#middle sort of slogged

[charlieslowartsies]

i freakin binge read a book all evening and forgot to eat. hey ADHD WHEN I SAID I WANTED TO READ MORE I DIDNT MEAN GIVE UP A LIFE FUNCTION CMON MAN

[faeriekit]

Immediate Roadside Assistance Required

Phic phight fill for sapphireshield (no tumblr listed)

Warnings for: extremely mild depictions of domestic violence

The car that pulls over is a SUV. Beige. Kind of grimy. There’s a mom at the front; inside, Dani bets there’s probably one or two kids.

The mom rolls down the window. She looks nice. Kind of soft. Tough, in a kind of mom sort of way, but soft enough to see a girl with her thumb out at the side of the road and actually pull over. It’s a sweet gesture; Dani has a vague idea that hitchhiking hasn’t been trendy since the eighties, so this’ll have to do.

The mom sticks an elbow out the window and looks Dani up and down. “You alright, sweetheart?” she asks, a different twang on her tongue than the vowels Dani’s been used to all her (short) life. Dani might be out farther than she thought.

Dani grins. For this mom, it’s nice ‘n sweet. “I’m good! I need a ride, though; I’m trying to get to my stepparent’s place. Tryin’ to get as far as the border.”

The woman flattens her lips. She probably thinks Dani’s a runaway, but she’s not. Dani’s something a lot worse.

“You sure?” The mom looks up at the sky, even as her kid squeals about something snack-related in the back. “It’s about to get dark out, honey. Storm’s coming.”

Dani’s grin doesn’t let up. “I’m gonna go meet my brother! I already know where I’m gonna lay up, so don’t worry!”

The mom is for sure worrying; worrying her lip between her teeth, and worrying over a scruffy kid in a torn-up hoodie. “...Well. ‘Long as I get to see him when we get there. Hop in.”

Dani grins, and hops up in the car.

It’s a little warmer in there. Smells like cheerios; there’s a baby, Dani notices, in the back seat. It’s got her middle two fingers in its mouth and big brown eyes.

Dani waves. The baby stares, since babies do that, and Dani occupies herself by making funny faces over the shoulder of the passenger seat, eager to elicit a giggle from a little kid. She loves little kids. She wishes she’d been allowed to be one.

“You might want to turn around and buckle in, young lady,” the mom drawls, wiping stress off her forehead. “Don’t want you to die if we end up in a crash.”

I can’t, Dani doesn’t say, because she’s nice. I’m already dead.

So she turns around and buckles herself in. The mom flicks on the radio, and a woman’s voice starts growling over an electric guitar and a roughed-up drum kit. It sounds fun.

This ride’s going to be good. Dani grins, all teeth and brimstone. There’s a storm rolling in, bad luck hanging in the air like vapor and sparks. Lightning’s on its way.

It’s a long way to the state border. Dani’s going to enjoy every minute she can with the window down, electricity in her fingers, and the quiet humming of the driver singing along.

*

They make it to a rest stop about three quarters of the way there.

Dani’s not against stopping, so she just peeks out the window, watching cars and exhausted drivers slog through the paved flats of the rest stop parking lot. “What’re we doing?” Dani asks, entertained in her own way. Maybe this nice mom is going to try to hand her off to CPS!

It wouldn’t work, but, you know. It would be kind of annoying, if ultimately well-meaning.

“Diaper change for the baby,” the mom offers, and, yeah, that’s practical. “Vending machine break for me. Bathroom break for you, probably.”

Oh, that checks out. “Alright!”

The child lock pops, and Dani hops out of the car; she waits, patiently, for the mom to bring out the baby, who looks even more luminous asleep and spitty than when it's awake.

“It slept through a lot of Rock ‘n’ Roll,” Dani admires. The baby gets held to mom’s chest, a blanket wrapped around them both. “That’s cool.”

“He’s heard a lot of Joan Jett since he was born. I’d be shocked if he couldn’t sleep through a hurricane at this point.”

Dani trots after the mom, patient in her wake. They don’t look too much alike, so maybe there are other people wondering if they even know each other at all, or if Dani’s getting kidnapped or traded away for cigarettes. Or probably they just think Dani’s getting babysat, helping watch a baby while the mom ends up driving them over and away from wherever Dani’s landed herself this time.

The diapers the baby uses are a thick, sort of plush material. They look soft. There are little pastel teddy bears on them: one blue, one pink. Dani gets to touch one when the Mom asks her to pull one out of the big blue bag. There are a whole lot crammed in there; they’re packed in so tight that it’s hard to pull one out of the stack without pulling out all the others, but the baby can only wear one diaper at a time!

“Thanks, sweetheart,” the mom says. It’s the nicest anyone’s been to Dani in ages. She’s glad she lived long enough to hear a soft mom call her sweetie and sweetheart for no reason other than being convenient. “You have to go?”

Dani shakes her head. The mom gives her a look. “We’ll be in the state for another hour. You want to try, at least?”

…She hesitates. The baby doesn’t notice, busy playing with its toes as its mom tries to wriggle it back into its butt covering for the sake of covering its butt. She doesn’t usually have bodily functions that actually…function. But the mom lady didn’t know that.

Whatever. She’d play a game of Snake in there. “‘Kay.”

Dani goes into a stall, flicks open her phone, and manages to eat like twenty little pixels before she actually runs into her own little snake body and dies. Ugh. It doesn’t take up too much time— how much time are humans supposed to spend in the bathroom, anyway??— so she fires up a new game and almost gets through it before she hears someone yell. Dani jolts.

The baby starts crying, faint and far away. Dani quickly grabs herself together and puts the phone away. If something’s happening— something happening to the mom and the baby—

Dani dashes out of the bathroom. There’s a guy at the door. There’s a guy holding the baby by the arm so that the baby is dangling and the guy is yelling at the mom who’d driven Dani here, physically pushing her when she tries to get her baby back.

The instinct to hit him is impossible to wrangle. It’s too bad, but Dani has to help the baby and the mom. Hitting him might hurt the baby, if she isn’t careful— doubly true if she uses an ecto-blast.

She goes invisible instead.

Carefully pulling the baby intangibly through the man’s grip is a quiet, tense process. The baby keeps crying and crying and crying, but the more she hides it, the quieter the cries seem.

And then there’s a baby shallowly crying in her arms.

The guy doesn’t even realize, too busy shoving and hitting the mom who’d done nothing wrong. Dani hates this guy. He reminds her of Vlad— too angry that he isn’t getting his way, and never understanding why no one’s obeying him fast enough.

Dani hoists the baby into one arm, mirroring the way the mom had carried it into the rest stop when they first came in. The hold doesn’t feel as secure as Dany thinks it ought to, but it frees up a hand.

Dani grabs the mom’s hand.

The woman disappears into thin air. The guy looks so spooked.

Dani giggles. Either way, it’s super easy and simple to fly the mom and the baby through the bathroom walls, and hiding them in the bathroom cleaner closet seems safer than hiding them in a stall. Dani doesn’t pause when the mom gasps, frightened by the change in scenery; she pops the baby into her arms and disappears back the way she came.

Dani Phantom has a guy to beat up.

There are lots of ways to scare humans, Dani finds; humans are afraid of the dark, and afraid of what they can’t control. They’re afraid of pain, and they’re afraid of loud noises. Humans aren’t afraid of everything all the time, but they can be afraid of more things when they’re combined than when they’re not.

So Dani flexes her aura. The lights flicker in the main room of the rest stop. The man stops, but his hand is still raised.

He looks to see where the baby is, and realizes that he’s empty-handed. The woman is gone.

The lights go out.

Dani loves being seen sometimes. She doesn’t like being bothered, but she loves attention when she knows no one can call the cops on her; so she drips green. She lets herself glow, gloopy and malformed, as she pulls herself through the wall. She turns melty eyes onto the man who took the baby from its mom.

The guy kind of looks like he’s going to piss himself. Good.

Dani starts to fake cry. It starts out as little sniffles— and then moans, and sobs, Dani clawing herself out of the wall until she’s floating, midair, half-formed and wailing. She kind of hopes she looks super spooky, like one of those CGI gross guys from Stranger Things, or that girl who walked down the stairs in a spooky backbend one time.

The guy steps back. Great. Dani inches forwards. The guy steps back again, face pale as a china plate, looking inches from giving up the ghost and bolting off to the parking lot.

Excellent.

Dani takes her hands off of her face to show melting, distorted features. And she screams.

The guy is gone in seconds. He should just be a sprinter instead of bullying moms and their little babies! Dani huffs, hands on her hips. Whatever. As long as he’s gone, he can do whatever he likes.

Dani barely remembers to set her face right before going to get the mom and baby out of the closet. It doesn’t matter how human she looks, though, because when she opens the door back up for them, the mom looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Dani grins, and probably her teeth aren’t showing anything too weird or spooky. “That guy left! Can we go now?”

The mom takes a deep, rattling breath. She does that thing where she touches her forehead, her chest, and then the air above her shoulders. No one’s told Dani what that means so far, but she’s seen it a lot.

“...Sure, sweetheart.”

Dani beams.

They make it to the edge of the state just as the rain starts to pour down. The mom is still looking for Danny by the time Dani points them into a gas station, but Danny’s not here; Dani made him up long enough to get a ride as far as she thought she could get tonight. The mom is still peering through the gloom of the driver’s side window as Dani turns herself transparent and flies out and away.

The mom was nice. The baby was nice. Dani liked this ride.

She walks, intangible, through the rain. The highway is dark, and wet, but Dani’s optimistic; sometimes people feel bad for her, so she gets more rides in a thunderstorm than on a sunny day. After an hour, somewhere on a rural road she’s never seen nor heard of before, Dani sticks her thumb out for a low little car going exactly the speed limit.

The car has a little old couple in the front and passenger seat. They look like grandparents. The grandpa rolls down his window, white eyebrows pushed together. “You need a ride, honey?”

Dani grins.

[dduane]

Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

[mrvelocipede]

I had carefully put away all of my knitting stuff before the holidays, partly because it was taking up space that I needed for entertaining, but mainly because The Relatives are incredibly good at making me feel stupid and terrible about whatever projects I've been working on. Nothing destroys my motivation and interest in a thing more effectively than having to make small talk about it with people who have spent my entire life not understanding me.

In the last few days, I've been trying to get back to knitting mode, and finish the cable pattern I was in the middle of, but it's a tough slog to drag myself out of the holiday pit, so I decided to cast on a small, frivolous thing to try to get my brain to engage.

It could be a sort of companion to my existing pineapple bag, and smaller strawberry bag (which I don't think I've even posted pictures of, because I am going to get the pattern written first, dammit!). I had a little bit of leftover sock yarn that was the right colors, and I figured I could mess around with some short rows for the shaping.

And it's working!

Except that when it's not next to actual real-life fruit, it looks exactly as silly and rude as you'd think, and the movement of the needles as it's being knit makes it wave itself around in the most appalling way.

[vintagerpg]

This is I11: Needle (1987), a reworked tournament module by Frank Mentzer. It features pregenerated characters named the Ghost, Blaze, Finder, Blondy, Slim and Smiley. There is at least one stealth Star Wars quote. The players need to go into a jungle to get a weird obelisk, haul the thing back, then explore the moon the obelisk teleports them too. The first part is a pretty typical hex crawl, albeit punctuated with puzzles and high strangeness. The third part is a dungeon crawl. The dungeon crawl sure is odd (it ends with a confrontation with “Tiamat” and no, I am not going to explain that further) but it is the middle part that I think is the most interesting.

The middle part is the hauling of the obelisk back to the king who wanted it found (its not an obelisk, its actually a gigantic piece of tech). This is sort of a nightmare logistical puzzle, involving lots of NPCs sailing to the obelisk, taking it down, packing it up and hauling it back. Things need to be built. Like roads. And a raft (the thing is hollow and will float). That means lumber. Which means upsetting the natives, who are bullywugs and grippli, locked in rivalry with each other. The whole thing plays out across two months of daily events, which feels like a novel sort of slog. I’d definitely enjoy playing this — there are all sorts of opportunities for things to just go entirely off the rails.

Clyde Caldwell cover art. I don’t love it, but I honestly think that is because it was recycled for the 2E Rogues Gallery, a book I loathe. The interiors are by Doug Chaffee, who I don’t know. They feel like run of the mill late-‘80s D&D illustrations.

[lastoneout]

You know what, I just realized something that I can probably add to my list of reasons I'm more ND than I think I am...

So in middle school I found out The Princess Bride was based on a book I immediately decided to read it. But here's the thing, unlike the movie's framing device of a grandfather reading the book to his grandson, the book has one that's basically like an autobiography?? Where the author talks about his grandfather reading him the book as a kid and how it affected him growing up and how, eventually, he decided to "abridge" the original and publish the version you're reading. The author even says Florin and Guilder are real places, and gives "history" on them.

I found(and tbh still find) this part of the book exceptionally boring. It's mean spirted and depressing, and an absolute slog to get through. But I kept trucking through taking everything as complete truth, even though I was pretty sure these countries weren't real places. Europe is big after all and I was in middle school, maybe I just hadn't heard of them before. Thankfully once the "real" book, the story The Princess Bride, actually starts the intersections start to make sense and aren't as boring and I quite liked them more or less, even if they were a little confusing at times. I also read everything after the "real" book ends, an epilog of sorts about the author not being allowed to abridge the sequel bcs Steven King?? Was going to do it?? But there was a bit of this "sequel" included so I read that too.

When my friend, who had leant me the book, asked what I thought, I said I liked it but I didn't understand why the author included all that personal history at the start where he complained about his job and family, it just didn't seem necessary to me and was boring as hell.

My friend informed me that all of that "personal" history wasn't real. The author made it all up. It was as much fiction as the actual story itself. It was satire, you see, and apparently??? very important to read bcs without it you wont "understand" the story. My friend genuinely thought it was super weird that I didn't realize it wasn't true, and also that I didn't like it.

But nah, I thought it was true!! Why would he lie like that?? What was it even satirizing(I still don't really know tbh)?? Why would I need to read all that bs to understand the book?? The story of 'The Princess Bride' made perfect sense on it's own!! I ended up kinda hating the book after that. I felt SUPER betrayed. He said all that stuff like it was true, what on earth was the point of lying?? Didnt he know people would believe him?? Why wouldn't I, after all I almost always tell the truth, lying about all that stuff was dumb and mean and I hated it.

A while later when I brought it up to my godfather he ALSO thought it was silly that I believed all that and didn't get that it was satire, and insisted that it was important for understanding the story.

I still don't get why it's important, and I refuse to read any of it again. When I re-read the book I just skip to where 'The Princess Bride' actually starts and then stop once it's "over". The rest of it is probably important, but to this day I think it's mostly mean spirited and stupid, and idk why he didn't just write the book normally or do what they did in the movie.

Anyway I figure this is like...normal, right? I totally don't have any deeper stuff going on with my brain. When I take assessments I insist I'm great at picking up on sarcasam and satire. Totally great at it. Yeah...

[averseunhinged]

it's wip wednesday again and i've been working on slogging my way through finishing things, one agonizing paragraph at a time. however! i think i finally unpacked the last of my notebooks and found this. idk when i'll get back to it. i have a pretty solid amount of it written, know where it's going and how it ends, but there's a middle bit i'm still not sure how to do.

it's canon divergence from the prom episode on, with klaus and caroline and silas's twisty machinations.

“How are you putting Shane in my head? It's, like, an illusion, right? And I'm the only one who can see it. So, you must be getting it from somewhere, but is that really him, or are you what my brain thinks an evil college professor would look like?” Caroline frowned as she thought back over the past months. “I don't think I met him.”

“No,” Silas said. “You do tend to have your own separate storyline, for better or worse.”

She blinked and reared her head back. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind. The hybrid is very fond of you. You weren't a player in my game until now, but your mind has a fascinating complexity.”

Caroline bared her teeth in a cruel parody of her pageant smile. “Please tell me you're not flirting with me by reading my mind. There is so much wrong with that, I can’t even begin to get into it, and I already have one morally bankrupt megalomaniac to manage. I do not need a second constant disappointment.”

“You're mean,” Silas said pleasantly with a quiet laugh. “In all those legends, they only ever spoke of my love’s sweetness and beauty, but a handmaiden wasn’t a servant. They were friends, companions–close as sisters. Qetsiyah had loved me from childhood, but my darling girl didn't care. She was greedy and wanted me for herself. She wanted me, eternity, and the world as well. I only want her. Stop worrying I'm going to be like Damon.”

“Not super-thrilled about you hanging out in my head.” She crosed her arms over her bodice, the beading digging into her skin and the corset constricting her ribcage.

“Are you super-thrilled about anything to do with me?” he asked with a surprising dry humor. “You don't give a damn about the cure. You never did. Don't deny it.” He held up one hand to quiet her when she tried to protest. “I'm in your head. I know your little, secret shames. The only thing that matters to you about any of this is the number of unnecessary deaths. No, I don't mean your witches.”

Silas moved to her, step by slow, even step. She would not move back, wouldn't show that much weakness, even if he could pluck the fear of the closeness of his body right out of her mind.

“I said secret shames. You wear the witches where everyone can see, because you think you’re supposed to. It's the others you hide. You're glad the hybrids are dead. They hurt you, stole away the boy you thought you loved. Plotted without your knowledge, because they didn’t trust you to agree to your hybrid's permanent incapacitation, and made you confront the envious, jealous, hateful beast he can be long before you were ready. And the council of fanatical imbeciles? You may have known them all your life, but it didn't stop them from hurting you. Do you have any idea what they planned for you? Experiments, Caroline. Supposedly to advance modern medicine, but in truth, humans love having an excuse to hurt something.

“It's certainly not the hunter boy I ate, because deep down inside, you know he got what was coming to him. Face it: it's your hybrid's brother and every last one of his line you mourn, because you might not be sweet, and you might not be kind, but you have a just heart. You know it was wrong. An entire line. Do you want a number? Do you want to know how many that boy and his sister murdered? No?”

Caroline tried to back away from him, his rapid-fire recitation chipping away at her bravery. He cupped his hands around her bare shoulders and held her in place in a gentle, but unyielding grip.

“Over seventeen thousand. That is the sort of atrocity a doppelganger is capable of, addled by a sire bond or not. Kol was prolific and his children followed suit. You wouldn't know the sort of vampires he created, but I have to admit, I think they were my favorites. He turned libertines. Actors and singers. Cyprians and courtesans. The makers of his favorite spirits. Particularly creative chefs. Like calls to like, of course, and when the time came, they sired more of their own. A line of hedonists who lived for a good time. For joy. For fun. All dead in the search for my prison. No wonder you contain so little sympathy for the Gilberts. You should have killed the girl when you had the chance."

She struggled against his hold in earnest. He gave her shoulders a fatherly pat and let her go, but her dress was heavy and awkward, and her heels weren't made for the uneven terrain of the woods.

"Whoops!" He steadied her when she tripped and nearly fell backwards, one hand around her upper arm, the other on her shoulder. "Sorry about the inappropriate apparel, but there's a time and place for everything."

"You couldn't have kidnapped me earlier, when I was wearing flats?" she complained.

"Afraid not. Like I said, it’s all about timing. I’ve had eons to plan. Don’t worry so much. Your disappearance has already been noticed.”

She didn’t want to admit how much of a relief it was to know she hadn’t been forgotten. Fury rising at her own pathetic, needy anxiety, she demanded, "Why are you being so nice to me? You've been terrorizing everyone for weeks! You made Klaus maul himself. I had to dig around in his back with pliers! And I know you were torturing him while you looked like me."

"Do you think you'd be happier if you were uglier, Caroline?" Silas asked conversationally, ignoring her question. "I know you wonder why people always want you, but they never, ever love you. You're clever, though. You've turned being underestimated into an art form."

Her mouth fell open in shock. "I have not! I'm not--it's not--"

"Manipulative? On purpose? I'm in your head," he reminded her. "You can be honest with me. It was so easy to get to him while I looked like you. Of course, that's not entirely your doing. The curse, killing his father, his mother pretending to love him, family no longer willing to endure his abuse. He's been turned around and tied in knots until he'd do nearly anything for a kind word from you. I cupped his face in your hands, and he nearly broke apart into pieces. So desperate for your gentle touch. Asleep and awake, he dreams of you. The fantasies that torment him the most aren't the ones of your body that make him take himself in hand." Silas leaned closer to her, nearly nose to nose. His borrowed brown eyes were dark and terrifying in their gentle, knowing sincerity. "He doesn't want to long for a life with you, of travel and family, home and love, but he does, Caroline. You can't fathom the atrocities he would commit in your name. The degradation he'd endure for your approval, for the blessing of the only god he knows."

"Let me go," she insisted, panicked and shrill. "Let me go!"

When he did, she pushed him back and bent over to unbuckle her shoes. It was a relief to drop them carelessly, even though her stockings would be ruined. She hadn't had any illusions about this being the perfect night she'd constructed for years, but it was destroyed beyond anything she could have planned for.

"I could help you with your hair," Silas offered. "You've barely noticed, but the pins are digging into your scalp."

She dropped her second shoe and stood up, clenching her hands into fists to stop their trembling. "Does that mean I'm not going to prom at all?"

"I can't be sure." He shrugged and admitted, "I don't think so, but I've been wrong before."

[theworldoffostering]

You guys, I feel like I’m drowning. These past three weeks have felt unmanageable to me. Like, I don’t know how to keep going.

I’m walking alongside (trying the best I know how) the older girls as one navigates this break up and the other tries to transition to college. We got DD a car, but it still needs a few repairs. She was here all afternoon today working on it with DH.

I am waiting for the updated version of Ms. 6’s IEP to hit my inbox to send it off to the school. I am also working on her housing contract. Then I think I can step back for a few weeks. Still trying to figure out what’s going on with graduation. Her mom is back to letting her go to it and maybe allow her to stay for dinner, but it’s Memorial Day weekend and I don’t want to put a deposit down for a dinner somewhere only to have her not be allowed to attend at the last minute. I also don’t want to disappoint her. I’m unsure of how to proceed, so I’m just sort of frozen.

DS takes his civics test next week. You have to pass in order to graduate high school. He has prepared and seems like he will do well. He’s also pole vaulting and doing well at that for being a novice and having very little practice time due to the crummy weather we’ve been having.

Work is a lot right now. It’s to be expected due to the time of year. I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s a lot to slog through.

DH was verbally offered a job this week as a special education teacher. He is supposed to return to school to get his teaching certification in about a week, and is waiting for a letter of intent via email from the potential employer. It’s a lot. We are trying to manage the financial aid piece and we are up against a super tight deadline right now. His interview for the job was virtual, so he’s heading to the school next week to actually tour it and meet his potential coworkers. In the spirit of living in a small town, one of the women he used to live who was in live with him (for real)—the housing situation was work related—works at the school. She has legit not spoken to myself or DH since he and I got engaged so that seems like it will be super awkward (although she is also married now and has kids).

DH is finally seeing a decent therapist and between the therapist and neuropsych eval he had done during fall, it is apparent he is super depressed. Depressed is apparently his baseline and super depressed happens quite a bit. It is helpful to have it identified, but wow, it is a lot to live with. I am really struggling as his wife because he cannot do much and is not really emotionally available 90% of the time. He’s so inwardly focused, that he cannot focus on me, the kids, relationships, stuff that needs to be done, etc. I’m drowning and he cannot take on any of the workload. It sucks.

My endocrin had me take b12 supplements the last three months and my level actually decreased. I’m starting up with b12 injections next week. My TSH is also super, super low which means I’m hyperhyroid and should be losing weight, but I’m gaining which also sucks.

My endocrin is out of network for me which means my injections will be out of network. I have ZERO out of network benefits. The whole healthcare system is atrocious. I refuse to go back to the three endocrins I saw before I connected with my current one. They were all terrible, but in network. I need a super expensive full body scan but I for sure cannot pay for that out of pocket, so I’m waiting to see if my GP will prescribe it when I see him in June.

My crown also broke this week and when the dentist looked at it, I had worn a hole clear through the middle. He said it was due to grinding/stress. I wear a mouth guard religiously at night, so it’s happening during the day. :-/ Cue more medical bills. They glued my current one back on and can’t get me in to work on repair until June. I almost cried when trying to schedule with them because I just cannot even do all of this any more. (It also hurt wicked bad last time they fixed it so I’m somewhat terrified to return.)

That’s my list of complaints/brain dump. There’s more, but I need to wrap up some grading and get dinner going. I miss a life that was easier and less complicated.

[haliespages]

🏛~ mini reviews

fallen thorns by harvey oliver baxter - 3.5✨️

loved the atmosphere and the beginning and end were entertaining. middle slogged a bit and i found myself a bit uninterested. i do think clarification was needed on the sun moon and star part as well as just more refinement in the world building as it was missing any sort of context or reasoning. i do plan to continue the series at this moment

dragonfruit by makiia lucier - 4.5✨️

this was an easy read, the world was drenched in folklore and myth, and it was decently straightforward in plot but still able to keep my interest. the story was simplistic but still held water with nuanced conversations of culture, greed and conservation. to some i could see it reading a bit young, but i personally loved it.

untethered sky by fonda lee - 5✨️

i was blown away by this novella and how much power was packed into its pages. the prose and storytelling was enchanting, as well as the rocs of course. i felt true emotion for the characters and their troubles and flipped through this with hardly a breath in-between. while i would never complain about a full series in this world, this is a book that was truly made for the novella format.

the voyage of the basilisk by marie brennan - 4.5✨️

starting out slower, this installment quickly got faster and full of action. we see so much more on dragon biology and taxonomy, and even a piece of dragon embryos. i was also shocked to see conversations about gender and sexuality woven into one of the storylines. this light academia series is one for the books (hah.) and this is currently my fav in the saga.

the sins on their bones by laura r. samotin - 3✨️

i really wanted to adore this but i found it to be jumbled. the story starts in the wrong place, firstly. to me, this would have been much better if this was a sequel to another book explaining the coup and past war. we are mostly told not shown the effects of this war on our characters, sprinkling in some small flashbacks but it truly didn't show the actual emotional turmoil we were expected to feel. it felt like reading the end of a book before the beginning. the last 100 or so pages were great and held my interest, i just wished the rest did as well.

the wings upon her back by samantha mills - 3.5✨️

i really loved the dual timelines in this and the character work was exceptional. my only vice was worldbuilding. it was very hard to picture this world and what it looked like, i personally think it would benefit greatly from a map and some more refining in the world section of things. certain parts are very well defined, but overall the image was quite hazy.

[bomberqueen17]

progress etc

god it's less than a week to christmas. ok cool. yeah. great. all right.

i am. what have i been doing??? i don't know. I've sewn several things-- most notably a pair of leggings-- and the house renovations have progressed to the point that we're getting final measurements for counters tomorrow. I'll put pictures behind the cut. We painted the ceiling ourselves, as paint isn't included in the remodel.

I don't remember what I last posted pictures of. IDK there's a floor now, I didn't take pictures of that yet.

ok i was wrong i do have one photo of the floor but it's in-progress, max is in the background wedging it in between the cabinets.

[image description: an awkward angle looking down standing in the side door entryway, with the blue-washed gray side of a new cabinet facing me, some of the plywood subfloor exposed coated in glue, mottled gray fake stone tiles laid out and the hunched form of a man in a gray sweatshirt kneeling on the floor in the background with his head hidden behind the cabinet. Listen I wasn't trying to be creepy.]

it's fake stone vinyl tiles. i know, not normally my aesthetic, and it's probably the thing that'll look most dated in a little bit, but there was no point trying to do anything wooden or wood-look because the rest of the house has original hardwood from 1950 and anything new wouldn't match. (the hardwood badly needs refinishing, let's not contemplate that right at this juncture...)

Max is from Elmira, btw, and only moved to Buffalo a year ago-- just in time for the blizzard to absolutely destroy his first apartment here and wreck most of his stuff. It was a bit of a harsh welcome to the city. He's soft-spoken and extremely polite and doesn't really know how to talk to me, not the way Jim the installer (fiftysomething and very experienced) does. He did gently laugh at me when I left yesterday and then immediately had to come back to get my keys, which I had locked inside the house (but of course as he was still there the other door was still unlocked). "I grew up in the kind of place where you don't bother locking doors," I said, and he was like "lol same".

(I know Elmira because Middle-Little went to college there. It's a sort of dire little place in the Southern Tier-ish region of NY, a couple hours away. The region is fairly economically devastated, alternating crushing rural poverty with Tourism Dollars; Elmira itself boasts a college, a prison, and precious little else.)

Anyway-- painting the ceiling over the weekend, I discovered that the real life hack for painting a ceiling is for at least one member of your party to be six feet three inches.

[image description: my dude, a tall thin white man in an uncharacteristic ball cap he's only wearing to avoid paint splatter (it is embroidered with the HTML tags <head> on the front and </head> on the back, and was a gift to him in like 2002) is standing on the cardboard-and-sheet-draped floor of the kitchen using a paint roller on the ceiling, which he can reach easily; in front of him the cabinets are all draped in old sheets as well and there's a random light bulb sticking out because the installer wired that in for us to use as a work light since the electricians haven't installed the ceiling lights yet which was why it was an ideal time for us to paint said ceiling.]

Anyway it's going great. The counters won't go in until January sometime, but early January. The electricians plan to come the day after Christmas and I won't be there until the afternoon so I'm going to check in with Jim today about what they'll need.

Meanwhile, I remembered that I hadn't set myself the goal of crafting anything for Christmas except I bought a bunch of scarf blanks from Dharma Trading to dye as gift wraps and gift components and my basement is all torn apart and I don't dare make that kind of mess in my mother-out-law's basement so I need to work out how to get that done so I'm really kind of slogging through that, a bit.

OH i just went to look at what the last pictures I posted of the kitchen were and the answer is LIKE NONE so omg sorry here's before we painted the ceiling, where you can see what it's gonna look like!

[image description: This is View A, from the side door toward the front of the house. Along the left of the photo is a line of cabinets, a set on the ground and then another mounted up on the wall; in the middle of that will be the sink, and then farther down a dishwasher (!!!) and beyond that the stove, all along that north wall of the house. The middle of the photo is the big bay window we had installed, and there are cabinets along the front of it: the countertop will extend out from those, and will form a seating area. To the right of the window, the front door is now visible, that little wall having been removed and now being a wide-open space into the entryway. The right of the photo is the interior wall of the kitchen, now transformed into a built-in pantry space with a fridge hole in the middle, where the extra flooring tiles are currently stacked.]

[image description: this is View B, from the front door into the kitchen. The foreground is the big open space where the wall was removed; the bay window is just out of frame to the right, and the far wall shows the empty space (now containing buckets of floor glue and a roll of cardboard) where the stove will be, and above it will be an extractor hood (no more Everything Smells Like Salmon!!), and the empty space (now filled with a rolling garbage can the contractors are using) for the dishwasher, and then the little window right above the sink-- this is a detail we've kept from the old kitchen, that's where the sink was and that's where the window, but the window seems bigger because the cabinets aren't packed so tightly around it now-- and you can see the side door there, and then the left of the photo shows the edge of the pantry unit where the fridge will go.]

It's a much more open space, both of us can be in there, someone doing dishes while you cook is no longer the world-ending inconvenience it historically has been, and also now you can talk to someone in the living room while you're in the kitchen without needing to holler.

Yeah the gray cabinets are-- well they're pale wood washed with dilute blue, is what they are, and all the hard fixtures are in neutral shades like that, grays and gray-blues, and the countertops will be white with tiny sparkles, and the idea is that the big wall to the west and the little bits of wall around the windows will be painted some bold color we'll match with like throw rugs and hot mats and other changeable fixtures, so the kitchen can get "redecorated" with a new coat of paint and not clash with the hard fixtures. This job cost five figures, we're not re-redoing it during our lifetimes.

[therealeagal]

Hades

You know, I've mentioned before that I don't care for certain genres of video games. It's because I'm a scrub who hates losing and a fake gamer who likes games that are easy, and in neither case have I the patience to Git Gud.

On the other hand, I've also mentioned that I am endlessly fascinated by Greek mythology because I'm a nerd. It's always interesting, if a bit over-exposed. How about a game about mythology other than the bloody Greeks and the Norse? I'm lookin' at you, Kratos.

I guess there was that one Hinduism game some years ago. What was it again? The dude with the multiple arms and the giant planet sized dude who tries to crush the hero with his finger. I think it started with an N...ok I found it. Asura's Wrath. I was way off.

Didn't get enough credit if you ask me.

If one were to make a game based on mythology, perhaps there's something from Africa that would make for an interesting concept. I don't know, I'm just spitballing. Preferably one that doesn't involve freaking Anansi, because he's overexposed too.

ANYWAY.

So I picked up Hades on the strength of being a nerd, not because I had a sudden change of heart viz a viz rogue-likes.

Cast in the role of protagonist, one Zagreus, son of Hades and (so he formerly believed) Nyx, respectively the god of the Underworld and the goddess of the night.

But some how that I forget, young Zaggy discovered that Nyx is not truly his mother. His true mother is actually named Persephone and that's a whole thing, but suffice it to say, she left the underworld at some point because reasons and hasn't been seen since.

Anyway, so then young Zaggy must fight his way out of the underworld in search of his mother. Along the way, he receives help from several of the gods who reside upon Mount Olympus, who are his uncles and assorted cousins as well as his grandmother (who doesn't know she's his grandmother. It's a very top secret hush hush sort of thing), Demeter.

Then middle middle middle, everyone lives happily ever after. Except not really because they're doing a sequel, but I'm sure that game will have everyone living happily ever after. Except for the Titans, I guess, but fuck them anyway.

====

So anyway, as to the gameplay, I was prepared for a slog, and mightily did I toil until - while searching the settings for the volume controls (it's a very loud game) I discovered a nifty little option in the settings menu called God Mode. Fake gamer that I am, I naturally took the opportunity to activate it, providing 20% damage reduction, which reduction would grow incrementally 'pon my inevitable death, capped at 80% and rarely did I turn it back off.

It really does make a world of difference. What once promised to be an unbearable slog was now instead an enjoyable game.

The deaths I still suffer on occasion (on account of being a fake gamer) still manage to advance the story 9 times out of 10, and always manage to entertain and at no point do I feel overwhelmed or frustrated by needless difficulty that the devs refuse to accomodate. Well, except when using the bow. I know it's supposed to be the strongest weapon, but I'm more of a button mash kinda gamer. Perils of being a filthy casual, I guess. Gimme Excalibur any day of the week.

The only thing missing is a sword beam and a Japanese highschooler who wants to be a hero.

That's a reference by the way. It shows that I am very clever. But it's an anime reference, which cancels out the cleverness and instead shows that I'm a jackass.

P.S. If you are offended by my use of God Mode, which invalidates everything that you - as a REAL gamer - went through to Git Gud, then please remember that I warned you several times throughout this post that I am both a filthy casual and a fake gamer, so... well, I won't tell you to eat all of the shit and then die, because I am a nice person, but I will think it. Really hard.

P.P.S. This is totally unrelated, but WHY DID THEY CHANGE THE WAY THAT POSTS ARE MADE? I HATE THIS FORMAT (is that the right word?). WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE OLD WAY!? NEW IS BAD! CHANGE IS SCARY! ARGNOEHAOAFEHJKHSGDGSHGJKDHGJKDGHDK!

[novelmonger]

I just finished The Silver Chair and thought I’d pop over to let you know I enjoyed it this time through (you said it’s your favorite, recently), and also that I figured out why it was one of my least favorites as a kid. It’s a sort of middle-aged book. I am, of course, referencing Screwtape’s advice to Wormwood that “The long, dull, monotonous years of middle-aged prosperity or middle-aged adversity are excellent campaigning weather. You see, it is so hard for these creatures to persevere.” Of all the Narnia books, it’s the one that requires the greatest perseverance from the characters (and thus from me, the reader), with the least “reward” along the way. There are no respites at the Beavers’ house or bright days of sailing in fair weather or rides on a winged horse to break up the slog through marsh and moor and underground maze. Every apparent respite is just more danger and discomfort in disguise. Even the season is the grimmest, hardest part of the year as the tail end of autumn slides into the bleakness of early winter.

And then there are the adventures. I am petrified of snakes, and a serpent plays a prominent role in this story. I am terrified of heights and can’t even watch characters in a movie stand on the edge of a cliff without nausea clawing up my throat, so Eustace falling over the edge of that cliff and Jill flying through the air on Aslan’s breath provoke a deeply uncomfortable physical reaction for me. And I, like Jill, also cannot bear being shut up underground. I identify a little too strongly with her POV to enjoy their trip to the Underland—especially since Lewis keeps emphasizing her discomfort!

But! This time through, I found Puddleglum a hoot. The parliament of owls too, with their odd, backwards view of humans. Jill is incredibly relatable to me, not only because of her fears, but also because she is so ordinary and she bickers with Eustace and she wants a warm bath and a hot meal so badly. That’s exactly how I would feel in a like situation. Her negligence in reviewing the Signs is also more relatable than I like to admit. The enchantment scene with the witch is a brilliant presentation of how secular culture tries to reduce faith to something ridiculous and imitative through denial and mockery. And it’s presented in a way that children can see the flaws in the witch’s words.

As for the “middle-aged” atmosphere—well, I’m old enough now to have hiked my own Ettinsmoor and Underland. I can appreciate the virtues endurance and patience in a way I didn’t as a teen. So all that is to say that I guess I’ve finally grown up enough to appreciate this book. It’s still not the volume I’m most likely to pull off the shelf, what with the physical and emotional discomfort, but I definitely see more in it now.

To clarify: The Silver Chair is my favorite of the BBC miniseries. Of the books, my favorite is The Horse and His Boy.

I think a big part of why I love Silver Chair so much is because it was the first of the BBC adaptations we owned, so I watched it over and over (as well as the animated LWW, which I love aspects of but also recognize that the animation is...special).

But I also identify with Jill most out of all the children, I think. She just seems so normal. She doesn't become a queen. She almost feels like a hero by accident, because she was showing off and ended up being the only one to hear the Signs. I mean, it's all part of Aslan's plan, and none of the children were chosen because they were particularly special (other than that Aslan chose them!). But Jill just feels a bit more relatable to me. Also, everything about forgetting the Signs was really convicting to me as a kid who often thought of Scripture memorization as boring and pointless.

Then there's the climax, with the Queen of Underland almost convincing them there's no Narnia, no sun, no Aslan! But Puddleglum comes to the rescue! His dourness and pessimism, which seemed like little more than a funny sort of character quirk before, turns out to be exactly what they needed at that moment to save the day. And what he says about how he'd rather believe in Aslan, even if he's not real, than the Queen's depressing "reality," has always struck such a deep chord in me.

And then there's Prince Rillian! That whole part where they're all suspicious but then he says Aslan's name sends chills down my spine to this day.

And then, specifically from the BBC version...I honestly can't imagine anyone better than Tom Baker for Puddleglum, and Barbara Kellerman is a fantastic Green Lady/Queen of Underland (and White Witch, but that's a whole other post).

Anyway, I never thought of Silver Chair as being "middle-aged," though I see what you mean. Maybe I've just always been an old soul or something XD Thanks for sharing your thoughts!

[blood-mocha-latte]

gashey + 75!

send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabble

75 - “I’m going for a swim. Do you wanna join me?”

~~~

They’d swam all the time in Austria, but this feels different, somehow.

“Be careful,” Les says for the thousandth time, slipping precariously down the rocks before finding some semblance of refuge in the springy, wet ground. The grass seems to stick to the soles of his bare feet, and he pads across the short space from him to Tony grudgingly.

Tony just hums. It sounds like half of a laugh, and he wades further out into the lake without further preamble. “I think we’ve done more dangerous things.” He says over his shoulder, otherwise distracted as the water laps at his calves, trousers rolled up to above his knees. 

“It’s nighttime.” Les tells him, rather appalled, and goes in after him anyways.

“It’s warm.” Tony shoots back, and when he looks back a second time, the moon catches the glint of his skin, outlining him in silver. Les’s breath catches thickly in his chest. It takes him a moment to find it again.

“Other things are as fun as swimming.” He tells Tony after a moment, voice slightly hoarse. Tony just hums, the thin border of a laugh. 

“Aren’t you from Maine?”

“Yes, Tony, and other things are as fun as swimming.” 

The lake isn’t that big. There’s a dock in the center of it, abandoned, the post for securing boats empty. Tony makes a beeline after it, and Les splashes louder than he means to as he follows after him.

Tony’s never been to Maine; Les moved to him. Always, always have and probably always will, too. Lakes in Wyoming aren’t like the Atlantic ocean, but they aren’t like Austria, either. Les has the sudden vision of Tony suddenly disappearing, caught up in some sort of mudhole that they can’t see because of the night and dark, murky water. He speeds up slightly, just enough to catch Tony’s elbow and hang on to it, suddenly paranoid.

Tony just leans back into him subconsciously, knocking his shoulder against Les’s and sending a spark of warmth through Les’ ribs. “We do other things every day.” He says, but turns his hand over to lace his fingers with Les’s, anyways. “It can get boring, after a while.”

Les frowns. He feels, rather keenly, that he should be insulted, but doesn’t say so. “Everything we do gets boring?”

Tightening his fingers around Les’s own, Tony looks back at him and seems to soften, expression already sparkling with something close to laughter. “Okay, not everything.” He concedes, and the water splashes between them in quiet waves as he leans forward to quickly press his mouth to the corner of Les’s. 

He starts moving forward again. Les, of course and always, trails after him, keeping their hands wound together. “I still think that we could have done something else.” He says after a moment, almost just to feel the quiet silence of the night and waves. Tony just hums. It sounds a bit like laughter.

“You didn’t have to come.” He says. “I just asked if you’d like to join me.” 

It’s a silly argument. Of course Les was gonna come, in the same way that Tony would’ve come if it was something Les wanted to do. Les just grumbles something to the extent of this under his breath and keeps slogging forward.

The silt at the bottom of the lake seems to swirl around his ankles as they go, kicked up with every step, and Les ignores the feeling. He’s unsure what to make of it, and is a bit worried that he’ll lose focus and step on something sharp. 

“You know where you’re going, right?” He asks, almost worried. He doesn’t have a suspicion that Tony would drag him out into the middle of a lake in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Wyoming, but, well. 

Tony just squeezes his hand. “I used to come out here all the time when I was a kid.” He says. “I want to show you something.”

“You’d come out here at night?” 

Les has trouble wrapping his head around it. In Maine, the closest body of water was the ocean, and it was entirely too easy to be caught in a riptide and never be seen again. The water laps gently at his legs, like a conversation. Tony keeps pulling him forward. 

“Not this late.” He said. “But when the sun started to set. Not a lot of time in the day.” 

They’re almost to the dock, now. The water isn’t deep enough to fully swim in, but the soft fabric of Les’s undershirt sticks to his sternum and chest, soaked through with water, as he follows Tony deeper. 

“I don’t think this counts as swimming, anyways.” Tony says. 

“I think I’m gonna get giardia.” Les tells him. 

“I’ll get it with you.” Tony comforts him. Les snorts a laugh. 

Water pushes back against him in protesting waves as Tony hauls himself onto the dock, now close enough to do so, and Les watches him do so absently, watching the way that his thighs flex before he turns around to offer his hand again. 

Les takes it without thinking, lets himself be hauled upwards.

Les’s back hits the cool boards of the docks and he sighs, grimaces when Tony drops down next to him and slings a wet arm around the trunk of his waist, leaning into his side. “We should’ve taken a boat.” He says. Tony laughs.

“Where would we have gotten one?” He asks, which is the whole reason that Les hadn’t brought it up earlier. He turns his head enough to press his mouth to the bridge of Tony’s nose.

“What’d you want to show me?” He asks, rather worn out. He kind of wishes they’d just stayed in, another lazy night where nothing happens but Les gets to read and Tony’s warm and happy and kisses him sweetly. 

Laying soaking wet on top of a dock in the middle of a lake is alright too, he supposes. Next to him, Tony shifts enough to cross his legs underneath him, sitting upright.

“Not a lot.” He says, near thoughtful. “You remember Zell Am See?”

It’s a hypothetical, of course. Even if nothing had happened in Zell Am See, it would still be the first place where Les had gotten up enough goddamn courage to tell Tony some semblance of the truth. “Sure.” He says, aloud. Tony makes a soft sound, like he’s gathering his thoughts.

“There was that lake out there.” He tells Les, then stops again, clearly deep in thought. Les lets him think, tracing shapes absently into his back with a fingertip. Tony makes a sound and bats him away. “Quit it.” He says. “I was just thinking that it would’ve been nice to be out there alone. And we never got the chance, and it’s always busy here during the day, so…”

Les blinks, then huffs. “We couldn’t have just done this on the shore?” He asks, but isn’t that aggrieved. Especially when Tony clicks his tongue like he knows what Les means and rolls over on top of him, warm and heavy. 

“In my head this was easier.” He says, and his nose brushes against Les’s. Les runs a hand up his side absently, affectionately. “I think we’re out of shape.”

Les is okay with that. They’re both softer now, but they’ve settled into something more comfortable. He turns his head enough to coax Tony into a chaste kiss before pulling back again. It seems to him that they’re doing the same thing that they always do, just on a dock.

He gets Tony’s idea, though. In the day, they’d never be able to do this. Sort of like changing an idea enough to still hold onto it. Tony kisses him again.

“We can leave whenever you want.” He mumbles against Les’s mouth, warm and plying, and Les can’t really hold back his smile, knocking his nose against Tony’s. “Thought I got boring?”

“You don’t get boring. Staying in all the time does.”

“Mm.” Les kisses him for the thousandth time.

[fernsnailz]

how would you suggest someone gets into reading archie sonic? i tried but the first few issues are such a slog

ok as someone who understands how difficult a lot of the early archie comics are to read… i HIGHLY suggest you read from the very beginning, or as close to the beginning as you can.

a lot of the early comics suck, straight up. but there’s also so much hidden gold in the early stuff that’s easily missed if you start somewhere in the middle. not to mention, storylines last for a WHILE in archie sonic. the ramifications of an early issue can randomly show up again 50 issues later - if you skip the beginning, you’re going to be lost somewhere down the road because you missed an early plot beat.

a lot of people suggest you start at issue 160 because that’s where the writing and art gets consistently good. and they’re right! but the writing is only good because it builds off of plot, characters, and lore that was set up in the previous 159 issues. if you start at 160, you’re going to miss the story and emotional context of what makes it so good. it will feel hollow. plus, you'll also miss crazy shit like this:

if you REALLY want to skip some of the early issues (which is fair), i’d suggest you start at issue 57. this issue serves as a recap for a lot of the larger story beats that happened previously, and gives you a very, very basic understanding of where the story is at this point.

there is one place where you can start archie sonic without knowing any of the extensive lore or previous issues: the reboot. you can start at issue 252 and not have to worry about anything prior because the story from this point forward basically takes place in a completely new universe.

regardless of where you start, you will need a reading order. archie sonic isn’t just the main series - it’s also the multiple spin-off series, mini-series, and specials that continuously build the story. i suggest the reading order found on the thanks, ken penders blog.

archie sonic is insane, but enjoyment comes from when you can find some sort of understanding within the chaos. and unfortunately, you can't really get that unless you start with the early stuff. best of luck to anyone out there trying to get into archie sonic, because you're probably going to need it

oh wait one last thing: BEWARE THE KNUCKLES SERIES. it's really bad

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 67 – Saint Death’s Daughter by C. S. E. Cooney

This is a book I’ve been vaguely aware of for a while, without really knowing anything about it beyond that it was getting a lot of positive buzz, but it got a WFA best novel nomination and that provided the impetus I needed to finally give reading it a try. And, well, I’ll be honest – this was a slog for me. If it had been half the size it would very likely be one of my favourite works of the year; as is the best way I can describe the reading experience is ‘slowly drowning in cotton candy’.

The book stars Miscellaneous ‘Lannie’ Stones, younger daughter of a declining noble house which has provided executioners and assassins to the royal family of Lariat since its founding, and generally but not lately provided necromancers as well. Lannie is the hope of the family, a necromantic prodigy (if one with a profoundly inconvenient allergy to violence that requires her isolation from the rest of the family and her raising by a bound revanent nanny and the dubiously trustworthy ghost of an ancestor). As the story opens, her parents have both died, and she’s been forced to write to her terror of an elder sister to come home as their debts are called due. She comes home with an enscrolled and deeply unwilling fiancee abducted during her studies. This, surprisingly, only takes up the first small chunk of the book, followed by a timeskip, the introduction of Lannie’s niece born in the interim, the elder sister dealing with the consequences of her seven-year campaign of bloody vengeance against the foreign court which murdered their parents, and the beginning of the actual plot.

I really did want to enjoy this book, and on the page-to-page level it was often somewhere between charming and delightful. But there were just so many pages, and so very little happening on most of them. After the timeskip the book spends something like 500 pages just leisurely meandering, stopping whenever anything catches its interest to spend half a page or three enthusiastically describing it. At a certain point the exuberant narration and playful vocabulary stop feeling delightful and start feeling like the author is somehow being paid by the word.

This is made all the odder by the fact that around the 80% mark the book suddenly realizes its got a bunch of problems to resolve and switches into an entirely different gear, rushing through revelations and resolutions like it’s on a deadline. Which apparently it was? The book ends with what feels like less of a sequel hook and more like a final hundred pages were chopped off the finished product by a longsuffering editor pushed past the brink.

So, the lion’s share of the book is interested less in plot than character dynamics and cute slice of moments. It’s very much a found family sort of narrative, delivered in an incredibly blunt fashion. Which definitely works for a lot of people, I’m sure, but everyone was so obviously written to be endearing and charming and fell into love of various sorts with each other so instantly it just left me cold, and more a bit bored.

This is a book with footnotes, and among those it feels pretty middle of the pack? Not doing anything particularly impressive with them, and they don’t have a real character or voice different from the rest of the book, but they’re a fun enough way to infodump a bunch of Stones family history (particularly all the ways different members have died).

Thematically...look, I’m aware this is entirely a personal pet peeve not shared by any particular audience, but the fact that Lannie’s whole life from infancy is being chosen as the beloved priestess of a goddess of death for one specific purpose, and that this is portrayed as an entirely benevolent, positive, and uplifting thing to have done at basically all points that it’s discussed just sets me on edge. There’s nothing really badly done about it, I’m just a contrary maltheist by nature and the book did basically nothing to allay that.

Generally – I don’t know, I’m not opposed to 700 page books (I’d be an utter hypocrite if I was. Almost certainly still am regardless), but I feel like being that long is a failing the book then has to justify? It should be obliged to do something with the length, if it’s going to demand so much of my time to wade through it. This didn’t really feel like it did.

[mumms-the-word]

💙💜 for the colour asks?

Thanks for the ask!! <3

💙 Blue: What inspires you to finish writing a fanfic, and what makes you quit writing one at any stage in the process?

I am the world’s worst at finishing something, especially if it’s a long-form thing like a book or a longfic like Fathoms or Masquerade is. Honestly, some days I want to just be like “if I quit softly no one will notice right?” But I know that I have at least 1 or 2 readers out there who would be sad and who sometimes ask for updates. If you ask me for an update there is a 95% chance I’ll be motivated (and pressured) to finish something lol

Also, some of the scenes I’m most excited to write in the long fics are the ones at the end. Beginnings are hard but exciting, the climatic endings are my favorite to write, and the middle is a SLOG. I always start to doubt my ability to finish a longfic/long project as soon as I hit the middle. The motivation just takes a nosedive. But I have to get to the fun scenes somehow, you know?

As for shorter fics, like oneshots…I think writing them more or less in one go helps keep up the motivation to finish them. I have several oneshots that I haven’t finished yet because I just don’t feel inspired to return to them or I feel like what I’ve written isn’t good, and the longer I wait to work on them, the less I want to bother with them. Sometimes finding just the right song for the fic’s mood helps, or finding a fanart that is particularly inspiring. Art inspires art!

As for why I tend to quit writing a certain oneshot or project, it depends. Sometimes it’s because the idea just isn’t working that day, or my writing feels forced, or I just have a headache/don’t feel good, or I got stuck on a plot point or scene, or I just feel unmotivated. The problem is, especially for oneshots, if I don’t try to pick it up the next day, it tends to get left behind. I’m trying to get better about returning to old WIPs but…I think some stuff will just be Forever Unfinished

💜 Purple: Name one song you're listening to while writing your next/current fanfic. How or why does it help the writing process?

Oh god how can I pick only one? I listen to video game/movie soundtracks when I write. I can’t listen to anything with words (at least, not in English) because I’ll pay attention to those words instead. I can’t listen to words and write words at the same time.

That said, one song I keep coming back to recently is The Journey from the Atlantis movie soundtrack. It may or may not have anything to do with Friday’s update in Fathoms 👀

But in general I listen to music to sink into a kind of mood or vibe for the scene. A sad scene needs sad music, a fight scene needs epic battle music, a cozy scene needs cozy music. That sort of thing. And if all else fails, chill video game music covers all my bases, because theoretically speaking it’s designed to fade in the background and help your concentration.

Idk I’m just not as big on listening to contemporary music/music with words when I write. Some stuff does inspire scenes, but I can’t listen to those songs WHILE I write.

Also being dismally behind all music trends lately doesn’t help

Anyways thanks for the ask!!