#i'm not opposed to getting more but i'm flailing about what to write

[khaotunq]

Trick or treat 💖✨✨

For you, non, a missing scene. *

They had barely stopped touching since the tearful reunion in the jazz cafe Sand's dad played in. Ray had parted from him to walk around to the driver's side but had immediately taken his hand, pressed it onto his thigh like it was for safekeeping.

The last of the alcohol buzzed around in Sand, made him a little fuzzy, brought his pushed-down emotions dangerously near the surface. He'd been drinking to dull them but Ray's voice cracking around his name had dragged them up and suddenly he was engulfed.

Ray had come back to him. His uncanny knack for finding Sand wherever he went had won through and he'd come back. Sand knew that meant something, almost as much as the words he'd said. Nick had pointed it out, once, that Ray turning up in front of him was perhaps a coincidence the first couple of times, but after that it was a conscious decision. Nick had also called Ray a few uncharitable names for not seeing how brilliant Sand was, which Sand had laughed off but been genuinely touched by.

Sand had been subjected to approximately seventeen thousand Meaningful Looks from Nick when he'd gotten home after Ray crashed their camping trip.

That wasn't the point, though. The point was that they were in Ray's car in a strange, reversed echo of a drive they'd taken before. He reached to turn the radio on with the hand not curled into the rough denim of Ray's jeans. The point was that Ray had found him, had reached out and taken hold, and let himself be taken hold of in return.

The car ride was mostly filled with the radio, occasional sniffles and self-conscious little laughs.

They reached Sand's apartment, hands intertwined. Nick was working so Sand let them in and finally it was safe to let go. Ray ducked past him into the main room of the apartment while Sand locked the door and placed his boots beside Ray's.

Sand looked up properly just in time to collide with Ray's back.

He'd forgotten about the wine. Had managed to push it out of his mind that even though he hadn't let himself hope for Ray coming back, he couldn't stand to look at it anymore. There were still boxes of finished product but Nick had let him store them in his room while he got a grip.

"Sand?" It was the first either of them had actually spoken since the cafe.

"It was you or the booze, right?" Sand said with a clarity he didn't realise he felt until that moment. The fuzziness from the alcohol had dissipated, leaving him feeling drained and heavy but hyperaware of Ray before him. "Same choice you're making."

Ray spun in place to stare up at him, eyes glassy with emotion again. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, apparently unable to find the words. "But--"

"There are other jobs," Sand said, still surprised by how fully-formed the thought seemed to be. Didn't say, there's no other Ray.

Ray seemed to hear that anyway, because the kiss he pressed to Sand's mouth was bruising and kind of clumsy, tasted like both of their tears.

[wzrd-wheezes]

Star Boy : Part One- Footballer!James x Reader

AN - I've been dying to write a footballer!james fic and have only just gotten around to it. I think I'm going to make this a series so please let me know if you would be interested in that!

1.5k words - fluff

Taking penalties was James Potter’s speciality. It had always been his thing. From the moment he started playing football, he had always found something exhilarating in the otherwise nerve-wracking challenge. Maybe it was something about the high stakes, the way that the fate of the team’s success was in his hands, the rush of adrenaline when he scored, and the way his teammates would swarm around him, limbs flailing in celebration, the roar of the crowd echoing in his ears. 

James could count the number of missed penalties on one hand. He was renowned in the footballing world as some sort of wunderkind, achieving extraordinary success at a remarkably young age. 

Today, for the first time in two seasons, James missed a penalty. After a particularly nasty foul on one of his teammates, James had dashed to the sideline to retrieve the ball. As he bent down to pick it up from the bright-eyed, fluffy-haired ball boy, his gaze landed on her for the first time. She was seated a few rows from the front, a blue and white football scarf draped around her neck, her teeth biting anxiously on her bottom lip as she awaited the penalty. James didn’t think he had ever seen anyone more beautiful. He ruffled the ball boy’s hair in thanks, but as he turned away, his eyes locked with the girl in the stands, and he felt his stomach jolt. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“You’ve got this, Star Boy.” On of his teammates slapped him on the back as he approached the penalty area. He rolled the ball over in his hands a few times before dropping it on the penalty spot. He glanced upwards, the opposing team’s goalkeeper was jumping up and down in the goal, a classic distraction tactic. His eyes drifted momentarily to the stand where he had just walked from, surprising himself at how quickly he picked that girl out of the crowd. She, like the rest of the fans, was now standing, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. God, she was pretty. 

“Focus.” he whispered to himself.  

James began his run-up, his eyes shifting back to the ball. But the image of her anxious, beautiful face lingered in his mind. Just as his foot connected with the ball, his concentration wavered. The shot was off. 

Time seemed to slow as the ball sailed towards the goal. The goalkeeper dove the wrong way, but the ball didn’t head for the corner of the net as it usually would. Instead, it skimmed outside of the post and went wide.  

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd, followed by a groan of disappointment. The away fans cheered and celebrated his miss. James stood frozen, staring at the spot where the ball had missed its mark. He cursed loudly, his hands flying up to rake through his hair in frustration. He never missed. 

He turned to look at her again. She had her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. His stomach sank. For the first time in his career, he had let a moment get to him, and it had cost him- and his team- dearly.  

There was only around ten minutes or so of the match left and his team were desperately trying to get another goal to put them ahead. The whole time, all James could think about was how he had fumbled the penalty and how disappointed the girl had looked. How was he making himself feel bad over a girl that he didn’t even know?  

As the minutes ticked away, James pushed himself harder, trying to shake off the nagging thoughts and focus on the game. His teammates were counting on him and he couldn’t afford to let them down again.  

The referee’s whistle finally signalled the end of the match and a wave of frustration and disappointment washed over him. The game had ended in a draw and James couldn’t help but feel responsible.  

In the changing room, the usual post-match chatter was subdued. His teammates offered him pats on the back and words of encouragement, but James could barely muster a response. All he could think about was the penalty, the girl, and the look on her face. 

“C’mon, Jamie. We still ended up with a draw.” Ryan Bennet, one of their defenders, sat next to him, “We earned a point, and let’s not forget, you still hold the record for most penalty goals in the league,” he added with a grin. 

“Cheers, Benno.” James smiled, “You always know how to boost my ego.” 

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” Ryan laughed and clapped James on the shoulder before heading to the showers.  

Once he had showered, he quickly changed and made his way to the player’s car park. Outside, the cool evening air greeted him as he made his way to his car, a sleek black Range Rover that gleamed under the stadium lights. Beyond the gate, James could see fans eagerly lining the pathway, eager for a chance to catch a glimpse of their favourite platers.  

Driving out of the carpark, the fans approached his car, holding out shirts and pictures in hope that he would sign them. Slowing his car down, he wound down his window and greeted the fans with a smile. Despite the exhaustion that tugged at his muscles and the lingering disappointment of the missed penalty, James’s heart buzzed with gratitude towards the fans that had come out to support him. He always gave the fans his time if he could, especially the kids. After all, he was one of them once, spending hours outside Moonridge United’s stadium after a match, waiting for the chance to meet his heroes. 

He was a few photographs in when he spotted her. The girl from Cresent End, standing a few people back from his car with a beaming younger boy by her side. Her presence caught him off guard, a pleasant surprise amidst the flurry of fans seeking his attention. When it was their turn, the younger boy bounded over to his car. 

“Hey there, buddy!” James greeted him with enthusiasm.  

“Wow, it’s really you!” the boy exclaimed, his voice filled with awe, “You’re James Potter! I’m your biggest fan.” 

“Ah, thank you, mate!” he smiled, “I hope you enjoyed the game. I’m sorry that we didn’t manage to win.” 

“Would you please be able to sign my shirt?” the boy spun round, revealing the back of his football shirt which had “Potter 10” written on the back.  

“It would be a pleasure.” James leaned out of the car, carefully signing his name on the number 10. As soon as he had finished signing it, the boy shouted a quick thank you and ran off towards a big group of boys, proudly showing off his shirt. 

“This really means a lot to him.” the girl spoke. James’s heart raced, his eyes focusing on her, “He’s been looking forward to the match all week, bless him. You’re his favourite player.” 

“I’m honoured.” he replied, his tone playful, “And what about you? Who’s your favourite player?” 

The girl turned around, showing the back of her shirt which had “Bennett 30” on the back of it. Ryan, that bastard. 

“Well, it looks like I have some competition.” James laughed. 

“Competition is good for the soul, isn’t it?” she replied, her tone teasing. 

“So, I’ve heard." 

The girl laughed and James’s heart melted. God, she looked gorgeous when she laughed. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips curved into a radiant smile that lit up her whole face.  

“Hey, can I let you in on a secret?” James whispered, glancing around to see if there was anyone lurking around. 

“Go ahead.” 

“You’re the reason that I missed that penalty.” 

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise at James’s confession, her cheeks heating up with a mixture of astonishment and curiosity.  

“Me? You’re joking, right?” 

James chuckled, shaking his head, “I wish I was. I saw you in the stands and I thought you looked beautiful. I guess you got me a little distracted.” 

She let out a laugh in disbelief, “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to flatter me?” she mused, “Though I suppose I owe you an apology.” 

“I wish I was that smooth.” James grinned, “You can make it up to me by giving me your number and letting me take you out to dinner?” 

“Hmm, tempting offer.” she teased, tapping her chin in mock contemplation, “I reckon it’s the least I could do, seeing as I apparently cost you the match.” 

James laughed as he reached into his pocket and unlocked his phone, handing it to her. 

“I’ll call you, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

As she handed him his phone back, their fingers brushed, lingering for a moment before pulling away. Their eyes locked together and for a moment James contemplated just kissing her then and there.  

“I’ve got to go.” the girl gestured over to where her little brother was standing with his friends. James nodded, looking down at his phone screen where her name and phone number were displayed.  

“Y/N.” he read, “Very pretty. It suits you.” 

“I’ll tell my parents you said so,” she joked, “See you later, James.” 

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Season 2 Episode 1 Liveblog

It's time!!! Let's see what we've got waiting for us!

Recaps! They really streamlined the season 1 story and hit some parts harder than others. Looking back, this appears to be a more S2E1 centric recap, presumably there will be more that showcase other plotlines.

You know, I think having let season 1 settle, I'm more willing to take it as a given and just see how season 2 builds on it.

Ooh, big pointy crown.

Oh, who is this guy? Okay, I'm guessing immediately post War of Wrath Sauron, with Adar at his side. Where do they keep finding these ordinary-ass looking dudes?

Like the makeup on New Adar is good, but he doesn't have the...slightly weird looking guy-ness underneath that really made Mawle stand out.

And Sauron looks like a televangelist about to solicit donations

Ooh looks like one orc was a little too trigger happy. If you're gonna fuck with Sauron you gotta make it stick.

What are they calling Sauron in the Black Speech? I'm gonna have to go back and check that

Come on, Adar is not going to crown himself. Sigh, they have not entirely gotten the urge toward petty fakeouts out of their system. It makes this show tedious to watch sometimes, seeing them unnecessarily draw out the tension as they try to force you to guess which way they're going to jag

But he is gonna BACKSTAB!!! Gotta be careful with making your crown too pointy. Yay, we're getting the Obliteration right off the bat! Just a fuckton of stabbies when he's probably already weak.

FROSTSPLOSION

Ooh there he goes, slithering down the cracks.

Oh no poor rat fremb :(

See, this is why Huan and Luthien had his ass dead to rights. Surrendering his body SUCKS.

oh no poor nice wagon lady.

Welcome back, Hal

The humans are looking for refuge...across the sea? Who is telling them this?? I mean Numenor is out there and legends of it probably exist, but still. Who made them a ship??

My read is that Sauron at this point is just flailing about for any path to power that might present itself. Bold move getting on a ship going west tho.

poor wise old steward dude

Title!

Wow you guys are in a hurry where u goin?

If this ends up being just a friendly race I'm gonna Object

Oh shit no this is The Real Shit, we're starting out big

Galadriel learns that there are consequences? To her actions??

Why are they switching languages? What language were they supposedly speaking before? What is the rationale behind this writing decision?

Oh yeah, Galadriel was 100% just embarrassed to admit she got hornswoggled by Sauron.

Well at least Gil-galad has a good argument. He cares for everyone left behind in Middle-earth

Okay, though are Elrond and Gil-galad ever going to be friends?? Is Gil-galad ever going to be something other than an Unreasonable Authority Figure plot device to oppose Elrond?

Elrond says fuck you I do what I want

Okay Hal is back in the Southlands. Is this present day, or back in the latter half of S1?

Really dude? The full Moses? What script writer is getting gratification from this?

Hal what r u doin??

Wizard friend? Where is Nori?

He is in touch with the Music

Oh hi Nori! Wait if it's so dry and dead out where'd she get her hair foliage? Looks like she got some fake leaves and olives from Michaels

Sauron's fur baby!

I hate this so much. We are in dramatic irony territory now--we know who Hal is. There is only one way to read this scene. So why is he here? What is his play?

Cirdan? CIRDAN!!

Heh, you CANNOT find a scion of Luthien who does not want to be found

Lol, drag her ass Gil. She is not out of trouble just because they are on the same side.

Wait is that the chasm Mae threw himself in? Is there already a Silmaril in there and ur gonna put some rings in it too?

:o POPPY!!!!!!! I am so blessed :DDDD Love wins!

I like the greyed out twilight lighting

O no the skull telescope guys are this season's evil moth ladies?

Okay I think I see Sauron's goal. He's pointing the Orc army at Eregion without fully taking command of it yet. And massively flexing on Adar just because he can. When it comes to concealing his identity, he is simply the best there is.

Oh he promises to "serve the Lord of Mordor", huh? I guess that one's hard to catch if you're not looking for an internal betrayal

RIP Waldreg, lol. Fur baby gotta eat. I wonder if that's supposed to bear fruit later or is just another flex.

shit that's some nice singing

More interfacing with The Elves Must Leave Because Reasons but at least it's brief. Really feels like unnecessary conflict still.

O no Cirdan got got! Poor Elrond :(. Not gonna argue with whether Sauron can actually put the whammy on an elf that old and powerful from 5000 miles away. It is what it is and we will see where it goes.

Love Gil's super-bling. Gotta make room for some more.

Go go metaphor tree powers activate!

I liked the far shot of the three OG ring elves, and the hand shot was cool (tolerable) for one second, but then it just looks silly, especially with the actors obviously trying real hard to keep their hands still for that long.

Tyelpe! Finally!!

He's coming as hal?? What is he doing???

And that's it! We didn't check in with Arondir and Theo or the Numenor crew at all, but I'm sure we'll get around to it. So far I think it's going well and I'm excited to see more!

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

So, I know that I've re-blogged things like this before. Probably enough to have me sounding like a bit of a broken record, at this point. That said, please feel free to continue scrolling on if you're tired of hearing my rambles. But this? This is one of those hills I'm willing to die on.

I know that some of you will say I should be writing for myself. That I would be far better served simply not caring whether I post a chapter and get a comment, or not. And honestly, more power to the authors/creators that are able to do that. I applaud you, and I envy you, but that simply...isn't me. Before you come at me about how much better off I would be not caring, though, I just want to say this. I do write for myself. The mere fact that I'm putting it all on "paper" (or Google Docs, or whatever), rather than just letting it all roll like a movie reel in my head is proof of that. If that's not enough, my plots are my own, and unless someone is sharing in that plotting (dear friends, you know who you are), or you come into my comments offering constructive feedback, I won't generally change the trajectory of a story just because one person doesn't like the way I'm doing things. They're free to continue reading the story as is, or stop altogether, and I won't begrudge them either way.

But the sharing of what I'm writing here, or on fanfiction.net, or A03? That is purely because I'm hoping that I'm not the only one that will be willing to flail, and squeal, and generally act like a fool over what it is that I'm doing. So, getting myself all riled up and excited to post, spending hours or days on a chapter, and then hearing crickets every single time? Even if I ask for specific feedback in author's notes, and not in a way that makes it seem as though I'm holding chapters hostage for reviews? It's discouraging. Even more so in situations like OP mentioned, finding out that there are those that love the work but refuse to share that with the author.

I know that several commenters have slowed their roll because certain authors have villainized them if they share anything that isn't glowing feedback. I know some are just lost as far as what they should say, or they're worried about simply repeating the words of a previous commenter. I know there are even some who are simply discouraged because they did comment, and the author never bothered to acknowledge it at all. So I'm not at all saying that commenting is easy, or something that may not come with consequences, and on behalf of those authors, myself included, who would never tear someone apart, or ignore someone for offering genuine feedback, I want to apologize for anyone who did make you feel like you couldn't speak your mind.

That said, though (and I recognize I certainly do not have the right to claim I speak for everyone, nor would I ever try), I'm begging you. Even if it's not in English. Even if it's just a string of emojis, or a simple 'please update soon!'. Please. If a story really intrigues you, or moves you in any way, please at least try to share that feeling every so often? I'm not asking for comments on every chapter, and I'm not asking for a gushing dissertation, either (though if you are moved to leave one, I certainly will not complain).

All I'm asking is that you try. That you give some authors a chance to prove that we aren't all the same as the ones who may have soured your reading and commenting experience, before. Because your feedback, directly to the author, might just mean the difference between them continuing to write, as opposed to just keeping all of their ideas locked away on the movie screen in their head, never to be shared again.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[pollywiltse]

I was semi-reading Valiant Ambition and honestly I feel like it's indicative of something wrong with modern society that so many people seem to be treating The Character Assassination - sorry, The Execution - of John André as a reliable source and a sane and reasonable assessment of André's character by someone whose hateboner isn't visible from space. It's not even like John Evangelist Walsh is an expert on the 18th century or the Revolution or André. It's like all these people prefer the idea of André as this manipulative-except-somehow-not-when-it-counts sociopath to someone who was, in fact, just that charming even though the evidence really points to him being just that charming.

I'm not just saying that because I'm an André partisan - 1. I've been in fandom for years; I know what unhinged hatred because some character wronged your fave looks like (where "wronged" doesn't necessarily mean actually did something bad as opposed being the canon love interest of the other half of your OTP or being more popular among the rest of fandom than your fave); 2. John Evangelist Walsh literally makes stuff up to make André look bad. Like I can give you specific examples where he makes claims that have no supporting evidence or conflict with the evidence that exists; and 3. I think D. A. B. Ronald's André-can-do-no-wrong version is equally bad, just in the opposite direction, and I would pay money to watch them cagefight. (Unfortunately Walsh is dead and if someone develops effective necromantic technology, I'm not wasting it on some obnoxious writer. I'm bringing André back.)

Tbh I feel like it was probably a warning about life in general that the two André books I know of that were published in the 21st century are this and the batshit Ronald bio. Like Flexner and Hatch aren't without flaws, but at least you get the feeling they're trying to be intellectually honest, even though Flexner needed an ancient Roman slave whispering in his ear "Remember thou art not clairvoyant or a novelist" the entire time he was writing. (Honestly I think even Sargent was attempting to be intellectually honest. He was just, you know, Victorian. The Tillotson bio is such a non-entity I can't even remember my assessment of it.)

I realize Philbrick's degree isn't in history, so you can sort of argue he doesn't count, but Richard Welch, who did the (disappointing, insufficiently proofread) modern Tallmadge bio is a literal history professor and he seems to have uncritically accepted Walsh's assessment of André as well.

I'm also confused why Philbrick (and this is actually kind of a Ronald problem too, except in a 4-d chess conspiracy theory way) seems to think that Arnold didn't care about André getting back safely. I think it's far more likely that neither of them knew what they were doing, that Arnold didn't realize that Joshua Smith was going to leave André partway through (because I think there's at least something of a modern consensus that if Smith had been with André, Paulding et al would have recognized Smith and not stopped them, but also if Smith was still there, André probably would have been less likely to tell them that he was a British officer), and that he overestimated André's ability to make it back to British lines in disguise. (I think for two reasons - one, that André clearly wasn't stupid, and two, I kind of have this theory that Arnold would have managed to make it back, because Arnold was a good field officer, which presumably requires the ability to think on your feet, but there's not really any evidence to think that was one of André's particular skills. And people are bad at realizing when other people can't do stuff that's easy for them. Also Arnold was better at threatening people than André.)

Like 90% of military (and political) history seems to be people in over their heads flailing desperately (plus personal drama), and that's probably a low estimate.

Also, is there evidence of Arnold being the unreasonably jealous type? Because I've read significantly less about him than about André, but honestly my impression of him when it came to his wives is that he'd literally have to walk in on them having sex with a lover to believe that they were cheating and then he'd probably cry a lot and wonder what he did wrong (and maybe then shoot the boyfriend, but I'm not sure he'd be fazed enough by one of Peggy's old flames that he would risk 20000 pounds and possibly his own skin by not making sure he got back safely, especially when there's really no reason to think that Peggy was into André at this point in time).

[vv3nti]

liar — t. oikawa & h. iwaizumi

synopsis—a love triangle of unrequited love

warnings—angst , unrequited love , break-up , some aspects based off american high school , there may be a little ooc i'm still learning to writing the hq boys sorry :/

a/n—this is a one-shot i wrote i'm hoping to make into a series- i've started part two so that's promised if not a series, send an ask or wtv to be tagged for that <3

“I’m tired of hiding, Tooru. I’m tired of being kept a secret.” You said softly, twirling the necklace around your neck between two fingers. The weight of this relationship finally lifting off your shoulders, but that didn’t stop the inevitable thump growing in your throat. You love Oikawa, you really do, but you can’t keep going like this. Your heart won’t allow it. You want someone proud to show you off and cherish you with all they have. Maybe, your expectations were too high from the beginning; if you had set the bar lower, this all could have been avoided. Or if Oikawa truly cared for you, loved you as he said he did. Whatever the reason, the dull ache was too much to bear. “I can’t do this anymore; it hurts too much.”

Oikawa had not expected those words to leave your plush lips. No, he thought you’d complain again, he’d kiss it better, and you would forget about it, like usual. But this—this was the last thing he wanted to hear. You were happy; he was sure of it. What the hell provoked you to feel like this? “What do you mean? We agreed we would wait.”

“Yeah, months ago.” You wave your hand through the air. You had no intention of allowing the boy to dismiss your concerns, not again. “And every time I mention it, you disregard my feelings like they don’t matter.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a clear frown set on his face. “Of course, your feelings matter to me.”

“If that were true, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Anxiety started creeping up your spine, a deep shiver demersing. You couldn’t help but feel off-put; if you didn’t end the conversation fast, you knew you’d slip back in his clutches. “Please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. No one even knew we were together; that means things can go back to normal.”

“Normal?” He mumbled, eyes downcast to the floor. “What does that even mean? Nevermind that—is this about my fangirls? Because I can tell them to back off. Or Mei? Did she say something to you.” Oikawa’s calm demeanor began to wear off, and panic soon set it. The perfect picture he had planted in his head was decaying within the second, and he couldn’t manage the thought. He couldn’t even see the harsh reality behind his imagination; nothing about your relationship was ideal. Oikawa pushed you too far off the deep end, and as he tried to meet his own needs, he neglected yours.

His hands reached out to you, afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t get ahold of you soon.

The mention of his ex stung a little more than it should. But what are you supposed to feel? Tooru was publicly dating her for a lot longer than you've been together and you felt inferior to her in so many ways. They didn't break up on bad terms and you can't help but wonder if he still has feelings for her—it would justify his need to keep you a secret. “No! I’m done, I’m done with this, Tooru. This how couples are supposed to act; I don’t want to act like this. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing this. I need time, a break, anything but this.”

That night you both went home with a gaping hole in your chest and beds a little colder than before. Uncertainty crept in; was this a temporary break or a breakup. Neither of you had the answer.

You spent the first day of the long weekend cooped in your room, fresh tear streaks following the tracks on the old. On Sunday, you had to head to the school to decorate lockers for senior night or week in Sejohs case; the volleyball team had games on Tuesday and Friday this week. Luckily your appointed third year was Iwaizumi, so you didn’t have to trouble over an awkward encounter with Oikawa. Monday consisted of endless baking; it was safe to say you went slightly overboard. Assortments of brownies, cupcakes, mini cheesecakes, and peach cobbler aligned the countertops. One might say you’re a stress baker.

On the contrary, Oikawa spent his weekend hounding down on his team with tiring drills and repetitive rotations. His temper was short, and his attitude anything but playful. None of the club members wanted to be the one to confront their captain, leaving him alone in his thoughts—thoughts about you. At night he got little to no sleep, spending his sleepless nights replaying all his wrongs as if the answer will all of a sudden appear. But how is Oikawa supposed to fix a problem he didn’t even know what there.

Tuesday rolled around faster than anyone could have expected. You sat restlessly in the clubroom, waiting for Iwaizumi to meet you there. You requested him to join you in the room, considering you didn’t walk to school with him and Oikawa as you usually would. Regardless of where you interacted, you knew Iwa had many questions, and you’d preferably be interrogated in private than in front of the entire student body.

Iwa rushed into the room, school bag around his shoulder and one of his jerseys flailing in his hand. “Hey,” He spoke, his usually irritated tone nowhere to be heard. Upon seeing him, scorching anxiety rose in your chest. Deep breaths, Y/N, deep breaths. “I brought this.”

“Iwa, hi,” You chirped, hopping on the tabletop and embracing your friend—holding on a little tighter than usual. Despite your constant mantra of ‘I’m fine,’ you did long for some form of comfort. “Yes, right, thank you. Just set in on my bag. I want to show you what I made.” You dragged the boy by his hand to the table occupying your tasty treats. You figured he could share the desserts with the rest of the team once they won tonight. The hopeful look on your face slightly dropped. Iwa didn’t look as excited as you hoped for. Instead, he looked deep in thought, like something was bothering him.

“What’s going on?” He questioned quietly, finally meeting your puzzled eyes. “Come on, Y/N, you cook when you’re upset. Anyone who’s known you for more than a year knows that.”

Mouth ajar and eyes wide, you searched for an excuse to preach to Iwaizumi—although you know your attempts will be futile. Since you were in elementary school, you’ve grown up the boy and had no doubt he would read you like an open book. And if not you, then most definitely Oikawa. “Nothings going on; I just wanted you to have an array of options. Is that so bad? You could be a little more thankful, you know.”

“Of course, I’m thankful for all of this. But I’m going to find it a little concerning when Shittykawa is as quiet as a mouse, and you’ve got bags under your eyes from what? The hours you spent baking through the night?.” Iwa uttered, raising his voice a bit.

Unfortunately, that only further pushed you to the defensive stature. You wished he’d just leave it, shove it under a rug as you did this weekend. “Not everything I do involves Oikawa! If he’s acting weird, then you can ask him about that instead of undermining what I did for you!” You frantically grabbed your bag off the ground, planning to leave the room. “If you didn’t like it, you could have said thanks and thrown it away—”

“Hey, Hey,” A tight grip encloses around your bicep, halting your departure. “I’m sorry, I really like everything you did for me, you know cheesecake is my favorite. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi’s grip doesn’t falter, even as your teary eyes meet his own.

The lump grew in your throat as you fought back the waterworks. “We broke up, or I broke up with him, I guess. Can you even break up with someone who didn’t want you in the first place?” You said, through a broken sob. Iwa doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you with the same pitiful look you’ve seen a thousand times. His free hand moved to the side of your face, patting your hair a few times before he pushed your head into his chest. Words wouldn’t provide you with the support you needed, so Iwa simply let you cry in his embrace—secretly plotting all the ways he wanted to beat Oikawa’s ass.

He didn’t need to ask. He knew all the reasons why this happened. Hell, Hajime had seen the foreseeable future unravel when Oikawa presented your relationship.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a downer on game day.” You lifted your head, lightly brushing your palms along his uniform, waiting for your tears to dry. The door to the clubroom snapped open, hitting the opposing wall, prompting you and Iwa to rush apart. The look on the face read shocked, more towards the fact you didn’t need the club questioning why you were crying this early in the morning. But the brunette boy in front of you idly took a long, deep breath encouraging you to do the same.

“Oh, are we interrupting something?”

“Just Iwa and his not-girlfriend, what’s new?” Mattsun and Makki seemed to be having a good morning, and not even Iawizumi could shake them out of the teasing moods. Despite their playful banter, you couldn’t help but focus on the silent set of eyes following your movements, and something about his silence was off-putting.

You turned to the two, a sly smile planted on your lips. “I’m not even indulging,” Fake it til’ you make it. “But I did make a small arsenal of desserts, so help yourself-”

“If I decide to share with these idiots.”

“Help yourself-if Iwa chooses to so graciously gift you the pleasure.” You said sweetly, playfully bowing as Mattsun and Makki rolled their eyes. “I have to go to class, so enjoy, and good luck.”

“Here I got it.” Iwa offered, plucking your bag from the floor with a small smile. The kind gesture made your heart flutter, your mood beginning to lift simultaneously. Ever since you were little, Iwaizumi always seemed to know what you needed to feel better, almost like an institution. Maybe that’s why his tone was short and sharp when he told Oikawa to move away from the door as you tried to leave, you’re used to his cold demeanor, but it was unsettling. You didn’t want him to be this angry with his best friend because of you, although it was a little awarding.

Oikawa’s lips laid ajar, fumbling his thoughts to form a reasonable enough sentence. He wanted to say something astounding to you, something that gave you no choice but to come back to him. He planned it all day yesterday, but now as you hide behind Iwa, he drew a blank.

“I’m serious, Oikawa. Move.”

Oikawa hung his head in shame, shuffling to the side, allowing you and Iwa to exit the room. The overwhelming feeling of patheticness climbing his veins. He didn’t mind his best friend’s anger towards him, but this wasn’t rage. Iwaizumi was disappointed, and Tooru couldn’t shake his glare.

Practice was usually a time the boys could assert their worries into energy, but the thick tension left everyone unsettled. Today’s warmup was eerily different.

Tooru watched you bounce in and out of the gym with the rest of the cheer squad; Iwa’s jersey adorned your figure. His expression held that of a kicked puppy, and it was pissing off the rest of the team. They needed their captain in his best frame of mind if they wanted to win.

Hajime’s humorless laugh broke the silence. “I warned you, you know.” Oikawa shifted his attention. “I told you you’d only hurt her, and you continued reassuring me you wouldn't, time after fucking time. And...there was a time I believed you, but you’re a liar, and Y/N sees it too.”

Oikawa’s sadness morphed into anger, eyes twitching as he bit the inside of his cheek. “If I’m a liar, that makes you one too.” He sneered, eyes still downcast on the court. His emotions were on overdrive, plucking and pinching in his mind. Oikawa knew he should resort to this method of release, but he was losing all control.

The ace sucked in a sharp breath, eye blazing. “Yea, well, I can live with that. Can you?”

Coach cut the conversation short, asking why the boys weren’t warming up before the game. The captain and ace have begotten many altercations through the years, but they always found a way to convert their anger into power. Coach Irihata only hopes that proves true with tonight’s game.

You, on the other hand, had a million tasks to complete before you could settle down in the gym, so you ultimately missed the scuffle in the gym. Just that didn’t make you ignorant to the rising tension, and you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault.

[colorisbyshe]

"don’t watch things just for the representation [...] representation is such a half assed gimmick these days" Feels kinda weird to say, but yeah, I agree 100%. I'm so over representation as the social justice topic dujour. People treat it as if it is the most important activist cause you could support (it isn't). Yeah, I'll try to support when I can/want, but if I don't care for media for whatever reason, I won't support just because it has, in Tumblr parlance, "one trans two gays and one bi"

Yeah, I think the issue is right now “representation” is being translated as “an actor/character of XYZ identity is on the screen/page, representing the group,” as opposed to “Stories and life experiences and perspectives central to XYZ is one the screen/page, being told by XYZ people.”

Representation a la similacrum vs reality as representation.

And then the issue also becomes, “Representation as story telling,” where just having diverse people is supposed to replace actual narrative (intrigue, development, etc).

So, we either have characters “representing” identities without ever engaging with what it means to have that identity OR we have stories SOLELY about being that identity and what that means, which IS NOT COMPELLING ON ITS OWN. Because a. the people represented already lived that and therefore already know and b. that means their lives are being boiled down to entertain/educate people from other groups.

In the current landscape of mainstream media, where representation exist as brownie points or oscar bait, we lose stories that feature identities, explore the identities, AND have room to also say things about society at large or what it means to be alive or about smaller, more human experiences.

It’s not even a particularly hard balancing act. It’s just when you have people writing stories that aren’t their own, they either do not engage with identity as all because they lack actual experience in the matter OR they become some bogged down in proving they can do it, they don’t bother doing anything else.

I say this as someone who actually has complex and varying opinions on the #OwnVoices thing and think it’s much more complicated than “Only write what you know,” but it’s clear to me that at least on the central stage of mainstream media… people are flailing trying to write diverse experience while trying to pander to people who get frightened by anyone different than them. Like until these stories start getting told FOR THE PEOPLE being represented (as well as by) this is going to be an ongoing issue.

We gotta stop having stories about XYZ identities that are told in a way to not alienate the target audience of white, cishet, able bodied, and often neurotypical people. Stories about people on the margins cannot be sanitized, cannot only be used to educate or as trauma porn to build sympathy, and cannot be devoid of what it actually means to BE on the margins—they cannot do this and also be good.

[thistle-and-thorn]

no no no don't leave! I'm so intrigued. That is wild that people would accuse their friends but most especially their family, because familial shame was like a real fucking big deal so you'd think people wouldn't want any black marks next to their names. I want to learn everything about what happened.

OMG, you have opened Pandora’s Box. So, for any poor unfortunate souls who happen upon this, this is a post about why the Andover witch trials are the true weirdos of 17th-century New England and NOT Salem. I have very marginal expertise in this beyond my Feelings.

So, to start, we need to understand what the fuck was happening in MA at this time. To put it (over)simply, Massachusetts Bay Colony is a theocracy run by religious extremists. The myth we’re taught in school that the Puritans were fleeing England because the meanie Church of meanie England was mean. As an Anglican, I will say we’ve done some shit but not that. The Puritans had an extremely repressive and strict society that tolerated little to no deviation in their social and religious norms (RIP the Quakers <3). Protestants of this period also tended to be wealthier and more literate than their Catholic counterparts and so these suspicions and feuds were more frequently taken to court. ALSO, the European colonists were facing increasing pressure because the indigenous populations from the north and the west were regularly raiding and fighting with them (I’ll give you, like, three guesses as to why.) and like also climate change was happening and it sucked for crops.

So, you have this pressure cooker of a society under a lot of external stress with a long, well-recorded history (in court documents) of how much they Do Not Get Along. 1692 happens. A bunch of girls, like young people tend to do in pressure cookers of society under a lot of external stress, begin to act out. And the way they act out is, of course, to accuse people of being witches. (Haven’t we all felt the urge?) The state courts get involved and the hysteria spreads across the settlements of along the North Shore and into…ANDOVER. Now the other hysteria outbreaks tended to be smaller, shorter, and more contained than what happens in Salem. In Andover, however, more witches were accused than in any other New England town including Salem Village and Salem Town. Which is INSANE.

Now, Salem has been the focus of so much research that we have a pretty clear understanding of why it happened. In the 70s, Boyer & Nissenbaum basically solved the case in their book Salem Possessed and redefined how we think about the witch trials. The people who were being accused were in opposing parishes, in opposition with a controversial minister (father of one of the afflicted girls), or had a history of legal disputes with the people who were accusing them. How do we know this? Puritans and their love of bringing each other to court!!! Otherwise, they were outcasts. It’s terrible but logical. In Andover, it starts out this way, pressure cooker, hatred of outcasts, the kit and caboodle—the first woman who was accused brought smallpox to Andover when she first moved which made her seem cursed and then the second woman accused was a childless widow (because her daughter had been murdered). Now this is where things get whackadoodle dandy, that second woman accuses a woman named Martha Carrier of being “The Queen of Hell” and trying to build a devil’s colony in Massachusetts and says that she knows of 305 witches that Martha converted to the devil. (Where the fuck 305 comes from no one knows). Now, people are like, “Holy shit, there’s like 300 witches in Andover!” Andover is a community of 600. 50% of the people in a community are witches?!?!!?! Well, obviously, it’s Martha Carrier’s entire family and friends but then who else?

There’s tremendous pressure to accuse someone or confess or accuse someone after you’ve confessed to throw suspicion off of yourself and so the accusations fly in Andover—children, family members. There’s one notable case of a mother being accused by her pre-teen daughter. And these defy the patterns that happen in Salem—there are regional lines in Andover between the north (which after this, will become North Andover) and the south but they don’t matter here. Where in Salem, the accusations were contained to the west of the community, an equal amount of people are accused in north Andover and south Andover. It's estimated that 80% of Andover's population at some point were in court because of witch accusations. It’s also made worse, when the judges bring the Salem afflicted girls to Andover to hunt witches. Now, the girls don’t know shit about Andover and so, I think you could imagine a scenario where the accusations that they are making there are…more…random than in Salem.

What else is weird about Andover is that the people petition to end the witch hysteria. In Salem, petitions were made for individuals but in Andover, the town as a whole is like, “What the fuck is going on?” and they end it themselves instead of waiting for the governor to end it which is basically what happened in the rest of the colony. There's also a crazy minister in this, too, but I don't know much about him tbh except that he was like, *insert flailing Kermit gif* "THANK GOD A WITCH CRAZE WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED."

Anyway. It’s much more interesting to me than Salem because for the three million books and movies made about Salem, Andover’s is a much more psychologically peculiar case and additionally, more significant in terms of the numbers of people imprisoned. But, I have to stop writing because my veggie burger’s burning.

[technicallyblakebelladonna]

Ldau hehehe

ohhhhh of COURSE i’ll talk about the LDAU!!! honestly this fic has been with me for the majority of my “writing career” in the bumbleby/rwby fandom. it started out as a project inspired by real life stuff, and then real life stuff kinda took a nosedive and i had to abandon it for awhile. then i decided that this fic was something that /i/ started in the first place and therefore i shouldn’t write it for anyone else but myself. so, suffice it to say, this fic has been with me through a lot of personal shit and it is incredibly personal to me. it means a lot. i think the day when i finally finish it (which might be awhile, bc i have at least one addendum planned to add to it -- hence it being the “digital flowers” series, as opposed to just the one multichapter “distance”) .. so yeah the day when i finally finish it? it’s going to be deeply emotional for me i think. it really really means so much to me. and there are a few who know why that is

as for a sneak peek...... yes i can do that :)

"I think," Blake said, "that you must be the universe's way of showing me that."

"As you are mine," Yang agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple before wrapping her arms around Blake's torso and holding her close for the longest of moments. "I love you the way that the universe exists - eternally. There's not a part of me that exists without you."

Blake felt the pressure of the sweetest tears behind her eyes even as she pulled back from Yang's embrace. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my morning sleepyhead girlfriend?"

Yang's mouth dropped open, looking mildly indignant. "Excuse me, I stayed up all night thinking about-"

Blake just kissed the protests right off her lips, holding her there for a long moment. "I'm a little overwhelmed, that's all," she said as she rested her forehead on Yang's, then continuing when she spotted worry flickering through the lilac. "In the best of ways. You're really just so sweet and so thoughtful and so, so kind. And I… I just can't believe that you're actually mine."

"Same for me, y'know? I'm so incredibly fucking lucky to have your love for myself," Yang sighed, stretching forward to kiss her lips softly once more. She hummed against her lips, then leaned back on her hands. "Now, c'mon. You better eat up - you're gonna need all the energy you can get for today, okay?"

Blake nodded, a slow relaxed thing, before shifting herself off of Yang's lap and returning to the breakfast tray which, miraculously, had not been knocked off in their exuberance. She cut herself another piece of crepe, savoring it for a moment as she chewed slowly. Then, as if in afterthought, she cocked her head to the side and smirked at Yang underneath her lashes. "Though, I could think of something else I wouldn't mind eating. Something I can really… sink my teeth into."

Yang nearly choked on her own spit at Blake's obvious insinuation, flaring bright red as Blake laughed around another bite of her breakfast. Yang flailed for a moment, fought to regain composure, then somehow managed to return fire. "Yeah, well, maybe tonight. If you're good."

A small lick of triumph settled at the base of Yang's throat as it was Blake's turn to blush. And Yang knew that Blake had put the pieces together with relative heady ease - tonight, on the eve of their six-month anniversary, they would make love.

[gerryconway]

Superhero Comic Book Publishing: Time to Change

So I've been reading rumors (and had a recent conversation with a top exec at one of the Big Two) about the potential end of Marvel and DC as publishers of original comics, and I Have Thoughts.

These thoughts are the product of fifty years experience working in and around the superhero comic book business, writing and editing for both Marvel and DC. I'm no business expert. I'm not a student of publishing. I can't analyze a spreadsheet or write a business plan. I'm not an MBA. The closest I've come to owning and running a company was helping my second wife develop her small business (though I believe some of the lessons we learned about the perils of expanding a business are relevant here).

No, what I'm about to discuss isn't the result of a deep understanding of big business, market share growth, the realities of corporate politics, or any of the realpolitik aspects of modern day publishing as understood by the people who've brought both companies to this moment of near collapse.

I'm just a long-time observer who's worked in the superhero field almost since its modern inception in the 1960s.

Perspective: when I started writing comics professionally, Marvel was publishing about 12 titles a month, and DC (then National Periodical Publications) was publishing about 30. Comics cost 15 cents and offered between 20 and 25 pages of story. (I'm not going to work with exact numbers because for my purposes here exact numbers aren't relevant; like I said, I'm no MBA, and this is based on personal observation, memory, and experience. If I get a precise number wrong, sue me, it doesn't matter.)

Background: How the 1960s and 1970s got the business to where it is today, and how that era reveals possible ways out of the current crisis.

It was during the 1960s, a period of modest output (compared to today), that almost ALL of the roots of modern superhero comics mythology were created. Modern incarnations of The Flash, Green Lantern, Batman, Robin, Batgirl, Aquaman and Mera, Wonder Woman, the Teen Titans, the Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Black Panther, X-Men, Daredevil, Captain Marvel, Black Widow, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man--

The list of characters and storylines and mythology created in the 1960s (with overlap from the 50s and into the early 70s) is just flabbergasting-- especially when you consider the size of the companies and the number of creators who accomplished it.

When I started writing for DC Comics in 1968, their offices consisted of half a floor in a modest office building on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan. Eight editors (or maybe seven, I'm not sure) and one editorial assistant worked under one editorial director and one publisher, with a production department headed by one production manager, one assistant manager who doubled as a colorist, one proof reader, and two or three production assistants, and a receptionist. Each editor was responsible for five or six books and only one editor had enough pull to have an assistant. (Mort Weisinger, who edited the highest selling range of books, had Nelson Birdwell "helping" him with the Superman line-- in fact, Nelson did all the hard editorial work while Mort snarled at people.) Four of the editors shared a single office; two others shared an office; and the two most "important" editors had an office each. That's how I remember it-- I may be off on the specifics but the general picture is accurate. This was how the company that controlled the largest market share of the comic book publishing world, possibly more than seventy percent of sales, looked in 1967-68.

Marvel Comics was an even more bare bones operation. With most of its business operations handled by Magazine Management, Martin Goodman's main publishing operation, Marvel Comics itself in 1968 operated out of a small office on Madison Avenue barely the size of a large modern conference room. The company had one editor and one assistant editor, one production manager, one assistant production manager, a part-time art director, a couple of production assistants, and a receptionist. The receptionist had a cubicle; the production staff shared a "bullpen"; the assistant editor and production manager split an office that wasn't really an office, more of an alcove; and the editor (Stan) had a private office not much larger than an average editor's today. This was the company that was revolutionizing storytelling in modern comics-- and while its individual titles were selling extremely well, its market share, due to an onerous distribution deal with its chief competitor, National Periodical Publications, was much less than it might have been.

That's how the superhero comic book publishing business looked in 1967-68. Prosperous but culturally insignificant (at least, not obviously significant). A pair of modest small enterprises, family owned and operated (NPP was bought by Kinney in 1967; Goodman retained ownership of Marvel until 1968), with rigidly controlled costs and a decent, relatively predictable profit margin.

Five years later, in the early 1970s, EVERYTHING had changed. Both companies were now controlled by larger businesses, and both were under pressure to expand market share and increase profits. Simultaneously comic book readership was dropping as the baby boomer audience aged out. The superhero comic book business was in a crisis-- and each company responded in hysterical counter-productive ways. Marvel, no longer hampered by its distribution deal with its competitor, worked to expand its market share with an explosion of new titles in multiple genres-- without proportionately expanding its editorial support structure and production staff. DC Comics experimented with new titles and new formats, without an overall publishing strategy or company-wide creative approach, continuing its tradition of independent editorial fiefdoms.

For most of the 1970s, in other words, both companies, Marvel and DC, faced creative and economic chaos. That chaos produced memorable and influential work-- Kirby's Fourth World was born, I killed Gwen Stacy, the X-Men were reborn under Chris Claremont, Jim Starlin created Thanos and killed the original Captain Marvel, Batman began getting dark-- but the companies themselves were flailing. Management at both Marvel and DC were clueless how to proceed. (As someone who held editorial positions at both companies in the 1970s I can attest top executives at DC and Marvel were way out of their depth.)

No one working in comics in the early to mid 1970s had any realistic expectation the business would even exist by the end of the decade-- news stand sales were that bad and getting worse every year. Cost cutting was rampant. Marvel reduced page count to 18 pages (and tried to hide it by paying writers and artists for 1 page that was printed as a "double page spread"). DC maintained a higher page count while adding reprint pages in order to increase the price. Short term fixes for a devastating long term crisis.

Two events saved superhero comics from disappearing in the late 1970s, and each produced effects that fundamentally altered the economics and creative direction of the business up to the present day.

The first event was the creation of the Direct Sale Market by entrepreneur Phil Seuling in 1973. There are many articles available describing how the direct market expanded through the 70s and 80s, so I won't repeat the details here, but in a nutshell, the direct market offered comic book publishers a way to guarantee the profit on individual titles compared to newstand sales. Comics sold through newstand distribution were returnable; sales to the direct market were not. Returnability meant most of a title's print run was wasted. (Typically in that era a publisher would print, say, 200,000 copies of a title to sell 70,000.) In addition, the direct market offered predictability-- eventually publishers would learn in advance how well a title might do because of pre-orders. These positives, of course, have a downside, but we'll get to that later. By the late 1970s and into the 1980s, the direct market for comics was viewed by almost everyone in the business as a god send that saved a dying business.

The second event that saved superhero comics was the arrival in 1978 of the first mainstream superhero blockbuster movie-- Superman. That movie and its sequels, followed by Tim Burton's Batman in 1989, fueled the growth of "serious" superhero mythology in mainstream pop culture (as opposed to the kid-friendly Superman series of the 1950s and the camp comedy of 1966's Batman TV show). Those movies (and other baby boomer inspired genre entries into mainstream culture like Star Wars and Indiana Jones) began the gradual colonization of pop culture by superhero mythology which exploded into fruition in the 2000s. In the 1970s, however, the main effect Superman the Movie (and later, the Batman film) had on comics was to temporarily increase sales and thus allow both companies to avoid dealing with longer-term creative and economic questions about the fundamental viability of the industry's business model.

The combination of both events, the development of the direct market and the arrival of the blockbuster superhero film, saved the comic book business as such in the 1970s-- but at the same time created and reinforced conflicting tendencies that today have produced a potentially fatal contradiction in how super hero comic book publishers approach their business.

On the one hand, the growth of the direct sale market into the de facto sole distribution point for superhero comics (the recent Walmart experiment and the digital comic market notwithstanding) has resulted in an incestuous and shrinking niche market for the sale of physical comic books. As recent reporting makes clear, this is unsustainable as a business model. Both Marvel and DC have resorted to increasingly desperate and counterproductive marketing ploys to maintain market share and profitability in a decreasing pool of readers-- a ridiculous explosion of variant covers, "special" events, crossovers, mini-series, extortionately-priced first issues, reboots and rebirths and renumberings, spin-offs and multiple versions of the same superhero teams, more events, more crossovers, more tie-ins. What all of these efforts have in common (despite some high-quality creative work on individual titles) is a complete absense of long-term strategic thinking in either the creative or business sense. What's the plan here? How is any of this short term market share maneuvering going to build and sustain a stable long-term readership? And, in particular, how does it fit with the other, even more significant development in the superhero comic book business-- the ascendency of superhero mythology in pop culture?

That second fact-- the mainstreaming of superhero mythology, begun by the Superman movie in 1978-- is the most significant development in the modern history of the comic book medium, and NEITHER company has developed an effective strategy to address it in their creative approach or their business model. The primary reason they haven't, I believe, is rooted in the first of the two events that saved comics in the 1970s, and is at the core of the contradiction that's crippling the superhero comic book business today-- the direct market and its lock on the distribution of comic books.

On the one hand, you have superhero mythology in mainstream media-- a mass market appealing to millions upon millions of consumers world wide, a potential audience beyond anything imagined by comic book creators half a century ago in our most weed-enhanced fantasies. And on the other hand, you have superhero publishing in the direct market-- a shrinking niche market numbering in at most a hundred thousand, dominated by a core readership of a few thousand, whose financial support is strained to the breaking point and beyond by ruthless and extortionate marketing of low-value-added gimmick publications that thwart long term emotional investment.

In a rational universe, both companies would be examining their core business strategy to stake a claim in the mainstream market-- a claim they have a moral, creative and financial imperative to demand as the originators of the mythology being celebrated. If ever there was a moment for the Big Two comic book publishers to think outside the traditional box, this is it. Instead, they are consumed with chasing the diminishing returns of the direct market-- creating properties to exploit a readership exhausted by the financial and emotional demands of predatory publishing techniques designed to milk as much profit from a shrinking audience as possible. This isn't only cynical, it's stupid and counterproductive-- not to mention ultimately an expression of creative bankruptcy.

So, having analyzed the problem from my own admittedly limited viewpoint-- a viewpoint privileged, somewhat, by fifty years of experience-- do I have any solutions to propose?

Yes, I do.

The superhero comic book business is in a death spiral, and everyone in the business seems to know it. A crisis as serious as this cannot be addressed by fixes at the margins. We need a fundamental break with the business practices that have brought the companies to this point. A radical solution to a radical crisis.

Both Marvel and DC need to redefine themselves as creative entities. What is their CORE purpose? What is their CORE contribution to the larger enterprise of creating superhero mythology for mainstream media?

Is their core purpose publishing paper pamphlets for sale to a small readership of tens of thousands? Or is their core contribution creating stories and characters in comic book format that can be transformed into other forms of media?

If it's the first, their business is a dead end, and nothing they do will extend its existence past the next few years. The direct sale market is dying. There's no time to develop other methods of distribution to profitably replace it. The publishers have tried expanding into bookstores, which, like the comic book stores, are dying. They've tried expanding into big box stores like Walmart, but that experiment seems to have failed. They've sought sales in digital format, but judging by reports of my own sales in that medium, it's not a panacea-- yet. Traditional comic book publishing for profit by the Big Two seems hopeless, by all the available evidence, at least as presently constituted. Maybe, if both companies scaled back overhead and production to 1967 levels-- Marvel producing 12 books a month with a small office and a skeleton staff, DC producing 30 with a slightly larger editorial footprint-- they might survive as pure publishing entities.

But survival shouldn't be a goal.

Instead, I suggest both Marvel and DC dramatically redefine themselves as creators of comic book content first-- and profitable publishers second, if at all.

One advantage both companies have as corporate subsidiaries that they never had as independent family businesses is something they need to embrace and promote to their corporate masters as a positive principle-- neither company needs to turn a profit, at least not in the short term, and not as publishers. Instead they should redefine themselves primarily, in the modern lexicon, as IP creators. Intellectual Property is one of the most important drivers of modern corporate media success-- if not the most crucial component. Comic book publishers are easily the most cost effective creators of IP in modern media. For a media corporation to require profitability of an IP generator like a comic book publisher, when even the highest levels of publishing profitability pale beside the far greater value of the IP itself, isn't just short-sighted, it's counterproductive and self defeating.

Marvel and DC should see themselves primarily, if not solely, as IP generators, and sell themselves to Disney and Warnermedia as such. Publishing should be the tail of the dog; the dog is creation.

If the companies do follow this path, they'll also need to radically rethink their approach to publishing-- ironically, with potential benefit both to themselves as profitable enterprises and to their customers in the direct market.

For example, if your goal as a company is no longer to increase or maintain market share in the direct market, but instead to generate exciting and long-term potential IP, you don't need predatory publishing practices like variant covers, or twice-yearly "events," or extortionate pricing, or required pre-orders. You could even begin to accept returns, lightening the financial pressures on dealers and encouraging them to risk new series. You could reduce the number of unnecessary spin-offs and reboots. You could devote energy to nurturing creatives and long-term storylines.

At one point in the mid 1970s I had a dust up with Marvel's production chief, the late John Verpoorten. I was complaining that a revision to the production schedule would negatively affect the aesthetic quality of a book I was writing and how could he justify that (I was young, naive and arrogant). John looked at me and growled, "From an aesthetic point of view we can maybe justify ten of these books." I was gobsmacked and obviously never forgot his point.

Redefining their core mission as IP generators would allow both Marvel and DC to address John's point positively: is there an aesthetic reason to publish this story? Does it say something new and valuable about our characters, or is it just an effort to increase market share? Does it add to the mythology, or diminish it? Is it good?

Publishing sales success has rarely been a reliable predictor of a superhero story's viability in other media. Venom is a popular comic book character with mixed success in sales-- but a worldwide hit as a movie antihero. The JLA Detroit era heroes ended ignominiously in a market driven by direct sales, but individually have provided useful source material for CW TV shows. The Green Arrow was never a sales leader in comics. Before the Batman movies, Batman was a mid-level but important DC comic. Deadpool was a popular second string character but again never a sales leader before Ryan Reynolds put on the mask.

There's a way forward for both the superhero publishers and the direct market-- but not if the publishers continue to define themselves first as publishers. That day is past. The publishers will have to be bold if they're going to thrive in the post-direct market world. The first step is for them to decide what they do best. In my view, what they do best is create comic book stories. Those stories transcend the traditional sales platform that produced them. It's time for the bird to leave its nest.

[sword--heart--online]

I've been brooding about my wasted writing talent for a few days. How I've sworn for years I'd wrap up a couple fanfics and get right on the Profitable Writing, only now I'm in a new fandom and all I crave is fanfic attention since I've received next to zero for my other projects. Like damn, why can't I direct this energy toward something substantial? Why are all my interests still so goddamn juvenile?

Then I found that post of opals which reminds me of the fantasy series I was trying to build in which magical opals were a major plot point. I was obsessed with the thing for a good year or two and nearly bought some expensive opal jewelry to represent it. Then life started shitting on me harder than ever and I lost interest. And then, in between disasters, I dedicated a huge chunk of time to writing a novel-length fanfic because it made me happy.

I've still got original ideas, still have notes and a tiny flame inside to bring them to life, but at the same time... what's the point? I'm not sure I'm a good enough writer to begin with, since I remain a fanfic-poisoned moron (in the words of my worstie) at my fucking age. Plus the original stuff I want to write is YA fantasy, which is the cheapest and most derided genre of literature on the planet.

I often think of how people my age have families, advanced careers, are involved in world affairs, and how I'm... like this. Starting over in a "career" that's more befitting a 23-year-old college grad, no family or close friends, not even a vast library of literary expertise so I could pass myself off as a reclusive writer/artist. Western society is falling apart at the seams and I feel like a failure of a feminist for not writing about it.

But I've been into escapism my entire life, and I would rather give people something that makes them smile and feel, as opposed to something that makes them angry and encourages them to get themselves in trouble. I've defended this stance for half my life, when college lit classes wanted me to be political, I plugged my ears and made the content I wanted to read instead.

Does this make me childlike? Selfish? Is this why I'm alone? I wish I had the confidence to say fuck it, we writing about tailed humanoids and their relationships now, but I don't. I constantly have to second-guess myself and the things I like and do, likely because I have zero support system. And I believe I have zero support because of the things I like and do and say. I've realized I'm some kind of dark narcissist; I feel like everyone's looking at and talking about me and how annoying and stupid I am. So I flail around in an attempt to get positive attention, which makes me feel even more annoying and stupid.

I don't know. I hate it, I hate my brain. I much prefer the moments of clarity in which Lucien strokes their own ego. I truly wish I was them instead of me. Except I am them, just not often enough.

Maybe if I ~make it~ I'll use their name. God knows I've already ruined the one by which I've been going for the last five years.

[fadedtoblue]

Do you have any advice on how to avoid or not take any hate against Elektra seriously? There are so many hates from all over the place towards Elektra and it makes me sad. I'm not so calm like you and I tend to fight with people if they come at my faves, so can you advice me on how to stay calm when I see Elektra hate? I know she's problematic, and she won't be everyone's fave, but the way many people are towards her is hurtful and sad and ignorant.

Anon, I really appreciate you sending this my way. 

Feeling sadness, hurt, anger, and/or wanting to fight people for disrespecting your fave – completely relatable feelings imo. I know that I present a fairly calm facade on this blog, which is a very purposeful choice I’ve made in this space and one I’ll get into a little more in a bit, but just to helpfully shatter the illusion, my initial emotional reaction runs the exact same course as yours! And you know what, it helps – A LOT – to allow yourself to process this stuff as your emotions require. Personally, I do a lot of flailing, ranting to my husband (he’s heard quite an earful from me post-Defenders lol) and/or to a small number of people who I feel comfortable DM’ing, who share my love of Elektra / this ship. You just don’t see it, because I keep that part private. But after I’ve gotten that out of my system, then I focus on being really intentional on how I respond to it publicly.

Being deliberate and intentional in my public response is really important to me. I’ve been interacting in online fandoms since…8th grade? Which for me will have been almost 20 years ago (DON’T DO THE MATH LOL). I’ve seen how fandom has changed and how much it’s stayed the same and while I love that social media and technology has brought so many more of us together, I’ve also been fairly dismayed at the slow death of the respectful exchange of ideas on every level, with fandom / ship wars being a microcosm of that. So I know this might feel out of place nowadays or even just plain old-fashioned, but I still believe in discoursing with some amount of respect, even if I very strongly disagree with the other person. I just haven’t seen much direct good done by being perpetually outraged or combative, and I find that it’s more likely I can make someone pause and potentially change their mind on something they may have felt strongly opposed to if I can at least treat their differing perspective with some kindness rather than outright disdain. 

Now, I’m certainly not perfect in this. I still get worked up. I still lose my cool, especially in the face of people being assholes and just downright disrespectful. You’ll find at least a small handful of rather inelegant STOP ATTACKING ELEKTRA posts on this blog lol. So this is definitely not me saying, hey, just let people walk all over the things you enjoy. But it’s all about standing up for the things you like and love with thoughtfulness and intention. My intention is mostly to help foster conversation around Elektra that may help clear up a lot of the misunderstanding about her character. Since this has pretty much become a fanblog for Mattelektra, taking that tack is a lot more productive because I know people will ask me about it and the more informative and calm I can be in my responses, the more people will take it seriously. In order for me to effectively do this, that means giving myself some space AFTER initially reacting to something negative to think about what I want to do next. It means opening up a draft and getting a lot of my initial emotion out in words, and then going back in after a couple hours to edit (I literally never send out anything online, with the exception of DMs, without editing it first). 

Your intention is ultimately more simple than mine – just wanting to stay calm in the face of the hate – but a lot of the same steps still apply! So to wrap this up with some actionable advice :):

When you see jerkface comments / posts about Elektra – don’t avoid it or try to suppress yourself, let yourself react! Getting it out is ultimately a positive thing!

Don’t let your initial response be the one that goes public first. I’m a huge advocate for writing it out somewhere that allows you to process through the first round of emotions and then going back in to edit when you’re not feeling as emotional. 

Do try your best to be kind and respectful to people who might not like Elektra – not all of them are jerks. I’ve found support for Elektra in some of the most unlikely places…

…but realize that there will ALWAYS be assholes on the internet. And I’ve learned that if someone is so dead set on being an asshole about something, their opinion is probably not worth paying attention to. If their dick attitude is going to seriously start to harsh your buzz over Elektra / whatever, just block them. 

Advocating successfully for our girl Elektra means knowing what you want to say when you’re trying to defend her to internet haters! Make a list of talking points or notes that keep you on track if you feel like you get distracted. Or have links to Elektra-positive metas (they exist!) if you need somewhere to start!

Find support! Either to rant about people who are haters (focused private ranting is my idea of fandom self-care lol), or to connect over a shared love of Elektra and happily discuss all of the positive things about our wonderful, problematic fave :). My asks and messages are open to anyone who wants to chat about Elektra, including you!

I hope this has been a helpful read!

[thegreatlibraryfangirl]

I am a disaster of a human being.

Novel word count: 324

This pie of shit I just spent 2 hours on at work? 1200

Have it. i swear this’ll be the last. 

It took a few minutes for Dario's headache to subside enough to allow him to stand, and by that point he'd lost the ability to pretend all the bruises and strains and things he wasn't showing her weren't affecting him. He looked washed-out and strained, and was gripping the furniture as he moved like his life depended on it. 

When he finally lay down, he virtually melted into the mattress.

"Oh God," he mumbled, as she climbed behind him. "Why ��did I not do this before?"

"You were trying to pretend you were fine." She rubbed the back of his head soothingly, carefully avoiding a lump. "Now please just get some sleep." She pulled the sheet up over him for the extra weight and warmth he liked, and he cuddled into it like a child. 

"As you wish." He fell asleep within minutes and was soon snoring loudly. 

She'd watched him sleep for maybe forty minutes when there came a loud knock at the door, and both her and Dario's Codices pinged from the other room. 

Dario woke up on the second knock, abruptly, calling out in confusion and fright and flailing at his covers. He tried to sit up but gasped in pain. 

"Dario, it's all right. You're in bed. You're safe. Someone's just knocking at the door." She tried to tug him round to look at her but he was tight and tense and couldn't be moved. "Dario. It's me. It's Khalila. Look at me, please."

The relief on his face as he saw her hit her like a blow to the chest. "Ssh." 

She kissed his cheek and stroked the back of his neck. He clumsily gripped her shoulders and mumbled Spanish swearwords into her shoulder. 

She could feel his pulse racing. "I'm here. Everything is fine. Someone's just at the door." 

His gaze gradually sharpened again, even as she felt tremors start to build in him. 

"Who is it?" He rubbed his eyes and looked with sleepy confusion at his shaking hands. 

"I'll go and see. Lie back. You've had a shock."

His mouth worked for a second or two, and his hands clutched her. "Be careful." 

She smoothed his hair down over his forehead and nodded. It was a valid concern. 

She checked her Codex. It was Alvaro. 

The door had a peephole, and she saw it was indeed Alvaro out there. He was flanked by Lieutenant Botha, which made her heave a sigh of relief. 

"Ambassador, lieutenant." She nodded her head towards them. "What brings you both here at this time?" A pointed reminder.

Botha ducked his head back at her, a little lower. "My apologies for disturbing you, Scholar Seif. I found Ambassador Santiago wandering the ground floor courtyard;  he said he needed to find Scholar Santiago."

She fixed Alvaro with a hard stare. "He's not up for receiving guests right now, i'm afraid."

"Not even family?" His tone was light and easy, but his eyes were intense, and his body language was a touch aggressive. 

Khalila raised her eyebrows. "He needs to rest."

"May I come in and leave him a letter, then? And perhaps quench my parched throat while I'm writing?"

Khalila ground her teeth. She couldn't say no to that without appearing very rude. Botha obviously sensed her discomfort, as he shifted his posture just a little, but Alvaro shifted his too. 

Even better! Now she had to invite him in to prevent a scene!

"Hurry up and be quiet about it." May as well embrace the rudeness.

"I thought you had been recalled to Spain," she whispered sharply as she closed the front door on Botha's concerned face.

"The embassy was." Alvaro's eyes were still dark and intense. So like Dario's. "I'm not here in that role." He looked towards the bedroom. "Is he really indisposed?"

Anger flooded her. "As opposed to what?"

"Who's there, Khalila?" Dario called from the bedroom. 

"Your second favourite family member, runt."

"Varito!" Dario's voice was suddenly sharper and more animated. There was rustling from the bedroom. "To what do I owe the honour, you piece of shit?"

Alvaro rolled his eyes, hard. "Don't get up, you idiot. i'll come in. Make yourself vaguely decent." His eyes slid to Khalila, just a for split second, and she reflexively checked her headscarf.

"He's fully dressed." Khalila was vibrating with outrage. How dare he?

He had the grace to look embarrassed before he turned to hurry into the bedroom. 

There was a flurry of loud Spanish. She tiptoed nearer to see what she could make out, but then quite distinctly heard Dario warn, "Khalila speaks a bit of Spanish," and the room fell dead silent. Signing.

///// secret conversation continues ////

She shut the bedroom door, then caught Alvaro's gaze. 

"What are you getting him involved in?" She barely recognised her own, it was so hard and low. 

Alvaro shrugged. "Right now, nothing. Merely an update on his health."

"Don't feed me that nonsense, Alvaro. I thought you had more respect for me than that." She took a few steps closer. Alvaro held his ground. "We're not quite on the same side."

He didn't respond, which was as good as an agreement.

"How dare you try to make him choose his allegiance while he's so vulnerable?" It was a strong word, but it matched Dario right now. 

Alvaro pulled a face that she couldn't interpret. "I would prefer not to do this," he said, finally, "but I must, as must he."

Khalila read between the lines. Family loyalty. The king. She went cold inside. 

"He is a Scholar of the the Great Library; he has the freedom to make his own choices!"

His expression softened with a kind of pitying amusement. "And what is the Great Library right now, Scholar Seif?"

"That'll do, cousin." Dario's voice was soft and exhausted and when Khalila spun around he was leaning heavily on the doorframe to take the  weight off his sprained ankle, but his eyes were hard and dark. "We'll talk about it later."

"Who's 'we' in this?" Khalila snarled. Dario blinked at her tone and she saw the mask appear as he locked his expression down. 

"I'll talk to both of you later." He stood there and stared at them like a wonky statue until Alvaro bobbed his head and flicked a sign or two at him and turned to leave. 

"My sincere apologies for disturbing your evening, Scholar Seif, Scholar Santiago."

The door closed behind him. Khalila turned to Dario, who was still regarding her with silent, toneless defensiveness. 

"What have you agreed to?" Her voice was high and taut with worry. "What stupid plan have you joined in with now, without telling me? Given I had to rescue us all the last time you did this!"

"Nothing, right now." He closed his eyes. "It should help everyone out in the end." He swallowed. Swayed. Khalila watched him for a long second, suddenly suspicious of everything, but no, he couldn't fake the grey pallor of his skin. "Go to bed."

He nodded, but didn't move until she went to him and tucked her shoulder under his arm to take some of his leaden weight. Tried to soften her voice. Her fears. "We'll talk in the morning."

“I love you,” he said beseechingly to her as they stumbled back to the bed. 

She sighed. “Yes. I love you too.”

You may love me, but where do your loyalties really lie, Dario?

Since I’ll be disappearing probably hopefully for a month to try and bash out half a novel, here’s a random bit of Khalila and Dario angsty snuggles, just after Smoke and Iron.

Fairly detailed descriptions of the after-effects of getting the fuck beaten out of him to follow.

Keep reading