#i hope this time tumblr actually publishes my post??? idk whats going on but it takes like an hour for me to post videos.

[lpsotd]

sorry to continue lpspop posting but that reblog got me really thinking "wow. all these characters do kinda suck," angelina in particular kinda stood out to me, because early on in savannah's rise to popularity, angelina was kinda depicted as 'the good one' while genny and savvy bathed in their newfound popularity, when in actuality angelina was the one who pushed savannah to overthrow brooke simply because she's good looking, and then she gets upset when savannah and genny don't acknowledge her due to them being busy with boys

that's not me saying lina's anger isn't valid, especially since at first genny and savvy didn't try to include lina in their activities. it took until the night of (or before?) brooke's party for savannah to apologize, which is good on her part, but still ??? i dunno

what i'm trying to say is that angelina isn't exactly a saint 😭 neither is genny, since they the ones to pitch the idea of a rivalry with brooke to savannah. idk i'm just rambling here.

[physalian]

On self-publishing, and why I did it

Based on the research that I have done, following other indie authors across multiple platforms, I think I've made an approach to this that is a lot less... shall we say, *intense* than people make it out to be? I've seen some YouTube videos acting like picking one route or the other might be the worst mistake of your author career.

I mean, I guess?

Back a few years ago I had a manuscript I was querying around and couldn't find any takers. Couldn't find any publishing houses that were accepting open submissions to pick up my manuscript either. So many of them had clauses in the application verifying that you were submitting to them and only to them and to expect a reply within 8-10 months. Coooool.

I did not have time for that.

—

The manuscript I had was 120k words. Baby’s first novel sitting at 120k words is not attractive to publishing houses. It’s a risk. I was younger and didn’t know much about finding an agent and all that jazz, so I had looked into self-publishing and was staring down an editor bill of about $3k minimum because of my word count. I did not have the money for that.

So that manuscript got shelved, meanwhile I wrote the sequel and got halfway through book 3 before writer’s block took hold.

Enter February 2024. I have an idea for a new book. 31 days later, I have that book’s first draft done—Eternal Night of the Northern Sky, on sale from draft to publication in seven months.

This time, I didn’t consider for one second trying the traditionally published route. ENNS is 111k words, it’s a doorstopper of a book, but the bulk wasn’t the only reason I decided to bootstrap myself to the finish line.

I wanted complete, absolute creative control every step of the way

If I have to market myself anyway, why am I splitting profit with a publishing house?

I *really* don’t have time to wait around hoping the right person sees my manuscript. I have a new job coming that’s going to eat up all my free time and could either delay ENNS a year or more, or get it out while I still had time to do so

I didn’t do this for money

I think that’s what makes so many of those rather intense arguments for one or the other so harrowing—the pressure is a lot higher if you invested all this time, money, and effort expecting returns to break even, if not actually turn a profit. Publishing with a publisher doesn’t guarantee people will buy your book, mind you, but it’s a helping hand nonetheless. If I even want to break even, let's say just on royalties from the ebook, I'd have to sell over a thousand copies.

Breaking down my above points:

I’m a firm believer in “if you want something done right, you do it yourself,” which does bite me in the ass from time to time, this I know. I didn’t want to get caught up in contracts or editors telling me what I could and couldn’t do or what I had to change. If ENNS fails, I will have no one to blame but myself, and I am at peace with this. If ENNS fails, and I’d gone through the trouble of signing my book’s soul away to a publisher, then I’d probably be a little resentful. 100% of ENNS is mine, even the cover. I had an image in my head of what I wanted the cover to look like, and I sat down and I drew it and it matches perfectly. Aside from the feedback implemented from betas and editors, my story is told the way I wanted to tell it. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

On marketing, I am not a person who does well with social media. Maybe it’s autism, idk, but trying to keep up with an Instagram is exhausting. I just don’t get anything from tiny text posts and blurbs and doomscrolling through influencers and advertisements. Social Media is, for me, exhausting. Tumblr is different, because writing is my strong point and this blog exists to share and curate something useful. But either way, I’d have to market this book alone, so why not do so with full creative control? If it fails, I am at peace with this.

I have a new job coming very quickly. My current job allows me about 5 hours of free time during my 8 hour shift on a good day not including the time outside work, and I work from home. ENNS was written in 31 days thanks to this job. The new one? Not so much. Seeing “please allow 8-10 months” and “please ensure this is an exclusive submission” on so many little publishing houses, and I did search far and wide, was incredibly disheartening. For me, personally, it wasn’t worth the gamble of waiting all that time, following the rules, and being told no or just being flat-out ghosted. Nor did I want to sit around querying agents into the void. This time, I didn’t have time to sift through agents. ENNS had to get out on the shelves as quickly as I could get it, and all that time (five goddamn months of editing, 500% of the time it took to write it) was spent perfecting the manuscript that it is, *not* waiting around trying to find an agent. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

And lastly, I don’t care if I make absolutely nothing from this book. I didn’t do it for the money, I did it to say I could. I have a day job, and I’m about to have a much higher paying day job. Maybe I’m lucky enough to have that, but I am under no illusions that putting in the hard work guarantees success. Success as an author is a crapshoot and being an amazing book is not the metric sales are measured in, if no one wants to read it. I’d like to make money, I didn’t do it for charity. It’s going to be priced exactly the same as another fantasy book of its caliber. But if only one person buys it, and finds something good from it, something in it that changes their life, then I will have succeeded, profit be damned. If all else fails, I am at peace with this.

—

This is not a post meant to sway people one way or the other. I know I didn’t do enough research or scour the internet hard enough to find a good agent. All of this is irrelevant when time was the most important factor in my debut novel. I was in a position where I could drop that $3k on an editor, so I did. I’m a capable enough artist to draw my own cover, so I did. I might be abysmal at managing social accounts, but less than a year ago this blog didn’t exist and it has over 5k reblogs and 950 followers and I think that’s pretty swell.

I’m 25 years old. I was not about to let it keep sitting around waiting for the golden opportunity with the perfect publishing house that might not have been coming. I had the means and motive to get it done, and by god, I did it.

If it fails, at least I can say that I failed trying. I am at peace with this.

—

Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is available now on Amazon in ebook and paperback! It is also available through your local bookstore.

Check it out on Goodreads!

[ariaste]

Hello hello! If it’s all right with you, I would like to vent for a moment: Back in the day, I used to be really into BBC Sherlock. I know it was bad, but it was “Be Gay (solve) Crimes” and I couldn’t resit. One of my favorite parts of the fandom was reading fan metas. I enjoyed reading your ridiculously long meta! I am not very clever and I enjoy reading people noticing things that I can’t. It’s fun watching people passionately pick up clues and put them together.

I don’t think I’m the only one getting superwholock flashbacks lately. Sherlock also tried an unreliable narrator in S4 and it was an absolute shit show. People thought thought the finale was fake, it was so bad. TBH, the entire show was a dumpster fire that thought it was more clever than it was. Moffat was a good writer for single episodes for DW, but a garbage show runner. And they called us crazy for picking up what they were putting down.

But Good Omens gives me a spark of hope. It is unashamedly queer, fun, drinks its respecting women juice, and, unlike moffatiss, I think Neil and the crew may actually be clever enough to pull something big off. I adore the Discworld series and Sir Terry, and I have faith Neil will to do right by him.

Good Omens is restoring my faith in nerdy queer fiction and reminding me why I love fandom so much. Please keep up the crackhead theories. I love them 💕

Thank you, that's very kind!

(Ended up writing a very long reply about the response to my essay and also about queerness in media. Idk why i am writing such long posts these days SORRY LOL. Anyway I'm putting it all beneath the cut so I can tag it without clogging people's dash or the tag pages)

It does make me sigh a little when I see people scornfully comparing my long essay to The Johnlock Conspiracy or saying that they're having Sherlock flashbacks, because the both the contexts of the shows and the methodology of the theorizing are VERY different. To my mind, a more direct comparison of methodology would be the Gravity Falls fandom's "Stan Has A Secret Twin" theory. Writers and showrunners DO like being sneaky and clever from time to time, and many of them are much better at it than Moffat is.

But whether or not my theory is right or not is... kind of irrelevant to me? I wasn't out to force anyone to agree with me, AND writing it was a really fun way to spend a weekend, AND I'm proud of the work I did and the story I told, AND it felt good to have a satisfying workout at the Brain Gym. So even if I'm proven utterly and completely wrong, I won't feel like I wasted my time. :)

Good Omens is a great show, and I am SO HAPPY to see it (and other shows!) embracing queerness, sharing the fans' enthusiasm for the story, and honoring and respecting the fans' love rather than punishing them for it. As more and more time goes on, I think we're going to see more and more shows like that, because some of the people who grew up reading tumblr discourse are going to be showrunners themselves one day, and they'll have learned serious lessons about what it feels like when the audience is met with love rather than disgust and disdain. In fact, we're ALREADY seeing more shows like that than we had 10 years ago! There is so much canonical queerness on-screen these days that the me of 10-15 years ago is ASTONISHED and feels wealthy beyond counting. Of course, there is so much further to go, but man... when i was a kid, we had to walk uphill in the snow both ways just to see two dudes making sustained emotional eye contact, and we were grateful for it. (Jokes but also.... kind of real tho)

We've seen the exact same thing happen in scifi/fantasy publishing in the last seven or eight years, too! (Went off on a long tangent about Queerness In Media from an insider perspective, continuing below a cut so I don't clutter everyone's dash)

Even as recently as 2013--ten years ago--you might not have even been able to get your book published if it was openly gay. Hell, you might not have been able to get an agent to represent it, even. It would have been labeled "unmarketable" and passed over; if it DID get published, the queerness would have been camouflaged and downplayed and hidden in the marketing as much as possible--you wouldn't have known by looking at the cover that it was queer, you wouldn't have been able to tell by reading the back cover that it was queer. In literally 2016, seven years ago, a few months before I got my first book deal, I remember having a conversation with a friend and being very very worried that if I wrote books as queer as I wanted them to be, I would be "pigeonholed" as "ONLY writing Gay Books", that I would be passed over for any of the publisher's marketing budget and publicity efforts, that I would be sidelined and ignored... In 2016, I thought I was facing a choice of writing stories with more "mainstream appeal" OR writing the books I wanted to write and potentially undermining the rest of my career.

That didn't happen, thankfully, because in the next couple years there was this incredible explosion of queer scifi/fantasy. You see, ten to fifteen years ago, a truly stunning percentage of my colleagues -- writers, editors, publicists -- were writing and reading fanfic, and they carried their tastes and story-hungers with them as they grew up and got Real Adult Jobs at publishing companies. And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a lot of us came of age all at once and there was this absolutely enormous wave of queer SFF that in my opinion has brought us into a new golden age of the genre: The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, The Chorus of Dragons series by Jenn Lyons, She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker Chan, Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, The Tensorate series by Neon Yang, Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon, Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, The City in the Middle of the Night by Charlie Jane Anders, the Birdverse books by RB Lemberg, The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickenson, The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri, Reforged by Seth Haddon, The Sorcerer of the Wildeeps by Kai Ashante Wilson, Ocean's Echo by Everina Maxwell, The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin -- and these only the ones I could remember off the top of my head in 30 seconds, and I have a flavor of ADHD that makes my brain go blank when people ask me to think of specific examples of things! It is harder for me to think of a SFF book published in the last 7 years that ISN'T queer.

And then almost exactly a year ago, my book A Taste of Gold and Iron came out with THIS COVER:

Which. Is not so much a step forward in openly queer SFF as it is a fucking gauntlet thrown down in challenge. I cannot impress upon you strongly enough how much I would not have gotten this cover 10 years ago, and that's if the book was even accepted for publication in the first place. This cover SCREAMS gay fantasy romance. There is no attempt to hide it or camouflage it. It is advertising exactly what it is, right up front.

I got the absolute privilege and honor of having this cover--and I do consider it an incredible honor--because of the work that all my colleagues put in with their own work. Each queer book that got published wedged the door a little wider for the next one, and then a little wider still for the next one, until finally someone could get their foot in the door and squeeze across the threshold, which opened it a little wider again. So when I look at this image, I don't just see a beautiful cover that I am delighted to have on my books--I see an entire history of slow, steady progress by so many incredible writers who risked damaging their careers just to drag us to a point where a book as gay as this one could get a cover as gay as that one and STILL get the full and enthusiastic support of both the publisher and the audience. And the most incredible honor and the most humbling privilege out of all of this is the fact that the success of this book meant that the door was wedged open another little bit, that I got to contribute in this small way to the efforts of everyone who came before me, so that ones who come after us will find the door flung wide -- or that there's no door left at all to block the way, because we've collectively torn it down.

So yes, @eyona, I think that having your faith restored little by little is a very good thing, and I am delighted that Good Omens is doing that for all of us. And what's even better is that even if Good Omens doesn't play out exactly how we want it to, that's... kind of okay? Because there is always the next one, and at the very very least, Good Omens is wedging the door open further so that the next one can have an easier time of it. We don't have to walk uphill in the snow both ways just to get a moment of emotionally charged eye contact anymore. We don't have to starve anymore, not like we used to back in the bad old days. And that alone is a wonderful thing. :D

[stereopticons]

An Addendum to Mournful Monday

So I’ve been reading everyone’s posts about their writing struggles and I found myself wanting to say two things: first, nothing you write is ever a waste, and second, your writing matters.

Sometimes you write things that you end up cutting or that don’t fit anywhere. Sometimes you write things that don’t get shared or published. But it’s not a waste. You still wrote! Writing is a skill, and like everything else, the more you do it, the better you’ll be at it. Sometimes, just flexing those muscles is enough. Sometimes it will even help shake loose the words you were hoping to write. I was struggling with getting the words to come out one time and the ever-wise @blackandwhiteandrose gave me a handful of random words and told me write 100 words using some or all of them. I wrote a 400-word ficlet that I’ve never published (maybe I will do that later, idk) but it made it easier to write the fic I was actually trying to work on.

When I was writing my dissertation, I had to cut huge sections because I ended up taking a piece out of the study that changed the background a lot. My advisor recommended that I never delete anything I write because you never know when you’ll need it again. So I created a file called trash (he objected to this title but i ignored him lol) and put everything I deleted in there. I’ve been done with my dissertation for a while but I have gone back to that trash file to use things I previously deleted. I also have a trash file for fic, for those sentences and paragraphs I love but can’t quite make them fit. It’s not a waste. It’s writing.

I think many of us are working with some degree of imposter syndrome. I would venture to say that probably the majority of people you think write the “best” (whatever that means to you!) have at one time or another, looked at something they wrote and said, “man, that is garbage. What is even the point”. For me, it happens at least once per fic. I call it my fic midlife crisis because it usually happens midway through writing. I start to doubt everything. The prose is clunky, the dialogue is out of character, the whole premise is flawed and doesn’t make sense. I usually message my friends and say, “can someone read this and tell me if it’s stupid” and they will usually read it and say something along the lines of “you’re overthinking this again, it’s great” and offer suggestions on where to go.

There are multiple posts floating around tumblr about how you can never see your art the way someone else sees it because you made it. My prose is always going to sound trite and overused to me because I wrote it and I’ve read it a thousand times. That doesn’t mean it’s bad or doesn’t have value. It just means I’ll never be able to experience it for the first time. But despite all of this, I guarantee that your fic has impacted someone somewhere. Maybe it made them laugh when they were having a bad day. Maybe you wrote a line that made them cry at their desk. Maybe you wrote something really hot that helped them discover something about themselves. It all matters.

[transmechanicus]

Hi! I'm honestly excited that tumblr recommended me a good blog for once. It's nice to see other trans ppl living their best life out here.

Anyway, I hope you don't mind a question, but I'm currently an undergrad and really interested in grad school. idk how applicable your experience would be since im a comp sci student, but what's it like in grad school? how accepting has it been of trans people for you? do you have any recommendations on what to do to increase the chance of getting in?

p.s. idk a ton about biochemistry or genetics, but i have a friend who's super into it (he's also planning on going to grad school for it lol), and I love hearing him talk about it. so I'm also curious as to what you're doing :o

Grad school is broken up into phases in my experience, which is dependent on institution and major. For me, year one is classes and rotations, the latter of which is 7 week trials in a lab of interest to get a feel for their work and the lab social and mentor environ. Classes generally compose discussing research techniques and recent publications, and test you on your ability to read research literature and understand it as well as propose follow up investigations. Year two is finishing classes and starting work on your thesis projects, as well as completing preliminary exams, which for biochem are written (grant proposal) and oral (ppt presentation of grant proposal). Year two has less classes than year one and your actual lab work dominates most of your time. Year 3, 4, and 5 are basically spent having a full time job as a senior lab researcher where you are expected to learn your local field well enough to come up with an idea and pursue it to discover or demonstrate something novel in the form of your thesis, as well as publish at least one paper on your work in the meantime.

My institution has not had any issues with trans ppl in my experience. I came out to my lab in Oct of 2023, and gradually to my classmates and the wider program over the following months. Administrative staff and professors have been very on the ball with my pronouns and chosen name, and our program recently got a new professor who is also a trans woman. I won't say which institution to reduce the amount i dox myself, but safe to say I'm content in regards to my treatment as a transgender person.

Getting into grad school usually requires demonstrated undergraduate research or a gap period of research employment after undergrad. I did some undergraduate work (though not strictly in my field) and a year of relevant employment after undergrad. 3 months into said employment I applied for grad school lol which was a little earlier than usually advised bc i hadn't been there long. (My post-bac PI was very demanding and restrictive so I wanted out ASAP). The main things grad schools are looking for is are you able to talk about research you're doing now, what research you want to do, and why you've chosen their institution. They want you to demonstrate you have an interest in researching topics they have professors willing to support, and also that you have the problem solving and data analysis skills to adequately perform research work and operate semi-independently. Having undergraduate or post-bac research that you can explain in detail why you did certain things, what the motivation is, what the goal is, etc is how you prove your worth to grad recruiters (who are usually professors looking for students).

My work is specifically focused on the use of short synthetic peptides to sense the activity of kinases, which regulate pathways in the human body related to growth, division, and apoptosis. When kinases are disregulated it causes various diseases, but it's hard to test drugs for many of these kinases bc there aren't effective monitors for their activity that don't get a lot of false positives due to overlapping signal pathways. The use of synthetic peptides with certain sequences gets around that issue of false positives, and they can be modified to provide information about how effectively a kinase is binding and interacting with the peptide, which would change under exposure to effective inhibitor drugs for those kinases. TL;DR I make little bits of protein to bind other broken proteins and tell me when they're turned on so other ppl can design drugs to turn them off.

Pls let me know if you have any further questions, I apologize that I don't know any comp-sci majors so this might be wildly inaccurate in some regards. XD

[iraprince]

Heyo! Any advice on struggling to get your art seen in the world? I feel like no matter how much I post, or what I post, people never see it or seem to like it. I love art and am pursuing it as a career (hence why Im getting a degree in it currently lmao) but its kind of disheartening to work really hard on something, post it, and no one sees it.

oh, man. i'm afraid for this one i don't feel like i have a lot of solid advice. having a large-ish following online feels like something that kind of just, like, Happened to me, mostly on accident/in ways outside of my control, and even if i had some ideas on how to potentially replicate those gains i don't think they'd work consistently. (also, a lot of my large jumps in follower count came from mental health related work going viral bc it's #relatable; this is something i have complicated feelings about and it's absolutely not a viable, like, "strategy" or something that i would recommend, in the way that ppl can say like, "fanart gets attention!" or stuff like that.)

so, i don't have advice for how to actually GET those eyes on your art; i can maybe help with making ppl more likely to STAY once they do find you, and how to build a following that will actually help you maintain a living from your work -- bc i have TONS of peers w a following a fraction of the size of mine who get more jobs than me, are doing cooler/more "professional" stuff than me, etc! (heads up that most of my experience is on twitter; i know less than nothing about places like instagram + tiktok, and while tumblr functions very differently from twitter i feel like i handle things mostly the same here, aside from doing less personal posting/being less talkative and not 'networking' or following many people).

SCROLLING BACK UP TO ADD A SPOILER ALERT: AS ALWAYS I HAVE SAID "HAHA IDK I DON'T REALLY HAVE ANY ADVICE" AND THEN PROCEEDED TO TYPE A FULL ESSAY. IF YOU ARE ON DESKTOP YOU CAN HIT THE 'J' KEY TO SKIP THIS POST. IF YOU'RE ON MOBILE, I'M SORRY

a very important thing, especially professionally: it HAS to be easy to see what you do. (this is easier here on tumblr, where u can have a designated art tag etc, than on twitter, which is an awful website that sucks. <- guy who makes all his money on twitter) this means, like -- if i see something from you and get curious and click your profile, it should only take one more click to quickly see at least SOME of your art. on a professional account, it's probably best for your icon to be your own work, something snappy and memorable and eye-catching that reads well at a small size; people shouldn't have to dig for 20 minutes before they can start browsing your art. on twitter, this means TRY not to gunk up your media tab with a ton of reaction images/screencaps of your gacha pulls/etc; on here, it means make your art tag easy to find; on any website, a portfolio link, prominently displayed, is the best bet. (i am still working on that one myself lmao and i've been working professionally full time for a few years now so like, there are outliers and wiggle room on all of this).

next! it's great when your audience finds you, but you have to find them, too. find artists who do similar stuff to you and get into their stuff -- sincerely, not just as "networking." (like only do this with ppl whose stuff you actually think is cool, not just trying to get in mutuals with everyone you see in hopes of a bump, obviously.) get interested in other indie artists, find the people who are working/publishing in the spaces that are exciting and aspirational for you, and support them! i don't want it to sound cynical when i say there's a kind of give-and-take built into this; the point is not "well, if i reblog/retweet a bunch of YOUR stuff, maybe you'll feel obligated to boost mine in return," but that when you find other artists/creatives who are on the same wavelength as you, you will naturally stumble into pools of people who want to support art like yours, and you and your newfound peers will help each other when you hype each other's stuff up and direct followers to each other! (again re: things going differently on dif websites: this is twitter-specific for me, bc i use my tumblr as a gallery/portfolio. that doesn't mean it doesn't happen here tho! it can and does happen everywhere!)

it is really not a competition. i know that SOMETIMES it is in like, a really nitty-gritty numbers sense; people only have so much money to spare, they will make choices about whose patreon they can afford/what comic to buy/etc, that's true. but to me that's not competition. people who are sincerely into your stuff will hang on until they can afford it; maybe that means someone follows you for two whole years before the planets align and they have the budget/opportunity to commission you. by hanging out in similar circles you are not taking potential business or opportunities away from anyone else, nor are you risking leading your own audience to Someone They'll Like Better; you're just offering more options, and the internet is VAST and endless, and EVENTUALLY people will show up who are into YOUR STUFF, SPECIFICALLY. helping each other is never going to stifle or delay that!!

and my final chunk of advice is the one i give constantly that everyone is probably super sick of hearing but i just seriously seriously believe in it, even tho i know it's slow to pay off and hard to follow: keep doing exactly what you want to. keep doing it!!! you have to!!! yes, i mean the stuff that's getting like, 2 likes and 0 reblogs! the stuff that 'nobody likes!'

earlier i mentioned i have gotten big follower bumps from like adhd comics and stuff like that going viral. the thing is that, from a professional standpoint: my follower count has like, more than quintupled from where it was at a few years ago; my patreon income has absolutely NOT quintupled lmfao. it has less than doubled, over that same period of like... i wanna say over 4 years. that's still good, i'm grateful for it, and i owe a lot of it to the sheer numbers game (the more ppl see ur work, the more likely it is you'll reach someone who decides to support you), but there is absolutely not an actual direct correlation between numbers and career success/stability.

where there IS a direct correlation is between "people who give a shit about the art i really truly love making" and "people who like my art enough to support me professionally." HUGE chunks of the followers i get any time something goes viral slough off over time; there's nothing wrong with that, they just follow me bc something was funny/interesting and end up realizing my work's not actually their thing. but the ppl who follow me bc they're into all the stuff i post most consistently, the stuff i care about and am passionate about, stick around. and i would not have found them if i wasn't posting the shit i care about!

out there there are people who will be 100% crazy about the stuff that is 100% what you want to make. it's like actually statistically impossible for there not to be. the more niche your thing is, the longer it will take to find them, but they absolutely exist. but if you give up before you find them -- if you start saying, "well, i'll put in 50% of this idea that i love, but the other 50% is too weird and nobody's gonna like it and it'll flop" -- well, in that case, you can only ever find the ppl who are 50% into what you do. don't fuck yourself like that!! you cannot deny yourself the possibility (the INEVITABILITY!!! IMO!!!!!) of finding the people who will 100% get what you're doing.

so: on a pragmatic level, i'm sure there will be ppl who disagree with me on this, and who think it's absolutely mandatory to do fanart as a crowd draw or learn about algorithms and posting times and get on tiktok and do the visibility grind and everything and that it's stupid and irresponsible to tell people not to. i'm sure it's also easy to point out that i'm speaking from a place where i now have more eyes on my stuff than i know what to fucking do with so maybe i'm just totally out of touch and being naive or something. but for me the most important part of doing art now, ESPECIALLY as a career, is to keep loving it and to believe in what i'm doing and to build an audience that cares about the same things i do. and i think it is really really vital to make that your top priority. bc if you don't, then even if you DO crack the code to suddenly getting tons of notes on everything etc -- will you even keep wanting to do it?

this job is hard. it's lonely, in my experience; i spend so much time sitting in front of my computer alone. it's unstable, which is stressful and can be frightening. it's emotionally taxing, for me, because art is so important to me that it's hard to set boundaries and separate my identity from it and actually treat it like a job. it has taken me a long time to find success doing this; maybe i could have gotten there faster if i had tried to find ways to draw an audience specifically, but i think if i had somehow managed to get a big patreon following/tons of commissioners/etc by doing something formulaic or doing stuff that specifically gets tons of attention, but isn't what's natural for me -- i don't think i would have lasted very long that way. this is already hard and complicated enough; i don't think it's sustainable to give up any unnecessary ground on doing exactly what you're passionate about, bc at least in my case, that's mandatory for this even being a livable career for me. i would burn out and decide to do something else very quickly if the only way to succeed was to chase numbers/engagement.

doing it this way is very slow. if i hadn't been able to lean on family/my wife while starting up, i would have had to have a day job for much longer (like, years, probably) while saving up and preparing to go full time; for as long as you struggle to get traction, it may mean going full time has to be on the backburner. but the thing is that there's nothing wrong with that, it's the reality for the vast majority of us (from what i've seen) -- and you'll eventually build a career that can last way longer, i think.

okay oh my god i'm done. sorry about that. like i said this job is pretty lonely and i sit here all day and think about this stuff and then generally do not talk about it with anyone until somebody asks me about it and then i repeat myself at length again. like i did here. anyway have a good night sincerely and i hope some part of this was helpful!!!

[callibones]

UM HI HI HI ITS ME. 🩸🟪 AND I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU I AM VERY SORRY!!!

this week ive been exceptionally busy. a lot of stuff has been piling up for me with university and work and it didnt really give me a lot of time to look at tumblr OR read the fics! ill get to them! i didnt forget i swear ive just been EXHAUSTED this message is just being pulled out of my ass since i didnt expect to write to you today so i dont have any topics planned to ask you about. i didnt wanna take the time to think of something because i didnt want it to seem like i was ignoring your poast (despite the fact you wouldve never known if i had seen it or not .. but MENTALLY i'd feel bad, you know?) but uh. yeah

i don't know how people talk. um. how are you? has your week been particularly busy? what DO you do outside of tumblogging actually .. im curious

OH AND ALSO i very much appreciate the backstory info you gave me on callibones. i MIGHT take inspiration from it for my fanart? maybee? and uh i will send that to you SOON! very soon. i guess in the meantime id just wanna polish it more before sending it to someone out of like. principle?

i looked through your friends blog.. i like the concept of a blood bag person thing. there were probably better ways of saying that but IDK!! once again though i think it is Extremely Drawable so i have a small request ..

and regarding CALCIFER .. i think i would appreciate a deity to deity chat. or an potential acolyte to deity chat or I Mean Ha Ha. and those pronouns are Pretty Cool if i do say so myself! im worried directly sending in an ask would be strange so since you said you were friends with them can you parrot my question? i rlly wanna know whether drawing fanart of their OC is okay. sorry what else. im going to try and plan my next correspondence out ASAP so ill probably go through the cedardivine post before the post you made with a ton of fics? just because the list is shorter. idk what ill do after that--maybe ill rank them or something and you can tell me how wrong my opinion is or something Haha! just kidding im always right. i create new truths as we speak. as im typing this im overwriting just a little bit more of the world's knowledge. im just cool and awesome like that. theres nothing else i can think of at the moment to ask you.. OH UM when you mentioned callyris i realized "hey wait dont i know a blog called that" and Look Who It Was! so thats neat i also think i found another blog that may be under your posession but i dont think i can ask about it at the front desk.. so when i message you in some other manner ill probably ask you about that! who knows i might even be Completely Wrong

well anyways sorry for the delay. it will probably take a while longer for me to compose my thoughts so the delay will continue but. idk. i hope this message isnt TOO INCOHERENT but again i am not proofreading at all for this one.

also im definitely using gooby forever now. thats great. what a peculiar phrase.

GOOBY!!!!

hi hi hi hi! i took a million years to get back to this so NEVER apologize or rush about sending me things. anon asks r a tough way to communicate cause i dont got an online indicator for u so i just gotta guess... and u dont got a notification for me! i hope u see this even tho its been a bit.

ive been busy too cause university's also piling up for ME. i'm gonna respond to this one first, and then i'll take a crack at your mysterious coded message! and then i have to do a million homework because grad school. outside of tumblogging im trying to destroy the world with the infinite power amulet, so i'm majoring in general supervillainy! and also urban planning

for the blood bag: @rigormarcy LOVES fanart. marcy, if u see this, respond with your ref, 'cause you have a super drawable OC! the fans wanna draw u so bad. So Bad.

u found another blog that might b me? omg.... here. how bout this. send me an ask with just the name and i wont publish the response. if youre REALLY curious. but youre probably right, because i invented every blog on tumblr GOOBY

[ferallester]

okay so I didn’t have the motivation to do Appreciation Week at first, but seeing @yonpote do it all in one day has inspired me so let’s do it! (but with screenshots and stuff bc Yeah LMAO)

for @dpgdaily’s Dan and Phil Appreciation Week!

post is under a break so that it doesn’t just break tumblr

Day 1 - Favourite Dan and/or Phil quote:

the entire opening from the pinof 7 bloopers is hilarious but by far one of my favourite quotes (one that has continually haunted me since 2016, when I watched it for the first time) is:

D: Stand still!

P: Stencil!

D: … I’m gonna hit you. [laughs] Shut up!

I quote this weirdly often in my fics. In fact, I’m pretty sure two of my recent published fics use it as a reference. I didn’t realise until now that I was partially misquoting it XD

I also can’t not mention, from Basically I’m Gay (the entire part from when Dan starts talking about Phil is linked, quote starts about twenty seconds later):

D: We are real best friends, companions through life, like actual soulmates […]

maybe he was trying to be ironic, but there’s something intensely poetic about his body language when he describes them as actual soulmates

I’m obsessed with it, but in like the way people don’t shut up about Pride and Prejudice, maybe, idk I’m just bisexual and hoping that I get half as lucky as the boys have

there are many more moments tbh I could say LMAO

Day 2 - Favourite Dan and Phil Series:

OUGHHHHH THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY REALLY DIFFICULT—

what is now called Season 1 of the Sims 4 and the Undertale playthrough are VERY close contenders, but I think my favourite series is actually the DITLs! (there’s no playlist for this one rip)

you can easily split them into two or three sections (depending on if you count any of The Making Of videos for TABINOF, the calendars, or the prep for II as DITLs), and each section has something wonderful to enjoy!

the ‘local’ DITLs (Manchester and London) are incredibly domestic, with the boys just going about a semi-typical day, and the Festive DITL honestly just turns that up to a hundred, I love the domestic ones so much

the ‘holiday’ ones too (Japan and Australia) are also super fun, because we get to see the boys doing silly touristy things like holding koalas or hanging around one of the busiest intersections in Tokyo (I also keep hearing conspiracies about the Australian one LMAO)

the ‘making of’ videos are their own unique source of slice-of-life entertainment, because They’re Getting Important Stuff Done but they’re making it entertaining for us too

my favourites are the original DITL and Festive DITL <3

Day 3 - Favourite Dan and/or Phil Outfit:

used @phanoutfitsblog’s screenshots for most of these, with the exception of Dan’s initial look in the baking video (also I’d be lying if I said that Sister Daniel wasn’t high up on this list hhhh)

can Phil stop being pretty for FIVE MINUTES JEEZ— it’s actually incredibly difficult to pin down favourite outfits for him bc he just. Keeps. On. WINNING.

his red shirt in the red carpet roasting video is probably the most iconic so far but it could really have been literally any other outfit he’s worn in the last several years

and Dan’s no slouch, either! this man is gorgeous and he ROCKS it! he wore this particular shirt (?) to an interview (or at least it was framed like one) and he looks INCREDIBLE in it but I can’t remember where I found the other screenshot so I won’t post it lmao

his initial appearance in the Halloween baking video before he changes into Sister Daniel is also equally pretty bc of the makeup and honestly? gimme your gender Howell

other honourable mentions include a recent magazine shoot that I’ve forgotten the name of (some phan I am LMAO, shame on me for only remembering the pink), and his dystopia motorcycle twink shirt from the red carpet video

Day 4 - Favourite Joint Content

oooh, difficult question, that’s like choosing a favourite child! still, the answer to this one is a lot simpler than Day 5 below, because it’s the original PINOF, as well as the photobooth challenge!

while PINOF wasn’t my initial introduction to the boys (that goes to the Sims 4), it’s one of the earliest things I watched of them, and almost certainly what got me to stick with them! (along with the Sims 4… LMAO)

Dan says he was being ironic when he said ‘this is the most fun I’ve ever had, and maybe it’s the tism kicking in, but he doesn’t sound sarcastic or ironic when he says that

it’s pretty clear from the get go that they’re two boys (boys in love, even) making a silly video, having absolutely zero idea that it’s going to change the world <3

the pb challenge, meanwhile, is just incredibly funny, I remember almost hurting myself from laughing so hard the first time I watched it XD it hasn’t aged perfectly, but that’s most things from ten years ago

the honourable mentions list is VERY long so I won’t put all of them here LMAO, but the Get Down video is one of them XD

Day 5- Favourite DanAndPhilGames video

oooh, another difficult question, here, because more often than not, the answer is yes! I could say the Halloween baking video one day, and the Katamari video the next, and one of the Sims 4 building videos because I’m a sucker for renovations (also, the GAY WEDDING and the RETURN in general!), and honestly there’s so many videos I’ve forgotten over the years (LOVE NIKKI!) but I think I’m gonna say the finale of Undertale!

it makes me cry every time I rewatch the series, and it’s such a beautiful story, and yeah I’m a mess just thinking about it, because the fact that they chose to be pacifists from the get go is one of the genuinely sweetest things I can think of

Day 6 - Favourite Solo Video(s)

oh no I don’t actually know how to fully answer for Dan, but at a guess… yeah who am I kidding, it’s BIG and We’re All Doomed! :D (yes I know WAD! isn’t a video (yet, hopefully) but it overrides literally everything else bc I loved that night so much)

BIG, as a queer person, is just honestly so incredibly important to me, because being able to listen to other queer people — very successful ones, too — and how they’ve struggled in ways I’ve been fortunate to have never suffered, and how they overcame it all, and are still dealing with it to this day? yeah I’m still so proud of Dan for it all, he deserves the life he’s made for himself <3

WAD is in a similar vein to this, but with the addition of me being able to actually MEET Dan and then watch him on STAGE as he did his comedy show! I made him laugh with a joke about Australian summer being hell, and that’s probably one of the best things that has ever happened to me <3

honourable mention goes to his Keep On Movin’ video, bc that’s just damn impressive

Phil, meanwhile… I have so many videos to choose from, and while Coming Out To You carries the same importance as BIG, if not more since I watch it more (I love them equally, but COTY is only eight minutes long okay), I am actually struggling to choose a favourite outside of it!

mostly because all my favourite Phil videos… are joint content videos!

that being said, his fourth ACNH video is incredibly sweet, and I think I might go rewatch the series!

also his house review videos (the apartment one and the expensive house one) are pretty iconic

AND the sleepless night series— can you see why I’m struggling? :’D

Day 7 - What do Dan and Phil mean to you?

(oh god I am so sorry for this monster)

I don’t remember 2016 being a particularly rough year for me, despite the many star-studded losses (rip Anton Yelchin especially), and maybe it would’ve been that way even if I hadn’t found Dan and Phil, but finding them at what could be considered their initial peak of fame was probably one of the best things that could have happened to me, because I was just a year into my experiences with internet fandom, and what better way to do that than get yeeted into the chaotic world of two British dorks on the net that everyone and their cat shipped?

I may have missed out on the radio shows, sure, and I missed out on pretty much every YouNow and Rize show and whatnot because I’m a goose, but I came into the fandom just in time to see TATINOF live, even though I couldn’t get a meet and greet ;w; one day I’ll catch Phil

I distinctly remember being at the Gold Coast Eisteddfod, which was an hour south of Brisbane, on the same night as TATINOF, and absolutely booking it back with my mum to Brisbane, stressing the entire way even as we got McDonalds and I got changed out of what was either my school uniform or my performance uniform (I can’t remember) into something more normal for a night at QPAC

and yet, once I was there, I had probably one of the best nights of my life, because TATINOF, in my opinion, is the best thing the boys have ever done on stages (II and WAD! are very close tho don’t get me wrong)

someone helped me draw cat whiskers on my face, I remember chatting happily to other phannies around me (what about, I have long forgotten), and I remember how loud it was, and how much I didn’t mind that, for the first time in my life

I bought more merch at II and WAD!, because I was either given more money or I actually had money to spend since I got my job by WAD!, but, even when disappointed by the fact that I couldn’t afford much, I have cherished my TATINOF lanyard since that fateful night in August 2015, because it symbolises just how much I love the two gay dorks who are now two of my biggest queer role models

the fact that they chose us over fame and fortune in the entertainment industry? I’m so grateful for that, because it means, even though we gave them utter hell (I wasn’t quite one of them, but I probably did a few minor demon things as a teen LMAO), they cared, and still care, about us, the audience

this is getting SO long and waffly, oh my GOD, this is why my current fic is eleven k long already, uhhhh tl;dr they’re weird and queer (affectionate), I’m weird and queer, and I am so glad I found them, because having them in my life is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, down to graduating from high school and university and having their videos to watch <3

okay that’s enough sappiness this took me like three or four hours love y’all <3

thanks @dpgdaily for hosting!!!!

[bard-llama]

ATLA WiP List

Yeah, it's not Wednesday. Sue me - Wednesdays have actually become a really bad day for me to write/share works in progress. So idk I'm just gonna do it whenever, I guess?

Anyway, every once in a while, I like to make lists of all my too-many WiPs, so that's what this is. Under a cut, because the list is gonna be super long.

So for context, I have 3 categories my WiP docs (fic series, long fic, and fic collection) and within those, have a mix of shippy and gen fics. So I'll break this list out by type and then gen vs Zukaang vs other.

Also, apparently tumblr won't let you do nested bullets anymore??????? wtf tumblr. Everyday, you get less and less usable.

Fic Series

All have at least one story in the series published on AO3.

Gen (2)

Balance (current fic: Earth and Air)

Accidental Shaman Zuko (current fic(s): An Equal and Opposite Reaction, Two Avatars on a Road Trip)

Zukaang (4)

Two Lovers, Forbidden from One Another (current fic: As the Breeze Shapes the Dunes)

Seduction of the Innocent (current fic(s): Book 1: Seduction of the Innocent, Book 2: Fables and Reflections, Book 3: untitled fic where worlds collide)

Ba Sing Se Boyfriends (current fic(s): Facing the Dragon (of the West), Chillin' in Ba Sing Se, untitled fic where they investigate the Dai Li)

Justice, Served Cold with a Side of Vengenace (current fic: The Unlearning of Fear (And the Acceptance of Love))

Long Fics

These fics got long enough to graduate to their own document, but are (probably) not a series.

Gen (4)

Zuko's Odyssey (pre-canon, mostly planning, few words - intended to be a mishmash of atla with The Odyssey)

Helping Hands (chronic pain fic where Zuko gets his hands stomped on by Zhao at Pohuai and has to work with Aang to escape)

A Second Chance at Family (time travel fic where Azula's lightning 'kills' Zuko and sends him back to mid-s1)

Thrice Cursed, Once Broken (post-canon au sorta - Zuko becomes Fire Lord after being imprisoned on the Day of Black Sun)

Zukaang (6)

Once Upon a Dream (soulmate dreamsharing au where Zuko has always dreamed of the cold and dark of Aang's iceberg)

Damned by a Look (s1 soulmate au where the Fire Lord authorizes the arrest of the Avatar's soulmate. Zuko ends up in Zhao's brig during the Northern Invasion when the Ocean possesses Aang and forces him to kill the invading soldiers)

(Going) Down and Out in Ba Sing Se (s2 au where Zuko chooses Aang in the finale and then has to deal with the aftermath)

The Fire Lord and the Avatar (s2 au where Zuko joins Aang early, unpublished)

Dragon Mama Zuko (s3 au where Zuko gets pregnant via dragon, so much written but not fucking ch 2 ugh)

Action, Inaction, and Consequences (post-canon fic where war criminals are put on trial)

Other (4)

The First Reaction to Truth is Hated (pre-canon, Aang & Kuzon & Bumi, Aang & Gyatso left the Southern Air Temple the day before Sozin's Comet. They survived, but now have to deal with the aftermath)

Hope for the Future (late s3 au, Zutaraang, Aang dreams of a future with Zuko and Katara. When Zuko shows up the next day, he's inclined to trust)

A Seat at the Table (post-canon, Zutaraang eventually, fic about recognizing sovereign powers outside the 4 nations)

A Royal Heir (post-canon fic, Zutaraang, Zuko needs a legitimate heir)

Fic Collections

AKA I have waaaaaay too many WiPs for them all to get their own document.

Gen (55)

Agni's Little Flame (unpublished, spirits aren't supposed to play favorites, but they kinda do)

Unyielding (unpublished, never give up without a fight)

Zuko Collects Strays (unpublished, post-canon)

Zuko adapts other bending techniques (unpublished, Zuko accidentally uses an airbending move while firebending, then realizes there's potential in it)

Fire Control (unpublished, it takes a lot of control not to let fire burn wildly)

Those Who Tell Stories Rule the World (storyteller Zuko)

The Consequences of Breaking the Rules (late s3 au, Zuko is scared of messing up and getting punished by the Gaang)

Nightmares (unpublished, Katara is uncomfortable with Zuko's vocal nightmares. It's hard to hate someone when they're suffering.)

Being a Master Means Understanding That You Know Nothing (actually, this might be ready to publish????)

Healing Fire (unpublished, Zuko is in denial about his 'heat technique' actually healing people)

Sibling Rulers (unpublished, Azula and Zuko as Co-Rulers)

Azula and Her Brother (unpublished, Azula character study)

Breathing Fire (unpublished, tho ch 1 might be ready for publishing, Zuko's crew's reaction to this brat breathing fire all over the place)

Katara hating on Zuko (unpublished, set in the Western Air Temple, it's easy to hate Zuko until she learns more about him)

Zhao's Retribution (Zhao heavily injures Zuko, who is rescued by survivors of the 41st, who happen to follow Jeong Jeong. Aang, Katara, and Sokka still walk into Jeong Jeong's camp without noticing)

Viva la Resistance (unpublished, Zhao ends up regretting stealing Zuko's crew)

Aang in the Iceberg: Dreams (unpublished, while frozen, Aang exists in a dream world. Eventually, Zuko joins him)

Aang in the Iceberg: Angst Coma Time Travel (unpublished, when Zuko has his angst coma freakout in s2, he wakes up in the iceberg with Aang)

Punishment (unpublished, the Gaang is horrified when Zuko approaches them at the Western Air Temple, prepared for his punishment)

Muzzled (unpublished, Zhao welds a muzzle onto Zuko's face. The Gaang is horrified when they find him)

The Long Road to Recovery (unpublished, rejected by the Gaang in late s3, Zuko ends up imprisoned and tortured by the EK and the FN. After the war is over, he's found)

Trusted with a weapon (unpublished, Zuko realizes the Gaang trusts him when they aren't bothered at him sparring with Suki with his swords)

Gaang Established Routines (unpublished, the Gaang's domestic dynamic)

The Tournament of Kingship (post-canon, Bumi dies and Omashu's King has to be chosen thru a tournament. Naturally, Toph has to claim the title of Greatest Earthbender in the World)

Actions Speak Louder Than Words (unpublished, s3 Zuko apologizes to the Gaang thru acts of service/thoughtful gifts)

Spontaneous Combustion (unpublished, s2 au where Zuko stumbles upon a mystery in Ba Sing Se when people seemingly catch on fire out of nowhere)

Early s3 AU (unpublished, goes AU in the Sparky Sparky Boom Man episode and Zuko asks the Gaang to stop his Father, who just revealed his plans for the comet)

Choosing Nonviolence: Aang sees Zuko’s Scars (unpublished, Aang's vows of pacifism are challenged with every scar Zuko unveils. Zuko does not understand why he holds strong anyway.)

Choosing Nonviolence: What is Forgiveness? (unpublished, Zuko does not understand how Aang can refuse to kill Ozai)

Ozai is annoyed when his useless son befriends a blind EK noble (unpublished, pre-canon)

Truth Serum (unpublished, during The Chase, a pollen infects them and makes them tell the truth)

De-Aged Zuko (unpublished, s1 au where a spirit curses Zuko and the Gaang does not know what to think)

Flower language (unpublished, Zuko fucks up when he unknowingly burns Aang's friendship offering (a flower crown))

Working Together/Mission Fic (unpublished, s1 au where Zuko and Aang are captured by slavers and have to escape, along with the other kids who have been snatched)

Zuko becomes Fire Lord at 13 AU (unpublished, Zuko fights back in the Agni Kai. This changes everything.)

Toph joins S1 (unpublished, s1 au with bonus Toph, who utterly destroys the pirates Zuko is working with)

A Scarred Foundation (Zuko's badly scarred enough that he hides the worst of it with makeup)

Gifts (unpublished, late s3 fic, each culture views birthdays differently. Air Nomads don't track them, but they're very important on Kyoshi Island)

Katara POV Zuko tortured by Fire Lord (unpublished, in a world where everything went wrong, Katara is forced to admit that Zuko probably is, in fact, on their side - for all the good it does him now)

Ozai finds out Zuko joined the Avatar (unpublished, Ozai is so fucking annoyed with this damned brat getting in his way)

Kanna (unpublished, character study)

Gyatso runs away with Aang (unpublished, series au in which Gyatso gets frozen with Aang and wakes up 100 years later to Sokka and Katara)

Dad Convo (unpublished, Zuko has a few questions for Hakoda)

Shaking it up down south (unpublished, the South Pole has an issue with sexism. This turns out to be a problem in a post-war world where the women kept the tribe running while the men were away)

Something to Live For (unpublished, sometimes when you're in so much pain that it's hard to survive, you just need something to live for)

Earthbender Zuko (unpublished, don't have much, but wanna try to write the trope)

Avatar Zuko (unpublished, likewise, don't have much)

Getting Zuko to Sleep (unpublished, involves forced cuddles)

Keeping the Avatar Alive (unpublished, Zuko is maybe slightly obsessive about protecting Aang. He can't let his fuckup be the reason Aang dies. (Again.))

Self-Harming Zuko (unpublished, why does getting hurt as the Blue Spirit feel right?)

Haunted Toy (unpublished, after Lu Ten's death, Zuko discovers that a toy Lu Ten gave him appears to be haunted by Lu Ten)

Animal Transformation (unpublished, Zuko gets to be a finch hawk that the gaang takes care of in s1)

Time Travel Zuko 2: Electric Boogaloo (unpublished, future!Zuko comes back to s1 to tell Zuko all the shit no one ever said about how Ozai was fucking wrong)

Toph and Zuko’s Life-Changing Field Trip (unpublished, Toph is invited home by her parents and brings the Fire Lord. Turns out, her parents are trying to marry her off and now all the other suitors think they're competing with the Fire Lord. Zuko dgaf.)

Crossdressing Gaang (unpublished, post-canon, a convo about fancy clothes leads to the Gaang playing around with wearing the dresses Zuko's staff stock the wardrobes in their unused private rooms with. (They all pile onto Zuko's bed on the regular))

Oops, we've hit the character limit for this section oops.

Gen Part 2 (30)

Nerd Lords (unpublished, Zuko and Kuei meet when Zuko breaks into the royal library and accidentally end up becoming friends)

Fight Club (unpublished, Zuko has a talent for finding the underground fighting rings as they travel across the EK)

Instinctive Bending (unpublished, Zuko struggles to move the way his teachers tell him he should to bend. But when he doesn't think about it and just moves, his katas aren't right, but they work.)

Southern Water Tribe – why are there so many more men than women? (unpublished, AKA Llama messed up the math and decided to make plot out of it)

Drugged Zuko Rescue (unpublished, s2, Zuko gets caught by the Dai Li and drugged to high hell. He's pretty sure he's hallucinating the Avatar and the Water Tribe boy rescuing him)

Reputation (unpublished, pre-s1, Zuko's reputation is actually pretty positive amongst Earth Kingdomers. He pays a fair price for his supplies, he does odd jobs/investigates weird goings-on, he occasionally tracks down bounties, etc. Unless you happen to be impeding his search for the Avatar, the Prince is usually not bad to have come around town. Then the Avatar reappears.)

Silence (unpublished, Aang gets to enjoy my discomfort with silence)

Hidden Communities (unpublished, what if all the endangered peoples/creatures were hiding out together? AKA the Sun Warriors' Island has some surprises)

Jeong Jeong (unpublished, character study)

Gyatso adopting Aang (unpublished, Gyatso's POV of hearing baby!Aang laugh and immediately knowing this child is meant to be his.)

Crooked World (unpublished, Zuko has always known his world was different than the ones he read about)

Fire, Water, and Government (Know Nothing of Mercy) (Pirate Zuko AU)

Time Loop/Loop Zoop (unpublished, Zuko gets stuck in a time loop during s1 that always ends with his ship blowing up/him dying)

Southern Water Tribe Mixed Children (unpublished, Ten years after the end of the war, the Southern Water Tribe is rocked with controversy as tribesmen who left the fleet during the war petition to return with their mixed blood families.)

Brother (unpublished, Azula has a different understanding of what family means than the Gaang does)

The Truth About the Air Army (unpublished, Zuko reads through the libraries at the Air Temples and discovers the truth of who the Air Nomads were. After becoming Fire Lord, he decides that everyone needs to learn that truth)

Blue Spirit Reveal (unpublished, after the Ember Island Players, Sokka asks about the Blue Spirit that saved Aang in the play)

Post-canon Iroh and Zuko (unpublished, Zuko feels guilty for feeling abandoned when Iroh leaves for Ba Sing Se just after Zuko gets crowned)

Jet Redemption (unpublished, post-canon au where post-war negotiations end up taking place in Gaipan, which is about halfway between Ba Sing Se and Caldera City. Meanwhile, a certain someone has gone through a journey of his own. Earning trust back will take some serious work)

Aang being worthy of power (unpublished, Zuko's research taught him clearly how powerful the Avatar is. Like, frighteningly powerful. And yet, Aang uses that power with caution and delicacy. Zuko reflects on how much control it must take to actively avoid doing harm)

Ursa finds Zuko in his banishment (unpublished, okay this actually has nothing written, but I'm counting it bc it'll be fun)

The Power Behind the Throne (post-canon, Zuko has to deal with people thinking Iroh is controlling things behind the scenes)

Balance (unpublished, set during the Western Air Temple, when The Duke asks what balance actually means, they discover that Zuko's a giant nerd whose research has given him Opinions on this.)

“Come with me.” (unpublished, s1 au where Aang brings an injured Blue Spirit back to camp with him. Zuko is too concussed to protest overly much)

Attacking a surrendered opponent (unpublished, the Gaang discovers that Zuko believes that surrender just leaves one open for the next attack. Then they realize that for him, it always has. Not just with Ozai - but with Katara at the Western Air Temple, too)

Joo Dee (unpublished, Zuko attends Ba Sing Se University, which means he has a Joo Dee tail from the moment he enters the Middle Ring. People avoid him because of it, and Zuko just wants someone to talk over his lessons with. So one day, he decides to actually try chatting with her)

Mid-s3 Dreamsharing (unpublished, Zuko is plagued with nightmares while back at the palace. The spirits decide that he needs the help of those whose destiny is tied to his to figure out where he stands. Only the Gaang doesn't actually know that it's Zuko they're helping as they move through a dreamscape adventure)

Dark Water Spirit Curse (unpublished, AKA Llama nerded out over the deep sea interpretation of dark water and tried to do something with that. Therefore, Zuko is bioluminscent now lmao)

How Zuko Became a Radical Socialist (unpublished, AKA Llama vents about for-profit healthcare via Zuko in Ba Sing Se)

Blue Spirit puts out fires (unpublished, pre-canon au where Zuko tries not to use firebending when out as the Blue Spirit. When he is forced to, he never creates his own flames, he just extinguishes others. This leads to rumors about the Blue Spirit's ability to put out a bender's fire. The sensible firebenders are frightened by this prospect)

Zukaang (44)

Rope Burns (unpublished, Aang reflecting on rope burns and when they hurt and when they don't)

Blue Spirit Tagalong (Zuko ends up haunted by the Blue Spirit)

Relationship Reveal (unpublished, post-canon with Zukaang in a secret relationship - until they get careless and get caught by Zuko's advisors)

I'm Your Fire, Your Desire (s3 au where Zukaang get together at the Western Air Temple, now with a bonus PWP set in the future)

Shirtless Sparring (unpublished, wrestling pwp)

Return to Pohuai (unpublished, pwp Blue Spirit roleplay)

Our Love Become a Funeral Pyre (unpublished, Zuko is Kuzon reincarnated and dreams of Kuzon's life with Aang before the comet)

Gay Bar (unpublished, s2 au where they each unknowingly patronize the same gay bar in Ba Sing Se)

Airbender Blow Jobs (unpublished, pwp)

Fluffy Zukaang (unpublished, s3 fluff)

“My heart feels like it’s dancing when I look at you.” (unpublished, post-canon, Zuko is very dense about his emotions)

Aang Approaching Zuko Morning After (unpublished, s2 au where Aang stops by the teashop)

Rose Petals and Candlelight (unpublished, Aang spoils Zuko with t-rated intimacy)

Treasure (unpublished, on the 3rd anniversary of Zuko's crowning, Aang gifts him a black pearl that he found the first time Zuko took them diving)

"I'm in love with your voice" (unpublished, set during the s1 finale when they're snowed in in a cave and end up having to talk)

First Kiss/First Time (unpublished, when Zuko kisses him, Aang freaks out - and runs to the South Pole. Fire Lady Mai is the one to come beat some sense into him)

Pao’s Teashop Office Sex (unpublished, s2 pwp)

Body Swap (unpublished, s2 au in which Aang and Zuko switch bodies. Aang is not prepared for Zuko's pain - or his retail experience. Might be gen, might not)

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You (Aang likes the way Zuko watches him intently)

Sexytimes - Voyeurism (unpublished pwp, Aang ties Zuko up and makes him watch him touch himself)

Gossip (unpublished, Aang is excited about getting together with Zuko and has to tell someone. Toph is safest.)

Temporarily Genderbent Aang picks up Zuko (unpublished post-canon pwp)

Blue Spirit x Avatar Aang (unpublished, the Fire Nation is a little too invested in the potential relationship between the Blue Spirit and the Avatar, and where the Fire Lord fits in)

“We need to stop dancing around it. All it does is hurt us both!” (unpublished, Aang thinks he's dreaming and kisses Zuko at the North Pole - only it turns out to be real and neither know how to deal with that in the aftermath)

Identity Porn (unpublished, Aang does not know who the Blue Spirit is, but that doesn't stop him from flirting extensively)

“I can’t stop thinking about you. When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep…” (unpublished, Aang doesn't know what to think when Zuko confesses without even realizing what he's confessing)

Soulmate Potential (unpublished, people don't have a predestined soulmate. Some people click more easily than others, but the potential is there with anyone. Including one's enemy.)

Ba Sing Se AU (unpublished, this was SUPPOSED to be a setup to write Zuko's POV of Same Side Sex, because mostly it's been Aang's POV when I've done it so far, but uh... setup takes a lot of work and it grows a life of its own. So now we have Aang and Zuko dating pre-s2 finale and the ripple effects of that. Also, might end up Zutaraang)

Dream Sex (unpublished, pre-canon, aged up Zuko dreams about the Avatar having their way with him.)

Author Zuko: Blue Spirit/Avatar Aang (unpublished, Aang is not excited to hear that a new play is coming out about the Avatar and the Blue Spirit. He is unaware that Zuko secretly wrote the play)

Author Zuko: Zuko writes about the Fire Lord and Avatar’s Bond Thru Time (unpublished, Zuko's a fucking nerd who uses primary sources to back up his pet thesis that his destiny is tied to Aang's)

Cheering Up on a Bad Day (unpublished, Aang pines and tries to lighten Zuko's mood after a rough day as Fire Lord)

Masked Affection (s2 au where the Blue Spirit and Aang end up in a secret relationship. When Aang finds a badly injured Blue Spirit, the lines between Zuko and the mask begin to blur)

Post-Canon Hanahaki AU (unpublished, Zuko starts coughing up strange flowers and is in denial about what it could mean)

Gaang in Ba Sing Se with Aang trying to befriend Zuko without telling them who ‘Li’ is (unpublished, Aang explores the Lower Ring by taking Zuko on 'dates'. He tells the Gaang about it, but neglects to mention who 'Li' really is)

Freudian Nightmares (porn with plot, Aang dreams about Zuko, then gets the chance to experience him in reality)

Depression and Executive Dysfunction (unpublished, set in s3 but goes au in s2, Zuko and Aang had a secret relationship in Ba Sing Se - and Zuko chose Azula anyway. He regrets it, but even once he joins the Gaang, he knows he'll never be able to make up for that. The despair of knowing he can never recover what they once had makes it hard to try some days. Aang just wants to help)

Marking: Scandalized Sokka/Fuck “Aang must be protected” bullshit (unpublished, Aang enjoys getting marked up by his lover. The rest of the Gaang is a bit scandalized and it breaks their brains a little when Aang bluntly says he likes the marks)

Facefucking (unpublished, post-canon pwp, Zuko needs a break from being Fire Lord and wants to not think for a while. Surrendering to Aang's control is a good way to make that happen)

Dreamsharing, but it’s all sex (unpublished, au where Zuko has wet dreams about the Avatar even before he actually finds them. Somehow this is supposed to involve them sharing dreams. I don't really know how)

Destined to Love You/You’re the One I’ve Been Searching For (unpublished, Zuko has been overly obsessed with the Avatar for a long time. It's totally normal for him to care a little too much about Aang's opinion. It doesn't mean anything)

Sauna (unpublished, post-canon pwp where Aang convinces Zuko to take a break from ruling to soak in the sauna)

How tf is Li dating the Avatar? A teashop customer perspective (unpublished, an aspiring fangirl/writer in Ba Sing Se speculates on how exactly the surly teashop server managed to become the Avatar's boyfriend)

Artist!Zuko (unpublished, Zuko likes to doodle. His obsession with the Avatar means that they are often his muse - and once he finds Aang, he fixates hard)

Other (23)

What's Yours is Mine (unpublished, the Gaang cause waves when they wear pieces of Zuko's wardrobe. The gossip is hilarious.)

Come to the Good Side, We Have Cookies (sorta gen???? the Gaang kidnaps Zuko to try to befriend him. Zuko is not amused.)

Oviposition PWP (unpublished, Zuko gets railed by dragons)

Reading Lips (Gaang/Zuko, the Gaang all take an opportunity to kiss Zuko, but fail to ever actually talk to him about it)

To Weave a Tangled Web (Aang suggests that Zuko marry Kuei as a step towards their vision for the future. He forgets monogamy is a thing and fails to actually talk about what that means)

Zuko blows Aang while Katara watches (unpublished, Zutaraang(ish) pwp)

Commitment to Balance (Aang/Zuko/Katara/Toph, "Let's get married. For balance.")

Zuko navigating 10 (billion) relationships (unpublished, Zuko as the fandom bicycle lmao)

Zutaraang PWP (unpublished, sparring porn)

Zutaraang Lap Sex (unpublished pwp)

Aang loves his friends (unpublished, idk might be gen, might be full Gaang. Aang just loves his family.)

Katara and Aang decide to pursue Zuko (unpublished, post-canon, Aang approaches Katara to talk about polyamory)

Everyone is in love with Zuko: He catches a clue (unpublished, full Gaang/Zuko as fandom bicycle, Zuko realizes he's in love with his friends and is worried about what his wife will think. His wife thinks "fucking finally!")

I Still Dream About You (Are You Lonely For Me Too?) (Gaang/Zuko, unpublished, the Gaang shared one drunken, half-remembered night ages ago. It still haunts them.)

Sparring for who gets to take Aang (unpublished, Zutaraang pwp)

An Arrangement for World Peace (unpublished, Toph/Zuko, Marriage alliances are as old as time. Why not take advantage of that?)

Fuck Buddies (unpublished, Toph/Zuko, s3 aged up au)

Mai/Zuko/Toph – Post-Canon Fire Nation Trio (unpublished pwp that might grow plot)

The Southern Waterbending Line (unpublished, Kataang/Zutaraang, Aang and Katara both want to revive their people's bending disciplines, but there's no guarantee their children will be benders. Questioning how bending is passed down leads to learning more about Gran Gran Kanna's past)

Zuko is not in touch with his emotions (unpublished, Gaang/Zuko, Mai sits Zuko down for a therapy session with Ty Lee to help him realize that his friends are in love with him)

Aang as a sexual being/Fuck “Aang is so innocent and pure” (unpublished, AKA Llama gets annoyed at fandom's infantilization of Aang. Aang may be young, but he still grew up in a culture that believed in open and unashamed access to information, including info about sexuality)

Masturbation is normal and healthy (unpublished, Gaang/Aang, au where Aang is the one who teaches the Gaang about masturbation)

Attempt at omegaverse (unpublished, Gaang/Zuko probably, hopefully a pwp but it might grow plot)

Total WiPs: 172 🤯🤯🤯

[faeriekit]

Hey gang. So:

1) If I ask a yes or no question about something I’m posting, a. I don’t need two paragraphs about your reasoning as to why you have this opinion, especially if the update it’s about is already posted and isn’t going to change. A “yes, cool” or “nah, not really” will suffice. b. I don’t need four different responses about how much you dislike the direction I’ve taken, and neither do I need to see attempts to rope in other users to have you...actually change their mind? It’s perfectly fine to dislike my writing or one of my writing products. But make your own post about it, please, so I don’t get blasted with six different critiques simultaneously in my notes. This is a boundary I am about to enforce via blocking, because:

2) Writing fanfic is a personal hobby and mode of de-stressing of mine. I’m not a professional writer. I am using tumblr as a mode of publishing, so clearly this isn’t that deep. I have to keep it not-that-deep for personal reasons, because the literal instant that this becomes work, or worse, an actual stressor, my brain shuts down any creative interest and I go back into anhedonia mode. If anhedonia has never been on your symptoms sheet before...it sucks. It really does.

3) I work eleven hour days. I am in my final semester of grad school. I have homework to do nightly. The finals due this month will determine the course of my career. This fic has largely turned my eleven hour days to thirteen-to-fifteen hour days when I include meals. The turnaround on Blister Pack has been incredibly short, considering the daily update pattern. It’s okay to not like raspberry scones or whatever you want this metaphor to be, but if I offer you raspberry scones after spending my only free time baking them and your response is to tell me the mistakes I’ve made in the process, then. Well. I’m certainly not going to consider baking my fun hobby I do with friends anymore.

I’m not going to blame anyone for this. This is not anyone’s fault. Since BP has largely gotten ten times more popular than I ever imagined it would be, I’m ngl, I was largely expecting something to go wrong way earlier than this. This is about how I will proceed in the future and how I hope we can get along in the future. Feel free to read. Feel free to dislike. Feel free to-- idk, make your own post where you get vocal about where my writing goes and why you personally don’t like it. Sure. Just don’t make me see it and...what, expect me to uproot the story? Rewrite it to match your personal view of the media and of the fic? I don’t always know what people’s intention are when they comment this tbh; if I dislike a fic, I just stop reading. 

Anyway, the block button is on the table as far as options go, but I trust the vast majority of you and we clearly haven’t had problems about this previously. Blister Pack is finished in its word doc. I just have to trick my brain into thinking that posting the ending isn’t a threat to my internal wellbeing.

Thank you for reading the little I write, thank you for the well-intentioned comments, even if I couldn’t receive them in the manner you intended; and thank you for sharing your thoughts and interests when you have the energy. I often feel as though writing is very isolating, and though I often get too overwhelmed to respond, I have read every single individual comment that has been sent to me. Comments. Tags. Replies. Everything. You’re the glue that’s been holding my motivation together to finish this for once.

Once Blister Pack is posted, this will be the first fic I have finished since...since I wrote my first fic a decade ago. Fucking Hells. 🥂

[nanjokei]

imma be honest it's almost impossible for me to talk about my feelings on here because last time i was earnest on here a bunch of weirdos on here took that and used those sentiments against me in some insane anon hate over what, nothing, it's very parasocial and strange that they did that. if you're so concerned about the two people i had a scuffle with on here (to which both i apologized to personally and buried the hatchet) and how "there are other people on the other side of the screen" have you once thought that before you wrote several paragraphs psychoanalyzing me based on posts i made about my personal insecurities?

i truly hope you screwed your head on right since november. and people wonder why people move to other sites. i'm busy with real life these days, but the fact that someone had the time to get all up in arms over niche subculture opinions and attack my character is honestly downright jobless. i've blocked the anons responsible, idk what good that does anyway, but the mental impact was crazy, i've only somewhat just recovered from it. whenever i wanna post here it's like "some weirdo is gonna use this against me" and i just close out of the tab lol.

i am not a public figure, i do not owe you or anyone perfect behavior, while i avoid conflict it's also human nature to accidentally bump heads. it happens. you taking that as an indictment of my character is incredibly strange. 6 months back on twitter and not once has anyone had any issue with me. if anything, people are much nicer and engage with me properly. people on there found my twitter after stumbling on my work elsewhere and sent me their well wishes. the world is actually a good place.

tumblr is also a good place full of nice people who mind their own business, but due to the site being desolate some people have a jobless mean girl attitude. deeply pathetic people.

i have very nice mutuals on here that i like to check up on every other day, but it's so hard to post anymore. the site is barren so i guess some of you guys who have no sense of boundaries are incredibly bored and choose to sate that boredom in the worst ways possible.

if i hate someone i wouldn't follow them. i hope you guys got the help you need because jesus. and i'm glad i didn't publish your weird ass asks like i was originally going to. i would have seriously done wrong on my own dignity if i had. it's probably hypocritical for me to say this after writing all this, but giving those kinds of people attention is cruel to not only myself but to them.

if you're gonna start yapping again please send that shit off anon, talk to me like an adult. can you not do that, talk with your identity attached?

anyway, i wanted to post this to get it off my chest, so i can clear the air and ease myself back into capital p Posting.

i have a lot of posting to do about horseracing history, so.

[cha-melodius]

Hiii, congratulations on your milestones! I am not very good at prompts buuuut how about Napollya + some creepy abandoned house? Or a cemetery. Idk, it's not Halloween but I'm feeling spooky loool Feel free to go paranormal with it <3

(Outsmarted tumblr to answer this lmao. You said go paranormal and my brain said 'what about rival paranormal investigators??' Mark this down as another AU concept I never thought I'd write. Hope you enjoy it!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

The Harrowed and the Haunted

(napollya, 2.7k, T; read it below or on AO3)

The tiny blue car is already there when they arrive, tucked off to one side of the gigantic, decrepit mansion, and Napoleon swears under his breath.

“How did he even know we were coming here?” he complains. “No one knows this place.”

“Everyone knows about this place, Solo,” Gaby sighs from the passenger seat. “It’s a local legend. And you weren’t exactly subtle when you teased it as our next location in the podcast.”

Napoleon twists in his seat to look at her. “You think he listens to the podcast?”

She levels a look at him that he doesn’t know how to interpret. “You two are hopeless,” she says instead of answering him, then unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car.

She’s already elbows deep into the equipment by the time he walks to the back end of the car, so he elects not to push her on what she means. Besides, the one time he’d tried, she ended up on some long tirade about how they’re obsessed with each other and it would be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating and also if she didn’t have to listen to him all the time. To which he had responded that she’s his best friend and morally obligated to listen to him complain about his nemesis.

Also, he’s not obsessed with Illya Kuryakin.

Yes, Napoleon watches all the videos Illya posts and reads all the stories he publishes on his blog. Of course he does, Illya is the competition. Napoleon has to keep up with the locations he’s visiting and the kinds of footage he’s getting so that he knows how best to make his own superior content. Because Napoleon has a secret weapon that means his videos are always in better resolution, with wider shots so you can see that he’s not just using tricks, and his data are more robust. That secret weapon is Gaby and the completely bonkers ghost detecting equipment that she builds.

Napoleon had been a skeptic when he started doing paranormal investigation; his whole schtick was proving that there weren’t ghosts in the places where the other guys had recorded their sightings. Then he’d met Gaby at a convention and she’d bet him fifty bucks that she could show him a site that not only had ghosts, but also that she could prove it with hard science. He’d been intrigued despite himself, and their partnership was born. The friendship came about fifteen minutes into that first trip, when it became obvious that they shared a similarly sarcastic, dark sense of humor and brutally pragmatic outlook on life.

Together, they still spend the majority of their time proving that locations aren’t haunted, but occasionally things happen neither of them can explain. Not that he’s convinced that the explanation is actually ghosts, but it’s certainly something outside the realm of known science. With Gaby’s help, his business really took off: there’s the YouTube channel that he started with, but now they have a wildly successful podcast as well. The Discovery Channel has made overtures about a show. Things are good.

At least they are when Illya Kuryakin isn’t around.

Illya came out of nowhere with his blog Prizraki and a fledgling YouTube channel of his own. He shouldn’t have ever drawn an audience because he has zero camera presence, for all his good looks. He’s not even in his own videos all that much since he’s a one-man operation. But. The man can write. The way he crafts a story, the sheer atmosphere of it—he more than makes up for the shoddy camerawork and rudimentary editing. Napoleon had thought his work would be easy to discredit, but Illya is thorough. Meticulous. Irritating, especially when he anticipates Napoleon’s next move and makes it his job that much harder. Napoleon would swear Illya has it out for him specifically.

So yeah, they don’t get along. Their rivalry is well-known among the paranormal investigation community at this point. And if he spends an inordinate amount of time following Illya’s content, it’s only because he has to, professionally. He certainly doesn’t enjoy it.

They find the man himself on the second floor, apparently scanning one of the rear bedrooms. He’s hunched over his device, which is emitting a random-sounding beeping as he moves slowly across the room. Napoleon and Gaby had been led there by the readouts on their own equipment, although things start going all funny once they get into the room. Napoleon is pretty sure it’s just the interference from Illya’s shitty gear.

“Got tired of coming up with your own ideas, Peril?” Napoleon says as they walk in, the ancient floorboards creaking under their feet.

Illya doesn’t bother to look away from his scan. “Don’t know what you are talking about,” he mutters. He finishes a sweep of the far wall and pauses. “I have plans to investigate this property for months. Check my website if you don’t believe me.”

Napoleon doesn’t, because he’s read every word of that blog and he never mentioned this property. Not that he’s going to tell Illya this.

His nemesis finally straightens and turns toward them, his usual sour expression somehow failing to keep him from being ridiculously, irritatingly gorgeous. Napoleon would wager that at least half of his subscribers are only there for the occasional eye candy. And look, Napoleon knows his own looks bring him hits—leverages it, specifically—but Illya pretends to be above all that, which is annoying. After all, his numbers had shot up rapidly after that one video where he’d somehow ended up shirtless while investigating some kind of haunted bog (and if Napoleon had watched that one any more than the others, it was only because he couldn’t get over the idea of a haunted bog, that’s all).

“I take it you haven’t found anything yet,” Napoleon counters, looking around the room. It’s largely empty at this point, save for a massive wardrobe that’s probably too heavy to move, the florid wallpaper faded and yellowed by time and marked by no small amount of water damage. “Not that I fault you for that, given your equipment.”

“I have found plenty—”

“Solo,” Gaby interrupts. She’s across the room, and when he turns to look she’s tucking her own scanner away and sliding a hand over the seemingly featureless wall. “I think there’s something here.”

Jackpot. Napoleon quickly crosses over to where she stands and starts carefully inspecting the wallpaper, his competitor all but forgotten behind them. Well, almost. The seam is well hidden, but it’s there, and Napoleon feels out the secret panel within minutes. When a door pops open, he turns back toward Illya and smirks with immense satisfaction.

“What was that about finding things?”

Illya just about growls at him.

“Look, while you two have this little pissing contest, I’m gonna go get my auxiliary power block,” Gaby announces before they can get going again. “There are some really wacky readings going on here and I think I’m going to need the boost.”

With that, she disappears out the door, and a moment later they can hear the clunk of her boots on the wooden steps.

“So, you are planning on leaving, right?” Napoleon asks.

“I was here first,” Illya grits out, and then the asshole just storms right past Napoleon and into the secret passageway, like he has any right to it.

Napoleon follows him, because he can’t not. The passage is narrow, barely wider than the span of either of their shoulders, and nearly pitch black save for the illumination provided by their flashlights and the meager light that filters in from the main room. The house is enough of a labyrinth that it could go almost anywhere; it’s promising, for sure.

“Only because you knew we were coming here,” Napoleon calls after him.

Illya stops a short ways down the passage and turns to glare at him. “You cannot prove that.”

“And we found the secret passage,” Napoleon continues. “If we weren’t here you’d still be going around in circles, chasing your own tail.”

“The discovery was inevitable. Maybe you sped it along, but now you are just in the way.”

Jesus Christ, this is going nowhere. Fine, Napoleon can be the magnanimous one, especially if he can use it later to argue that Illya was unreasonable. “Look, you wanna investigate right now, be my guest, but you can’t be here when Gaby gets back. Your equipment causes too much interference.”

Illya hesitates a beat. “She said you were getting strange readings. What kind?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” Napoleon scoffs.

“Did you have to learn to be this much of an asshole, or were you born this way?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who—”

He doesn’t get to finish that thought, because suddenly it sounds like every door in the house slams at once, including the one to the bedroom that they’d left open. They both jump a mile, startled out of their skins, and Napoleon whirls to look behind him, though of course there’s nothing there.

“Wind gust?” he tries weakly.

He doesn’t even blame Illya for the exasperated look he gets in response. They both know there hadn’t been even a light breeze, plus, he can feel it. Illya probably can too. There’s something about the atmosphere that makes his skin crawl and his hair stand up on end, and as a professional ghost hunter, that’s not easy to do. He’s learned to trust his gut, and it’s telling him something is definitely hinky here. He walks back over to the door, but there’s no handle on the inside, which seems like poor design for a secret passageway.

“Not getting out this way,” he tells Illya. “Maybe the other side?”

“We don’t know where it goes,” Illya counters. “Should we not just wait for Gaby to return?”

He’s got a point, but Napoleon really doesn’t like being cooped up in here. He’s not claustrophobic, but there’s a closeness to the air that goes beyond what can be explained by the narrow space. Not that he’s going to let on what’s driving his decision.

“Wait if you like,” he says with a shrug. “I’m going to do what I came here to do.”

Except Illya is standing between him and the rest of the passage, which is really not large enough for the two of them to easily pass by each other. Still, there’s nothing for it; Napoleon starts walking toward him, assuming Illya will get out of the way, only when he’s less than a stride from the other man, he trips.

He’d like to pretend the floorboards were uneven, but it feels like something fucking winds around his ankle, effectively binding his legs and sending him sprawling into Illya. At nearly the same time, there’s a loud pop and the bulbs in both of their flashlights just about explode in a shower of sparks. The end result is that Illya is too surprised or too distracted to stay upright himself, and they tumble to the ground in a heap with none-too-few curses in both English and Russian.

“Get off of me,” Illya protests, trying to shove Napoleon away, and Napoleon would like to, truly, but one of Illya’s elbows caught him in the diaphragm and he can’t exactly breathe at the moment.

“Gimme a fucking minute,” he manages, trying to catch his breath while simultaneously ignoring how he’s managed to land pretty much astride one of Illya’s very muscular thighs. There’s not exactly a lot of room here for him to maneuver, anyway, and in the pitch dark the very last thing he wants to do is put a hand somewhere it shouldn’t go. He manages to fish his phone out of his pocket, hoping for an alternative light source, only to find it won’t turn on. “Damn. Phone’s dead.”

“Think it was an EMP,” Illya groans. “Will knock out—”

“I know what an EMP is,” Napoleon snaps, then he sighs heavily. “I don’t suppose you have a lighter?”

Illya doesn’t answer, but a moment later there’s a faint snick and a small flame flickers to life, washing the two of them and the passageway in a faint orange glow. It also reveals the deep scowl on Illya’s face. “Now will you get off?”

“Aw, but I was just starting to enjoy myself,” Napoleon teases. And then, because he can’t resist an opportunity to fluster the other man in any way possible, he gives his hips a little wiggle. 

Something flashes in Illya’s gaze, though he can’t quite read it in the flickering light. “Do not start something you do not intend to finish, Cowboy,” he growls.

Which is— Napoleon cannot have heard that right. He hit his head on the way down, maybe, except for the fact that he knows he didn’t; he landed on Illya’s ample chest, which he still hasn’t really moved from. Their faces are no more than a handful of inches apart. Illya takes a deep breath in and out under him, and the thigh between Napoleon’s shifts slightly. Napoleon licks his lips, and Illya’s eyes follow the movement.

“Who says I don’t?” Napoleon manages, his voice tighter than he’d like. “And what about you? I thought you hated me.”

“Too pretty,” Illya murmurs. “Annoyingly so. Anyway, you hated me first.”

Napoleon can’t help the soft puff of laughter that escapes him. “Gaby says I’m obsessed with you.”

“Is that so?” Illya asks with a smirk that Napoleon would kind of like to bite.

“I’m not,” Napoleon protests, but he doesn’t get a chance to get any more out because Illya tugs him down into a kiss.

Napoleon shocks himself by kissing him back, tilting his head until their mouths fit perfectly together, letting his arms go out from under him until his body is fully pressed up against Illya’s again. It’s hard and it’s fast and it’s filthy, and Napoleon can’t get enough of it. Illya’s hands go to his waist then slide down to his ass, which he grabs enthusiastically, pulling Napoleon’s hips closer as his rock up against Napoleon’s thigh.

He never thought— never let himself think— Fuck. He wants Illya Kuryakin so badly he can hardly breathe, which is a pretty fucking novel revelation right about now. He doesn’t even notice that Illya has dropped the lighter, plunging them into darkness, until there’s a loud creak outside the passageway and the door rattles in its frame.

They startle apart, or at least try to; Napoleon attempts a roll sideways, but there’s not really any place to go, so he just kind of ends up jammed next to Illya, his heart climbing into his throat because he’d maybe gotten so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten that they’re in a fucking abandoned house that supposedly haunted, with actual weird phenomena happening around them, and he’d really rather not die—

The door rattles again, then swings open to reveal Gaby holding a lantern in one hand and her bag of equipment in the other. She takes one look at them and her eyebrows climb all the way up to her hair.

“Oh, thank god,” Napoleon exhales heavily. “You didn’t get hit by the EMP?”

Gaby frowns at him. “What EMP?”

“The one that exploded our flashlights and turned our phones into bricks.”

“That’s not how EMPs work,” she says flatly. “Care to explain how that relates to… literally any of this?”

Napoleon winces. “Not really?”

The look she gives him quite clearly says that he’s not getting out of any part of said explanation, even if she’s willing to let it go for the moment. “So. Ghosts?”

“Apparently so,” Napoleon groans as he attempts to extract himself now that he can actually see where he’s going.

“And we’re… collaborating?” she asks, looking pointedly at Illya.

Napoleon glances over to find Illya staring at him uncertainly, which is probably fair considering they’ve discussed precisely nothing about this. Still. He looks back at Gaby.

“Apparently so.”

~~~~~

(The Haunting of McAllister Mansion is their first joint video, published simultaneously on both channels; it breaks all their previous records for views, likes, and comments.

The latter are split between people confused because they were sure Napoleon and Illya hated each other, and those who just comment: called it.)

[obsequence]

hi i hope this isn't weird askdjfksdksl, you seem to be much more active on twitter but i REFUSE to make an account on that website BUT a mutual of mine just said something to me about the idea of an au where the rattlers run like. an apocalypse gladiator ring instead and ellie eventually gets caught and stuck there with abby and this is just actually insane we can't believe no one else seems to have had this idea yet??????? my first thought was tell the only ellabs person i know of who is in any way active on social media idk you can tell twitter about this or whatever i just think you need to know. i think ellabs nation (ellabs village really lol) needs to consider the possibilities

1) come to twitter i promise it’s like not that bad i just get into fights a lot 😭

2) i have a new tumblr but it’s under a pseudonym because i’m literally writing x readers and i know people will clown me and think i’m doing it in the “y/n” way (nothing wrong with that) and not the “x readers are a great way to character study without making whole ocs and you’re able to share them with a large audience” way

3) honestly , i really hate fics that have like . anything to do with the rattlers . because they’re just , like , EXTREMELY miserable (hypocritical coming from me , i know) and i deserve a speck of dopamine every now and then . but i will spread the idea ! because tbh it’s pretty good and not done before . just not my thing

4) i’m going to take this as an opportunity to explain why the fuck tl2 isn’t out yet , but it’s going to be a very longwinded self-psychoanalytical bananza , sooo . .

so , tl2 isn’t going to be a multichapter , if it ever gets put out . it’s gonna be a really long oneshot , because if i post it , i want it to be FINISHED so i don’t leave anyone waiting again .

the reason why i have a mental block against writing it right now is because i’m really unhappy about where tl1 left off . i never really liked it honestly , i just felt a bit pressured to get it out asap so i could be done . i reread the first few chapters all the time , and i really consider that its peak , because it started to feel like a chore after chapter six .

it’s hard to write the sequel to something you don’t like . it feels like you can only disappoint (if not others , yourself) and expand on its horribleness , which sounds so melancholy , i know , lol , but it’s the truth . like , how do you fix what’s broken on something you can’t touch ? by adding more that’s broken ? nuh uh . it’s a lot of stress .

also , i just . . need a creative recharge . “spencer , it’s been like five months since you finished tl !!” no i mean like . a year . before i even poke it with a ten foor pole again . LOL it’s that bad . this might change , but that’s how i feel right now .

i’ve been really insecure about my work lately , and i’ve never been able to read original novels or other fics without feeling incredibly envious of others’ talent , and it has sowed a lot of discontent inside of me . so i stopped consuming others’ work for a bit , but that just left me uninspired and in an echo chamber of my own writing without any improvement , so it became hyper-stylized and odd to read , especially months later . i don’t even know what i was trying to accomplish at some points ?? it’s all very odd and tryhard and makes me cringe .

so , right now , my goal is to read more published work lol . i’m reading my childhood favorite “daughter of smoke and bone” right now , and it’s even better than i remember . highly recommend

but yeahhh that’s why tl2 isn’t out sorry 🌸🩷🩷💕🥺🥺🥺

(but like fr i am incredibly sorry)

[rjalker]

god this took an hour but here you go. The Black-Vampyre, in actually readable text.

I haven't even read it. I have no warnings to offer you until I read it tomorrow.

"how can you edit text without reading it" strategically blurring my eyes. so I could edit the Astounding Stories of Super-Science stories without getting spoiled for the very end of the thing.

The Black-Vampyre was published in 1819, and according to wikipedia and the other tumblr post I just reblogged, it's about a slave who is murdered, comes back as a vampire, and gets revenge.

what else happens? IDk. There's a really fucking long poem at the end though. this was apparently published under a pseudonym so I guess we don't actually know who wrote it.

so, it could be super racist. I'll find out tomorrow. sorry if you read it now and it turns out it is super racist. I'd like to hope the people on the original post would mention that if that were the case but. well.

anyways this is public domain. download it. please. save it. share it. email it to yourself and your friends. print it out. it's fucking readable. Here's the original PDF for your nightmarish comparison.

the names were originally in all caps like in a play, and I'll make a version without that tomorrow. but like I said. I would like to go to sleep.

enjoy. hopefully. goodnight.

The Black Vampyre;

A Legend of St. Domingo.

By Uriah Derick D’arcy

So have I seen, upon another shore, Another Lion give a grievous roar; And the last Lion thought the first—A BOAR!

-Bombast. Furios

_______

SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. NEW -YORK: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.

1819.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF “WALL-STREET.”

MY DEAR SIR,

CHARMED with the success of your anomalous drama, which, without aspiring even to the character of nonsense, has already seen three editions, I have been myself induced to venture on publishing; with the sanguine hope of also scraping together a few shillings, in these hard times. Permit me to inscribe this tale to you, with a fellow-feeling for your lack of genius; and a fervent hope, that our names may be encircled by the same evergreen in the temple of the Muses; and that we may long flourish together, on the same pedestal, embellishing and elevating the literature of the Auction Room.

I remain, My dear Sir, Your affectionate Friend, And obedient Servant, THE AUTHOR.

Introduction

If any person should have patience to read the following narrative, and can discover the Author’s drift, it is more than he can do himself. If it be thought exquisite nonsense, it is more than the writer dares hope: and if it be pronounced simple, stupid, and unadulterated absurdity, his own private opinion will perfectly coincide with that of the public. He began to write without any fable, and before he had found any had spun out the thread of his ideas.

This tangled skein of absurdities is now exposed to criticism, from the laudable motive of showing, of how much nonsense an individual may be delivered, in the short space of two afternoons; without any excuse but idleness, or any object but amusement.

The prominent descriptions, which it is here attempted to ridicule, are fresh in the memory of all who have read the “White Vampyre;” and to those who have not, the Superstition must be so familiar, that it is unnecessary to make useless extracts.

That the Author may not, however, be misunderstood, it may be necessary to state, that in the speech of the Vampyre, he had no design of descending to that meanest of all intellectual exercises, a travestie on authors who are justly admired: but meant, if any thing, simply to show how passages, which were fine in their original use, when garbelled by the ignorant and tasteless, become a melancholy rhapsody of nonsense.

��But first on earth, as Vampyre sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent; Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet, which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire; As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem. But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, best beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a father’s name— That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! Yet thou must end thy task and mark Her cheek’s last tinge—her eye’s last spark, And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o’er its lifeless blue; Then with unhallowed hand shall tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which, in life a lock when shorn Affection’s fondest pledge was worn— But now is borne away by thee Memorial of thine agony! Yet with thine own best blood shall drip Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip; Then stalking to thy sullen grave, Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave, Till these in horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they.”

-BYRON.

The Black Vampyre

Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS was a gentleman of African extraction. His ancestors emigrated from the eastern coast of GUINEA, in a French ship, and were sold in ST. DOMINGO remarkably cheap; as they were reduced to mere skeletons by the yaws on the passage; and all died shortly after their arrival, except one small negro, of a very slender constitution, and fit for no work whatever. The gentleman who purchased him, charitably knocked out his brains; and the body was thrown into the ocean. The tide returning in the night, it was washed upon the sands; and the moon then shining bright, the gentleman was taking a walk to enjoy the coolness of the evening; judge of his surprise, when the little corpse got up, and complaining of a pain in its bowels, begged for some bread and butter!

The PLANTER supposing his business to have been but half done, kicked him back in the water. The element seemed very familiar to him; and he swam back with much grace and agility; parting the sparkling waves with his jet black members, polished like ebony, but reflecting no sin- gle beam of light. His complexion was a dead black;—his eyes a pure white;—the iris was flame colour;—and the pupils of a clear, moonshiny lustre;—but so peculiarly constructed, that, though prominent, they seemed to look into his own head. His hair was neither curled nor straight; but feathery, like the plumage of a crow. Having paddled again on shore, he came crawling crab fashion, to the feet of Mr. PERSONNE.The latter gentleman, in considerable alarm, (not knowing whether it was Satan, Obi, or some other worthy, with whom he had to deal,) mustered up sufficient resolution, to tie a large stone round the boy’s middle: then, with a main exertion of strength, he hurled him into the sparkling ocean. He fell where the reflection of the moon was brightest, and sunk like lead; but immediately rose again like cork, perpendicularly, with the stone under his arm; while the radiant lustre of the planet retreated from his dark figure, exhibiting in its most striking contrast its utter blackness!

In this predicament, he came buoyant to land; surrounded, as he seemed, by a sphere of magic lustre. He now walked up to the Frenchman, with his arms a-kimbo, and looking remarkably fierce. Mr. PERSONNE’S particular hairs stood up on end,but being ashamed that a little negro of ten years old, should put him in bodily fear, he knocked him down. The Guinea-man rose again, without bending a joint; as fast as Mr. PERSONNE could upset him, he recovered his altitude; just like one of those small toys, fabricated from pith, tipt with lead, called witches and hobgoblins by the rising generation!

The PLANTER, in utter amazement and despair, took hold of the child by both his extremities; and pressing him to the earth, set down upon him! Then, halloing for is attendants, he ordered a tremendous fire to be kindled on the sand!! This was accordingly done. The GAUL congratulated himself on his perseverance and sagacity; and as he had never heard of ignaqueous animals, was confident that though the water fiend was so expert in his own element, he could not stand the fiery ordeal. The boy, meanwhile, lay perfectly passive, as if he had been a mere log; but presently, when the pile was all in a light blaze, with a sudden expansion, like that of a compressed Indian Rubber, he popped Mr. PERSONNE up into the air many yards, and he alighted head-foremost into the fire, where he had intended to have dedicated the sable brat, with his nine lives, to Moloch!!!

Whatever the negro was, it is notorious that Mr. PERSONNE was no salamander. He was rescued from the pyre, which, like Hercules, he had, (though unwittingly,) erected for himself; looking like a squizzed cat, and having apparently no life left in his body. The attention of the domestics was drawn entirely to their master; who soon betrayed signs of animation, though he exhibited a most awful. spectacle: being one continual sore and blister. “His whole body was one wound,” as Virgil or some other poet has hyperbolically expressed himself.

Mr. PERSONNE, when he perfectly recovered his senses, found himself in his own bed, wrapt in greasy sheets, and smarting as if in a Cayenne bath. He called for a glass of brandy,—his dear wife EUPHEMIA,—and his infant son, who had not yet been christened. His lady, with streaming eyes, presented herself before him; and, after tenderly inquiring into the state of his health, told him, (with a voice interrupted with sobs and hiccups,) that when she went in the morning to see her baby, whom she had left in the cradle, there was nothing to be seen, but the skin, hair, and nails!!! She declared that there never was such another object; except, indeed, the exsiccation in Scudder’s Museum!

On the receipt of this horrid intelligence, Mr. PERSONNE was seized with a violent spasmodic affection; and shortly after expired, muttering something about sacre, and the Guinea-negro!

The amiable, but unfortunate Euphemia, was thrown into several hysterical convulsions; as well she might be, poor woman! when her husband had been made a holocaust, and served up like a broiled and peppered chicken, to feed the grim maw of death; and her interesting infant, the first pledge of her pure and perfect love, had been precociously sucked, like an unripe orange, and nothing left but its beautiful and tender skin. The disconsolate widow caused her husband to be embalmed; and he was buried amid the lamentations and tears of all the funeral; much regretted by all who had the honour of his acquaintance, particularly by his negroes; who could not soon forget him; as he had left too many sincere marks of his regard upon their backs, to be ever obliterated from their recollections.

Time, as all the Greek tragedians, Solomon, and others have remarked, is a benevolent deity. Mrs. PERSONNE’S grief yielded to the soothing hand of the consoling power; and her bloom and spirits returned with more lustre and elasticity than they had before exhibited: as the rose, that had drooped in the fury of the passing storm, erects its blushing honours, and shows more beautiful and vivid tints, when the squall is over!

Many years after these occurrences took place, while EUPHEMIA was in second mourning for her third husband, she was indulging in the luxury of solitary grief; and reading Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, and The Melancholy Poems of Dr. Farmer, in an orangerie. The refreshing breezes from the ocean, which now tempered the sultry heats of the declining day,—the soft perfume of the opening blossoms;—and the mellow tints of the evening sky, shedding that holy light, so dear to sensitive hearts, diffused a calm over her soul, wrapt in the contemplation of departed days. While lost in this pensive reverie, she perceived two strangers approaching her, in the extremity of the long vista of the grove. One of them was a coloured gentleman, of remarkable height, and deep jetty blackness; a perfect model of the CONGO Apollo. He was drest in the rich garb of a Moorish Prince; and led by the hand a pale European boy, in an Asiatic dress; whose languid countenance, slender form and tristful gait, were strongly contrasted with the portly appearance and majestic step of his conductor!

They both saluted the lovely widow, and after an interchange of compliments, accepted her polite invitation to set down, and take tea with her in the bower. She learned from the elder stranger, that he had brought out a cargo of slaves, whom his subjects had lately taken prisoners in war; and whom he had resolved to dispose of himself; as he was desirous of seeing the world. His Page, he said, was an orphan, left by a slave merchant in Africa.

The manners and conversation of the PRINCE had an irresistible charm. The regal port was manifest in his gigantic and well proportioned frame; and majesty was conspicuous on his brow, without its diadem. The turban and crescent had never graced a nobler front; but the win- ning condescension of his tones and language, while they could not banish the feeling of the presence of royalty, removed every restraint incident to that consciousness. He criticised the works, which EUPHEMIA had been perusing, with masterly precision; and displayed more knowledge than even the accomplished ideologist of Lady Morgan; with infinitely more discretion and good sense.

It is remarked by the Abbe Reynal, that there is a peculiar elegance and beauty in the complexion of the Africans, (when the eyes and nose are accustomed to their hue and odour.) This truth was realized by EUPHEMIA, as she gazed on the open visage of her illustrious guest. She thought surely that in him Nature might stand up and say “This was a man!” And certainly it is only the weakness and imperfection of our human senses, which, penetrating no further than the surface, is for ever deceived by superficial shadows. The empyrean is always blue, whatever vapours may float in our contracted atmosphere. And if we gaze on the rows of skulls, which festoon and garnish Surgeon’s Hall, we can apply no standard, to determine their relative beauty. They are all equally ugly; and the block of Helen might be mistaken for that of Medusa. Shakspeare, true to nature, has also remarked, “Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.”

The beauty then, the royalty, gentility, and various accomplishments of the BAMBUCK monarch, made captive the too sensible heart of the French widow. She forgot her ogles, graces, and even her loquacity; rooted to her seat, and fixed in immoveable contemplation of the AFRICAN’S face. What peculiar feature or lineament attracted her attention, she knew not: his eyes, though bright, did not sparkle; and the iris, though of a more vivid red than the roseate line in the rainbow, emitted no scintillations. In fact, his whole countenance seemed to look, and to perambulate her own.

The conversation gradually assumed a more empassioned and amorous complexion; and the little page, (who, though meagre and emaciated, evidently showed that he was no gump for his years,) taking certain broad hints, cast a mournful and intelligent look on the widow, said he would fetch a short walk in the plantation, and left the orangerie.

The PRINCE then spreading his glittering sash upon the grass, went down on his knees upon it; and broke out into the most ardent exclamations, of love and admiration; and professions of constant attachment. He said that the flat-nosed beauties of Zara; the scarred, squab figures of the golden coast; the well proportioned Zilias, Calypsos, and Zamas on the banks of the Niger; and even the great Hottentot Venus herself, had never for a moment made the least impression on his heart! His passion was a mystery to himself; its origin secret as the sources of the Nile ; but full and impetuous as its ample channel, when replenished from the celestial fountains of ABYSSINIA; while if Mrs. DUBOIS would shine upon its waves, its enlivened currents would fertilize his vast dominions, in the luxuriant realms of central Africa; making them to fructify yet more abundantly, with burning gold, and radiant diamonds!!!

What female heart could resist such pleadings, and the compliment implied in such a preference? When ZEMBO (the page) returned, the parties had agreed to be privately united on the same evening. The ceremony was accordingly performed, on the spot, by the family chaplain of Mrs. DUBOIS: not without many remonstrances on his part, as to the impropriety of marrying a negro. The PRINCE did not see to resent the affront; which, by the by, he had no right to do; as the priest got nothing for the job. ZEMBO, too, was extremely restless; till Mrs. DUBOIS gave him some sweetmeats, which seemed to quiet his conscience; after which he took some stiff punch, and fell asleep!

About midnight, the PRINCE came to him; and, shaking him by the ears, bad him rise and follow him. His bride was hanging on his arm, in an enchanting dishabille; and did not seem to be in perfect possession of her right senses. ZEMBO mournfully followed the new married pair.

They went silently out of the back door, with cautious steps, and proceeded through the orangerie. No breath of wind was stirring. The moon was on the zenith, surrounded by a pale halo of ghostly lustre. When they had crossed the plantation, they came to a place of sepulture; where the dark cypresses, and lugubrious mahogany, admitted but sparse and glimmering streaks of funereal light; which, falling on the rank foliage, the white monuments and broken ground beneath, presented a thousand dusky shapes, flitting in the dim uncertainty dear to superstition.

Vague terrors seized on the mind of the bride; and she began very naturally to inquire, what was the use of getting out of a comfortable bed, and trailing through the heavy dew, in her undress, to such an unusual spot for midnight recreation.

They now stood near the spot, where her three husbands, several children, and the skin, hair and nails of her first baby, were deposited in a row. At the foot of a tamarind, lay her third son; whose christian name was SPOONER, and who died, according to the tombstone, in a fit of intoxication, aged seven years and six months. On him she had bestowed a greater share of tenderness, than any of her other offspring; and his loss had caused her most affliction. The African, making observations on the grave, began to strip himself very expeditiously, assisted by ZEMBO; who seemed to recover from his blues; and by his activity and eagerness, manifested his expectation of soon seeing some fine sport.

Presently the two genii, or gentlemen, or whatever they were, turned towards the East, and performed certain antic prostrations; throwing handfuls of earth three times over their heads. Then returning to the tomb, they tore up the sods with ravenous fury; and soon drew out the last- mentioned son of the Lady, and threw him on the grass, beside the grave. ZEMBO fell as fiercely upon the corpse, as a hungry dog upon his dinner; but was arrested by the AFRICAN, who lent him a severe box on the ear, which sent him blubbering to a corner of the cemetery.

What added both to the mother’s horrors and admiration, was, that the body of her child was perfectly fresh, and the olfactory nerves experienced no unsavoury sensation from its proximity; while its cheeks were diffused with so deep a tinge of scarlet, that they shone like ruddy fireballs in the darkness of the spot. Her husband drew a golden goblet from beneath a large stone; then, bending over the corse, he scooped out the heart, with his long and polished nails; and, having pressed the blood into the chalice, mingled with it some dark particles, gathered from the newly turned up earth. From the pure and scanty lymph, which gushed near by and flickered like a streak of quicksilvery-light in the moonbeam, he added a third ingredient of the potion. Then seizing his passive and trembling spouse by the throat, and presenting the unnatural mixture to her lips; he cried in a hollow voice, whose very inflection thrilled through each fibre of its victim,—“Swear, or if that is against your principles, affirm, by this dirty blood,—and bloody dirt;—by this watery blood,—and bloody water;—by this watery dirt, and dirty water;—that you will never disclose in any manner, aught of what you have seen and shall see this night. Call them all to witness your wish, that in the moment when you even conceive the thought of perjury, your bowels may burst out, and your bones rot! Swear and drink!”

The affrighted woman murmured, (as articulately as the iron gripe of the monster would suffer her,) that she was not thirsty; and had not breath enough to aspirate such a terrible conjuration. “No trifling;” roared the fiend, “you have not a moment to deliberate.” But his bellowing and threats were vain; and he found to his mortification that he had gotten the wrong sow by the ear, or rather by the throat. She stuttered out, in the most pitiful accents, which would have softened any heart (but a Vampyre has none,) that though she was by no means partial to the delectable confectionary of the pharmacopeia, calomel and jalap, ipecacuanha, rhubarb, and tartar-emetic, she would rather take them all, collectively and individually, than the unchristian decoction he held against her teeth.

Foaming with madness, till the white slaver flowed down his sable limbs, the African hurled MRS. PERSONNE, DUBOIS, &c. &c. on the grave of her first husband, and stamping violently on the earth, it seemed to heave as with the throes of an earthquake. Immediately the tumuli yawned. The ponderous stones and slabs were shaken from their ancient sockets; and the ghastly dead, in uncouth attitudes, crawled from their nooks; with their hair curling in tortuous and serpent twinings; and their eyeballs of fire bursting from their heads; while, as they extended their withered arms, and tapering fingers, furnished with blood-hound claws, their gory shrouds fell in wild drapery around them, transiently revealing their forms, bloated as if to bursting, and often incarnadined with clotted blood, yet warm and dripping!!!

The Lady, (as those who have been in similar predicaments may suppose,) soon lost her recollection; not, however, before she had seen ZEMBO busily employed in tearing up the grave of her first husband; she saw herself surrounded by the spectres, and lost all consciousness.

When reason and sense returned, she found herself in the same place; and it was also the midnight hour. She was laying by the grave of Mr. PERSONNE, and her breast was stained with blood. A wide wound appeared to have been inflicted there, but was now cicatrized. Imagine if you can, her surprise; when, by a certain carniverous craving in her maw, and by putting this and that together, she found she was a—VAMPYRE!!! and gathered from her indistinct reminiscences, of the preceding night, that she had been then sucked; and that it was now her turn to eject the peaceful tenants of the grave!

With this delightful prospect of immortality before her, she began to examine the graves, for subject to a satisfy her furious appetite. When she had selected one to her mind, a new marvel arrested her attention. Her first husband got up out his coffin, and with all the grace so natural to his countrymen, made her a low bow in the last fashion, and opened his arms to receive her!

What were the emotions of this fond couple, when, after a lingering separation for sixteen years, they again embraced each other, with the ardour of an affection equal to their earliest transports, and which their long divorce served only to increase; tenderly inquiring into the state of each other’s health; and the accidents which had befallen them during their disjunction. They forgot even their hunger and thirst; and sitting down on a tombstone, made a thousand inquiries; which, however, they related to family concerns, might not be as interesting to the reader as they were to the parties concerned.

Mr. PERSONNE, however, looked rather glum, when he learned that his Lady had been thrice married, since his decease. But she assured him, that she would never more tolerate the addresses of another suitor: and as for the two husbands, they were rotten enough by this time; as she was confident they had not attended the Vampyre Ball, on the preceding night. As for her sable spouse, she trusted that he would never again appear to interrupt their happiness. But while she was expressing this hope, the gentleman in question, (like his relation below, according to the old proverb,) came upon the ground, with ZEMBO. Mr. PERSONNE, having neither sword nor pistols at hand, armed himself with a gigantic thigh-bone; and warned the BLACK PRINCE to stand upon his guard as he meant to punish him severely.

But ZEMBO, rushing between the parties, raised his hands in a supplicating posture; while the generous monarch, making a Salam to his antagonist, begged him, keep himself quiet, and look behind him. They both turned round on this intimation, when, to the utter confusion of the Lady, her second and third husbands, Messieurs MARQUAND and DUBOIS, arose from the graves, where they had been lovingly deposited by the side of each other. They both advanced to salute their wife; but Mr. PERSONNE, brandishing his thigh-bone, warned them to stand off, as he had the first title to the Lady. Much confusion would have ensued, had not the African Prince interfered. He told the gentlemen that so delicate a point could only be settled in an honourable way; and proposed that Mr. MARQUAND and Mr. DUBOIS should first settle their difference in a personal encounter; after which Mr. PERSONNE might give the survivor gentlemanly satisfaction. To this all parties assented.

As they were already stripped, the combatants shook hands, to show their mutual good-will; and proceeded to action, without further ceremony. Mr. DuBois soon brought claret from Mr. MARQUAND; who, in returning the compliment, fibbed Mr. DUBOIS so severely in the bowels, that he lost his wind; and gasping for breath, smote the air on all sides, without any of his blows telling. He came to the ground, and his bones rattled as he fell. But soon recovering his breath, he made a desperate attack on Mr. MARQUAND’S sconce; and favoured him with so terrible a facer under the gills, that he fell incontinently like a bull smitten in his front; but entangling his own heels with those of Mr. DUBOIS, they both came simultaneously to the ground; striking their heads against different tombstones; and knocking out their own brains.

They rose again, refreshed like the giant of old, by their grappling with the earth, and all the better for the loss of their wits, which, indeed, was a mere trifle. But the AFRICAN, who had no time to see more sport, fixed them to the sod by his superior strength; and ZEMBO dexterously pinned them fast, by driving stakes through their hearts, with a large sledge hammer, (which he carried about his person for such emergencies.) During the opera- tion, their roaring surpassed that which is performed by the Lioness, when bereft of her whelps; but as soon as they were fairly nailed to the counter, they lay motionless and breathless—a horrible pair of spectacles of sin and misery!

The AFRICAN assured the Lady, that she need never fear their second resurrection; and Mr. PERSONNE politely offered to settle their controversy, in any mode most agreeable to the PRINCE:—either to box with him on the spot, or appoint a meeting in future, with pistols, rifles, small or broad sword; or else they might toss up, who should set fire to a barrel of gunpowder. The PRINCE said that quarrelling was all nonsense, and offered his hand; but Mr. PERSONNE refused, saying, “Don’t be too familiar, Blackey;” and renewing his threats of cracking him over the noddle with the thigh-bone.

The generous monarch pocketed the affront. “You have been,” he said, “sufficiently rewarded, for the cruelties you practised upon my person, several years ago. I forgive you, my dear sir, what you performed, and intended to perform on me. Here is your son, who has grown considerably, as you may observe; and I assure you that his education has not been neglected. To his exertions last night you are indebted for your revivification. And as, you may remember, you were embalmed, you have kept quite sweet and fresh ever since your interment. Amiable and virtuous VAMPYRES! may you long enjoy that tranquillity and contentment, which your merit and accomplishments so eminently deserve! A vessel lies in the port, ready to sail for Europe in an hour. The Island is no longer a place for you. Here is money to pay your passages, and all I have to say, is, that the sooner you’re off the better.—Farewell!” So saying he departed, without waiting for the acknow- ledgments of the party.

Mr. PERSONNE and his Lady, whom we shall again call by her first marriage name, did not exactly comprehend what their dingy benefactor meant, by bidding them take French leave of the Island, like pickpockets and outlaws; but, as they were yet wondering at their own existence, like Adam and Eve, the first day of their creation, and as they had reason to believe the PRINCE a potent magician, who could rouse the dead from their searments, and turn the planets from their courses;—for these reasons, they concluded to follow his bidding, without any impertinent scruples. But as the keen edge of their hunger had been whetted by delay, they would fain have taken supper, and digested a little something wherewithal to strengthen them, before they set out.

ZEMBO, who had filled his own breadbasket very lately, and was in no such urgent necessity, protested with all the vehemence which filial reverence would permit, against the unseasonable gratification of their unnatural craving; and recited with just emphasis and good discretion, an extract from Counsellor Phillips’s harangue, about “the cannibal appetite of his rejected altar;” which his parents did not understand, and of course thought very sublime! But even this master-piece of mystical eloquence would have been delivered in vain; had not the boy given other reasons of such cogency, that they licked their lips—cast a longing, lingering look at the grave-yard,—and followed him without more opposition.

They prosecuted their nocturnal march, through closely woven and solemn groves; until they descended into a profound valley, where the light of the pale planet of magic adoration, streamed and quivered on serried files of bright armoury. The leader of the band seemed to have expected their arrival; and mutual tokens of recognition passed between him and ZEMBO. The whole company then set forward their array in silence;—

No cymbal clash’d, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armour’s clang, The sullen march was dumb.

By continual descent, they seemed to have penetrated the bowels of a cavern, whose ramifications ran under the sea; as they heard a murmuring roar, as of the ocean, above their heads. The party, by the instructions of ZEMBO, dispersed themselves in different directions; until they had enclosed the interior of the rock where its largest chamber was, to speak catachrestically, so artfully concealed by nature, that no one, not instructed by an adept in its subterranean topography, could ever have detected the secret of its existence. It had been, in former days, a place of deposit and asylum for the Buccaniers; and its situation had been since known only to the Professors of the OBEAH art, who held here their midnight orgies.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE, guided by their son, were placed in a situation, where, through the crevices of the inner partition of the rock, they could observe what was passing in the interior.

It seemed, at first view, a vast hall of Arabian romance; supported by immense shafts, and studded with precious stones; so various and beautiful were the hues, which the different spars assumed, in the light of an hundred torches, blazing in every quarter, and illuminating the farthest recesses of the cave. The walls were decorated with other appendages, which added to the mystery, if not to the embellishment of the scene; being irregularly stained with blood; decorated with rude tapestry of many coloured plumage;—and stuccoed with the beaks of parrots;—the teeth of dogs, and alligators;—bones of cats;—broken glass and eggshells; plastered with a composition of rum and grave-dirt, the implements of NEGRO witchcraft!

At one extremity of the extensive apartment, on a kind of natural throne, sat several blackamoors in sumptuous Moorish apparel; whom, by their swollen forms, and remarkable eyes, Mrs. PERSONNE knew to be GOULS; and among whom she recognised her late husband. The whole range of this vast amphitheatre, sweeping from before the throne, was occupied by slaves, rudely attired, and imperfectly armed with clubs and missiles; a decent platoon of black-guards were posted be- fore the Vampyre monarchs; and, in the centre, a band of musicians performed an exquisite symphony. The soft strains of the MERRIWANG;—the lively notes of the DUNDO;—and the martial accompaniment of the GOOMBAY, made, with their united noises, a discordant harmony, whose powers the lyre of Orpheus could not equal; and which would certainly be enough to frighten all the hosts of Pandemonium.

The oratorio being finished, the AFRICAN PRINCE arose, and making an obeisance to the company,—cleared his throat, and began to address them as follows:—“Gentlemen and Vampyres!”—but the VAMPYRES expressing their resentment against this breach of etiquette, he corrected himself: —“Vampyres and Gentlemen!”—but the NEGROES were no more willing to come last, than the Vampyres, and a loud growl accompanied by a slight hiss, again interrupted the orator. He was not, however, disconcerted, but like Mr. Burke, thundered out an iteration of the offensive sentence.

“Yes,” said he, “I repeat it, Vampyres and Gentlemen? Shall not the immortal precede the mortal?— Shall not those whose diet surpasses the nectar and ambrosia of celestials, precede the ephemeral race, who fatten on the unclean juice of brutes,—the rank essence of esculent productions,—or the nauseous liquor of the distillery? (applause—hear! hear! and see-boy! from the Vampyres—groans from the negroes!) Gentlemen of colour! I appeal to yourselves; shall not the descendants of the Gods be named before the offspring of the earth-born image, whom Titan impregnated with celestial fire?—For Prometheus was the first Vampyre. You must all know, as you have undoubtedly read Æschylus, that the vulture, who preyed on his liver, was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He is called a dog, which makes him a quadruped;—he is represented as ερπωυ, creeping, which proves him an insect; and is said to have wings, which shows that he was a bird. Now, from this amphibious monster have descended the Crows,—the Jackalls,—and the Bloodhounds;—the pirate Bat of Madagascar,—and the man-killing Ivunches of Chili;—the Sharks;—the Crocodiles;—the Krakens;—the Horse-leeches;—the Cape-cod Sea Serpents;—the Mermaids;—the Incubi;—and the Succubi!!! (loud cheering from the Vampyres.) From Titan himself, descended the Cy- clopes, and all other ancient and modern Anthropophagi; and, in lineal descent, the Moco tribe of our own EBOES, to whom I have the honour of being related. Those of you, too, are his posterity, who, after your deaths, return to your native land—the true Elysium; where the balmy bowl of the Coco, the soft bloom of the ANANA, and the coal-black beauties of the clime of love, shall for ever reward your fortitude, and steep in forgetfulness the memory of your wrongs. (hear! hear! from the negroes.) But none of these genera or species of our order, must longer engage your dignified and charitable attention. I come to ourselves, full- blooded—unadulterated—immortal bloodsuckers!—To ourselves—whether Gouls,—or Afrits,—or Vampyres;— Vroucolochas,—Vardoulachos,—or Broucolokas—To ourselves—the terror of the living and of the dead, and the participants of the nature of both;—To ourselves—the emblems at once of corruption and of vitality;—blotted from the records of existence, and replenished to repletion with circulating life;—abandoned by the quick, and unrecognised by the dead:—‘at once relics and relicts;— rocked on the bases of our own eternities;—the chronicles of what was—the solemn and sublime mementoes of what must be!’ unqualified approbation from both sides of the house.)

“The estate of Vampyrism is a fee-tail, and may be docked in two different ways. The first mode is the sanguinary practice of perforating the subject with a stake; and this is final. The other is produced by the gentler operation of the narcotic potion you behold in this phial; by whose lenient and opiate influence, the individual is restored to the plight, in which he was previous to his death, or his becoming a Vampyre, and belongs to the OBEAH mysteries.

“But to come to the object of our present meeting. Sublime and soul-elevating theme!—The emancipation of the Negroes!—The consecration of the soil of ST. DOMINGO to the manes of murdered patriots in all ages!—No matter whether the bill of sale was scrawled in French or in English;—No matter whether we were taken prisoners, in a battle between the LEOPHARES and the JAKOFFS, or in a skirmish between the SAMBOES and the SAWPITS;—No matter whether we were bought for calico and cotton, or for gunpowder or for shot;—No matter whether we were transported in chains or in ropes—in a brig, or a schooner, or a seventy-four—the first moment we come ashore on ST. DOMINGO, our souls shall swell like a sponge in the liquid element;—our bodies shall burst from their fetters, glorious as a curculio from its shell;—our minds shall soar like the car of the æronaut, when its ligaments are cut; in a word, O my brethren, we shall be free!—Our fetters discandied, and our chains dissolved, we shall stand liberated,—redeemed,— emancipated,—and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION!!!” (Unparalleled bursts of unprecedented applause!!!)

Such was the report of this oration, taken down in short hand by ZEMBO; of whose extraordinary sagacity so many proofs have been exhibited; and who was never unprovided with materials for any emergency. The fiery oratory of the Prince communicated such inspiration to the auditors, that the whole mass of their thick blood leaped up with the quickening pulse of anticipated freedom; they danced and sung, with violent gesticulations, like perfect Corybantes; but unfortunately, their Phyrricks were interrupted by the glittering bayonets of the soldiery; who poured in upon them from every quarter, and hemmed them in, with a bristling chevaux-de-frise of steel. The Vampyres, surprised but undaunted, unsheathed their sabres, and drew up in a gallant style, as if determined to die game; being, indeed, assured, that like so many Phœnixes, they would rise from their own ashes, as often as they might be cut down.

A desperate conflict ensued, during which Mrs. PERSONNE observed the phial, mentioned by the Prince, lying on the ground; and very thoughtfully put it in her ridicule. The slaves, seeing how the business was likely to terminate, prudently sneaked off, while the attention of the military was occupied by the Vampyres. The former were violently exasperated to find all their labour so unprofitable; since while they themselves were wounded by every blow of their opponents, the latter, like so many ninepins, were set up, as fast as they were bowled down; bending to the storm, like masts on a tempestuous ocean, and rising again upon the billow in perpendicular triumph.

But, being instructed by ZEMBO, the soldiers pinioned them as fast as they fell; and prevented their rising, by sitting in great numbers on their bodies; though the task was somewhat like that of detaining quicksilver beneath the fingers. The PRINCE, however, still fought desperately. Brandishing a huge scimitar in either hand, he swayed his arms like the sails of a windmill; while limbs, heads, and bodies flew about him, curvetting and dancing in the air; as when the ingenious Mr. MAFFEY pulls to pieces a coach, or an old woman, children, chickens, friars, and petticoats dance about in wild confusion, till the artist’s hand again brings order out of chaos:—Or, as when the renowned knight of the BED-CHAMBER, whose name eternal vases shall record, saw the ungenerous caricature on the wall, wielding a ponderous jug, he smote the innocent tables, chairs, and bed-posts, and strode victorious over the gory field: So fought the PRINCE; till being neatly pricked in the spine, unexpectedly, he soused (as Johannes Porco Latinus remarks) “in principia fundimentalia,” and was immediately set upon by a host. So when a Gœtulian lion is pierced by the light bamboo, overpowered by the hunters, he struggles in his thrall like an Enceladus under Ætna, and dies at last with heart-wrung tears of anguish, and re- verberating roars of hatred!!!

Stakes were immediately procured, and the whole infernal fraternity securely disposed of: as their compeers, described by Homer,

With burning chains fixed to the brazen floors And lock’d by hell’s inexorable doors.

With their bellowings, the vast chambers of the subterranean rung like the caverns of Delphos, when the inflammable air was fired by the crafty priests. The Inhabi- tants of the Island started up from their slumbers in shuddering terror, and believed that an earthquake was rumbling beneath their feet.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE and ZEMBO lost no time in trying the effects of the African’s stolen prescription. Being thrown into a tranquil slumber they were conveyed to their plantation; and awoke the next morning, perfectly well, excepting slight colds in the head. Mr. PERSONNE, having been in statu quo, for sixteen years, was now much younger than his lady; a circumstance, for which she was not at all sorry; and which he himself declared by no means displeased him. The remainder of their life was serene as a tropic night; —illumined by the mild effulgence of domestic love;—fanned by the soft aspirations of peaceful bosoms;—and enlivened by the fire- fly scintillations of rapture!!!

ZEMBO, to whose taste and ingenuity they were indebted for their happiness, and who was baptized with the Christian name of BARABBAS, after an uncle of his mother’s, recorded what the reader has perused. One only circumstance, like one of those claps of thunder, frequently heard in the unclouded sky, passed over the tranquillity of their bosoms. Mrs. PERSONNE’S fourth husband’s child was a mulatto, and of Vampyrish propensities; of which his mother and Mr. PERSONNE were never able entirely to cure him, having used up all the African’s preparation.

The intelligent reader, (if any such there be,) will remember that this narrative commenced with the name of Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS, of whom nothing has since been said; and whose adventures (to use a FORUM trope) “must remain buried in the bowels of futurity,” until a more convenient opportunity. He is a lineal descendant from the last-mentioned mulatto; and the manuscript, which is now given to the public, was transmitted to him from his ancestors. He is a resident in Essex county, New- Jersey; and candour requires us to state, that he is no relation to his celebrated namesake at ELIZABETH- TOWN; as it is notorious to all who have had the pleasure of witnessing the size of the latter gentleman’s waist, that he has too much bowels for so diabolical a profession; and it is to be hoped in charity, that though he is such a delicate morsel, when he is laid in the sepulchre of his fathers, he may not prove a titbit, to GLUT THE THIRST OF A VAMPYRE!!!

Moral.

N this happy land of liberty and equality, we are free from all traditional superstitions, whether political, religious, or otherwise. Fiction has no materials for machinery;—Romance no horrors for a tale of mystery. Yet in a figurative sense, and in the moral world, our climate is perhaps more prolific than any other, in enchanters,—Vampyres,—and the whole infernal brood of sorcery and witchcraft.

The accomplished dandy, who in maintaining his horses,—his taylor, &c.—absorbs in the forced and unnatural excitement of his senseless orgies, the life-blood of that wealth which his prudent Sire had accumulated by a long devotion to the counter,—What is he but a Vampyre?

The fraudulent trafficker in stock and merchandize, who, having sucked the whole substance of an hundred honest men, is consigned for a few weeks to the sepulchre of the jail; and then, by the potent magic of an insolvent law, stalks forth, triumphant with bloated villany, more elated in his shameless resurrection to renew his career of iniquity and of disgrace,—what is he but a Vampyre?

The corrupted and senseless Clerk, who being placed near the vitals of a moneyed institution, himself exhausted to feed the appetite of sharpers, drains, in his turn, the coffers he was appointed to guard,—is he not, I appeal to the Stockholders,—is he not a Vampyre?

Brokers, Country Bank Directors, and their disciples—all whose hunger and thirst for money, unsatisfied with the tardy progression of honest industry, by creating fictitious and delusive credit, has preyed on the heart and liver of public confidence, and poisoned the currents of public morals, are they not all Vampyres?

The whole tribe of Plagiarists, under every denomination;—The Critic, who. by eviscerating authors, and stuffing his own meagre show of learning with the pilfered entrails, ekes out his periodical fulmination against public taste;—the Forum Orator, who, without compunction, barbarously exenterates Burke, and Curran, and Phillips,—the Second- handed Lawyer,—Scholar,—Theologue,—who quote from quotations, and steal stolen property:—the Divine, who preaches Tillotson and Toplady;—what are they all but Vampyres?

The Empiric, who fills his own stomach, while he empties his shop into the bowels of the hypochondriac;—the Bibliopolist, “who guts the fobs” of the whole reading community, by ascribing to Lord Byron works which that author never saw; the philanthropic Contractor for the Army, who charges more for lime and horse-beef, than his quantum- meruit for the best provisions; who sets up his carriage and his palace, by blistering the mouths and destroying the intestines of thousands,— what are these but Vampyres?

The Professors and Disciples of Surgeon’s Hall, who, when a fine fat corse is rolled out of the resurrectionist’s budget, set up a howl of horrible transport, like he anthropophagous Caribs in Robinson Crusoe;—glut their gloating eyes with the pinguidity and unctuousness of the subject; and whet their blades like Shylock, impatient to attack the ilia,—what are they but Vampyres?

And I, who, as Johnson said of an hypochondriac Lady, “have spun this discourse out of my own bowels,” and made as free with those of others—I am a VAMPYRE!

Vampyrism; a poem

Utrum horum mavis accipe.

SOLOMON LANG & LAUNCELOT LANG - STAFF, Esquires.

GENTLEMEN, FROM the Gazette of August 17th, I am happy to learn, that you have entered into an alliance, offensive and defensive. The ties of kindred and the attraction of sympathy, one would think, ought to have brought about this union much sooner. You are, I believe, of one family;—although I am ignorant from whence LAUNCELOT has taken the Agnomen of STAFF: and I am equally unable to divine, why you have both docked the Nomen of your ancestors, which hath been written LANGEARS from time immemorial. Whatever may be your reasons for disowning your consanguinity to the great GENTILE family, the literary and political worlds rejoice, at least, in this consolidation of the talents of their two most distinguished members. The parity of intellect,—the similarity of taste,—the pungency of sarcasm possessed by both parties, justify the expectations formed by the public, from this conjunction of two such great luminaries. Both are imbued with that modest confidence, connected with the consciousness of superior talent. SOLOMON is formed, perhaps, of more impenetrable stuff: LAUNCELOT has more of the irritability and exquisite sensibility of genius.—Ira quidem communiter urit utrumque; but SOLOMON taketh the driest knocks with a good grace; LAUNCELOT is sooner thrown into a fever, and frets, to use a classic quotation of his own, “like a bear, with a sore head.”—SOLOMON is the better grammarian: LAUNCELOT hath, occasionally, greater command of language. Solomon, as he states, composes ideas and types simultaneously, a la mode de Wooler; Launcelot has the advantage of seeing his ideas embodied in black and white, in their flight from his brains to the printing office.— LAUNCELOT the FIERY, may be likened to the mad ORESTES: SOLOMON the PATIENT, to the faithful PYLADES.— SOLOMON is original in his own way: LAUNCELOT purloins from Swift, and Rabelais and others.—SOLOMON, pilloried in his own press, with no ally but the gray mare, bravely receives the missiles of the whole legion of editors; LAUNCELOT has only to open his mouth, or saw the air, or make a leg, on the literary stage; and all the gods of the Philadelphia gallery, pipe their shrill catcalls in discordant unison.—The castigation of both is equally dreadful. SOLOMON, with his “Good morning, Mr. Coleman,” and “Rot the sarpent,” condenses all his wrath into a laconic sarcasm: LAUNCELOT elaborates books, to the great terror and discomfiture of Gifford, Southey, and Scott. The Quarterly Reviewers received a death blow, because they could not find out the wit of the Scottish Fiddle; and the translator of Juvenal has never dared to show his face, since Mr. LANGSTAFF promulgated to the world, the secret of his origin. Poor Mr. Hall, the editor of the Port Folio,— because he criticised that Poem, (than which, in the language of Croaker, “nothing can be flatter or funnier;”) according to the canons of Martinus Scriblerus,—said Hall has been severely bemauled for his temerity. Many a heart-burning hath he experienced, from the caustic of Salmagundi Redivivus—Godwot!—magni nominis umbra!—On the whole, “none but yourselves can be your parallels.”

Allow me to dedicate the following rhymes to your firm; which will, I have no doubt, stand secure, amid all the present wreck of matters, and crashes of credit. Profound ignorance, bolstered by vanity, sits firmly on it own fundamental principles. Farewell, Gentlemen, accept the considerations of my high esteem—

Fortunati ambo—si quid mea carmina possunt, Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet aevo!

-URIAH DERICK D’ARCY.

VAMPYRISM;

A POEM,

I.

IN this blest land, where valour burst The links which bound his children erst, And rent the vail whose darkness hid Legitimacy’s monstrous creed;— Where all that since the world began Had sway’d the sacred rights of man, With ancient dreams had past away, And bare in all its weakness lay;— Here reason, in triumphal hour, Asserted too her conquering power: From mountain, valley, plain and flood, She exorcised the shadowy brood

II.

When freshening gales had swept the mists, That wildly wreath’d the mountain crests, No cloudy spectre o’er the storm Reveal’d the terrors of his form;— When evening breezes curl’d the wave No wraiths disturb’d the wandering brave,— When lost in darkness, down the side Of craggy mount their path they tried, And stunn’d by torrents deafening roar, Downward were hurl’d, to rise no more; Men said their balance they had lost, But never laid it to a ghost.

III.

No more, around the guarded gold, Their wake were pirates seen to hold;— No elves the midnight circle tript; No fairies lunar vigils kept; Genii nor devils rose—except, Indeed, that once in godly Salem, Blue laws and preachings seem’d to fail ’em; Bed bugs and rats their slumbers broke, On Beelzebub they laid the joke; Took brandy to expel the fiend, Which answered quite another end! Old ladies then to swim were taught, In amorous league with Satan caught;— And some were hang’d:—but now no more ’Tis fit to rake up that old sore.

IV.

Of late the pole its fiends has sent, The ‘tarnal Yankees to torment; By water witchcraft long distrest, In vain with all their might they guest; Till when their gumption seem’d to fail One captain got him by the tail; But metamorphos’d, (such their story,) The wizard gave the man the go-by Turn’d out a tunny fish to be, The “shallowest monster” of the sea.

V.

And now they swear with might and main, That Monsieur Tonson’s come again: And Marshal Prince, his wife and daughters, Off Nahant, saw him walk the waters. The coachman there and Mrs. Prince Got at the odd fish several squints; But Mr. Prince, for weak his eye was, Look’d at him through a mast-head spy-glass; And took, lest men his word should doubt, An ugly likeness of his snout, With all the bumps the monster bore— He says, thirteen—his wife, two more.

VI.

In Morristown we’ve heard a ghost Wrought wonders to the people’s cost. ’Tis not long since, on New Year’s night, The devil gave three bad boys a fright; Who o’er their whiskey took to cursing, Spoke disrespectfully of his person, His government began to libel, And on the back-log put the bible.— But these things are of little moment, Unworthy of a further comment.

VII.

Yet SUPERSTITION! though thy throne Be rear’d in wilds and woods alone, Where the rude wanderer of the glen Invokes the souls of martial men;— Adores the torrent thundering loud; Calls on the spirits of the cloud;— And o’er the black and bursting heaven, Sees Ariouski’s chariot driven;— Yet, queen of terror’s sheetedband! Fiends worse than thine affright our land, While, stalking from their ghastly homes, The VAMPYRE host infuriate roams!

VIII.

Behold that EXQUISITE divine, Fit to hang up for fashion’s sign. In classic mould his wig is shear’d— SO SAUNDERS says—by all rever’d— (Yet much, with deference, due I doubt If Saunders’ science could make out Apollo’s nob, if slic’d off well, From J—n G. B—t’s bust to tell— Both are stuck up in the Academy— Yet for this query think not bad o’ me.) But to the Dandy—’neath his chin Hog’s bristles fiercely fence him in; One corset back his shoulders throws; His bowels other bones enclose; His ample chest is bullet proof, With cotton cram’d and such like stuff; And for his clothes—but here’s enough. For ere the printer’s tardy imp, Shall bid in type this doggrel limp, The swifter ninth part of a man Shall change the passing mode again; And waists now short shall then be long. All that’s now right shall then be wrong!

IX.

How came that puppy by his gig? What taught him how to look so big? For this behind the measur’d board His father scrap’d the growing hoard— Like him the pyramids who rear’d, To leave behind no name rever’d For, on the bowels of the heap, His revels shall this Vampyre keep; Till vigils late—and generous wine, And—things that suit no lay of mine; Have left him soon to die and rot, Be laugh’d at, pitied, and forgot! His species and his line to trace, And count the honours of his race, Let Mr. Wynkoop soar as high, As Scythia’s Cynocephali, And Mr. Langstaff dive as low As he, and he alone, can go;” Let this quote Greek—that crack stale jokes, The theme is worthy of such folks.

X.

Lo! thro’ the bustling world of trade, What monsters march in long parade; Gorg’d with the substance of a host, Swelling they strut with empty boast; The bubble burst, and credit fled, The money’d quack proclaims them dead;— Bailiffs in haste the corpse escort;— The turnkey says his service short;— Awhile in jail their bones repose, Till lo! the dungeon doors unclose! Insolvent laws, with potent spell, Have wrought the wondrous miracle; Their words of might the dead restore; And even more bloated than before, From that deep sepulchre, to prey On all the gudgeons in his way, Of shameless resurrection vain, The VAMPYRE BANKRUPT stalks again!

XI.

Temples of Mammon! O beware What priests the golden chalice bear! And let not hands profane approach The tempting, costly shrines to touch! Have we not seen what secret stealth Has suck’d the vitals of your wealth, When the weak dupe, quite drain’d himself, Grew hungry for the luscious pelf; Nor did his secret orgies end, Till fail’d a whole year’s dividend. And now once more in open air, Have we not seen the Vampyre pair, Stalk forth, from jails and juries free, In all the pride of infamy?

XII.

O HERMES of these latter times, I hail thee in unworthy rhymes! Great ALCHYMIST, whose art alone Has found the philosophic stone! Thou arch magician! to whose hand Alone is given the hazel wand, That finds the veins of glittering ores, Great DOUSTERSWIVEL of conjurors! What though thine art itself despair, And all the pageant fade in air? While harmless mobs thy doors assail, And blustering butchers curse and rail, Above thine own Flaminian roll’d, Shall thy triumphal chariot hold Its course majestical along, Before the whole admiring throng!

XIII.

O JACOB! JACOB! thou art keen, As thy great namesake;—him, I mean. Who manag’d for himself to keep The best of crafty Laban’s sheep. Immortal VAMPYRE of our age! O might this unassuming page Be read by all, whose fobs must bleed, Thy ravenous appetite to feed Behind thy coach and four might I Roll in an humbler tilbury; Beneath thy wings might D’ARCY’s name Soar to the solar blaze of fame!

XIV.

Plumb from the giddy height I fall, Amid whole herds of Vampyres small, CRITICS, who worn out common place With Author’s pilfer’d entrails grace; The FORUM spouter—barbarous Turk! Who rips up Curran, Phillips, Burke, And thunders forth bombastic centos, Of wasted time the sad mementoes; All those who QUOTE at second hand, And what they quote don’t understand; The PARSON who in sleepy tone Evangelizes Tillotson; All PLAGIARISTS,—concise to be,— Are GOULs of high or low degree.

XV.

The QUACK with brick dust who provides, Wherewith to line his own insides; Who fills up all his hungry chinks, While to a ghost his patient shrinks; THOMAS who vends as Byron’s own The works of doggrelists unknown; Honest CONTRACTORS, who are able To cheat both government and rabble; Who, worthy of the scourge and gallows, Set up their equipage and palace; While blister’d mouths deep curses pour And tortur’d soldiers writhe and roar, Who eat the beef of horses dead, And craunch corroding lime for bread— These, as the sufferers all agree, Are of the GOULE fraternity.

XVI. There are whose tongues around them throw The gall with which their hearts o’erflow, Like those from old Medusa’s head, Where’er its venom’d drops are shed, Earth’s verdure fades;—rank poison springs; Snakes hiss, and dragons spread their wings. Pale Dian’s hopeless votary old, Crabb’d, ancient dames, and bachelors cold, Nay e’en the blooming maid—will hie To the foul feast of calumny; On wisdom, worth, and reverend age, Beauty and wit, they glut their rage; And fondly hope, that as they tear The limbs of murder’d character, Their own fair fame shall prouder swell, Fatten’d upon the feast of hell!

XV.

There is a spot, unknown to fame, Where Vampyres haunt their hold of shame When ENVY left her noxious cave, Along Passaic’s winding wave, (Though Ovid has this fact forgot,) She linger’d by one cherish’d spot; She left her benediction here, The ground became for ever sere; Infected by her scatter’d slime And tainted to all after time; Whoever tastes its baleful food, A Vampyre longs to feed on blood— The blood of honour, virtue free, Fame, confidence and chastity!

XVIII.

But wouldst thou, in thy purpose bold The demon orgies foul behold— Mark where the SONS of SURGEON’S HALL, Upon their foul purveyor call; And lo, the plunderer of the tomb Brings up his budget in the room; Rolls out, their ardent gaze before, A huge, fat negress on the floor; Then with a savage howl they roar! Like cannibals, prepar’d to roast Their pris’ners on some barbarous coast; Like Shakspeare’s Jew, the joyous band Whet their keen blades with eager band; While all the putrid limbs excite Their foul and Vampyre appetite.—

XIX.

And what am I, whose spider skill Has thus contrived this sheet to fill; From my own bowels spun the lay, Until I find no more to say? Before to all I bid adieu, Confess,—I AM A VAMPYRE TOO!

[gravitywonagain]

Hey, thank you so much for sharing Can't Cheat Death While You're Digging Your Own Grave! It came up on my timeline and I think it's fantastic!! Do you have any plans to put it on AO3? I don't want to miss out on any future updates so I was hoping you would so I can bookmark it. :D

hi!! i'm so glad you like it!!

there are plans to put it on ao3 eventually, but i tend not to post anything there until it's been through a round or eight of edits by my wife and/or myself. i post a lot of first drafts here, particularly those i use as warmups, that need a lot of work before i'm actually happy with them and i've come to think of ao3 as where things get 'published' if that makes sense? i had also been planning on not putting up unfinished works there again due to my very slow and sporadic update rate for... well pretty much everything, among other reasons.

it does seem kind of silly, though. now that i write that out. as the only thing that is different about tumblr vs ao3 is the audience and the ability to follow the progress of a fic in a more straightforward manner.....

but, with that particular fic as an example, there are three chapters now and i have no idea what the fourth will even be about, let alone when it will be posted. this means that i might want to change things in prev chapters to suit a better overall story line (which is something i'm learning how to do and struggling to reconcile with my current big long fic). but, then again, maybe not. maybe i reserve that for fics that i haven't posted here? maybe something like this fic becomes more of a 'yes, and...' type exercise, and we all just see where it goes together? i could get behind that, i think. maybe.

it would still have to go through edits. (like, that entire third ch should be in past tense based on how i set up the timeline in the first one.) and wife Does Not have time for following along with all of my wips. but maybe that would still be doable. i've posted non-wife-edited fics there before. i could do it again. add her edits when they're made, if they're made.

...

all of which is to say, YES, it will go up on ao3, but i don't know when. possibly sooner rather than later as a direct result of your question ;)

in the meantime, idk, follow the tag (#ccdwydyog), maybe? not sure how well that works. or maybe i can make a note to send you a thing whenever the next ch happens? it'll have to be a very good note, and placed particularly well, so i currently make no promises to do more that try on that one :)

sorry that got a bit more complicated and ramble-y than you were probably hoping for, but you gave me a lot to think about!

thanks for the ask, and thanks for reading my silly little fic! <3

[shobringer]

Hello there!

It's about time I did a post like this. Hi, I'm Charlie, known to my close friends as Charles or Ferre, and I love writing.

I'm a polytechnic student, and am currently studying for my diploma in Story and Content Creation (for media). I am a huge theatre fan, mainly Les Miserables, and I kinda go batshit crazy over Star Wars at times.

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Alright, with all the introductions out of the way, I've been thinking about being more active on Tumblr so I'll be opening writing requests to anyone who may be interested. I mainly write Star Wars and Les Mis, you may check me out at archiveofourown.org/users/CharlesAndCo for the works I have published. (I implore you to ignore my Marvel fics...) But before everything, I do have several boundaries when it comes to writing for requests, so please, I hope you'll respect them if you're thinking of requesting for any fics.

I will absolutely not write /reader fics, even gender neutral readers or male readers.

The ships I specialise in are as follows: for Les Mis, Valvert, Enjoltaire, Courfius, Combeferre/Jehan; for Star Wars: Obikin, QuiObi, Anidala. I would not be opposed to exploring other ships, but I will put my foot down if it comes to any ship I am uncomfortable with, which does not happen often but if it does, consider this a warning.

If I have any ongoing WIPs when you request, especially oneshots that are meant to be gifts to my friends, I will not prioritise your request over the works for them. I love my friends to hell and back, the only way to get around this would be to become my friend, I guess.

NSFW is... well, it depends. I may or may not write NSFW depending on how I feel about it. To put it simply, I have had bad experience when it comes to sex, and so sometimes certain things do trigger me and bring back bad memories. So unless you really think that I would enjoy writing the NSFW request you send in, I'd appreciate it if you mainly stick to SFW works. Thanks :)

If I am uncomfortable, due to any reason, with the request you send in, I will probably very politely decline to write your request.

I write trans stuff as well. HMU if you want me to write a Trans!Javert fic for ya ;))))

I'm pretty versatile when it comes to writing. If you have any specific writing genres or styles you wish me to write, include it in your request and I'll see if I can meet your expectations. For example, if you want me to write an introspection for you, say it in your request, and I'll gladly write it for you!

What you could request:

Les Mis (Musical, 1972, 1978, sigh 2012)

Other musicals like Newsies,

Moulin Rouge (movie my beloved, wouldn't mind musical too)

Falsettos

Catch Me If You Can (musical)

Little Shop of Horrors

Jesus Christ Superstar

(Maybe...?) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Star Wars (mainly Prequels, may write OT though)

If any other musicals that you might want to request is not in this list, you could check with me if I know it/would write it. And yes, Hamilton, DEH, BMC ain't on here, I will not be writing them, thank you.

More might be added, as I discover and watch more shows.

That's about it from me for now. Idk if I'll get any requests from anyone that ain't my friends (not to say that my friends can't request anything, y'all would actually have priority), but I was bored and I need to start writing more. If you've made it to the end here, thanks for reading.

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