#i’m aware there’s probably spelling errors in those two sentences but it’s like two am

[indigostudies]

the funny thing about cutting my teeth on a new language (korean) is that while i logically know i barely know anything, the fact that i can string together basic sentences (안녕하세, 어떻게지개세요?) and, like, say my name (저는이름이챠이) makes me feel incomparably powerful

[sassysnowperson]

writer's meme - TY to @r0b0tb0y for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

168 - oh man that's more than I'd realized. I passed 150 and didn't even notice!

What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,133,901

So many.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Since r0b0tb0y and I were just talking about this, I conveniently have a list of all 20 ranked by number of works

134 - Star Wars 7 - Original Works 7 - Marvel 2 - Pirates of The Carribean 2 - The Old Guard 2 - Discworld 1 - Good Omens 1 - Leverage 1 - The Good Place 1 - Avatar: The Last Airbender 1 - Ocean’s 11 1 - Harry Potter 1 - The Goblin Emperor 1 - Gundam Wing 1 - Star Trek: TNG 1 - Hades (Videogame) 1 - Sailor Moon 1 - Russian Doll 1 - Mummy/Wonder Woman crossover

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lol, looking at my top five - it falls into two categories

1. Fics I wrote right at the height of a fandom's popularity that got a massive reader boost because it was the Hot Thing Right Then

2. Star Wars Fix-Its

~

A Series of Better Decisions - A Padme/Obi-Wan/Anakin SW Prequel Trilogy fix-it where Anakin talks to Obi-Wan and spends Revenge of the Sith in a stressed-out bisexual panic instead of becoming a Space Fascist. He winds up fake-poly-dating Obi-Wan to try to bring down Palpatine, and eventually winds up in a better place due to the power of Quitting Your Job and becoming a househusband.

Galactic Response Time - Captain Marvel - an at the time MCU canon-compliant gen fic that ran the universe forward and explained how Carol really TRIED to show up for all those other crises that happened, but it turns out most of the major MCU disasters only lasted like three days and space is real big, y'all. Featuring Nick Fury cathartically bitching with his Space Bestie.

New Lands for the Living - Fix-it where the sequel trilogy ends Even Worse, Poe goes back in time to mercy-kill the timeline, and much to his dismay winds up married to just-before-Original-Trilogy Luke Skywalker. He has an existential crisis about his own existence, meets some competent women, and starts fixing things.

Life's Little Pleasures - The Good Omens fic where I put all my ace feelings, featuring metaphysical bonding and good scotch.

Flustered - Another Padme/Anakin/Obi-Wan SW Prequel Trilogy fix-it, where Order 66 never happens. Anakin gets some therapy and Padme gets a horrible crush on Obi-Wan.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do! I love getting to talk to people about fics, and I so appreciate people making the effort to comment I want to spend some time with them! It's so much easier not to comment, I know.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm this is not my normal wheelhouse. I usually go angst that gets resolved by the end. Let me look to see what the options are.

Okay, I think we've got two contendors: In Waystation an exhausted Poe Dameron crash-lands in a station where a Bodhi Rook that lived and then hid now lives with Baze and Chirrut. There is a little epilgue that implies they're going to meet again, but the bulk of the fic does end with Poe making the decision to go back to the Resistance, and leaving Bodhi behind. Still, I think it's more wistful, rather than angsty.

Time Enough for Mourning takes it though, I think. Davits Draven/Antoc Merrick, that is entirely about Draven mourning the fact that Antoc has died. The end is still, I think, more cathartic than angsty, but it is overall probably the strongest "break out the waterworks" of my fics.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I do occasionally, usually when someone prompts me and I find something in there that makes my brain go!!! I think the strangest is probably The Face Underneath. It's a Cassian Andor/Elim Garak fic where I drag Garak into the Star Wars Universe for a triple drabble series where he is an old mentor of Cassian's.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Mmm, not proper hate. Realtalk, the most devastating one for me was when I posted a fic that the only comment was a spelling critique.

And yes, there was a spelling error, but still, very crushing to have that be the only feedback. (It has since found a few readers that said nice things, very healing :D)

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes! Uh - consensual, between adults, often M/M adults, tho I have written explicit femslash, hetfic, and poly piles. It's usually affectionate, often plays with power dynamics even if it doesn't go into full dom/sub.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that anyone has made me aware of, I've never looked.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Had a request or two, but never been linked the result - so not sure if it didn't happen or if I just didn't get linked. I welcome it!

I have had several fics podficced, and I LOVE that. What a joy! Making a blanket permission statement that allowed podfic is one of the best decisions I've made as a fic author. Suddenly, Podfic!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Once or twice! I like the idea of doing it, but follow-through is hard. Hoping to do some co-writing soon though, so we will see!

What’s your all time favourite ship?

Sorry, unrepentant multi-shipper here. I like possibilities, and finding the story that will bring people together, more than one specific thing.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I don't have ANYTHING I've given up on, but there are a few fics in my unpublished drafts that were beautiful ideas, and really struggled to become contained stories. They all want to be sprawling things, and I have not felt sprawling-thing-writing passionate about those ideas. But, you never know! Inspiration may strike.

What are your writing strengths?

I'd say character voice, along with that, dialogue. Also humor moments that still have real weight and don't undercut the story, as well as straight comedy writing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

You see, I, uh, do this thing where I don't really end a sentence - I think about ending it, I even assume, at some point while I'm writing that I have ended it; I have not and it meanders, persistently, until I have constructed a whole paragraph made out of one chain of words and a hodgepodge of punctuation.

Also the thing where I accidentally use an unusual word five times in one paragraph because my brain has grabbed onto it like an excited puppy and keeps offering it up as the Perfect Word.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I love having multilingual characters. When writing, I tend to keep all the words in English and use dialogue tags to denote language shift - unless I am inventing the language, or have a speaker of that language willing to beta the bits to make sure I don't mess them up too badly.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Actually wrote and posted? Rogue One.

Fandom of my heart my younger self spun out stories in my imagination about? Where if I had my own computer and easy access to a fic archive they almost certainly would have become spectacularly earnest fics?

ReBoot and Sailor Moon. The Sailor Moon was an AU that took place on the sun and they all had kick-ass horses. Baby Sass knew what was up.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Nope, sorry, can't pick, love them all in different ways for different reasons.

Tagging: @semisweetshadow, @anamelesstraveler, @jules-of-the-crown - and generally if you follow me and want to do it, do so and tag me in it!

[hellhoundsprey]

professor castiel likes his freshman student sam uncomfortably amount

By the time I realized how dark I could have gone with this I was already headed to fluff-town, so have some wholesome idiots ❤.

warnings: age difference, teacher student relationship, drunk sex

includes: college!au, professor!castiel, student!sam, mutual pining, error 404: no stereotypical top/bottom dynamics found, blow jobs, deep throating, face fucking, hair pulling, cas is a domestic soft old man, stanford era

 ~

  “Wait, so—not ever?”

“Not ever.”

“That—wow.” Sam frowns adorably. Measures Cas with his eyes, and Cas hopes he’ll accredit the blush with the unholy small amount of vanilla coke in this cup of vodka.

“Is, is that—so weird? Am I weird?” he blabbers, the fool, and startles together with Sam as someone tackles the beer pong table behind them with the exact outcome you’d expect.

“It’s—I dunno, uncommon?” tries Sam, always so polite, even when obviously intoxicated. Could converse with pretty much everyone except his boring old professor; the pretty blonde making bedroom eyes at him since Cas can remember Sam sitting down with him, for example.

Cas shrugs, pointedly ‘cool’. “It’s just not my cup of tea.”

Sam considers, “Huh,” and takes another deep drink from his red cup. (Sam’s a freshman but Cas wouldn’t still get invited to his students’ house parties if he had any sort of problem with underage drinking.)

“It’s just,” Sam tries again, so puzzled that he cannot let the thought go, and Cas dream-sighs on the inside, chin in his hand and elbow on his knee, now. “Like—how can you not have watched a single one of them? Like, zero? Niente?”

“Pop culture just doesn’t sit well with me,” and Sam smiles—surrendering and pitying but it’s a smile, and Cas will take that without complaint.

“But it’s…Marvel, sir. That’s like—Disney.”

Cas takes another sip from his drink.

Sam’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“I—have watched Disney movies,” assures Castiel, hopeless idiot and academic, three doctorates. “The one with the—the dogs? I watched that one.”

Sam gives him the look that spells out how he doesn’t want to accuse Cas of lying but that Cas is making it pretty hard on him.

Sam lives on campus. Was supposed to be the designated driver tonight but his friends vanished early on, and he told Cas how difficult things are at the moment with his family and his scholarships and the new environment and so on and so on. Cas has heard it many times before. It’s a shame he can’t do much more than listen and give smart-assed advice from his privilege-built ivy tower.

Except for, y’know, “You can crash at my place. It’s safer than hitching an Iber at this hour.”

“Uber,” corrects Sam, and, “is, uh—I mean, are you sure? Is that okay?”

“Why, yes.” Cas frowns, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Oh, vodka. The devil’s juice.

It takes another five minutes of persuasion until Sam finally gives in.

As said: the devil’s juice.

Cas doesn’t have much family left to turn up their noses at his ‘undignified housing situation’. It’s a house and the roof barely leaks, so it clearly does its job (and he’ll get the roof fixed this fall, promise). It has a bathtub and an adorable built-in kitchen from the sixties. Castiel fell in love with it the second he found the listing.

He informs, “Here we are,” uselessly because it’s obvious, they’re taking their shoes off and everything. “Just put it with the others,” he helps upon Sam’s hesitant posture with his sneakers in his too-big hands.

God, they’re big hands, aren’t they?

Anyhow. “Are you hungry? I could go for a snack.”

Castiel is already at the fridge, grabbing whatever is nearest, as Sam catches up. “That’s—I’m okay, you really don’t have to…”

“Oh, be my guest. They pay me well, I can get more groceries if I want. Another fridge, if I want.” He closes the fridge door with a swivel of his hips and unloads the content in his arms over the kitchen counter. “Take a seat, why don’t you. There’s wine, too, if you want.”

Sam assures, “I’m good,” and plants himself at Castiel’s kitchen table.

Cas turns towards him, knife in hand. “Crust on or crust off?”

“Off,” mumbles the kid, and Cas can’t help but smile along with him.

The sandwiches are successfully put together and diminished within minutes. Sam definitely eats like someone who hasn’t had a decent meal in a while, and Cas has to hold back very hard not to urge him into seconds (or thirds).

As he already plucks the too-many pillows from his couch, Cas inquires, “Is this okay with you?” and Sam, of course, nods rapidly.

“Of course, yeah. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s ‘Cas’,” offers Cas, who doesn’t need to be reminded of his age or status this frequently.

If he wasn’t Sam’s professor…God.

Things could be different.

If he had become a librarian, maybe. He can’t think of many other places or occasions to otherwise run into Sam. Always studying, cramming; such a hard-working student. Cas sees himself—burying himself in books and thoughts. Everyone has their ways of escaping real life.

Cas doesn’t leave him without a spare toothbrush before he makes his way upstairs. Takes care of his bedtime hygiene (or, the shortened, drunken version of that) and falls into bed. Worms out of his pants, somehow, but that’s as far as things will go, and that’s okay. Not that he has a say in that.

Castiel falls asleep as soon as he closes his eyes.

~

“Mr. Novak.”

“Hm.”

“… Mr. Novak?”

Cas smacks his lips, turns his head to face the wall.

“… Cas?” and again, louder, “Cas?”

“Yes? I? Oh, lord.” Cas groans, rubs at his face. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know,” murmurs Sam, and Cas realizes it’s still night. “I’m sorry for waking you…”

Cas blabbers, “Is everything okay?” and, yeah, definitely still fucking drunk. Jesus.

Sam begins with, “I,” but can’t seem to find the rest of the sentence.

Cas’ eyes adjust to the spinning room, to the shadow-y figure of Sam Winchester sitting hunched over on the floor, right next to Cas’ bed. He looks upset, to say the least.

“Did something happen?”

“Just, a—a nightmare.” Pale, Sam tries a thin-lipped smile.

“Oh. Well—”

“I tipped the—the lamp? By the couch? It broke.”

Castiel supplies, “Ah,” and tries to remember what fucking lamp Sam means. Did he put a lamp there? He might have put a lamp there.

“I couldn’t find a dustpan or nothin’. There’s shards all over the carpet and—”

“Oh my, did you hurt yourself?”

“Just a—no,” corrects Sam, and not-so-subtly as his own intoxicated brain might be telling him he’s doing it pulls the too-long sleeve of his hoodie further over his hand.

It’s not a thought, it just happens. “Let me see,” and a reach, a grab—Sam’s hand, rough skin, the warmth of it.

Castiel holds on harder just because he does not (cannot) admit his foolish embarrassment.

Studies the (truly minor) cuts with a frown and decides, overly fatalistic: “Bathroom. Iodine. Bandaids.”

“It’s really nothing, sir…”

“Sam, do I have to drag you? Because I will.”

Sam’s mouth closes, presses thin in defeat.

The kid trots after Cas, who has yet to let go of that hand, and doesn’t take note of said fact until they’re already in the bathroom and he raises that treasure up to his eyes for medical purposes.

Huge hands indeed.

Beautiful, beautiful hands.

Cas clears his throat. It doesn’t help.

Sam stands awkward. Pulled his jeans back on or never took them off? Barefoot. Cas is still in socks.

And boxers.

Cas clears his throat again.

“You do this a lot?”

Cas contributes, “Huh?” and his eyes flicker from where he’s applying iodine up to those magnificent, now-hooded eyes—tired and swimming and god he’s probably so soft. Clearly huggable.

“You’re good at that,” adds Sam, the angel, the puppy, with his tiny mouth trying for another smile.

“I—well, I.” Have a messed-up family? Too many clumsy siblings? Helper syndrome? “Yes.”

The tiniest of chuckles. Cas’ stomach does things that probably would feel great if he hadn’t poisoned himself with this much vigor.

Sam tells him, “You’re great,” and Cas feels heat rising to his face.

The intense stench of iodine doesn’t help. “I’m just…a guy. Who owns too many books and knows too many things.”

“Exactly: great.”

Cas scoffs, helpless, eyes on his task at hand because otherwise he’d stare into Sam’s face until they inevitably make out for the next consecutive twenty-four hours. “I’m, I, there are much greater people out there. I’m just a—”

“Professor.”

Cas looks up, which is a mistake. Right into those eyes, which are too kind, too close. Wait, when did they get so close?

Cas manages a coarse, “Correct,” before Sam’s mouth overcomes the last (miniscule) distance.

Castiel hadn’t thought about how long it has been since he’d last been close with someone like this; the last time someone kissed him, the last time he kissed someone.

That someone’s hand cupped his face, or his hand touched someone else’s face. Held on, maybe breathing, maybe not.

Castiel presses their foreheads together; tips of noses squished as well and Sam makes the smallest of noises. Relief, maybe. God, he’s tall.

Cas hears, “I’m sorry,” before he kisses the kid again. And again.

It takes a while for him to be present enough to toss the tweezers and iodine-soaked cotton ball into the sink, and only does that because he requires two hands to get a hold of the kid like he needs to.

He’s somehow got Sam with his back to the door, breathing at least as heavy as him and his hair is too-soft, it shouldn’t be this soft, this easy to bury his fingers in and hold onto.

Sam sucks his own lip behind his teeth once Cas gives them a break and Cas is painfully, suddenly aware of what is happening, and what is going to happen, if Sam doesn’t—

“Tell me to stop.”

Cas is panting, horrified.

He repeats, “Tell me to stop, Samuel,” and Sam uses that opportunity to dive back for Cas’ mouth.

Cas has got a not-his-own hand down his boxers before he can even vocalize his request for the bedroom.

Feels so fucking out of it, surreal with that over-strong hand just holding on, twisting, so capable. He can barely walk.

They get Sam’s jeans off easy enough; the hoodie is more of a challenge and Cas makes a deep-stomach happy noise for the musk, the worn-out band tee hiding underneath—faded and thin and Sam’s very visibly hard nipples that he has to work his thumbs over, if only for the sliver of arousal in Sam’s face.

The fucking hunger. “Can I suck you off?”

“Uhm, whu—?” is all Cas gets to say, because Sam’s already dropped to his knees, already yanked Cas’ boxers down mid-thigh. More accurate, “Jesus Christ,” and hands back into that mop of hair and Sam’s already swallowed him down to the fucking base.

Holy mother of—

“God,” stammers Cas, knees dangerously weak and oh lord that throat, the fucking precision and casual perfection and he doesn’t have a say in how his hands force Sam’s head despite the obvious willingness; allow him to pull him in and grind deep.

It’s a mistake again to open his eyes and look down because Sam’s right there to meet him, eyes tearing up now but he doesn’t even gag; moves despite Cas’ brutal hold on him and tears at his own hair to bob his mouth up and down the length of Cas’ cock—cheeks sucked in, no teeth, not a hint of ’em.

“Oh God, Sam, wait, wait—”

And Sam does. Pulls off, hand wrung tight around the now-wet base of Cas’ dick and sounding a different kind of drunk; breathless, dark. “You okay?”

Cas half-laughs, “Better than okay,” and Sam’s perfect mouth pulls into a tiny, mean smirk.

“Gonna blow?”

“Yes, give me a second.”

“I can fuck your face if you want.”

“I—a-absolutely,” and Cas didn’t know they were so close to the bed that one harsh push of Sam’s arm would send him on it back-first.

The springs inside his mattress creak with the unfamiliar stab of Sam Winchester’s knees.

Above Castiel, the kid rids himself of his wonderful-smelling t-shirt, tosses it god-knows-where, and Cas already feels breathless.

Kinda accepts that this is reality, somehow, when Sam holds him down with the weight of his eyes alone, the practiced tug on his underwear that gets his dick out; strokes it once, twice.

Cas can hear how wet he is.

“Sorry,” ponders Sam, kneeing his way further up to straddle Cas’ face right, “It’s kinda big.”

Cas would say something along the lines of ‘oh, that’s fine’ or ‘you’re fine’ or ‘please, God, get it in me’, if he wasn’t so busy getting his mouth on that fucking beautiful cock.

Cut and huge and Cas’ jaw won’t open as far as it probably should, but judging by the way Sam groans and makes himself comfortable halfway down Cas’ fucking gullet, he doesn’t seem to mind it much.

Cas’ throat gets pounded all strict nearly immediately, and he can’t do much more than scramble his hands to hold onto Sam’s ass and figure out how to acquire any oxygen. Any, at all.

“Fuck, your throat,” and that shouldn’t sound loving, dreamy; not that rough around the edges, hissed through gritted teeth and there’s balls slapping Cas’ chin and it’s—so—good.

Cas has to spank Sam’s ass pretty hard for him to notice and give him a breather (literally). Lets him cough up and swallow back down the worst, make a slut-sound before Sam laughs, angles back in.

“You like it?”

Cas groans something resembling a, “Uh-huh,” around too many miles of cock, eyes closed and Sam’s nails digging into his scalp, tipping and tilting him like he needs, wants.

“Fucking love it, don’t you?”

Cas would nod. Somehow, he’s sure Sam gets it either way.

Cas’ forgotten dick drools over his happy trail. Still so fucking hard and Sam’s spit has dried all the way now and Cas wouldn’t dream to get a hand on himself if he can keep them on Sam’s tight little ass instead.

“Wanna come on your face.”

Cas makes a heart-broken noise.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Cas gets a chance to rasp his, “Yes,” and misses the fucking violence of that cock immediately, waits patiently and gulping for air for Sam to finish himself off.

Just a few strokes and there it goes; they both groan.

Cas feels more discomfort over how much he doesn’t care that it gets into his lashes, his nose, than the fact itself.

“Fuck, your eyes. Sorry.”

“First drawer,” and Cas is barely done saying that by the time there’s already a tissue wiping over his face.

Sam kisses him. Lets Cas lick the taste of his own cock over his tongue and growl-laughs.

“Where do you want it?”

“Want what?” chuckles Cas, halfway into cuddle mode with Sam’s comfortable lightweight on top of him, the gentle attention to his hair.

Sam fixes him with his drunk-dark gaze. Edges his thumbnail along Cas’ cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“My mouth?” and, Jesus Christ, “My ass?”

“Jesus—Christ, I—”

Sam inquires, “Condoms?” before Cas can shut him up with his mouth on Sam’s.

Can rake his fingers through the now-mess of all that hair, dwell in the light of all of this kid’s post-orgasmic bliss.

Sam laughs, “What?”

“You’re beautiful. Do you know that?”

Sam laughs more.

“You’d really let me…?”

“Hell yeah. But no pressure.”

“I really liked what you did before.”

“Mouth, then?” and Cas smiles, nods, and Sam licks another wet kiss into his mouth before he crawls down the sweaty, crumpled mess that is Castiel still in today’s white dress-shirt.

“You do that a lot?” asks Cas, softly petting through that hair while Sam takes good care of him—mouths along the length, now, and it’s even better/worse than the spectacular deep-throating from earlier. Just tender and teasing.

It’s not gonna take a whole lot to get Cas there anyway, at this point.

“What, suck cock? I dunno.” A broad lap of tongue, a casual puckered suck on the frenulum. “Not lately, no.”

“You are magnificent. At it and in general,” and that earns him another humbled noise.

The pillow talk dies off in favor of Sam wrapping his lips around the crown of Cas’ cock. Of him swallowing the entire length, again, working him with muscles Cas is very sure couldn’t have been placed without this exact use in mind.

Cas’ hands hold on, don’t want or need to direct anymore. His hips counter-work him inside that wet-tight clutch and Sam doesn’t pull off once Cas warns him.

Just takes him and Cas has no other choice than emptying down that darling throat, groans and hitches his hips and eventually has to push at that forehead to dislodge the kid.

Explains, “Sensitive,” groggy and slurred and Sam just crawls back up and smothers him in kisses. Blankets him and Cas gets to put his arms around him, finally—the muscled, skinny width of that back, sweat-slick and rising-falling with his slowly calming breath.

Cas sighs, beyond contented.

He wakes to an elbow in his face, the hiss of his own pain.

Curses, “Jesus,” and Sam blinks awake to that, scrambles like he’s terrified until he apparently remembers where he is, who Cas is.

Rushes, “Shit,” and, “Sorry, you okay?” and yeah it hurts but the idea of a black eye doesn’t exactly faze Cas.

He’s had worse. “’M fine,” he promises, but lets Sam get up on one elbow, examine him for damage.

The focused, guilty frown. The precision of his fingers, searching, feathering over Cas’s skin.

Cas feels himself breaking into a smile. Sam scoffs, “What?” and allows to be nudged down for a kiss.

Gonna be day outside, soon. Birds begin to chirp. The dog collar of Mrs. Smith’ Pomeranian jingling from down the street.

Sam lies back down so they can cuddle up right. Lets Cas pet through his hair, try (and fail) to tuck it behind one of those darling, secret ears.

Inquires, with Cas’ pinkie learning the shapes of the beauty marks on the right corner of his chin, “You do this a lot?”

“Elaborate,” hums Cas, harboring desires to not leave this bed until either his kidneys fail or he has to go to work again on Monday. And how he might convince Sam to bear him company.

“Fuck your students?” and Cas laughs.

“’Not lately, no’,” he teases, but ultimately assures how, “No, Samuel. I don’t.”

“It’s pretty illegal,” muses Sam. “We’d get into so much trouble.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, all conspiracy. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Sam laughs in a tone of comfort that helps Cas forming the thought of how things are probably gonna be alright.

[tavi-hayes]

side fic two ~ finally, a nice One

((I should probably be working on that foundation thing for the next challenge, but here is another side fic instead oops. let me introduce to you: nice and friendly tavi! thank you anna @hugo-stanton​ for the wonderful rp! if you decide to read this, then enjooooy! also please ignore any spelling or grammar errors...))

“Listen, I really don’t…”

Carla doesn’t let me finish my sentence, “we said you were going to help, the photographer is expecting you.” With that she hands me the dress I’m supposed to be wearing today. “You have no choice but to go.

Urgh. I really do not want to spend my day with some weird, old photographer who is just going to snap at me to do as he says. No thank you, I didn’t feel like being anyone’s puppet today. I’d rather spend the day in the library again, surrounded by law books I didn’t understand.

But unfortunately, I had learned that going against my maids was not a clever thing to do.

So, I sigh and reluctantly put the dress on.

Then I notice the shoes, oh hell no. I open my mouth to say anything, but Carla just gives me the angry eye. I quickly close my mouth again.

“The photographer is waiting for you in the gardens,” Carla says as she opens the door, “and you should hurry, you have 5 minutes.”

I let out a big sigh as I push myself to my feet.

Am I looking forward to this? No.

Am I going to go anyway? I don’t really have a choice. If I don’t voluntarily go, Carla will just drag me there. So, I’d rather keep my dignity intact and walk myself.

Am I going to complain every minute of the process? A 100% yes.

Walking down the stairs, in heels, and trying to hurry, is not a great combination.

But I manage to make it to the ground floor with falling, so that is worth something.

A staff member opens the door leading to the gardens. The sunlight is blindingly bright again today, not something I was getting used to.

In the gardens, Carla had said. Not a good description when the gardens are as big as 50 football fields together.

Where is that guy?

After walking around for at least 10 minutes, I finally spot someone in the distance.

That must be him then.

Wait.

Are my eyes deceiving me?

I was expecting some old, creepy, bald, wrinkled man. But the person waiting for me looks nothing like that at all.

At least I hope he is waiting for. Maybe there is an old, creepy, bald, wrinkled man here out somewhere.

Before I can do so much as stop staring, the other person looks up and smiles at me. “Octavia?”

I don’t know what surprises me more, the fact that he smiles at me or that he knows my name. Or maybe it’s both things.

“Uh yeah hi,” I get out as I continue walking over in his direction. As a way of greeting I wave, something I normally never do. I don’t know why I’m suddenly doing it now. “You must be the photography guy, right?”

He nods and smiles again. I can’t help but compare him to the prince. When was the last time he had smiled in my direction, deliberately or not? Well definitely not during that awful date. No I think the last time, and the only time, had been during that interview. And how many weeks ago was that?

The guy is holding out his hand, “I’m Hugo.”

Finally a normal person around here, someone who accepts a handshake. I take his hand and shake it, “hi nice to meet you.” I feel relieved I don’t have to curtsy, a skill I still hadn’t mastered.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” he says nodding towards the flowers.

“Oh yeah no problem,” I refrain from saying this photography thing hadn’t been my activity of choice, or that I wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for my maids. Instead I look around the garden, perhaps I should spend less time inside the palace and more time exploring the grounds surrounding it. “This is such a beautiful spot,” I say before turning back to Hugo, “what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding, “it’s great for photos.” His head turns into a different direction. “Do you like flowers?”

I try to follow his gaze, eventually landing on some pretty roses. A bee is flying straight towards them. “I do actually,” I say, nodding my head, “they can really make a garden come to life. And not just with their colours, but also because of the bees and butterflies and all the other insects.”

“Perfect, then let's start there.”

Oh. Oh. He meant like in photos. And I’m just blurting out my opinion. Tavi pay attention, will you?

I do notice Hugo’s head motioning me to follow. As I do just that, I decide to ask, “so are you like a professional photographer?”

He shakes his head now, “Gosh, I wish. But there really isn't a big demand for One photographers.”

I don’t understand his sentence, “one photographers?”

“Arin is my cousin.”

Oh. He meant One as in the caste, not the number. That makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense is the family tie between this guy and the prince. First, I didn’t recognize the prince’s ex-fiancée and now there is his cousin. I wonder if the other girls do know all this stuff.

“Shouldn't people like hire you for your skills instead of your caste?” I’m very aware of how messed up things are in this country. It happened all the time to my band. Now clubs would much rather book some D-lister Two, than Fives with more talent and who would perform for way less money. Life sucks. I just wasn’t aware the higher castes also suffered from this.

“Maybe one day Illéa will work like that, but for right now photography can only be a hobby,” Hugo turns back in my direction, “are you ready?”

I can’t help but comment on that first part, “I’m sorry, we can only hope for that day to come soon,” and I’m not just saying that for me, or for this One photographer. No this was a national problem, someone should do something about it. If only there was a prince who would just open his eyes to everything wrong here.

Remembering he also asked if I was ready, I quickly add, “yes, now what do you need me to do?”

“Move a little to the right?” as he is saying that he touches my shoulder, gently pushing me in that direction.

Hugo lifts his camera up and looks at it, “hmmm tilt your head up a little?”

I usually don’t do too well with orders, but for once I listen and do as I’m told, “like this?”

He smiles and nods, “perfect”. The prince appears in my memories again. If he was just a little bit like this guy, my stay at the palace would become a billion times easier.

I try to stay as still as possible, not wanting to move and ruin a picture. I also don’t know if I’m allowed to talk. Maybe that will only take Hugo’s attention away? So I decide to remain silent.

For a little while there are only the clicks of his camera, but then he asks, “so, which province are you from, Octavia?”

“Oh please call me Tavi,” I move slightly to get in a more comfortable position. My leg is starting to cramp from standing still. The feeling doesn’t go away immediately, so I move my leg a bit more until it all feels perfectly normal again. “I’m from Denbeigh.”

“Tavi... I like that,” he says before taking a couple steps to the side, telling me to look in the direction of his camera again.

Because it doesn’t sound as nice as Princess Octavia? Or Queen Octavia? The prince’s words echo in my head. No, I still hadn’t forgotten that statement. A shiver runs down my spine.

Pushing those ugly words away, I try to focus on the photographer again. As he is crouching down, he says, “Denbeigh's nice, do you miss it?”

“I don't necessarily miss the province, but I do miss my family and friends.” Every night when I’m in bed, alone with my thought, the feeling of longing crashes down on me. We do have a telephone chat often, but that’s just not the same. I miss being around them all. To make sure I don’t break down right this second, I try to direction of the conversation away from the missing part. “Question what am I supposed to with my arms?”

It’s an honest question. I have no clue what I’m doing here, just trying to roll with it.

I’m nothing like the other girls here, which is not a bad thing. But they all act so natural in front of the camera. They could all pass as models. I’m sure they would nail this photo thing too.

Hugo nods at me, “I'm sorry about that- but they should be able to come visit at some point I think,” then he drops his camera a little bit, his eyes peering at, the camera no longer in front of his face. “You can cross them if you like, putting your hands on your arms.”

I nod my head a little and follow his directions, crossing my arms in front of me. Something he said earlier caught my attention, “you mentioned Denbeigh being nice, have you visited it?”

“I've been to Winnipeg before, last summer actually. I did a trip through Illéa and stopped in each province.”

“That sounds so cool,” I wish I could say I had been on a trip just as interesting but coming here to the palace had been the first time I left my province. It’s quite sad actually, I haven’t seen anything in this country. “What did you think of Winnipeg? It's a wonderful city, right?”

His smile grows even bigger, “it’s beautiful.”

“I know right?” I chuckle a little bit, “though I might be biased.”

“You’re from Winnipeg?” he tilts his head to the side.

“Correct,” I say, nodding my head a little, “it’s my hometown.”

Living in Winnipeg has always been great. The city is simply gorgeous with its buildings and the river going right through it. Plus the nightlife was also pretty good, always something to do there. And if you don’t like the city life, it literally takes 15 minutes by car to be completely surrounded by Denbeigh’s nature.

“Oh, wow! You must love living there. I know I would.”

“I do love it yeah. You must go there in the winter, when there is snow everywhere and then when the sun rises in the morning,” pfft, “it's just gorgeous.”

The first sunrays of the day would illuminate the untouched snow. Saying it was gorgeous was a bit of an understatement. It was simply magical.

The weather also caused a lot of problems. Not to mention the need to clear to snow away in front of our house. But the glittering snow in the morning was worth all the troubles.

“Maybe you could show me around. It's always so much better with a local friend around.”

What is this? Am I making a friend?

Wow, well done Tavi.

“I will definitely keep you up on that,” I smile at Hugo, who is not taking pictures anymore I suddenly realize.

As he looks back at me again, he asks, “do you want to go over by the pond?”

It’s not like I’m the expert here, so I just nod my head and try to catch up with him as he starts walking away.

“So, how do you like the palace so far?”

“Uhm,” a sudden breeze of wind blows some curls in my face. Thank god I have splendid eyelid reflexes. The strand of hair bounces in front of my closed left eye before I push it back to where it came from. It also gave me some time to think of an appropriate answer to his question, “it is really big and there are a lot of rooms. I still get lost at times.”

“But sometimes you can find the best things when you think you're lost.” I notice Hugo’s fingers fidgeting with some thing on his camera. I have no clue what that thing is for or what he is even doing, but the act could my attention.

That sentence should be printed on a shirt, or better on one of those tote bags everyone seems to have. Could make some money with this. “That is such a wise thing to say, but I completely agree with you.” I nod my head a little. “Though it is also nice if you can actually get to your destination.” And reach it in time instead of arriving 30 minutes late…

Hugo smiles again, and I can’t help but notice how it just lights up his face. His voice goes a little softer, “and between you and me there's a lot of fun things to discover in the palace.”

“Maybe you can show me around,” I’m interrupted by a bee flying just in front of my face, but once it’s on its way again to the next flower filled with nectar, I quickly add, “if you ever have time for that of course.” Because obviously some people actually have important things to do.

“Yeah, maybe not today, but I'll be around over the next couple weeks.”

“Of course, also don't feel forced please,” I say before looking towards the pond we just reached. The sunlight is reflecting on the water, there are waterlilies in different colours, dragonflies resting on the leaves. “Oh this is pretty.” It looks like something out of a fairy tale.

“I'm serious, I'd love to, Tavi.” I look back just in time to see his smile. “Why don't you go sit on that rock over there and I can get a couple more shots.”

I turn my head to see which rock he’s talking about. It’s not hard to miss, given there’s only one big enough to sit on. The front half of it is still resting on the grassy ground, but the back side has a water border. Knowing myself and how clumsy I can sometimes be, I carefully walk towards it. I definitely don’t feel like taking a dive right now, despite it being another warm day.

Once I have positioned myself on the rock, and I’m sure I won’t fall into the water, I try to smooth the wrinkles in my dress. That action causes me to wobble a little, I quickly bring my hands down so I can support myself.

“You’re doing great,” Hugo tells me from behind his camera, “just relax. The rock won't bite.”

“Oh, it won't?” I chuckle softly, “that is good to know.”

It’s not going to bite you, you know? I had said to the prince examining a paintball mask. He had responded with an I know, which had only reminded me once again that it was not possible to be in a conversation with him.

Why is he in my head anyway? He does not have the right to be there.

I push the memories back to where they came from. Locked behind the wall, safe for any prying eyes.

Perhaps I should live more in the here and now, instead of in the memories of some awful events. Maybe that would be better for me.

I try to relax a little, exactly what Hugo said. Flipping my hair over my other shoulder I ask, “since when have you been into photography?”

Seeing people talk about the things they were passionate about always made me very happy. Just as it made me happy to talk about the things I love, music for example. And I had noticed the sparkle in Hugo’s eyes every time he said something about photography.

“Since I was a teenager at least,” he says, smiling fondly, “my aunt got me into it though, so really since forever.”

“Oh that is cute,” just like my own parents got me into music, it makes me smile a little. “How did you learn how to do it? With workshops? Or did you figure it out on your own?”

I’m very aware of the fact that photography looks way easier than it actually is. Taking pictures with my friends was already a struggle, especially when the lighting wasn’t ideal. And we took photos with our phones. But those real cameras had like a billion buttons. I don’t think I would ever understand what to do to take the perfect photo.

“Mostly on my own. My aunt showed me what she knew and from there I've learned from books and such,” he says as he moves himself to a different spot. I can here the click of pictures being taken. “What about you? What do you do back home?”

“That is impressive, really!” A breeze of wind blows another curl in my face. This time it bounces against my nose. I move my hand upwards and try to tuck the loose curl behind my ear, away from my face. Right then I hear more camera clicks. “Besides working in a music store, I’m also part of a band.”

“So, you're a musician? That's wonderful. I'm sure everyone back home must be missing you.” Hugo says as he puts his camera down.

That makes me snort a little, “I'm sure they're enjoying all the quietness now that they still can.” For I could be send home any minute and then they will have to deal with me and my music again. Before arriving here, I had expected to be send home in the first round of eliminations. But the unlikely thing happened and now I’m still here for whatever reason.

“Why? You don't seem too loud.”

“Our house is quite noisy,” I try to explain, “so if I’m practicing in my bedroom, you're able to enjoy it in like every other room.” And I’m pretty sure our neighbours can hear it too, even though they’ve never complained about it before.

I stretch my back a little. Sitting on a rock was not comfortable in the slightest, it would be nice if there was something to lean against. But what do I expect, it’s a rock.

When Hugo looks up at me, he’s smiling, “I don't think I could ever complain about that.”

“Wait until you're exposed to it all the time, you're going to long for some silence.” Earplugs seem to help.

Hugo has made his way over to me and is now holding out his camera to show me a photo. I lean slightly forward to get a better view. It’s the picture where I’m pushing some hair out of my face.

I know it’s me, but I don’t recognize myself.

Nothing like the person staring back at me in the reflection of the prince’s car. That girl had looked like a mess.

But this girl, here in that photo, she looks so carefree and happy. Alive.

“Oh wow, dude you're talented!” I can’t believe that’s me.

When I look up, Hugo is shaking his head, “that has nothing to do with me. It was all the model.”

“Oh shut up, I've never looked anything like that before.” I point to the photo, “Look you don't even see my double chin.”

That makes him laugh, “I'm a photographer- not a wizard. That's all you.”

“I won’t believe that,” I shake my head a little for emphasis, “you obviously are a wizard for taking such a photo. Can I see another one?”

He laughs a bit more, such a joyous sound, “sure.” He does something on his camera, and then shows me a photo taken by the roses. “See, that's not me, Tavi.”

“How?” I can’t stop staring at the photo, how is this even possible? “I will say it again, you are talented. Look at the sharpness of that photo, and the sunlight and the shadows.” The entire setting and angle really make my face stand out. In a good way.

“All I did was point and shoot. You did all the hard work.”

As I look back up again, away from the photo, I roll my eyes and say, “I bet you can even make a garbage bag look pretty,” before hopping down from the rock. I try to wipe any dust off it, without being too obvious.

“Maybe, but a garbage bag wouldn't make anywhere near as good of company as you.”

That makes me chuckle, what a compliment. “Thanks, I’m glad to hear you think my company is better than that of a garbage bag.”

“Significantly better,” he chuckles as well.

“You're great company too,” I say as my eyes follow a dragonfly flying buying. It’s searing through the air, just above the water surface of the pond. Eventually it lands on the leaf of a water plant, casually chilling in the sun. “Do you need any more photos?”

My gaze travels onwards to land on Hugo, who’s looking at his watch. “Maybe another day?”

“Okay cool,” I say, nodding my head. I should probably get out of the sun, I don’t want to get a sunburn. Plus I’m already feeling fairly hot. Going inside to a cooler room sounds like a great plan to me. “Are you also going back to the palace or are you staying here?”

“I actually need to get headed back. Let me walk you?”

“Yes sure,” I smile a little. My foot starts to wobble as I take a first step. The ground is very uneven here, with little rocks stuck in the ground everywhere. Why did my maids make me wear heels today? I should have insisted on wearing flats. At least they provided more balance on a bumpy ground.

I focus my attention on the floor, trying to place my feet in such a way that I won’t stumble and fall flat on my face.

Hugo must have noticed because he holds out his hand to me, “I’ve got you.”

I appreciate the gesture and gladly take his hand, whilst mumbling a thank you. “So what is your favourite thing to photograph? People?”

The rest of the way back to the palace we talk some more about photography and my band. He even says he’d love to hear some of our music.

It’s so nice to finally meet someone who is genuinely interested in what I have to say.

Once we reach the doors, I notice there are no staff members around this time. Being the independent woman that I am, I quickly open the door myself and hold it open.

I don’t need a man to open any doors for me, I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.

Apparently it surprises Hugo because he lets out a surprised oh.

Once he is inside and I’m inside, I carefully close the door. It looks like the windows would break if the door is shut too harshly.

Hugo smiles at me, “I guess I'll see you around? We can take a stop in the music room when I give you your tour.”

“Sure,” I nod my head but only a little, trying to hide how much I’m actually looking forward to it. “It was nice to meet you,” I say with a smile. A smile, I now realize, that has appeared on my face many times since the moment I met the guy standing in front of me.

“It was nice to meet you too, Tavi,” he says as he takes a small step back, “thanks for letting me take photos you.”

“Of course, it was nothing.” With that we part ways.

As I’m going upstairs, back to my bedroom, I realize this photography thing had been so much more fun than I had expected beforehand. Maybe I should listen to my maids more often.

[chrisstevenson]

The Lows of High Book Prices

A thousand pardons if I come off like a rant. I'm a mashup between J.A. Konrath and Harlan Ellison. I'm a writer advocate and defender of the written word. I also watch the industry like a stealthy Sasquatch. These articles are always meant for Guerrilla Warfare for Writers, my down and dirty blog. There is no BS here. Maybe some inaccuracies. I don't even like posting these articles to my YA website--no one reads me there anyway. I hope you suffer me well.  

First and foremost, if you are a celebrity author you don't need to be reading this. If you are an A-list author, pass on by. If you are a very popular author with a huge reader fan base and have a enormous mailing list that draws purchasing customers in like flies, audios. If you have a break-out or bestseller, you can kindly leave by through back door. There will also be some outlier exceptions. This article is not a call to arms for you. You are profitable, consistent and probably comfortably set in the mighty realm of book sales.

If you are new to writing with a minimum number of releases, an old-time mid-lister like me with a ton of books out there, or a new writer launching your first book, I think you better read this and make some grave determinations. It's unlikely a publisher is going to read this, but I've been with and seen too many that need to know what is working and what is not as far as ad pricing. This warning goes double for authors who just don't care that their e-book prices are going to be placed high regardless. It goes triple (as of this writing) because of the corona virus and the financially stressed atmosphere it has created.  People are buying essentials. As far as entertainment, they are streaming movies and playing games. Who started the the rumor that they were buying books hand over fist? Do you remember when this news was sent out on the wings of doves at the very beginning of the pandemic spread?

I would like you to read three paragraphs (below) which come straight from the keys of most of the advertisers I know and have dealt with. The wording might not be the same but the implications all point to the same conclusion. They don't want your high-priced book. They want rock-bottom cover prices and freebies. The reason is twofold; Shoppers want bargains, plain and simple. That's why W-Mart and Amazon rule the nest. Yet the second reason is that the company itself doesn't want to lose a potential customer. That means you won't be coming back for seconds if there are flat sales. They are also competing with other promotion and marketing sites that have the same mindset policies.

Here's my statistics for two YA fantasy/thrillers that had excellent covers and blurbs. Both of these ads were run before and during a Halloween special (the horror factor was quite evident).. Both books were priced at $2.99.

Book one ran for 15 days on a $45 budget. It received 5,391 impressions; total clicks--5--and a CTR of 0.09%

Book two ran for seven days on a $100 budget. It received 10,195 impressions; total clicks --13 and a CTR of  0.13%.

I don't think I have to do the math for you. Except for the takeaway, which was $145.00 from me and some wide-eyed experience. I later changed companies, dropped the e-book price to .99 cents, and still fell flat--no sales. We could argue all day long about what I did wrong with these two companies. I did not stop there. I enlisted in seven of the companies listed below, with very low, rock-bottom prices. Please excuse my spelling on the names.

Just Kindle Books

Fiverr--bkknights

Fussy Librarian

FreeBooksie

E-book Hounds

Robin Reads

Kindlebook Review

Book Barbarian

Booksends

BookDealio

Ebookdiscovery

Ereader IQ

Ent

Book Reader Magazine

Pretty Hot books.

Out of my promotions, I received three apologies and full refunds. I think I sold two books from Ent. That was it. I won't go into which seven, but I did do my research beforehand. They were my best picks.  

Have you ever heard that it wasn't the gold miners who made money off their digs, but the merchants who sold them the supplies, tools, products and other services? We basically have the same thing going on here, with grandiose claims of the promotion and marketing companies talking about going to the top of the sales charts, breakouts, unlimited exposure and guaranteed results. Results. Not sales. Impressions and clicks are a normal state of business and you'll see them. What you won't see are voluminous click-throughs--buys, sales, mullah.

There are many Indie writers who are exceptions to this rule because they have targeted outfits that payoff for them. Might be some trade published out there too. This comes from a lot of trial and error--R & D--and it NEVER ends because the books can go through an insufferable amount of tweaking to fine-tune the results. This happens when an author watches his/her ups, downs and in betweens--the stats that govern peak sales. Self-published authors also get a larger percentage cut of the royalties than the small trade-house authors. Many of the elite Indie authors pay thousands for ads a months, but they reaps thousands plus in return. So it is a revolving door for them--huge investments that garner huge profits. You want to make money, you have to spend it. That's not my quote, lol.

Look, all I'm saying is be wise and careful with your expenditures. You are going to see, if you already haven't, self-proclaimed experts that can do all forms of editing, covers, formatting, book tours, pod-casts, trailers, page ads, listings, book-to-movie deals, screenwriting, agent introductions, publisher submissions, blurbs, illustrations, writing courses, query letters, one-on-one instruction, translations, ghostwriting, expedited (paid) reviews, synopsis's, proof reading, evaluations and all other manner of Internet blasting services. Can you pay for some of these services without losing your shirt or blouse? Sure you can! It's up to you. But be aware, unless you really need and believe in any of them, you'll lose out every time.

I often wonder if we are just giving our books away because the sea is awash with them. So many tens of thousands of books are published each year that the numbers keeps compounding and burying the authors under tons of pixels. Nobody can find you, lest you post on FB that you will commit suicide if somebody, anybody doesn't buy one of your books before you take that leap. Well, if it goes viral and you were bluffing, it would work. I think you get the idea. Dear gawd, I've often entertained the idea.

1. Your deal price should be as competitive as possible (This is a company motto BTW).

"We promise our subscribers the best deals available. The better the deal, the more appealing it is to our subscribers, and therefore the more likely it is to be selected by our editors/readers. We rarely feature books priced above $2.99, and even $2.99 is an unusually high price for many of our categories.(I JUST LOVE IT WHEN THEY SAY $2.99 IS UNUSUALLY HIGH).

"While your deal price should be based on your book marketing goals, pricing as low as possible will entice more readers to download your book. The lower the price, the higher the conversion rate of a Deal. Knowing this, our editors prefer books that are competitively priced, since those will drive a higher volume of reader engagement. They’re also able to select a higher percentage of discounted books. If you’re not selected for a deal between $0.99 and $3.99, consider resubmitting your book for a free promotion, as this can be a really effective way to increase your chances of getting selected.

"Keep in mind that the competitiveness of your price depends on your category. While it’s normal to see a higher priced book in Cooking, for example, prices are usually lower in the Mysteries or Romance categories (THOSE TWO ARE THE BEST-SELLING GENRES, BTW).. Browse through books in your category to see what’s competitive in your own genre. Again, if your book is not selected at one price, try resubmitting at a lower price or for free. Your chances of being selected will be higher."

Note the last sentence. They are going to select you in accordance with how profitable they think you can be.Sounds to me if you don't go low enough to suit them, they'll politely blow you off.

I've heard some positive news about AMS, BookBub featured ads, and in a blue moon, FB and Twitter boosters. I've used all but the grand daddy feature ad. While these might still show some profit, they certainly aren't working like they used to. Profit has measurably declined, and I mean this in a general sense.

What does my crystal ball tell me for the future? I can only take a wild stab at it and say that the heavy visual sites like Pinterest, Instagram, Tumblr and others are driving a wedge between the other competitors. They could be the wave for future book exposure. I know their swords are drawn against Amazon

Anybody have any solutions or ideas about gaining some profitability in this industry? I'd love to hear it. Or any promo/marketing site that has fulfilled your dreams. BTW, just like FB put the whammy on My Space, do you see another FB type site in the future? I dooooo,

Blessed wishes, please stay safe and healthy.

Chris and Christy.  

[aibidil]

Betaing 101

So it’s not as if I’m an expert beta, but my experience as a beta in fandom is slightly different than most people’s because I’ve done copyediting professionally. Because of that, I’ve read books on editing and taken editing courses, etc. So! I’m going to give what I think is some useful insight and then, under the break, an excerpt from one of my books. Compiling this has been a good reminder of a lot of things for me, so I hope others can gather something useful here. This is just my take, ymmv, etc etc.

When you agree to beta something for someone new, ask them what kind of feedback they’re looking for. Leave it open-ended so you can hear what they think of first. Some authors will immediately say, “SPaG, please, for the love of god!” and others will say, “There shouldn’t be much SPaG but I really think the pacing is off halfway through, can you help with that? And I’m wondering about the character arc here?” Use this to guide how you approach the task.

If they haven’t already answered this, ask, “Do you want to know if I have any thoughts or concerns about plot or character?” I’ve never had an author say no to this, but you’ve gotta get on the same page. This is trickier in fandom than in other editing, because in fandom we all have strong opinions about the characters we’re editing. (This doesn’t really happen if you’re editing original fiction.) But I’ve had betas comment, “Feel free to ignore this, but would Harry actually do this?” And as an author, I value that feedback, because in fic, writers and readers work within shared character understandings. Of course, I might disagree with my beta in the end. But if I’ve touched on something that is a point of contention in fan circles, I’d rather be aware of it before publishing (or avoid the issue altogether by cutting it, depending on how integral the point is). But that sort of conversation can only happen if you know the author is open to it.

Don’t rewrite an author’s sentence simply because it is not the sentence you would’ve written. This can be harder than it sounds. It simply isn’t your job. Save it for your own writing, or for when a friend asks for help fixing a sentence giving them trouble. The author’s sentence is clear, correct, and serviceable, but you hate it? Grit your teeth and move on. 

In general, if a sentence isn’t grammatical and there’s no simple fix so it needs to be restructured, don’t make the change yourself in tracked changes, but make a comment that does the following: explains the problem and offers one or two possible solutions. Sometimes this comes up because of misplaced modifiers or vague pronoun references, and I know how I would fix it if I were the author, but that’s not the beta’s job. I can give them an example of a way to fix the grammatical issue, and then they can decide how to implement it in their voice.

Do your best to differentiate between comments/changes that are necessary for grammar/syntax and those that are stylistic preferences. Grammarians disagree about all sorts of things. If you’re copyediting in the real world, your job isn’t to find The Absolute Correct Thing, because that often doesn’t exist! Your job is to make the manuscript conform to a style guide, and it’s the style guide’s job to make decisions. (Even then, style guides often leave things open to discretion. Commas, for example, are much more discretionary than one might realize.) So, from the perspective of an author, it’s helpful to know: is the beta making a suggestion that you can feel free to ignore, or is the beta identifying a concrete flaw that needs fixing? I’m not sure there’s a best way to do this, but in google docs it’s possible to comment on a tracked change. So if I think a change needs explaining, I might throw a quick comment there. I might comment, “Moving this here because otherwise it’s a dangling modifier,” or “Feel free to ignore but this flows better to me?” This helps authors navigate your feedback. (As a sub-point here, if you see your author doing something that commonly appears on lists of “OH MY GOD WHY DO AUTHORS KEEP SAYING THIS?!” you can comment with something like: “Just wanted to flag this because I know a lot of readers say they get thrown out of the story when the author uses [‘epithets like the taller man’, ‘tongues battling for dominance’, etc.], but it’s up to you!”)

Speaking of style guides, your fandom might sort of have one? Often the fandom wikia is a good source for correct spellings and capitalizations. In the Harry Potter fandom, I consider Potterwords to be the style guide, and I make manuscripts conform to the conventions listed there. This is where I check for hyphenation (did you know it’s pure-blood not pureblood?), capitalization (it’s Muggle and Squib but witch and wizard), italicization (Summoning Charm but Accio), etc.

Always ask your author if they’re using the Oxford comma. This avoids fistfights. Likewise, ask them if they want you to Britpick. (Or Ameripick, or whatever.)

If you start reading and notice an issue that recurs throughout the fic, shoot the author a message and ask how they want you to proceed. It’s always better to ask. “Hey, I noticed a bunch of sentences that have extra words I could cut, do you want me to do that? [Example.]” or “Howdy mate, I noticed you have a lot of was -ing constructions—do you want me to change those or flag them or anything?” or “I noticed a few spots that seem slow, do you want me to point those out?”

Comment on the things you love. Comment on the things you love. There isn’t an author who won’t want to hear it. If something makes you happy or gives you feels or makes you keysmash, tell them! This serves at least three purposes: it makes your author happy, it tempers the author experience of getting back corrections (which can be overwhelming), and it gives the author feedback of reader reaction. If the author knows their beta squealed at a particular part, they will know for sure not to cut it or change it. :)

Be nice. This probably goes without saying, but I will say that it is harder to be nice when you’re trying to beta quickly. So if you’re rushing or under a deadline or it’s a really long piece, it takes more mindfulness. Think about how you’re wording your comments. “Feel free to ignore” is a good phrase to keep handy, and so is, “This might be nitpicking but.” If you’re chummy with the author, maybe a full-fledged “LOOK I KNOW I AM ANNOYING BUT...”

After you’re done, tell the author what you loved most. It will make them feel good and it will set the proper tone for their reading of your comments.

And of course, in the end, it’s fic—nothing serious hinges on these commas, unlike the commas in the Second Amendment. So if all else fails, err on the side of flail, not fastidiousness. We’re here to have fun, after all. 

Click below the cut for an excerpt from The Copyeditor’s Handbook by Amy Einsohn, with the caveat that, of course, some of these things apply differently in fandom.

Copyeditors always serve the needs of three constituencies:

the author(s)—the person (or people) who wrote the manuscript the publisher—[aibidil note: is the fandom analogue “the fest mods”? lol] the readers—the people for whom the material is being produced

All these parties share one basic desire: an error-free publication. To that end, the copyeditor acts as the author’s second pair of eyes, pointing out—and usually correcting—mechanical errors and inconsistencies; errors or infelicities of grammar, usage, and syntax; and errors or inconsistencies in content. If you like alliterative mnemonic devices, you can conceive of the copyeditor’s chief concerns as comprising the “4 Cs”—clarity, coherency, consistency, and correctness—in service of the “Cardinal C”: communication.

Copyeditors correct—or ask the author to correct—errors or lapses in grammar, syntax, usage, and diction. Ideally, copyeditors set right whatever is incorrect, unidiomatic, confusing, ambiguous, or inappropriate without attempting to impose their stylistic preferences or prejudices on the author.

Copyeditors must strive to strike a balance between being overly permissive and overly pedantic. Copyeditors are expected to correct (or ask the author to correct) locutions that are likely to confuse, distract, or disturb readers, but copyeditors are not hired for the purpose of imposing their own taste and sense of style on the author. Thus when reading a manuscript, the copyeditor must ask, “Is this sentence acceptable as the author has written it?” The issue is not “If I were the writer, would I have written it some other way?”

Most copyeditors read very, very slowly. You must train yourself to read very slowly—slowly enough to scrutinize each comma (”OK, comma, what are you doing here? Do you really belong here? Why?”), to interrogate each pronoun (”Hey, pronoun, where’s your antecedent? Do you two agree in gender and number?”), to cross-examine each homophone (”You there, ‘affect’! Shouldn’t you be ‘effect’?”), and to ponder each compound adjective, adverb, and noun (”Does the dictionary show ‘cross section’ or ‘cross-section’?”). Moreover, you must read slowly enough to catch missing words (a dropped “the” or “a”), missing pieces of punctuation (”We need a hyphen here”), ambiguities in syntax, and gaps in logic.

You should look up anything that you are unsure of. With your dictionary, style manual, usage guide, thesaurus, and other reference books at your side, this is the time to read up on troublesome mechanical issues, brush up on tricky grammar and usage controversies, and verify your suspicions about factual inaccuracies or inconsistencies in the manuscript. 

The copyedited manuscript is always sent to the author for review.

Do not machete a manuscript or rewrite a document unless you are explicitly asked to do heavy editing or rewriting. If the author’s sentences are clear, correct, and serviceable, let them be. Don’t rewrite an author’s sentence simply because it is not the sentence you would have written. A reminder to this effect is posted on many bulletin boards in publishing offices around the world:

It’s hard difficult to resist the urge temptation to change improve someone else’s writing.

Resisting this urge will make your life as a copyeditor easier in several ways. First, you will be able to devote more of your attention to your primary responsibilities: When you resist the urge to recast phrases in your own voice, you are more likely to catch mechanical errors, internal inconsistencies, and grammatical mistakes. Second, your relations with authors will be smoother because they will perceive you as an aide, not as a usurper of their authorial powers. Third, both the copyediting and the cleanup will take less time and be less frustrating. Finally, you will neatly sidestep an issue that often troubles novice copyeditors: “How do I maintain the author’s style?” That issue will not arise if you focus on copyediting—not rewriting—and if you explain problems to your authors and ask them either to resolve the problems or to select among the alternatives you are posing.

[itslulu42]

So it begins...

Why the hell did I write this?  I DON’T LIKE CRACK SHIPS! Edit:Apparently, I like this one..bwhahahaha.

I’m pretty certain y’all are heathens.  

@kunoichi-ume @padlocked-quintus  (our paths haven’t crossed yet)

Here’s some Madakaka because I like time travel and Kakashi.  This is right when the village is formed and Kakashi spends most of his time hiding from Madara.

There are probably errors galore.  I had to spend an embarrassing amount of time googling how to spell things.

Madara was used to a certain amount of attention.  It was to be expected as leader of the Uchiha clan.  Hashirama had sought his attention as a child and now they were creating a village together.  Clans deferred to him, standing at attention when they were in the presence of Madara. The only exception nowadays was from the thief.  The man walked around with one of the clan’s prized dojutsu without a care in the world and barely gave Madara a glance.  Kakashi looked perpetually half-asleep and Madara did not know what to make of it. Madara did not give two fucks about Tobirama, but at least the Senju respected him enough to watch him like a hawk when they were in a near each other.  

Hashirama demanded an evaluation of the Uchiha clan by Kakashi in order to fully understand everyone’s skill level.  Madara had balked and argued; he was clan head after all, he could evaluate everyone perfectly fine for himself.   But there were many more clans in their fledging village than either of them had anticipated. They needed quick evaluations to determine how strong the village was.   Madara had finally relented, if anything, to prove Hashirama wrong.

His stomach soured as he watched his entire clan line up like cattle and performed in front of the thief.  Never had Madara felt regret so instant.  He watched young Kagami step forward and perform a perfect series of katas and finalized his show of skill with an unusually large Great Fireball.  Kakashi had only hummed in response.

Madara did not care if he lived to be a hundred years old; he was never forgiving Hashirama for this.

“I do not like him,” said Izuna when it was over.  They watched the thief depart with lazy wave, completely at ease with leaving his back open to an attack.  

Madara agreed as he fantasized setting Kakashi on fire with Amaterasu.  The space between Kakashi’s defined shoulder blades made for perfect target. If only he had the Mangekyo Sharingan.

The clan heads gathered the following week to hear the results of the evaluations. Madara had been warned ahead of time that it would be a long meeting.  The thief showed up late, of course.

“I apologize,” Kakashi said as he tousled his hair so it looked even more windswept.  “I had to look over some of my notes.”  

The head of the Shimura clan grunted as he glared at Kakashi’s empty hands.   Madara imagined using Tsukuyomi to pluck the stolen eye out of the thief’s head a few thousand times.  Hashirama sighed and gave Kakashi the room.

The thief gave a dangerous smile and Madara was transported to the first time they had met on the battlefield, the smell of ozone and crackle of electricity. He had a premonition that having Kakashi’s full attention was not something one wanted to invite.  Then he watched it come true as Hatake Kakashi systematically expose every one of the weaknesses he had discovered.

It was brutal.  He talked for hours, never relenting even when his audience tried to respond.  He criticized the clan heads that were blind to their weaknesses.  He listed hypothetical teams and those who needed to take a more passive role as village support. Madara saw Shimura’s face turn red when the clan was assessed for roles in administration.

It might have been the most beautiful thing Madara had ever seen.

He shivered when Kakashi turned towards him, unexpectedly eager for the attention. Madara’s jaw dropped open at the first sentence and only he remembered to shut it when Kakashi teased him.  

“It’s not polite to leave your mouth open like that, Madara-san.”

When the entire assessment was over, it was well past supper time.  Hashirama thought it best to reconvene the following day so everyone could go over the information.  Kakashi, all too aware of the room’s mood, made a hasty exit.  Madara had expected the retreat and had activated his Sharingan in anticipation.  As soon as he saw Kakashi form the first hand sign for shunshin, Madara had followed suit.

“How did you do it?” Madara demanded as took advantage of Kakashi’s surprise to slam him against a tree.

“What do you mean?” Kakashi’s half-lidded eye peered at him.

“It is my clan!  I have watched and lived with them for years! You watched them for five hours!” Madara let go of the vest and took a step back.  “I agree with everything you said.  For instance, Kagami overuse of chakra on his ninjutsu.  I am in the middle of rectifying that poor habit.  Your assessment was correct because you know how much chakra is needed and were able to see the waste. I am aware that you know how to perform the Great Fireball technique.  Yet, you were able to make an assessment with every clan.”

“I know many jutsus,” Kakashi said evasively.  Madara narrowed his eyes.

“How many?”

“Eh?”  Kakashi raised a hand to his chin.  “Truthfully, I don’t know.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”  Madara crossed his arms.  “You may like to play the fool, but I have seen too much evidence to the contrary.”

“Maa.  It’s not like that.  I stopped counting once the number was over a thousand.”  

“Impossible.” The word fell from Madara’s lips automatically.  

“Oh?”  Kakashi tapped a finger to the headband the covered the Sharingan.  “I would think you would have more faith your clans’ dojutsu.”

“I have complete faith in the Sharingan,” Madara ground out.  “I simply don’t believe there are thousand jutsu existing.  The average clan member has twenty hidden techniques; a skilled member may have invented one or two on their own.  To have a thousand, you would have had to travel all over the world.  Not to mention expand into other elements beyond lightning and fire.”

“Well, yes.  I mastered all five elements.  I try to avoid using wind as it uses too much chakra.” Kakashi said, amusement tinting his words.

“Show me.”  Madara demanded.  He knew Hashirama was able to use all five elements, but his friend had the advantage of being born with a kekkei genkai.

Kakakshi cocked his head to the side.  “Very well.”

Madara watched with the Sharingan as Kakashi performed an Earth jutsu and a wall sprung up from the ground in front of them.  It was promptly destroyed by a fireball that was the size of an expanded Akimichi.   Kakashi spared no glance to see Madara’s reaction; his eyes were focused in front of him as began another jutsu. His fingers were light and nimble as they raced through the hand signs.  Kakashi’s muscle memory was able to create torrents with barely a thought, a clear sign of relentless training. A gust of wind tore a tree out by its roots and Madara felt of rush of excitement at its destruction.  Kakashi turned to Madara his hands pressed together in the ox formation.

Madara responded to Kakashi’s silent question with a shake of his head.  Kakashi had split a lightning bolt in two during their first meeting, his blue chakra casting a ghostly pallor on the battlefield. There was no need to see that last element performed.

“I stand corrected.”   Madara deactivated his Sharingan. 

“It happens to the best, Madara-san.”  Something uncoiled in Kakashi’s body and he went back to looking like the disinterested person who had vexed Madara so much.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

‘One thousand jutsu’, Madara mused as he drank tea later on that evening.  He had no idea his fledgling village had two who could wield all five elements.  What a carefully guarded secret!

He was going to have to pay closer attention to Hatake Kakashi.