shit ton to do my job. (I laughed bitterly) It's fine, honestly. I'll be done soon and I'll never have to see him again, hopefully, fingers crossed. Max- I hope so too. Y/N- Max, you should date someone. Instead of worrying about me. I've never seen you date anyone in all the years I've known you. Max- ahh, yeah, I'm too busy with work to do that. Y/N- If we lived closer, I would've set you up with someone. That someone being me, but he doesn't need to know that. We haven't even met yet; we never even spoke about meeting each other honestly. Max scratched his neck, shaking his head. Max- I'm good, schat. You should find someone, maybe you'll stop being cranky. Y/N- I'm not cranky, at least not with you. Max let out a deep laugh. Max- Well, I've got to go. My sister's visiting. I'll talk to you later. Y/N- Sure, say hi to Victoria for me. Bye Maxie!! Max- bye Y/N.

Talking to Max always brightened up my mood. But since, Victoria's visiting, he won't be available to talk as often. That means I'm gonna have to spend all my free time scrolling through Instagram. It's all fun and games until I'm on hour 6 of some random video on Youtube. I spent the next couple of days cooped up in my home, just to enjoy waking up late. There were still a few months still summer break and I intended on enjoying them to the fullest.

School started way to soon for my liking. Max would send pictures of Jimmy and Sassy to cheer me up. It did cheer me up. Max travelled a lot for work, I've seen quite a few hotels and I think they are 5 star hotels. So, his work place is rich rich. I wish Max would hire me, I lamented, maybe then we might meet. I've thought about meeting him but he never showed any inkling that he would like to meet me. I wasn't about to seem desperate; I would probably jump him if I did. I mean he is single, so it's fine.

When the school started after spring break, I got handed a new author to help edit her work. I spoke to her and she was very nice to talk to. The book she was writing was based off a sport. On further questioning, she told me it was Formula One. I had heard about it when my city hosted a Formula E race a couple years ago. I don't remember much because I'm not sure if they held it again but what I can tell you is that traffic got so bad, I hated leaving the house for a couple of days. I don't really see the appeal of watching people go around in a circle in fast cars. I think I would panic if I found out how fast they drove. The author asked me to do some research on the topic. I was a good student and I wanted to be of help, so I decided to spend the next couple of hours going through Formula One and their rules.

There's something I have to clear up, I have a type of blindness bias. If I'm not interested in a topic, it would be like I live under a rock. Nothing could phase me and I couldn't care less. That's how I ended up on the wikipedia article of Lewis Hamilton, Micheal Schumacher and then current champion Max Verstappen. Schumacher and Hamilton were very good, reading about them made me awe struck. What really shocked me was a guy named Max Verstappen, who looked awfully like Maxie. I've stared at Maxie more than I would like to admit, so I'm sure they look alike. As I went through the article, my heart seemed to beat harder; not sure why. I felt like this was my Maxie however I believed that Maxie would've told me if he was a Formula One driver. I had to lay my doubts to rest, so I ended up on Youtube with the search bar reading Max Verstappen. My doubts laid to rest in a place I didn't want them to; Maxie was Max Verstappen. I could recognise that voice anywhere. He talked a lot, I could recognise his voice in a crowd of people or in my sleep. All my suspicions were cemented when I saw a picture of 2 cats who looked like Jimmy and Sassy and were called by the same name. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest. Max had lied to me; but was it really lying when I never prodded him for answers. Worst of all, he had a girlfriend and a kid. That's when I felt I was lied too. How could he not tell me? I would've genuinely been happy for him. We would've celebrated his 2 championship wins. My throat felt dry and my eyes wet.

Life wasn't fair when I've been trying to get my book published while my best friend, don't even know if I can call him that, is a 2 time world driver champion. He never even told me, while he has been in Formula One almost all our friendship and karting all his life. I felt the ground slipping from under my feet. Was I that unimportant to not share such a crucial part of his life or huge accomplishment in his life? Was I even his friend? All these questions raced through my mind, while tears streamed down my cheeks. The pillow wet from my tears when my phone rang. It was Max on the other line, and for the first time in 10 years I did not answer his calls even though it rang for a 4-5 times. He finally stopped after sending me a couple of worried messages; asking how I was and where I was?

[Max was freaking out. Y/N never missed his calls, no matter the time or place. Worst of all, she didn't even reply to his messages; not after 5 minutes or 10 minutes or 20 minutes. Max didn't know where she lived, he didn't know who to call, or who to ask about her. His hair was a mess, he was pacing the room so much so, that his girlfriend’s daughter asked him what happened. He couldn't tell them, no one knew of this secret internet friend he had. Who was he supposed to contact to file a missing person's report? He tried to calm himself down and think happy thoughts but all his thoughts were Y/N]

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Could you make a fanfic where king Baldwin has a very obsessive fan who keeps writing poetry about him and publishing it in Jerusalem and one day he finds her ?

I’d appreciate a bit of angst , thank you lots

◇ Secret Admirer - King Baldwin x Reader: Part 1 ◇

◇ Long Fic ◇

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for this request. I had a lot of fun with this one, it was different and I like it a lot. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: Also this has a desctiption of y/n

TW: Mentions of death/murder, Mentions of stalking

“My lord, a letter for you” the young servant boy called out softly.

Baldwin stood from his desk and took the letter from the boy's hands. “Thank you my friend” he replied, turning the letter over in his hands as the boy scurried out of the room.

Needless to say, he was confused. This was the fifteenth letter he had received that month, written on the same type of parchment, in the same type of envelope, with the same wax seal that he did not recognise. 

Baldwin sat back down at his desk and opened the letter slowly so as not to damage it. He already knew what it would be.

Just like all the others, the letters contained a single piece of parchment with a beautifully written poem on it. But not just any poem, a poem about himself.

He had not only been sent these poems, but he had also seen others about him being published in newly written books and just placed around the kingdom in general.

This came before he began receiving the letters, almost as if whoever wrote them wanted him to notice. They were always signed anonymously and never included a place of sending.

The whole ordeal had the king confused but intrigued. The poems, although slightly odd, were beautiful and very well written. They often detailed how much they admired him and longed to meet him, each one littered with compliments of not only his work, but appearance as well.

Needless to say, as confused as he was, Baldwin was truly flattered. He was determined to find just who was responsible for the beautiful work. He wanted to know who they were to show his gratitude and ask why they would write such things. He pondered this as he sat at his desk, reading the poem over and over. 

--------------

On the other side of the kingdom, y/n sat at her own desk, inside her small family home. Well, it used to be her family home. Not anymore.

She was entirely lost in her writing, as per usual. It was her escape from reality. In her writing, she could allow herself to be lost in the beauty of her king.

Baldwin was her obsession.

She adored him, even though he had no idea that she even existed. She loved him with her heart and soul. She admired him from a distance, memorized every detail of his masked face and clothed body.

Her house was decorated with horrifically realistic drawings and paintings of him. She wanted nothing more than for him to one day see her. Notice her, touch her, feel her.

She wanted him down to the bone, she wanted his heart and soul just as he had hers.

Y/n was always odd. Her family thought of her as a freak. But the tables turned on them, and now they were gone. Y/n made sure of it. She had to do it. She had no choice. They were going to accuse her of witchcraft, she could not be sentenced to death before feeling the love of her life beneath her fingertips, just once.

She could not allow that to happen.

She barely remembered it, it all seemed like an awful dream now. But one day they were there, then they were gone. All four of them. Her father, her mother, her sister and brother. But she did not need them. All she needed was her quill, her parchment, and her beautiful muse.

-------------

It was late evening when y/n set out to put her poetry up around the kingdom.

She did this often, it was the only way she could let the world see her gift. Women were not permitted to do such things like publishing work so this was the only way the world could see how she felt.

That along with the anonymous book publishings. But she was not sure if he would see that or not. Not only that, but the letters she sent to, but she did not want to send too many. Just in case they found her through where they were delivered from.

She walked around the palace, nailing parchment onto the high walls that surrounded the castle. Dodging the guards, keeping in the dark.

Staying hidden was what she was good at. Unfortunately for y/n, that night would be different.

“HEY YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!” a voice shouted from behind her. Y/n did not hesitate to run.

She did not even turn around to see who it was, she knew it had to be a royal guard. She could hear them running after her. They were fast, but she was faster. Not being clothed in metal armor gave her the advantage. It wasn't until she rounded a corner that she was caught, coming face to face with two large guards. 

----------------

Y/n was bought into the castle in shackles. The guards pushed her to the ground, she kept her eyes on the floor the entire time, refusing to speak to anyone.

A tall man with graying hair was the one who attempted to make her speak. “Do you want to tell us what you were doing young lady?” he asked her, bending down to look her in the eyes.

She refused to look at him, her long unkempt hair hung in front of her thin face. Her large building eyes stared off to the side, just behind him. She still said nothing.

“Would you care to explain yourself to the king instead?” he offererd.

Y/n’s eyes shot up to look at him. “Why does he need to know about this? I was just putting up flyers” she lied confidently.

“You call this a flier?” the man asked, holding up one of her poems for her to see. “I think the king would like to know who his mystery stalker is after all these months” he stood up, gesturing to the guards to force her to her feet as well.

“You will be brought to the king this instant. This matter has gone on long enough and it's time that it is resolved. He can decide your fate”

------------

Y/n was placed in a holding cell underneath the castle while the man went to inform the king of her capture.

Since it was late at night, Baldwin had long since retired to his bedchambers and was currently dozing with a book open on his chest.

He was immediately jolted awake when Tiberias knocked on the wooden door. The king sat up groggily, reaching for his mask “you may enter!” he called out when his mask was concealing his face securely.

Tiberias entered the room quickly. “I am sorry to wake you my lord, but this is an urgent matter. The person who has been sending the letters has been identified as a young woman, we have her in the dungeon holding cell and she is awaiting you to decide her fate-” 

Baldwin got to his feet quickly, any lasting tiredness leaving his body instantly. “Please, take me to her at once” he ordered. 

------------

Y/n sat in the small cell, staring ahead of her at the wall. She was weighing up her options.

She could tell the truth and declare that she was the one to write the poems, allowing the odd secret to be shared to her muse or she could lie and say she was paid to put them up by someone else.

She decided on the first option.

If she were to be executed, at least she could die with the knowledge that the man she loved the very most in the world at least knew how she felt. 

Not long after this decision, she was pulled from the cell into a larger room. Still in the shackles, she was pushed to the floor and two guards stood either side of her.

Then he entered.

Baldwin was in the same room as her. She felt her heart skip a beat, but little did she know, his heart did too.

He was as anxious as he was curious to meet the person who had written to him, and now she was right in front of him. And she was oddly beautiful. In a slightly creepy way.

She had large eyes that stared up at him with admiration, but also subtle kindness too. Her long hair hung around her shoulders, slightly covering her face and she wore a slightly dirty white dress. He figured it was dirty from the cell. She was pale and a little strange, but still beautiful.

“So, my secret admirer” he chuckled.

Y/n was surprised by this. She was not sure what she was expecting. Perhaps anger, maybe even a hint of fear at her obsession, like her family felt in their last minutes.

“Yes, “ she said bluntly. Her eyes returning to their place on the ground in front of him. “I must say,” Baldwin said softly, bending down to meet her eye. “I love your work” he added after a few seconds.

Y/n looked at him with shock. She could see his bright blue eyes behind his mask, looking right at her. It was the most amazing moment of her life. She felt as if she could die a happy woman, right there and then.

“You- you do?” she stammered slightly. “Yes, very much so. Your poems are beautiful” he replied, she could have sworn he smiled slightly.

She tried her best not to blush, but she couldn't help it. The blood rose to her cheeks quicker than the grin formed on her face.

He was so close to her, crouched down just in front of her face. He was looking at her. Right at her. Telling her that he loved her work. This had to have been a dream.

“Thank you my lord” she uttered, voice barely above a whisper. The king rose to his feet slowly. “You shall remain here for the night. I would love to speak with you more in the morning”  he told her. Y/n nodded with anticipation.

She was shown to the servant chambers. As per the king's request, she would not remain in the filth of the dungeon. In his words, “she was no longer a prisoner, but a guest”.

---------------

As Baldwin settled back into his bed for the night. His mind drifted back to her. Perhaps this would be the beginning of something very worthwhile.

[popcornforone]

… Which Ignites

Day twenty of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

A Javier Peña Fic

MASTERLIST

Suprise!!!

If you were here a couple of hours ago you will have seen I’ve already published something for today, a poem. But as I was writing the poem full of Javiers angst, I was like what would the reader truly see, what would be their heavenly view… so here we are. An actual fic.

Synopsis:- You stumble upon a heavenly sight at the gym.

Word count:- 450

No real warning until the last sentence, a bit of injury detail & pining & ogling, but nothing much more.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this, it won’t be happening again but I’m glad the poem made me write an actual fic. & I had to publish them both for you today. Cheers @berryispunk & @lady-bess for allowing me to do 2 for the price of one today. @fanfictionoverload for all the prompts.

Normal service will be back tomorrow. Click here for the poem

The gym smelled like leather & sweat, the faint clang of weights & the hum of the air conditioning filling the otherwise quiet space. You had come to escape your demons, hoping to find solace in the rhythmic pounding across the treadmill. But then you saw him.

Javier Peña.

He stood in the corner, illuminated by a dim beam of light that somehow made him seem like a sculpted god. His eyes burned with focus as he taped his hands, knuckles already raw from hours on the bag. You paused as you got to the machine, breath hitched, mesmerised by him.

& then it began.

The first punch landed with a crack that echoed across the gym. You flinch but couldn’t look away. His movements were fluid, each jab, each hook, calculated, a controlled fury channeled into every strike. The heavy bag swung wildly, as if it were trying to escape the force of his blows.

It wasn’t just the strength that held you captive, there was plenty of that. It was the rhythm, the quiet poetry in his movements. He fought as if the bag represented every mistake, every regret, every shadowed figure in his past that he couldn’t let go.

You watched as sweat darkened his pale pink t-shirt, clinging to his chest & shoulders. His hair glistening, damp & a mess, but he didn’t pause. The only thing that mattered was the next punch, direct & strong.

For a moment, you forgot yourself entirely, lost in the scene unfolding before your eyes. It felt intimate. There was no audience here, no applause waiting for him at the end. This was just Peña & his fight. But you are the audience secretly enjoying each second .

He paused briefly, rolling his neck with a grimace, & he caught you staring. Your heart thudding like a drum in your chest. His dark eyes met yours, unreadable, but something flickered there, amusement, maybe, or a quiet acknowledgment of your admiration. You wished you could look away but you just couldn’t Instead, you tilt your head, blush, a hesitant smile.

He nodded, just once, before returning to the bag. The connection was fleeting, but it felt significant, like a bridge built between two lonely souls in a world that often demanded too much.

As you left the gym after your work out, the echoes of his punches still resonated in your mind, along with a single thought:

There’s something heavenly about watching a man fight not for glory, but for himself.

Whereas Javier mind is thinking of something else:

Who was she, this heavenly Angel, & how can I get her handcuffed to my bed post?

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x01 - A Diamond of the First Water (Part 3)

Hi! Welcome back to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I'm taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton's character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Girls Like You

Jumping back in, we start off with a montage of suitors for both Daphne and Marina set to Maroon 5's Girls Like You. Usually, I have some great thoughts on the use of music within shows but this one feels... just like a fun little pop song to put to a montage? Most of the lyrics involve -- needing a girl like you -- and -- yeah yeah yeah. It's not the most profound song, but it works nicely for the montage.

Also, I love when they match the Featherington girls' dresses. I'd love the backstory as to why Portia is obsessed with citrus fruits.

As a nice touch, when the LW voice over starts, the camera pushes in on Penelope. I kind of love all the hints they give that LW is Pen -- it's incredibly obvious once you start looking for them. Anyway, Penelope is so devilish here. She loves the attention Marina is getting - not only because she finds Marina a nice person, but because it's pissing her mother off. I love that the LW narration is Pen's way of throwing salt in her mothers' wound. It's a bit wicked. And delicious.

What's somewhat wild, though, is that LW goes after the Queen about her choice of Daphne as a diamond. THE QUEEN! Like, that is bold, Pen. Incredibly bold. She even throws shade at King George, like wow. It's no wonder the Queen is obsessed to track her down. Pen's playing with fire here. But I wonder if she doesn't realize, yet, that there can be consequences to her words? I mean - right now, LW is almost like her journaled words being published -- unedited thoughts that aren't necessarily filtered, but are done so anonymously. The only reactions she's really getting are her mother's frustrations -- which she delights in.

It'll be interesting to watch the LW development as the show continues...

Courting I

Awww, it's our first real Polin scene of the show! And it's... like ten seconds long. But! Still plenty to dig through.

Colin's decided to call on Marina - I'm assuming he's the one (or one of the ones really) who brought her flowers. And during one of the suitor's atrocious poems, Colin's throwing Pen (and you could argue Eloise) looks. Like, can you believe this guy? Seriously?

But, no, I love that there's this layer of non-verbal communication right off the bat. Colin isn't just some random dude Pen has had a crush on from afar. They have an established relationship from the onset (which I'll talk about more in a sec) and how many times -- cutting through the ridiculous nature of the society they live in, do they shoot each other knowing looks.

They grew up together, and while Colin probably very much thinks of her as an additional sister at this point -- there's a comfort there that he can express how he's feeling over the situation to her.

A quick second about the dog - it took me a sad amount of times to realize that one of the suitors had brought it as a gift. It also doesn't show up after this episode (I think) so I really hope it's safely living at a neighbor's house after Portia decides to get rid of it.

Anyway... I was thinking about Eloise in this scene. Why is she even in this scene, she doesn't need to be. Well, actually, in a way, she does! First of all - we can appreciate Claudia Jessie's fantastic comedic skills (Btw - anyone else up for a buddy comedy with Claudie Jessie and Nicola Coughlan? Because I sure am here for it).

Secondly, it helps reestablish that Pen and Eloise are bffs. Which helps establish why Colin would otherwise randomly come up to talk to her after calling hour is over. This is the first episode of the series, and all of these relationships are being established. And it can be done without dialogue having to confirm it. It's all subtle, but it's better than the trap of over explaining things in expository dialogue.

Anyway, I want some backstory... How often do Eloise and Pen sneak over to each other's houses? They were children when they met - how often did Pen play over at the Bridgerton house? It's interesting that children are allowed some freedoms that once you get older, aren't allowed anymore. I have to wonder - if one reason that Pen and Colin are so free with each other later on is that because they they were children together, and probably played together as kids, they don't feel as bound by society's rules because they didn't have to when they were younger.

And now I just have all of these headcanons about a much younger Colin chasing his sister(s) and Pen who is visiting around the house in the way siblings do. And Eloise deciding she wants to take revenge, and she and Pen coming up with plots to play pranks on her brother(s). Think of Gregory and Hyacinth at the beginning of the episode, running around causing havoc. And I can just imagine that Eloise and Colin are a lot like that, too. And of course, Pen, who wanted to be away from her own family, from her own sisters who treated her like a disease, would want to be a part of it as much as she could.

Before I get into their exchange, a small, but important detail is what Portia says a moment before -- she encourages the young men to acknowledge her other daughters in hopes that someone will notice Prudence or Phillipa. But the way she includes Penelope's name -- "or even Penelope" -- it's an after thought. It's like, oh yeah, I have a third child I guess if you really want to acknowledge her, go ahead, but meh, who cares. It's so sad, really that Portia thinks so little of her at this point in time.

But then here's the kicker -- not one of these suitors even takes a glance over in Prudence or Phillipa's direction. But Colin takes a moment to full on have a short aside with Penelope. He makes it a point to go over to her to share a laugh -- because they'd probably been rolling their eyes at each other during all of this suitor business, and now that the official courting moment is over, they can have an exchange.

The fact that Portia is so blind to what goes on with her youngest daughter is the reason LW works. Penelope is left to really be on her own - and while that's devastatingly lonely, it also allows her a freedom that other women her age and place in society don't get.

Anyway, back to Colin -- and the fact that the first thing he does is seek out Penelope. He could address his own sister, who is sitting right there, but he doesn't. Because Eloise probably usually ignores him. Penelope doesn't. She latches on to pretty much everything he says, and that's gonna be a big deal for Colin (but we'll get there...)

Their exchange is only a couple of lines, but they're able to be witty with each other. Penelope mentions that the suitor is no Lord Byron (and -- guys, as an aside, if you want a wild time, look up the life and times of Lord Byron and the Shelleys. It's just... a good time...) Anyway, Colin's face subtly shifts in this moment. Her wit and intelligence is impressive, and he clocks that. It's why he keeps coming back to her - because they can share similar thoughts - but also she's deeply amusing on top of that.

And, oh, dear Penelope... Her eyes never leave him. She is just so, so gone. Not only is she just over the moon that he comes to stop to talk to her, not only is she gazing adoringly up at him during the quick exchange, her look lingers as he leaves. Of course, part of this is visual storytelling to show the depths of her feelings. But, we're beyond crush stuff here -- this girl has got it bad.

Seriously -- how does Eloise not notice all of this? I mean, plot purposes, yes, and the fact that Eloise is usually caught up in her own drama to really notice other things. But you'd think you'd notice your best friend being moony for brother after a while. Because, Pen, girl, you wear your heart on your sleeve...

Courting II

Before we get into the meat of this short, little moment - I have to mention the transition. In the scene before, Simon and Anthony were talking, and Anthony mentions that he's not worried about taking a wife because he has brothers... And we cut to this scene where Colin is courting Marina. And, I think it's a neat little transition because - we see Colin doing something that Anthony is actively not doing. Looking for a wife. (Or at least a romantic partner)

That's the thing about Colin -- he is a romantic. Unlike Anthony, whose position is different because he is the oldest and therefore there's more responsibility there, and therefore he'd rather not deal with it at all (and who has a ton of trauma going on in addition) and unlike Benedict, who is kind of caught up in finding himself more than anything, Colin (who is young still at this point) likes the idea of a wife and a partner and a domestic home.

It's one (of many - I'll get to it) reason he is so quick to propose to Marina. It's why he doesn't fuck around ages later when he figures out his feelings for Penelope. It's actually something Colin and Penelope have in common -- they both have a shared love of romance.

Okay, so onto this moment, I want to note the blocking of the scene. Notice how Penelope is on the floor, playing with the dog? It's purposeful! It positions her to reflect that she's still a child, or at least a child when compared to Colin and Marina on the couch, deep in their courting moment. It highlights the chasm currently between them -- something Marina will bring up later, that Penelope is still a child, a younger sister, not serious marriage prospect in Colin's eyes.

There's Lady Whistledown narration going over this scene -- where LW proclaims that Colin might be rewarded with the prize of Marina. And we see Penelope watching with a mix of emotion.

Penelope was having fun with all the suitors back when there were a ton of them and they were spouting bad poetry. But now that it's just Colin and Marina, the knife twists a bit in Pen's heart. She's playing with the puppy, as a way to pretend she's not that interested, but she's dutifully watching. And yes, a small part of it is her LW ways. A bigger part of it is to watch the development of this particular courtship. And, a third part of it is that there's a twisted sense of -- I may hate every thing about what's happening, but we're still in the same room together. She doesn't miss opportunities to be near Colin whenever she can.

The LW narration is somewhat brutal and almost petty. Pen is mocking Marina through the guise of carefully placed compliments. (Note - Julie Andrews doesn't oversell it the narration, but the hint of sarcasm is there.) Again, they did a great job at layering the narration over Pen's face, so we literally are hearing what she's thinking.

Here's the other thing about the narration :: 'It has come to my ears that Mr. Colin Bridgerton will win the grand prize when he sweeps Miss Thompson off her pretty, little, slippered feet.'

There's a lot in that little sentence. Pen is watching Colin and Marina laugh together. And that is hard for Pen -- because we saw it even in the first scene they have together. They laugh, have in-jokes, seek each other out and share cute, sweet little moments. Sure -- we know (or will be told) that Colin is flirty in general, he cracks jokes, makes people seem at ease, and is genuinely kind to everyone. But Pen has taken a lot of those interactions for herself, has buried them away as something special between the two of them.

Colin flirting out during promenades (or whenever) is kind of a distant thing. Pen having a front row seat to watch Colin lay his natural charm at a serious romantic partner is something else entirely. She hates it. And that's why she turns away, because it's a bit too much. And yet, she doesn't leave -- because she can't.

Also, ALSO! The - sweep her off her feet - comment in the narration. Marina will find Colin a bit fun, but it's a nice connection. And I do think she likes Colin. But she's not really swept off her feet. Pen was the one who got swept off her feet. I just... think they did a great job keeping up the duality of having LW be her own thing and having it really reflect Pen's inner thoughts.

So on that angsty note... one more post about the first episode to wrap it up, then we can move on!! See -- I told you there's a lot in this first episode!

[whencyclopedia]

Sioux Warrior Rain-in-the-Face (Eastman's Biography)

Rain-in-the-Face (Ite Omagazu, l. c. 1835-1905) was a Lakota Sioux warrior and war chief during Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) and at the Battle of the Little Bighorn (1876), after which he became famous as the man who killed Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer, his brother Capt. Thomas Custer, or both of them.

How Rain-in-the-Face first became identified as Custer's killer is unclear, but the claim was popularized by the poem The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – the bestselling American poet of his age – published in Keramos and Other Poems (1878). Although modern-day writers cite the poem as claiming Rain-in-the-Face killed Thomas Custer, it seems clear "White Chief with yellow hair" (line 9 of the poem) alludes to George Custer, and it is George's heart, not Thomas's, that Rain-in-the-Face rides off with at the end of the piece.

Rain-in-the-Face is best known today from two accounts of his life and the part he played at the Battle of the Little Bighorn – the 1894 report given by American journalist W. Kent Thomas based on an "interview" given at Coney Island, and the 1905 biography by the Sioux author and physician Charles A. Eastman (also known as Ohiyesa, l. 1858-1939) – which contradict each other.

In the Thomas interview, Rain-in-the-Face claims he killed Thomas Custer, cut out his heart, and spat part of it in his face at Little Bighorn as revenge for being unjustly arrested by Capt. Custer in 1874. In Eastman's account, he denies killing either of the brothers and, further, describes the Battle of Little Bighorn as so chaotic no one could have known who they had killed for certain.

As the W. Kent Thomas interview was given after the journalist got Rain-in-the-Face drunk, for the express purpose of getting the "real story" on Custer's death, while Eastman's account is a respectful transcript of the old warrior's life story, the latter is usually understood as more historically accurate.

Text

The following is taken from Eastman's Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains (1916), the 1939 edition, republished in 2016. It has been edited in the interests of space, but the full account will be found below in the External Links section.

The noted Sioux warrior, Rain-in-the-Face, whose name once carried terror to every part of the frontier, died at his home on the Standing Rock reserve in North Dakota on September 14, 1905. About two months before his death, I went to see him for the last time, where he lay upon the bed of sickness from which he never rose again, and drew from him his life-history.

It had been my experience that you cannot induce an Indian to tell a story, or even his own name, by asking him directly.

"Friend," I said, "even if a man is on a hot trail, he stops for a smoke! In the good old days, before the charge there was a smoke. At home, by the fireside, when the old men were asked to tell their brave deeds, again the pipe was passed. So come, let us smoke now to the memory of the old days!"

He took of my tobacco and filled his long pipe, and we smoked. Then I told an old mirthful story to get him in the humor of relating his own history.

The old man lay upon an iron bedstead, covered by a red blanket, in a corner of the little log cabin. He was all alone that day; only an old dog lay silent and watchful at his master's feet.

Finally, he looked up and said with a pleasant smile:

"True, friend; it is the old custom to retrace one's trail before leaving it forever! I know that I am at the door of the spirit home.

"I was born near the forks of the Cheyenne River, about seventy years ago…When I was a boy, I loved to fight," he continued. "In all our boyish games I had the name of being hard to handle, and I took much pride in the fact.

"I was about ten years old when we encountered a band of Cheyenne. They were on friendly terms with us, but we boys always indulged in sham fights on such occasions, and this time I got in an honest fight with a Cheyenne boy older than I. I got the best of the boy, but he hit me hard in the face several times, and my face was all spattered with blood and streaked where the paint had been washed away. The Sioux boys whooped and yelled:

"‘His enemy is down, and his face is spattered as if with rain! Rain-in-the-Face! His name shall be Rain-in-the-Face!'

"Afterwards, when I was a young man, we went on a warpath against the Gros Ventres. We stole some of their horses but were overtaken and had to abandon the horses and fight for our lives. I had wished my face to represent the sun when partly covered with darkness, so I painted it half black, half red. We fought all day in the rain, and my face was partly washed and streaked with red and black: so again, I was christened Rain-in-the-Face. We considered it an honorable name.

"I had been on many warpaths, but was not especially successful until about the time the Sioux began to fight with the white man…

"Some , Crow King, and others.

"This was the plan decided upon after many councils. The main war party lay in ambush, and a few of the bravest young men were appointed to attack the woodchoppers who were cutting logs to complete the building of the fort. We were told not to kill these men, but to chase them into the fort and retreat slowly, defying the white men; and if the soldiers should follow, we were to lead them into the ambush. They took our bait exactly as we had hoped! It was a matter of a very few minutes, for every soldier lay dead in a shorter time than it takes to annihilate a small herd of buffalo.

"This attack was hastened because most of the Sioux on the Missouri River and eastward had begun to talk of suing for peace. But even this did not stop the peace movement. The very next year a treaty was signed at Fort Rice, Dakota Territory, by nearly all the Sioux chiefs, in which it was agreed on the part of the Great Father in Washington that all the country north of the Republican River in Nebraska, including the Black Hills and the Big Horn Mountains, was to be always Sioux country, and no white man should intrude upon it without our permission. Even with this agreement Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse were not satisfied, and they would not sign…

"It was when the white men found the yellow metal in our country, and came in great numbers, driving away our game, that we took up arms against them for the last time. I must say here that the chiefs who were loudest for war were among the first to submit and accept reservation life. Spotted Tail was a great warrior, yet he was one of the first to yield, because he was promised by the Chief Soldiers that they would make him chief of all the Sioux. Ugh! He would have stayed with Sitting Bull to the last had it not been for his ambition.

"About this time, we young warriors began to watch the trails of the white men into the Black Hills, and when we saw a wagon coming, we would hide at the crossing and kill them all without much trouble. We did this to discourage the whites from coming into our country without our permission…

"There were a few Indians who were liars, and never on the warpath, playing ‘good Indian' with the Indian agents and the war chiefs at the forts. Some of this faithless set betrayed me and told more than I ever did. I was seized and taken to the fort near Bismarck, North Dakota of the Long-Haired War Chief and imprisoned there. These same lying Indians, who were selling their services as scouts to the white man, told me that I was to be shot to death, or else hanged upon a tree. I answered that I was not afraid to die.

"However, there was an old soldier who used to bring my food and stand guard over me—he was a white man, it is true, but he had an Indian heart! He came to me one day and unfastened the iron chain and ball with which they had locked my leg, saying by signs and what little Sioux he could muster:

"‘Go, friend! Take the chain and ball with you. I shall shoot, but the voice of the gun will lie.'

"When he had made me understand, you may guess that I ran my best! I was almost over the bank when he fired his piece at me several times, but I had already gained cover and was safe. I have never told this before, and would not, lest it should do him an injury, but he was an old man then, and I am sure he must be dead long since. That old soldier taught me that some of the white people have hearts," he added, quite seriously.

"I went back to Standing Rock in the night, and I had to hide for several days in the woods, where food was brought to me by my relatives…

"In the spring the hostile Sioux got together again upon the Tongue River. It was one of the greatest camps of the Sioux that I ever saw…We had decided to fight the white soldiers until no warrior should be left."

At this point Rain-in-the-Face took up his tobacco pouch and began again to fill his pipe…

"There was excitement among the people, and a great council was held. Many spoke. I was asked the condition of those Indians who had gone upon the reservation, and I told them truly that they were nothing more than prisoners. It was decided to go out and meet Three Stars at a safe distance from our camp.

"We met him on the Little Rosebud. I believe that if we had waited and allowed him to make the attack, he would have fared no better than Custer. He was too strongly fortified where he was, and I think, too, that he was saved partly by his Indian allies, for the scouts discovered us first and fought us first, thus giving him time to make his preparations. I think he was more wise than brave! After we had left that neighborhood, he might have pushed on and connected with the Long-Haired Chief. That would have saved Custer and perhaps won the day.

"When we crossed from Tongue River to the Little Big Horn, on account of the scarcity of game, we did not anticipate any more trouble. Our runners had discovered that Crook had retraced his trail to Goose Creek, and we did not suppose that the white men would care to follow us farther into the rough country.

"Suddenly the Long-Haired Chief appeared with his men! It was a surprise."

"What part of the camp were you in when the soldiers attacked the lower end?" I asked.

"I had been invited to a feast at one of the young men's lodges . There was a certain warrior who was making preparations to go against the Crows, and I had decided to go also," he said.

"While I was eating my meat, we heard the war cry! We all rushed out and saw a warrior riding at top speed from the lower camp, giving the warning as he came. Then we heard the reports of the soldiers' guns, which sounded differently from the guns fired by our people in battle.

"I ran to my teepee and seized my gun, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. I already had my stone war club, for you know we usually carry those by way of ornament. Just as I was about to set out to meet Reno, a body of soldiers appeared nearly opposite us, at the edge of a long line of cliffs across the river.

"All of us who were mounted and ready immediately started down the stream toward the ford. There were Ogallala, Miniconjou, Cheyenne, and some Hunkpapa, and those around me seemed to be nearly all very young men.

"‘Behold, there is among us a young woman!' I shouted. ‘Let no young man hide behind her garment!' I knew that would make those young men brave.

"The woman was Tashenamani, or Moving Robe, whose brother had just been killed in the fight with Three Stars. Holding her brother's war staff over her head, and leaning forward upon her charger, she looked as pretty as a bird. Always when there is a woman in the charge, it causes the warriors to vie with one another in displaying their valor," he added.

"The foremost warriors had almost surrounded the white men, and more were continually crossing the stream. The soldiers had dismounted and were firing into the camp from the top of the cliff."

"My friend, was Sitting Bull in this fight?" I inquired.

"I did not see him there, but I learned afterward that he was among those who met Reno, and that was three or four of the white man's miles from Custer's position. Later he joined the attack upon Custer but was not among the foremost.

"When the troops were surrounded on two sides, with the river on the third, the order came to charge! There were many very young men, some of whom had only a war staff or a stone war club in hand, who plunged into the column, knocking the men over and stampeding their horses.

"The soldiers had mounted and started back, but when the onset came, they dismounted again and separated into several divisions, facing different ways. They fired as fast as they could load their guns, while we used chiefly arrows and war clubs. There seemed to be two distinct movements among the Indians. One body moved continually in a circle, while the other rode directly into and through the troops.

"Presently some of the soldiers remounted and fled along the ridge toward Reno's position; but they were followed by our warriors, like hundreds of blackbirds after a hawk. A larger body remained together at the upper end of a little ravine and fought bravely until they were cut to pieces. I had always thought that white men were cowards, but I had a great respect for them after this day.

"It is generally said that a young man with nothing but a war staff in his hand broke through the column and knocked down the leader very early in the fight. We supposed him to be the leader, because he stood up in full view, swinging his big knife .

"After the first rush was over, coups were counted as usual on the bodies of the slain. You know, four coups is entitled to the ‘first feather.'

"There was an Indian here called Appearing Elk, who died a short time ago. He was slightly wounded in the charge. He had some of the weapons of the Long-Haired Chief, and the Indians used to say jokingly after we came upon the reservation that Appearing Elk must have killed the Chief, because he had his sword! However, the scramble for plunder did not begin until all were dead. I do not think he killed Custer, and if he had, the time to claim the honor was immediately after the fight.

"Many lies have been told of me. Some say that I killed the Chief, and others that I cut out the heart of his brother , because he had caused me to be imprisoned. Why, in that fight the excitement was so great that we scarcely recognized our nearest friends! Everything was done like lightning. After the battle, we young men were chasing horses all over the prairie, while the old men and women plundered the bodies; and if any mutilating was done, it was by the old men.

"I have lived peaceably ever since we came upon the reservation. No one can say that Rain-in-the-Face has broken the rules of the Great Father. I fought for my people and my country. When we were conquered, I remained silent, as a warrior should. Rain-in-the-Face was killed when he put down his weapons before the Great Father. His spirit was gone then; only his poor body lived on, but now it is almost ready to lie down for the last time. Ho, hechetu! "

Continue reading...

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

I can't stop thinking about dead boy detectives and Emily Dickinson ever since I saw Edwin and Charles' relationship unfold, these two boys whose deaths were covered up and "did not matter," as Edwin put it, and who have kept running from Death together for thirty years and counting; these two boys who would do anything to stay together. And I can't get

"I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you - Nobody - too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! They'd advertise - you know!"

out of my mind. Edwin and Charles as EdwinandCharles, together against everything that might separate them, looking into the world of the living from the outside but glad to do it together. They keep to themselves because, as long as they have each other's backs, it's always going to turn out at least okay.

Edwin and Charles cannot picture a world - an afterlife - in which they might lose each other, this bond they share of trust, harmony and loyalty. Emily herself wrote to her love Susan that she (I'm paraphrasing) that she might as well lose any other world, but she wants to continue living in the one in which she's together with her love. It's this utter devotion that we see in Edwin and Charles.

But also imagine Edwin reading Emily Dickinson's poems. I am not entirely sure when her poems might have been available in England, but I know that "I measure every Grief I meet" was first published in 1896.

I imagine him reading this poem during his time in school. He read it only once because this is the most he could bear, too real for him back then. He had suffered even before he went to Hell. He was bullied. His classmates would isolate him and cause him pain - they were the reason he eventually died, after all -, installed fear in him. The environment of the boarding school didn't give him any opportunity of respite, he couldn't get away and I doubt his parents would've been much of a help, if they had cared at all.

So, I imagine him quietly suffering, closing himself off because no-one seemingly cared enough to get to know him. Him barely talking, rather listening and watching what is going on around him, questioning whether everyone felt that way, so hollow and invisible at the same time, as if one wrong look would either go right through him or break him.

I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes - I wonder if It weighs like Mine - Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long - Or did it just begin - I could not tell the Date of Mine - It feels so old a pain -

He has always felt this way, an ache he would tell himself he could barely feel anymore. Maybe he wondered as well how other people do it, living with a weight that drags you down and keeps you down, this dry sorrow that no tears flow anymore.

I wonder if it hurts to live - And if They have to try - And whether - could They choose between - It would not be - to die -

The encounter between Despair and Edwin is the reason why I thought of this poem in the first place. There are different kinds of grief, and despair is one of them, maybe that's why she might call upon Edwin someday.

There's Grief of Want - and Grief of Cold - A sort they call "Despair" -

Mostly I wonder what he would've thought, reading the last two lines:

Still fascinated to presume That Some - are like My Own -

Would he have been fascinated or would he have thought how unbelievably tragic this was? What would he think reading this after he met Charles? After he saw Simon again in Hell? Would it make him feel calm to see this written or sad?

No matter what it would be, I think him finding his way out of Hell (twice!) and Charles by his side have shown him that this pain does not define him, that there is always hope. And

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

after all.

quoted:

"I'm Nobody! Who are you?" by Emily Dickinson

"I measure every Grief I meet" by Emily Dickinson

"'Hope' is the thing with feathers" by Emily Dickinson

[burningvelvet]

Here are two of the most hilariously scalding letters from the 1800s that I have ever read. One is by the famous writer Lord Byron, and the other is by his daughter Ada Lovelace, the famous mathematician. Both are written to their respective business partners: Byron to his publisher John Murray, and Lovelace to her colleague Charles Babbage. It’s interesting to note how strikingly similar these letters are despite the fact that Ada and her father never knew each other, as her parents separated shortly after her birth and he died abroad when she was eight. Both were rebellious, fond of gambling, prone to tumultuous affairs, and both hated Lady Byron. These similarities may help to explain why her final wish was to be buried next to him instead of her family.

Lord Byron in a Letter to his publisher John Murray about the printing of his magnum opus, the poem Don Juan:

“Ra. August 31st. 1821.

Dear Sir

I have received the Juans – which are printed so carelessly especially the 5th. Canto – as to be disgraceful to me — & not creditable to you.

It really must be gone over again with the Manuscript – the errors are so gross – words added – changed – so as to make cacophony & nonsense. — You have been careless of this poem because some of your Synod don’t approve of it – but I tell you – it will be long before you see any thing half so good as poetry or writing. — Upon what principle have you omitted the note on Bacon & Voltaire? and one of the concluding stanzas sent as an addition? because it ended I suppose – with –

‘And do not link two virtuous souls for life Into that moral Centaur man & wife?’

Now I must say once for all – that I will not permit any human being to take such liberties with my writings – because I am absent. —

I desire the omissions to be replaced (except the stanza on Semiramis) particularly the stanza upon the Turkish marriages – and I request that the whole be carefully gone over with the M.S.S. –

I never saw such stuff as is printed – Gulleyaz – instead of Gulbeyaz &c. Are you aware that Gulbeyaz is a real name – and the other nonsense? – I copied the Cantos out carefully – so that there is no excuse – as the Printer reads or at least prints the M.S.S. of the plays without error. —

If you have no feeling for your own reputation pray have some little for mine. — I have read over the poem carefully – and I tell you it is poetry – Your little envious knot of parson-poets may say what they please — time will show that I am not in this instance mistaken. — Desire my friend Hobhouse to correct the press especially of the last Canto from the Manuscript – as it is – it is enough to drive one out of one’s senses – to see the infernal torture of words from the original. – For instance the line

‘And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves’

Is printed

‘and praise their rhymes &c. –

also ‘precarious’ for ‘precocious’ – and this line. stanza 133.

‘And this strong extreme effect – to tire no longer’

Now do turn to the Manuscript – & see – if I ever made such a line – it is not verse. —

No wonder the poem should fail – (which however it wont you will see) with such things allowed to creep about it. – – Replace what is omitted – – & correct what is so shamefully misprinted, – and let the poem have fair play – – and I fear nothing. — I see in the last two Numbers of the Quarterly – a strong itching to assail me (see the review of the “Etonian”) let it – and see if they shan’t have enough of it. – – I don’t allude to Gifford – who has always been my friend – & whom I do not consider as responsible for the articles written by others. – But if I do not give Mr. Milman – Mr. Southey – & others of the crew something that shall occupy their dream! I am not what I was – that is all

I have not begun with the Quarterers – but let them look to it. – As for Milman (you well know I have not been unfair to his poetry ever) but I have lately had some information of his critical proceedings in the Quarterly which may bring that on him which he will be sorry for. – I happen to know that of him – Which would annihilate him – when he pretends to preach morality – not that he is immoral – because he isn’t – having in early life been once too much so. – And dares he set up for a preacher? let him go and be priest to Cybele. – why let

You will publish the plays – when ready — I am in such a humour about this printing of D.J. so inaccurately – that I must close this.

yrs. [scrawl]

P.S. I presume that you have not lost the stanza to which I allude? it was sent afterwards look over my letters – & find it. The Notes you can’t have lost – you acknowledged them – they included eight or little corrections of Bacon’s mistakes in the apothegms. – And now I ask once more if such liberties taken in a man’s absence – are fair or praise-worthy? – As for you you have no opinions of your own – & never had – but are blown about by the last thing said to you no matter by whom.”

[Separate page]

“Dear Sir

The enclosed letter is written in bad humour – but not without provocation. -

However – let it (that is the bad humour) go for little – but I must request your serious attention to the abuses of the printer which ought never to have been permitted. – You forget that all the fools in London (the chief purchasers of your publications) will condemn in me the stupidity of your printer. — For instance in the Notes to Canto fifth – ‘the Adriatic shore of the Bosphorus – instead of the Asiatic!! – All this may seem little to you – so fine a gentleman with your ministerial connections – but it is serious to me – who am thousands of miles off & have no opportunity of not proving myself the fool yr. printer makes me – except your pleasure & leisure forsooth.

The Gods prosper you — & forgive you, for I wont.

B.”

Ada Lovelace in a letter to her work partner Charles Babbage, who she helped invent the computer with:

“Tuesday Afternoon [1 August 1843] Ockham

. . . Note B has plagued me to death; altho' I have made but little alteration in it. Such alterations as there are however, happen to have been very tiresome & to have demanded minute consideration & very nice adjustments.

It is a very excellent Note.

I wish you were as accurate, & as much to be relied on, as I am myself. You might often save me much trouble, if you were; whereas you in reality add to my trouble not infrequently; and there is at any rate always the anxiety of doubting if you will not get me into a scrape; even when you don't.

By the way, I hope you do not take upon yourself to alter any of my corrections.

I must beg you not. They all have some very sufficient reason. And you have made a pretty mess & confusion in one or two places (which I will show you sometime), where you have ventured in my M.S's, to insert or alter a phrase or word; & have utterly muddled the sense.

I could not conceive at first in one or two places what had happened to my sentences; tho' I soon saw they were patchwork & not my own; and found it so, on referring to the M.S. I fear you will think this a very cross letter. Never mind. I am a good little thing, after all. Yours ever

A. A. L.

Later. P. S. It is impossible to send you anything but Notes B and C; (& this partly owing to some wrong references & blunderations of your own). — Do not be afraid, for I will work like the Devil early tomorrow morning. —“

[Separate Page]

“Wednesday, 4 o'clock [2 August 1843] Ockham

After working almost incessantly, since 7 o'clock this morning, until I am forced to give in from sheer inability to apply longer, I find only the sheet I enclose is quite completed. I shall however send a servant up tomorrow morning by a ten o' clock train, to take you all the rest; so that you will have it almost as soon as this letter.

You cannot conceive the trouble I have had with the trigonometrical Note E. — In fact no one but me, I really believe, would have doggedly stuck to it, as I have been doing, in all wearing minutiae.

I am very uneasy at not hearing from you, as I have expected to do both yesterday & today; & fear some disaster or other. I hope all of Note G is forthcoming; & I also hope you have received all my communications safely.

I think you had better do the second revise of the translation for me. If you will compare it carefully with my first revise, it can hardly be necessary I think for me to go over it again.

I suppose I ought to take it for granted that no news is good news; but I am in a sad fidget. — Yours ever

A. L.”

[fitrahgolden]

To React: Chapter One

This was actually my first attempt at a multi chapter story. I posted it in December of ‘22 and deleted that chapter last summer. I'm giving it another go. Huge shout out to @lookingfts for helping me flesh out this story and for continuing to give me feedback on my ideas.

To React

—

Kathani Kaveri Sharma, 26

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - props and set design

Manager of Palette Arts and Crafts Supply

Watercolour artist by commission

Anthony Bridgerton, 29

Solicitor at Bridgerton, Danbury, and Frederick Solicitors law firm

Benedict Bridgerton, 27

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - writing, directing, acting

Published writer - poems, plays

Oil and watercolour artist by commission

Siena Rosso, 25

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - acting and singing

Social media influencer

—

CHAPTER ONE

“I can’t keep doing this. I deserve more. So do you, though I know you won’t let yourself believe that. You need to figure out what you want. We both know it isn’t whatever the fuck this is. Anthony, you need to let me go.”

They were standing in the tiny foyer of Siena’s flat. She hadn’t even let him get all the way inside before she told him they needed to talk. They had gone back and forth for about fifteen minutes before Anthony realised he didn’t know what he was fighting for. Everything she’d been saying was true.

Maybe it was just because he was the one that was usually doing the breaking up. And that’s what this was. A real breakup. Not some lover’s quarrel that would inevitably end with them making up, fucking in some ridiculous place like his mum's garden during a dinner party or her dressing room at Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society.

“Right.” He looked down, around, anywhere but at her, feeling like a twat, holding the roses he’d brought to her place, the bouquet she ignored as she wasted no time getting into what had obviously been weighing on her for some time. “Um, so, I’ll go.”

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. His eyes weren’t, which probably said something. Siena put a hand up to his cheek, which was thick with stubble that one could almost call a proper beard.

“I really wish you all the best, Anthony.” She sounded… tired. So damn tired.

“Thanks, um…” He took half a step back away from her touch, telling himself he didn’t need any comfort. “You, as well.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Would it–You’ll probably still see me at shows. You know, for Ben.”

Siena nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll keep my distance, though. At wrap parties and things like that.”

“I’m not worried about it, Anthony.”

“Right.” He stepped out over the threshold. “OK. Bye. Um–Yeah, bye.”

“Bye.”

Anthony had made it halfway down the hallway before realising he was still holding the damned roses. He tossed them in the bin at the top of the stairs without a backwards glance on his way out to the street.

—

The next morning, Siena sat up in bed and turned to her bedside table, where she kept her "I Woke Up Like This" kit: A brush, floss, bottle of water, mascara, and lip stain. Once she was armed for the internet, she posted a quick video to her feed.

"Good morning, guys! I'm gonna level with you. I'm going through some personal stuff right now but I just wanted to hop on here to let anyone who needs to hear this know: You are worth it. No matter how hard it may seem, stand up for yourself. You are your biggest advocate. Love you guys! I'm off to SSDS for rehearsals. Make sure to buy tickets for our upcoming show! It's a revue of Shakespearean comedies! It's gonna be so much fun. Link in my bio! Check in with you later today. Mwuah!"

—

"OK, guys, I think we can call it a day! Thanks for everyone's hard work! Now, let's go drink!"

Benedict's dismissal was met with cheers and applause by the cast and crew, scattered onstage, in the audience, and backstage at the Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society. As everyone gathered their things, most preparing to walk down the street to the pub, Benedict caught up with Siena, who was moving slowly, putting her bag strap over her shoulder.

"Hey."

"Oh, hey, Ben."

"You were great today, as usual, but I just wanted to check in because you seem a bit down. I don't know, low energy? Anything I can help with? Are you unhappy with the show or–"

Siena scoffed and shook her head. "You haven't spoken with your brother?"

Anthony. Of course. Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, no. What did he do this time?"

Siena paused thoughtfully. "Nothing, really. It was just time to finally… I don't know, free ourselves, you know?"

Benedict didn't know. He narrowed his eyes. "So… You guys broke up."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, an indication that this didn't seem like news. They fell out all the time. But Benedict knew better than to point that out.

Siena sighed. "Yes, we broke up. But this time is different.”

Benedict smiled a little at the cliche.

“No, Ben, really. I sort of had an epiphany a few weeks ago. How can I claim to be all about self love and respect while being in a relationship with a guy who has made self-loathing his entire personality? If he doesn't think he deserves anything good, what does our relationship say about how he feels about me?"

Benedict's face sobered. He opened his mouth to respond but nothing seemed right.

"Sorry, I know he's your brother–" Siena waved a hand and made to turn away but Benedict stopped her.

"No, no, it's fine. I do understand what you're saying. I just… I’m sorry he made you feel that way."

Siena shrugged, “I appreciate it.” A small smile formed on her face. “It’s weird. When I woke up this morning, in some ways, I already felt better than I have in a year and a half. I hope it's the same for him. I think it will be. I'll always care about him, you know?”

Benedict nodded slowly. “Come here, babe.” He pulled Siena into a bear hug that made her chuckle. She backed up and put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“But, really, we don’t have to talk about your brother. We're meant to be drinking, right?”

Benedict relaxed and took Siena’s bag off her shoulders to carry for her.

“Right. And yours are on me tonight.”

—

Three weeks later, on a Sunday evening, the members of SSDS were celebrating a successful run of “The Comedy of Errors, and Then Some” backstage at the theatre. As always, Benedict made sure the wrap party was catered well and had an open bar. Such was one of the benefits of having a trust fund baby as the most active member of your drama club.

Once Siena had changed, she cautiously entered the gathering, scanning the room for who else may be here in addition to the players and crew.

“He’s not here,” came a voice from behind her.

“Jesus, Ben! Do you need to start wearing a bell?”

“Sorry, honestly didn’t mean to startle you. You just looked… worried?” Benedict raised his eyebrows

Siena nodded reluctantly. “Thanks.. I… Yeah, I was wondering if he was here,” she admitted. How has he been? I haven’t really seen much from him online or anything.”

“To quote the man himself,” Benedict dramatically pulled out his phone, took a deep breath, and uttered, “‘I’m fine.’” 

“Ugh, fuck off.” Siena gently pushed his shoulder as they shared a laugh. “He’s always fucking fine,” she lamented, rolling her eyes.

Benedict shrugged. “Yep. Haven’t seen him much. He came to a show, of course. Left a donation. Same as ever. Mum was complaining that he hasn’t been at the house, citing work every time any of us even hints at a family get-together.”

“Same old shit.” Siena ruefully shook her head.

“Same old shit, indeed. Anyway, we don’t have to talk about him, remember? Can I get you a drink? Some food? You have to eat something. This place I ordered from is fucking excellent.”

Benedict offered Siena his arm, and after she took it, he led her to the buffet table.

“Every place you pick is always excellent, Ben.”

—

Kathani sat on one of the folding chairs at the edge of the party, thinking it was probably time to say her goodbyes and head out. She was opening the art supply shop she managed in the morning, and had already had too much to drink, if she was being honest. She needed to pack for Bridgwater so she could catch the train right after work. Mary and Edwina always insisted she didn’t have to visit every week, yet every time she made the trip, there was a laundry list of things with which they needed help. And lately there was the ongoing conversation of where Edwina wanted to go to university. Ultimately, Kathani wanted her sister to pick anywhere she wanted. But if Edwina stayed in Somerset, she could live at home with Mum, which would be great not only for Mary but also for their family finances. Edwina had spoken excitedly about the aspect of coming to London. Kathani had been careful not to discourage her–not yet, at least. However she always found herself in a spiral about everything that would need to change to make that happen–without contacting Mary’s parents. Mary can’t stay three hours away from her daughters by herself. How would they pay for Edwina’s tuition? If Edwina lived with her, that would help, but her flat is tiny. Could she afford a bigger place? She could leave SSDS and have time for a proper second job. Maybe put more effort into marketing her paintings?

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

Kathani’s thoughts were interrupted by Siena Rosso, gesturing towards the empty chair next to her.

“Not at all. Brilliant job tonight. The whole run, actually, as always.”

Siena settled into the chair and smiled as she took a sip of her drink. “Thanks. It’s Kate, right? Beautiful work on the sets. Likewise, no surprise there.”

“It’s Kathani, actually, and thank you.”

“Oh. Sorry, I could have sworn–”

Kathani waved her off. “It’s fine, I went by Kate for a while. Decided to go back to my given name. I realised I actually couldn't be arsed to care too much about making white people more comfortable with me.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“On behalf of all white people?” Kathani teased.

Siena held up her hands. “Just me, I’m afraid.”

“Well, apology accepted.” The two women shook hands in mock seriousness, laughing. “I’ll just have to collect my reparations one at a time, then.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Kathani spoke again.

“Isn’t Benedict’s brother usually following you around at these things?” Kathani’s voice was a little tight as she asked the question, falling short of her goal to sound only mildly interested.

“Ah.” Siena shook her head, resigned. “Nope. Not anymore.”

Kathani's eyebrows shot up, something like longing awakening within her and making her heart stutter. She schooled her features before tentatively offering, “Sorry?”

“No, it’s good. I mean, thanks, but… I ended it. It was the right thing to do. Um–” Siena suddenly looked away, sheepish.

Kathani narrowed her mirthful eyes. “But…?”

“What?” she responded innocently.

Kathani held her hands up. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me, I can just tell there was more you were going to say. And I’m a neutral-ish party.”

“Ish?”

“Well, Anthony isn’t here to defend himself, is he? So, I’ll gladly ‘yes and’ any shit you want to say about him.” Hearing how terrible a partner Anthony is sounded like exactly what Kathani needed.

Siena laughed, “Ha, no. Actually, it’s nothing to do with him. Not directly, anyway.”

Oh, well. “No?”

“Yeah, I’m just… I don’t know…” Siena struggled to articulate her thoughts, gesturing vaguely at her own body.

Kathani smiled as realisation hit her. “Lonely? Missing a warm body in your bed? Getting tired of your vibrator?”

“Jeez, yeah. Yes, OK?” Siena looked around as if anyone might be paying attention to them. No one was, of course.

“Hey, no judgement coming from this direction,” Kathani said. “Actually… I think I may be able to help with that.”

Siena raised an eyebrow, amused, but perhaps also intrigued. “You think so, eh?”

Kathani shrugged, biting her lip. “I, um… I was actually about to head out.” She looked over at the exit before meeting Siena’s gaze, holding it.

“OK,” Siena said softly before swallowing.

Slowly, giving Siena time to stop her, Kathani raised her hand and pushed a lock of Siena’s hair behind her ear and smiled at her, her eyes dropping to Siena’s mouth.

“Smooth,” Siena whispered, her eyes similarly trained on Kathani's lips.

“Thank you,” Kathani replied under her breath before leaning in and kissing her.

Siena was still for a few moments, but right before Kathani took the hint and pulled away, she felt Siena’s lips move against hers. Kathani cupped the back of Siena’s head and deepened the kiss once Siena opened her mouth to allow Kathani’s tongue to mingle with hers. Once they pulled back for breath, Kathani stood and held out her hand. After Siena took it and stood as well, she said, “Let me get this out of the way now. I actually do have work in the morning, and I’m going to visit my family afterwards.”

“Two tried and true excuses? Impressive.” Siena's eyes twinkled.

“I know. But if tonight goes well, maybe we can catch up next week?” She ran a thumb over Siena's knuckles

They shared a grin before Siena nodded. “Yeah, take me home and let’s see how we fare.”

—

The following week, SSDS met up to discuss their next show. Benedict noted that Kathani and Siena were sitting together and tried to remember if he’d ever seen them looking so friendly. Of course, all the members knew each other to some degree. But it was a pretty big group, and Kathani tended to stick with her fellow props and set design crew. But the twosome were certainly friendly tonight, smiling and whispering throughout the meeting and then finally, once everyone was dismissed, leaving together, hand-in-hand.

—

Anthony was leaving a date’s townhouse when he received a video call from Benedict.

“What?” he huffed as he jogged down the front steps.

Benedict looked to be trying to make out Anthony's surroundings. “Well, well, well. It’s only 9 o’clock. Couldn’t even stay for tea?”

“Right. Hanging up.”

“Wait, wait! I have news,” Benedict announced in a singsong voice.

"Sure, you do. Go on, then."

"Seriously, though. I'm only telling you this because I work with them and if something comes up on Siena's Instagram or something, I know you're gonna feel betrayed or some shit."

"Siena can do whatever she wants," Anthony said, defensive.

"I know that. But does that mean you don't want to know if she's hooking up with someone I know?"

Anthony slowed his steps. After rolling his eyes and running a hand over his face, he relented.

"Fine. Who is it?"

"You remember Kathani Sharma, right? She does the sets."

Kathani Sharma. Kate. Of course Anthony remembered Kate. Last year, Benedict dragged him to SSDS bowling. Well, more like his brother casually mentioned he was going bowling, and Anthony grabbed his bowling bag and declared, "Fuck, yeah, I'll come show you theatre kids how it's done!"

A couple of hours later and he was as frustrated as he was mesmerised by the woman he ended up on the same lane with. Anthony would never say she was better than him. Never. But facts are facts, and she blew him out of the water on that particular night. And with such unabashed glee, as well. "That's not even my highest score!" she had crowed, a grin gracing her striking face. As far as Anthony was concerned, he was playing against Kate and Kate alone. And she seemed to be on the same wavelength. That night had been shaping up to be the most fun he'd had in a long time before it was suddenly cut short when Siena, who had been playing several lanes away, sauntered up to him and started whispering in his ear about how much she missed him. Before he knew it, he was in the back of a car with Siena, a thought circling in the back of his mind about not giving Kate a proper goodbye–and a quieter yet more persistent thought that he shouldn't have left at all.

"Ant?"

Benedict's smug smile greeted Anthony as he was pulled back to the present, a stranger jostling passed him where he'd stopped on the sidewalk.

"Yes, I remember her. Like I said, Siena can do whatever she wants. No need to keep me updated. I've gotta go."

"I'm sure you do. The night is young and all that."

—

Back at his penthouse, Anthony felt like the worst cliche, and a bit of a creep, if he was being honest. What bothered him most was that he didn’t know why he was behaving this way. In the history of his on and off relationship with Siena, he’d never been particularly interested in who Siena spent her time with when they were “off.” Sure, he got a little jealous when he happened to see a social media post featuring her and someone else looking cosy, but it passed quickly. He had his own company to keep him plenty occupied. And, anyway, he always took comfort in the assumption that they would eventually resume the exclusive fuckery that they called a relationship. But that door was finally firmly closed, and here he was, googling “Kathani Sharma London” and sorting through the results.

[jasper-book-stash]

June-August 2024 Reading Wrap-Up

Hey, sorry for disappearing off of the face of Tumblr for uhhhh three months, but I read twelve books in that time and I'm here to complain.

Religious Text

None applicable.

1/10 - Why Did They Publish This?

Moonbeams and Ashes: Tales of Mystery, Love, and the Paranormal | Margarite Stever

I picked this up from some bookstore here in Missouri under the local authors shelf. I wish I hadn't. These stories were all poorly written, and a good chunk had nothing to do with mystery, love, OR the paranormal. They weren't even bad in the fun way.

2/10 - Trash

None applicable.

3/10 - Meh

My Mother Road | Phyllis York

I picked this up from some OTHER bookstore here in Missouri under the local authors shelf. I wished this book had ended 480 pages sooner. The only highlight was at the end when the grandpa physically kicked a guy off of the porch.

Athena's Child | Hannah Lynn

A Greek myth "retelling" centering around Medusa and intercut with Perseus. It...was just mediocre. There wasn't anything interesting about what it did or changed or told, there was no taking the myth and running in a new direction with it, and worse of all we opted for the Ovid's Metamorphoses route but still used the Greek names for the gods.

4 to 6/10 - Mid-Tier

Crossword Poems, volumes 1 and 2 | Robert Norton

Two itty-bitty volumes covering what were apparently once commonly-known poems that you'd be able to remember based on half of the hint. Decent enough stuff, just kinda boring without that historical note.

Shelling Peanuts and Other Odd Odes | Howard Nelson

Another collection of poems that were ultimately mediocre with a few funny or insightful ones. Not bad, just not especially good either.

Songs of Honour | Noble House Publishers

These were, on the whole, better than the other two, but I knocked it down to 6/10 based on the fact that it took me the entire month of July and a third of August to finish. The formatting was lovely and each poem only took a page, but it was ultimately just "good-to-mediocre" on the whole.

7 to 8/10 - Good With Caveats

Outlaw: Champions of Kamigawa | Scott McGough Heretic: Betrayers of Kamigawa | Scott McGough Guardian: Saviors of Kamigawa | Scott McGough

While I personally listed Guardian as a 9/10, I figured I should keep the entire Kamigawa Cycle together. This is the story of Toshiro Umezawa, everyone's favorite fuckup self-centered protagonist dealing with the consequences of his and everyone else's actions. There were a couple times when something was referenced that didn't make sense in the setting (such as angels, Hell, or pixies), and you can definitely feel the "early 2000s white man writing a Japanese setting based on vibes alone" emanating from most of the pages, but I had a good time calling Toshi a dumbfuck over and over again.

9/10 - Very Very Good

None applicable (besides aforementioned Guardian).

10/10 - Unironically Recommend To Everyone

The Tale of Despereaux | Kate DiCamillo

In my book club, we randomly pulled this one as the one for all of us to read at the same time, and let me tell you, this book hits different when you're a queer young adult in your early twenties than it clearly hit the grown women in their 50+'s. Great book, absolutely adorable, and I love the fact that we accidentally timed it to coincide with the release of Bloomburrow.

Scaredy Squirrel: In a Nutshell | Melanie Watt

Yes, this is an Easy-level book. But somehow, this squirrel with anxiety and possibly OCD (yes, I'm projecting slightly, I kept going "he's just like me for real" aloud when I read it) is now one of my favorite fictional guys. And when he was having a meltdown, the other characters actually gave him space and respected his boundaries. Do you know how impossible that is to find in fiction? One of my favorite books now, hands down.

[ink-flavored]

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

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨

thank you @bloodlessheirbyjacques !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[send me a weird writer ask]

[mydarlinginej]

read my full review of you between the lines by katie naymon here.

A former sorority girl starts a prestigious poetry MFA program only to discover that one of her fellow grad students is her high school crush-turned-nemesis—​who can’t stop writing about her.

No one’s more surprised than Leigh when a prestigious MFA program in North Carolina accepts her. A former sorority girl, Leigh’s the first to admit she knows more about the lyrics of Taylor Swift than T.S. Eliot, and she’s never been able to shake the “all-style-no-substance” feedback her high school crush made in their poetry workshop. Bad enough that her tattooed, New Yorker tote bag-carrying classmates have read all the right authors and been published in the country’s leading literary journals, Leigh’s insecurities become all too real when Will, that same high school crush-turned-nemesis, shows up at orientation as a first-year in the program, too. And now, he’s William, exactly the kind of writer Leigh hates, complete with his pretentious sweater vests and tattered Moleskine.

Leigh’s determined to prove herself—and William—wrong by landing the program’s highly-coveted fellowship. But Will’s dead-set on it, too, and in a small cohort, they can’t keep apart for long. When Will submits an intimate poem (that’s maybe, probably, definitely about Leigh) to workshop, they’re both forced to realize there’s more to the other than what’s on the page. And what’s between the lines may be even more interesting.

my review:

Okay, I picked this book up fresh off reading an ARC of The Launch Date, and now I’m like, maybe 2025 romance will save me…Seriously though, similar to that book, I didn’t have super high expectations going into this because I’ve been having such a bad streak of romances, but man, did this book blow me away. In You Between the Lines, a former sorority girl who can’t take herself seriously navigates imposter syndrome and the culmination of finally getting closer with the guy she’s been wanting for the past ten years in a prestigious MFA program.

After burning out after years of working in marketing, Leigh finally pursues her dream of being a poet by starting a prestigious poetry MFA program. On the first day she immediately feels like she doesn’t belong with all these academic people, a feeling that’s confirmed even more when she realizes that Will, the guy whom she’s had a crush on since high school and who represents everything she finds lacking with herself, is one of her classmates. As the year goes on, they can’t help but give into the tension between them, especially when Will submits a poem that’s clearly about her.

If I’m being honest, I hate reading romances where the characters are hung up on a slight that happened in high school because let’s be real, you are grown now and should be able to get over it! Thankfully, I didn’t feel that way in this book, mostly because Will’s condescension toward Leigh in class once was just one more thing in the long timeline of their thing. She’s always had a crush on him throughout high school, and when they ran into each other once in college, him rejecting her advances cements something for her that she’s still grappling with today. All this to say that I think the high-school hang-up thing works here because both of their characters are dealing with deep-seated issues and holding onto that one event says more about themselves than is used purely for the plot.

read my full review here:

[cornelis-rage-poetry]

The diary of an Underground Writer January 16, 2025

In 1980 on my fifteenth birthday I got this amazing present from my parents "26 Griezelverhalen" (26 Horror Stories) by Edgar Allen Poe. Published by Hollandia, in a translation by Simon Vestdijk (a well known Dutch writer in his own right) and with illustrations by Arthur Rackham.

I remember it was at the top of my wish list, I don't remember how or why I, as a young man had become interested in the works of Poe, but for some reason I was drawn to it, fascinated by the dark and mysterious nature of his stories. And in later years I bought several other publications of his work either in hardcover or paperback, always with a somewhat secretive desire in the back of my mind, to one day read his work in the original English language.

And now, practically a lifetime later, again it's my birthday, today I turned 60 (can you believe that? yeah I know I'm an old boomer)(hehe), and to mark the occasion I bought this present for myself, usually I don't buy presents for myself, but because I turned 60 (!!!) I thought: oh well, might as well buy something special and make myself happy. And so I bought this Barnes & Noble edition of "The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe", in the original English language. And it feels like a circle closing from then, way back in 1980 when I was just a boy, to now as I've become an old man.

And I've also noticed as I've become older, the more I feel this desire to go back to how things once were, it's not just this feeling of a circle closing, it's also with a sense of nostalgia, you know like the glow of moonlight, glistening on the surface of a river at night, as the water tries to finds it way back home, to the sea.

Update on my writing, everything goes forward with a steady pace, the formatting of my poetry collection into an ebook for kindle and kobo is mostly a technical formality and doesn't require much time. However the rewrite of my little novel does require time and attention too. I finished the first draft half way December of 2024, and now half way January I'm almost done with the second draft. And it's not only about rewriting, it's also about bringing balance to the story and the style in which it is written, as I've noticed that earlier chapters have a slightly different writing style than the later, as it's been written over the span of about one year, and one's writing style always changes a little bit over time. One might say, as it matures within the story.

And in the rewrite I'm trying to bring the writing style of the chapters closer together, bring balance to the story as a whole and make the reading experience more homogeneous. I hope to finish this second draft later this month, or perhaps early February, I will then let it sink in for two or three weeks, and give it another read to see how it holds up, maybe do some more rewriting, if needed. The plan is to round it all up in March and April, and then hopefully bring the poetry collection as well as my little novel out on kindle and kobo before spring sets in, so they can surf the waves of warm and sunny days.

Alongside these two projects, I've also started working on a third project. It's about the story of why we are here, the story of the Universe and evolution and stuff like that. I've started making notes a few years back, and at the time I had no idea what it was all about. But in recent times, I've started to notice a thematic structure in all those little scribbles and now (like two weeks ago) I've started organizing these notes by theme and topic, to get a better understanding of what it's all about and what it all means and then once it's all organized, usually the main story will show it self. I know it's a weird way of working, but for some reason it works for me, the same thing happened with my little novel. For now let's give it the working title "Project 3", I do have some ideas of what to call it, but it's still very early to give it a real title, and besides I'm not yet sure if it's a little novel or a collection of related stories and or meditations.

Anyway, today was my birthday and it was a good day. I've slept for seven hours, it's cold outside and I'm at peace.

[autolabrum]

Finished Citadel of the Autarch

Spoilers below. Read in the compilation volume sword and citadel published for Tor Essentials. Second read of the novel; made use of Michael Andre-Driussi's chapter guide for the series. I won't immediately move on to a first read of Urth, although I'll come back to it eventually. Very good series, but I need a break.

Leaning towards this as my favorite volume of the series. Not so much of a particular through-line that stood out to me as in the others, so here are some assorted thoughts.

On the subject of women: this book seems to work significantly better than the previous ones. Foila and Daria feel significantly more real than most of the other women in the books, and Dorcas retrieves some of her reality in her brief appearances and mentions (I am particularly happy to have seen Wolfe's quote that, when Severian expresses his feeling of betrayal by all women (II), he "means that men want to be loved more than any other thing is loved, and that though they may occasionally attract such love, they never have the power to hold it" (Andre-Driussi, p. 67), which confirms for me that though Wolfe's own misogyny sometimes shows in the text, Severian's is intentional and distinct, and actually interesting). The presence of Thecla especially solidifies in this volume, and her interjections feel often more legitimate and distinct than Severian's, and their love feels significantly more realized ("I clasped my heart's companion to me, and felt myself clasped. I felt myself clasped, and clasped my heart's companion to me" (XXV)).

I am particularly fond of the story competition. I tend to favor tales within tales, and the broad literary range Wolfe evoked in these stories was a delight. Melito's tale is reminiscent of Chaucer as well as Aesop; Hallvard's grasp of sagaic tone is compelling (my wife, my children, my children, my wife is a particularly resonant motif); Foila's Bretonic quest has many of the strangely-gendered qualities of Marie de France. I was particularly interested in the tale told by Loyal to the Group of Seventeen, which reminded me of the Egyptian poem The Eloquent Peasant. Would be curious to know what kind of ancient Egyptian poetry Wolfe had in his known library.

Severian's compassionate self is finally achieved to a much greater extent here than in any of the other novels. Two passages come to mind, of his contemplations on empathy with the dead at the end of XXVI (echoing the end of Joyce's The Dead), and of Triskele as "the ambassador of all crippled things" (XXXI). Wolfe's language about disability in the passage is a product of its time, but once one considers the actual message, that Severian is able to not only accept the legitimacy of disabled people, but to embrace his own disability by the novel's last sentence. The overwhelming impression, to my mind, is one of great compassion, and while Wolfe fails sometimes (his racist/racializing tendencies often leak into this volume), he sometimes succeeds greatly.

Probably the most interesting thread I noted was a couple of brief moments connecting different associations to plants. There is certainly the claw, a rose thorn, carefully positioned so that the burning rose motif early in the series culminates in the connection to the burning bush of Moses, the lowly briar through which God communicates, and thus Severian's realization that all ground is holy, that all thorns are Claws. Beyond that, two vegetal images seem connected to me. In chapter VIII, the Pelerine tells Severian that "every person, you see, is like a plant. There is a beautiful green part, often with flowers or fruit, that grows upward toward the sun, toward the Increate. There is also a dark part that grows away from it, tunneling where no light comes" and then elaborates that "it is the roots that give the plant the strength to climb toward the sun, though they know nothing of it". Then, in chapter XVII, Ash says that "my house strikes its roots into the past", recalling the image described by the Pelerine, but also the image of the tendrils of the nenuphars. As in shadow, we see the past in its impossible complexity as a series of knotted, writhing roots, that, though they are crucial to the growth of the organism, can catch and tangle, and drown unsuspecting children who spend too much time underwater. Ash is perhaps such a victim, who lives in a world that can no longer grow, and can only look to its roots for the beauty of the past. When Severian removes him from his home, he is exactly "some scythe, whistling along the ground, [that] sever[s] the stalk from its roots", so that "the stalk would fall and die, but the roots might put up a new stalk" (VIII). The creation of the future, to Wolfe, is destructive, as is any choice in that it eliminates the potential futures the other choices represents. But to get caught in the roots, to consider too carefully what might have grown out of the decided past, is dangerous. It is perhaps successfully achieved by the mysterious "first Severian" (although the extent of Andre-Driussi's theorizing seems presumptuous to me), but this is itself a careful pruning, so that Severian, or the New Sun, is a worker in the garden of the universe.

[horror-princess-2002]

Good after evening, I honestly don't expect you to do this since nobody ever takes in my request, by a girl can dream can't she? I was wondering if you could do a slasher or dbd matchup, why? Because I’m a stoic woman with a resting bitch face, a girl who has seen a lot in her life and therefore is not afraid of death. Whenever somebody touches my hair or head, I either, cringe, flinch, or just instantly backup from somebody's touch. I don't have good memories with that sort of touch and it makes me question sometimes into cutting my wavy black long hair into a short one. I once had a dream of becoming an artist, but that died when my parents and others told me to get a real job. Thought my writing skills improved over the years and I even managed to get my short stories and poems published in my third year of high school. I expect people to hurt me, weather physically or mentally. Since I'm a kurd, I’ve always been an outsider from the europeans and middle easterns. I've been called many things in the past, yet devil child always somehow managed to stick to my back like a sin. Don't know why though. I just want some genuine love in the end, but I don’t think it will ever happen. Hell, I don't even think that anybody could ever love me that way. I guess this lone wolf will stay forever alone and became a bitter lady who refuses to let anybody truly in.

Of course hun I can definitely ship you

I ship you with bubba sawyer