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#inspiration to other authors

allweknewisdead · 1 year

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The Second Coming (1919) - W. B. Yeats

The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

#w.b. yeats #william butler yeats #the second coming #things fall apart #slouching towards bethlehem #chinua achebe #joan didion #poem #poetry #inspiration to other authors #pandemic #reading #yeats

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thelaurenshippen · 5 months

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re: that *chef kiss* PERFECT Franken-Drummer post and tumblr not being all over The Expanse, I know right?? it’s such an amazing show with so many delightful, complicated characters yet it’s so unfairly slept on! maybe because S1 takes awhile to get going and ppl give up? idk but it makes me sad that I have so few ppl to squeal about Drummer and Amos and Bobbie and Christjen and Ashford and Naomi (ad infinitum) with 😭🚀😭

WHY ARE PEOPLE NOT OBSESSED WITH THE EXPANSE HELLO!?!?! there's literally so much to love about it oh my god. you're right, it DOES take a second to get going but once it does!!!

for those of you who have not read or seen The Expanse series (I myself have yet to read the books), let me tell you why you'll love it:

political space drama with incredibly distinct cultures and phenomenal world building, if you're a details girlie (gn), you're gonna go nuts

the found family vibes!!??! are off!?!? the charts!?!? (minor spoilers for the first few episodes) four people are thrown into a situation in which they accidentally become the most important people/fugitives in the whole galaxy and most of them DO NOT trust each other, what could possible go wrong, and even better, what could possibly go RIGHT

Christjen Avasarala. you are not ready for her. most powerful mover-shaker on earth with the most incredible outfits you've ever seen, refined elegance with the filthiest mouth, plus she's got a classic "whatever those two have going on is so gay it veers into something else entirely" with her younger protective knight lady, Bobbie

Bobbie. the "not to be a lesbian but oh my god" post is made for her. we meet her in the show for the first time when she arm wrestles a robot and WINS. you will be begging for her to step on you with her mech suit

speaking of women I want to step on me Camina Drummer. angry revolutionary pirate queen of my heart. do you miss the unique agony of 2000/10s queerbaiting but want it to be not baiting somehow? this show does that, idk how else to explain it. the most agonizing sapphic pining you've ever seen but it's textual and also not painful because its gay. don't worry, Camina fucks, just not the girl she wants most (also spoilers, but this is not a bury your gays show don't worry)

Jim Holden is literally just Some Guy who becomes the special fantasy chosen one because he simply cannot stop Getting Involved. nosiest bitch in the universe, I love him.

imagine you're a girl who leaves your shitty ex and gets a normal industrial job on a spaceship, only to have a six foot, two hundred pound killer dressed as a mechanic imprint on you like a baby duck, and its unclear whether he wants to fuck you or call you a little sister but he definitely WILL kill for you and will do literally anything you say and then you both end up caught up in a weird galactic war by mistake and there's this other guy with a captain america level moral compass and he's cute and you're into him except your shitty ex is still out there with the biggest secret you have and meanwhile your best female friend is the coolest person you've ever met but you don't think you can be what she needs and you're holding your family together, you're holding the universe together and all you want is justice for your people but unfortunately you've gone and fallen in love with the accidental most important man in the galaxy. well, every day Naomi Nagata wakes up

Praxideke Meng. botanist of my heart. literally tames the rabid guard dog that no one else could. gentle and able to stay gentle because of said dog. which brings me to...

Amos Burton. I saved him for last because he is my guy. he is THAT guy. canonically aromantic pansexual king. are you into guard dog characters? do you find yourself drawn to the "sorry my love language is acts of service and all I'm good at is killing people" characters? amos burton is like seventeen tumblr posts come to life. previously mentioned enormous killer dressed as a mechanic, former heels wearing "I didn't always work in space" sex worker who is always rolling into brothels and being like "you guys unionized?", gives a shit about basically no one in the universe except his crew and every single child in the galaxy, accidental comedian because he cannot stop saying weird shit, not a nice or good person but a loyal one, and one who is always trying to relearn the empathy that was carved out of him as a young person. every time he goes homicidal to protect one of his chosen people (crew + any and every child), an angel gets its wings.

fin.

#answered #the expanse #most of this is cribbed from the essay I was texting a friend the other day lol #which is what inspired my expanse posting in the first place #bc I was like 'I HAVE to stop bothering this friend' lol #btw the canonically aromantic pansexual thing teeeechnically comes from the writers' twitter?#but like #you simply have to watch the show to know that about amos #he mostly doesn't sleep with people in the show and yes the few he does are women but the dude is queer #but anyway the authors have explicitly said he's aromantic and that his sexuality is 'yes'

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revoevokukil · 4 months

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There is an old copy-paste moving around the internet regarding discussions asserting the inherent Slavicness of The Witcher, and I will record it here for posterity.

(translated from polish)

-write eight books

-have their main character suffer from otherness, prejudice and erroneous stereotypes

-insert anti-racist references at every turn

-make dwarves into Jews

-and use to criticise anti-Semitism

-criticise nationalist attitudes

-criticise xeno- and homophobia at every turn

-show support for a multicultural society and acceptance of otherness

-describe how victims become executioners

-show how violence begets violence

-make it the central theme of the last three volumes

-have the hero and his lover die during a racist pogrom

-defend the persecuted to the lastHear from every corner of the internet that "a black witcher would be a disaster."

-write thirteen stories

-based three on Andersen's fairy tales

-three more on the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm

-seventh on an Arabian fairy tale

-mock folklore and folk beliefs in the first one

-but also make fun of them in the story "The Edge of the World"

-mock the Polish legend in "The Limits of Possibility"

-name the main character "Żerard" (Jerald)

-generally use mainly names with Celtic roots like Yenefer or Crach

-and those derived from Romance languages such as Cirilla, Falka or Fringilla or Triss

-a few English names such as Merigold

-and those derived from other Germanic languages such as Geralt

-and Italian

-German

-and even French

-borrow monsters from American games, especially from Advanced Dungeons and Dragons

-from Irish, make an elf language

-and from German, make it the language of dwarves

-make the characters celebrate Irish folk holidays

-write an article about where you got your inspiration from

-pour bile on Slavic fantasy in it

-finally write an eighth book

-make one of the key characters a Japanese demoness

Become a champion of turbo-slavism.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #the witcher books #nobody contests The Witcher is the product of the time-place-history and culture experienced by its author #what very much ought to be contested are attempts at painting TW as symbolic of an ideology it very much criticizes #aside ethnonationalism criticism applies to imperialism likewise. not like eastern europe has extensive experience with both or anything #as goes for creative and intellectual inspiration it would be trite to reduce it to the local circle only (and inaccurate)#Sienkiewicz or no Sienkiewicz #at some point the audience must simply read more to know more. helpfully AS has provided a plethora of references + an entire other trilogy #9/10 when you see a discussion about the inherent Slavicness of The Witcher it's thanks to CDPR's excellent marketing strategy #which is a shame

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choccy-milky · 1 month

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Hullo I’m that one lunatic that binged your fic in 2 days lmao

This story has corrupted my whole brain and made me sketch our power couple, It’s a little more historically accurate and I still don’t like how Seb turned out but who cares they’re cute. I wanna think they’re reading your story.

And I’m waiting (im)patiently for a chance to throttle talk to one particular individual in your fic

Oh and I was wandering if you have a discord or….?

OMGGG???? I LOVE THIS!!!😭AND STOP SEB LOOKS GREAT THEY BOTH LOOK GREAT I LOVE THE FACT THAT THEYRE STILL IN THEIR UNIFORMS/SAME COLOUR SCHEME BUT A MORE HISTORICALLY ACCURATE AU VERSION omg and clora is so mommy here??? UGHHH😩💖💖i love your style sm im so happy u liked my fic enough to not only binge 476k words in 2 days but also then DREW FANART FOR IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER??!?!?! we love to see it😭 THANK U SO MUCH IM GLAD UR SO INVESTED. im supposed to be working on my actual job rn but this has made me decide to go work on the next chapter instead LMFAO ((also im not in any discord groups/dont have a public discord or anything (im too socially anxious for that LMFAO) but i do have just a personal/private one, and am always just down to message in tumblr dms!!🥰love 2 share in the brainrot)) BUT THANK U AGAIN BOTH FOR READING AND DRAWING THIS FOR ME💖💖IM GLAD U LIKE SEB AND CLORA SM😭💖

#i see myself in you bc i read a 350k word fanfic before in like a day and a half and then immediately drew fanart for the author LMAO #im glad i can inspire the same brainrot in others😍aaaaa #they are SERVING look at them #ask

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greenerteacups · 3 months

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Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

#by the way a lot of this draws on ideas inspired by 'letters to a young poet' by rainer maria rilke if you're interested #that's a formative text for me as an artist #it won't teach you how to write but it will teach you how to think perhaps #and once you know how to think. well. life is just pretty good #and i can't say the writing gets easier but when life is pretty good i find myself enjoying it a lot more #this word vomit was prompted by the question 'how do you write real people and real interactions'#because that's like — i'm not trying to be pedantic but—#that's kind of just 'how do you write literature'?#because that's all literature is. what are human beings? how do you write a person? how do they interact with each other?#like shoutout to the void if you know for sure how to write real interactions then please for the love of god tell the rest of us #because i think most of all authors in history have just been giving it our best stab #'this is how the world looks for me. is it how the world looks for you?'#so my advice on that score is: try to see how the world looks for you #and then try to share it with me #don't worry about whether it looks the same for me. it won't

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quotelr · 5 months

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We believe in each other, that's enough for me.

Freddie Mercury

#Freddie Mercury #quotelr #believer # other #quotes #literature #life quotes #author quotes #prose #lit #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writing inspiration #poets on tumblr

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lover-of-mine · 11 months

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Inspired by when the hardest part is over by throughfire on AO3

The hallway light catches on the sharp lines of Buck’s features, now, highlighting half of his face and making the unshed tears along his lash lines shine. He has curled a hand – seemingly reflexively – around Eddie’s wrist as though to stop him, and now they’re caught in the doorway as though they’re framed by it, painting the scene of a breathless, halted aftermath that neither of them knows how to navigate. A mess to be hung in a museum somewhere for other people to analyze to pieces.

The slightly shorter one is in love, they’ll say. The taller one has no idea.

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thatsnotmygunflash · 7 months

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Are there any Professor Snart fics out there? The thought came to me and now I'm lying on the floor trying to get my brain to reboot.

Think about it. The gossip surrounding the hot new English professor. The casual but professional outfits. The captivating lectures. The charming smiles. The corny jokes. The starry-eyed students. The never-ending string of faculty friends and students visiting when he's in his office. The abundance of award-winning books he's written (James Patterson who?). The Dean is ready to offer him tenure if Len agrees to add another class or two to his roster because they have so many students begging to be in his class. He goes to his students' poetry slams to encourage them and has a writing workshop for inspiring authors. He sponsored a scholarship in his name for LGBTQ+ students. He volunteers to help with the theater department. Not long after he's hired, Professor Leonard Snart seems to be the only thing anyone wants to talk about at Central City University.

#theres so many ways to fit barry into this #a stressed senior who can't stand hearing Iris go on and on about her new hot teacher #a fellow professor who cant string two sentences together in front of his favorite author #an inspiring CSI hell-bent on proving the picture-perfect professor isn't who he seems to be #the Ezra/Aria meetfuck in the bar bathroom the day before he realized he just had sex with his new professor #Barry's work friends have adopted Len into their friend group and think they should date #professors rivalry aka how many times can we pretend we actually hate each other before we fuck on your desk #i could go on #but I'll run out of tags #leonard snart #coldflash #barry allen #the flash #captain cold #professor snart

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writereleaserepeat · 9 months

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Fan Mail

Fan work based on the Kane & Jim series by @whumpsday . I’m always so inspired by K&J, both in how to make a compelling story and how to be a better author. Please go read the original K&J before reading this - I promise you the investment of time is worth it. Some creative liberties and departures from canon have been taken to make this story work.

Summary: Jim gets a special delivery - fan mail. Kane is horrified when he finds out what this means, and Liz manages to make it worse.

WC: ~5500

CW: recovery from abuse and torture, PTSD symptoms, hate comments

Kane heard the familiar hum of the mail truck long before it reached the end of Jim’s driveway. The poor excuse for a vehicle sputtered along with its usual concerning wheeze. After hearing it for the first time, Kane had been waiting for the day when it inevitably gave out for good. In the meantime, however, it would continue to deposit a meager collection of mass-mailed pamphlets in Jim’s mailbox once every weekday.

“Is that the mail?” Jim called from the kitchen, having apparently heard the telltale rattling on his own.

“Yes,” Kane answered simply, unsurprised that even a human was able to hear the metallic beast’s pathetic keening. After a moment he heard the vehicle’s direction of travel change, and Kane’s red eyes widened as his heart accelerated in his chest.

“It’s… it’s coming up the driveway.” His words came out strangled by fear, terror at the sudden and unexpected.

Of the days Kane had spent tucked away inside, hiding from the daylight that blazed beyond dark curtains, he’d come to embrace the comfort routine. He heard when the birds first began their song before dawn, and he listened to the wind shift through the nearby trees as mid-morning became afternoon. He found melodies in Jim’s footsteps upstairs, tracing the man’s path throughout the home each morning before he fetched Kane from the basement. Crickets began their crescendo as the sun began to fall towards the horizon, signaling that it would soon be time for Kane to return to the basement once more.

But the mail truck was supposed to pause for a moment before carrying on down the road. It wasn’t supposed to travel across Jim’s driveway and sputter ever-closer, carrying another human and goodness knows what else in its belly.

“Oh, Liz and Laken must have sent me a package,” Jim said with nonchalance. “Blaise drops any packages off on the porch, instead of the mailbox.”

The fact that Jim sounded unfazed did little to settle Kane’s growing panic.

“A package? But- but don’t they visit often? Why would they mail something when they can just bring it over?” The questions were all hiding Kane’s true concern: what’s the catch? How is this going to hurt me? Are the hunters finally coming back for me?

There was the brief sound of Jim drying his hands on the kitchen towel, and then he reemerged in the living room with a half-smile on his face. This one seemed genuine, kind.

“I think they want me to have a pleasant surprise now and then. I know money is tight for them, but they always find new ways to try and lift my spirits. Besides, if I refuse, Liz just starts counting how many birthdays and Christmases I missed.”

“Oh.” Kane’s anxiety coiled inside him like a spring. It was a painful reminder of those years he’d stolen from Jim, the years that Liz would never be able to return with a thousand well-meaning gifts. It was a reminder that Kane was a monster, and always would be.

The vampire soon realized that Jim had picked up on his nerves. He’d drawn the jacket tight around himself, pulled the hood in close to his cheeks, formed a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. It was like Kane was a child, trying to hide from the monsters in his closet.

Jim ran a hand through his curls and gestured halfheartedly towards the basement door.

“Why don’t you go downstairs for a few minutes? I’ll have to open the front door to get the package, and I don’t want you to worry about the sun.”

That was all the convincing that Kane needed. He willingly went down the stairs, past the silver door, and down into the dark recesses of his basement – no, the basement. He even let out a breath of relief as he heard the lock secured.

Moments later the rattling of the mail truck ceased to an idle hum. Kane could then hear Jim chatting with a stranger, their smiles evident in their tones.

“Hey, Blaise, how are you?”

“Doin’ just fine, Jim. I have a package here for you, not too heavy, but figured I’d spare you the walk down the driveway.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, man. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, I’m okay, the missus packed me some water for the road this morning.”

“Alright, if you say so. You take care now.”

“Likewise. Enjoy your afternoon, the weather out here is beautiful.”

Both of their voices were warm, friendly, alight with the jovial tone of passing acquaintances. The front door closed and Jim walked back to the kitchen, dropped his package and letters on the kitchen table, and then the lock on the basement door slid open.

“You can come up now. Blaise is gone, and the door is closed.”

Kane trotted up the stares obediently, relieved that Jim had been telling the truth, but simultaneously burning with shame. He’d made Jim go out of his way for something as simple as getting the mail, all because he couldn’t quell his own anxieties. Kane did nothing but complicate Jim’s life, all he’d done for the last decade was complicate it, and he wasn’t poised to stop any time soon. He felt the full weight of his burdensome existence deep in his stomach.

Although he’d heard the front door close, Kane swept his eyes carefully around the room before letting the basement door shut behind him. True to his senses, and much to his relief, there was no sunlight leaking into the house. Further inspection revealed pamphlets and a large box on the kitchen table, but Jim had seemingly ignored them in favor of the meal he had working on the stove.

The question dropped from his lips before Kane could swallow it. As anxious as the unexpected mail drop had made him, he was just as curious what Liz could have sent along through the post.

“Aren’t- aren’t you going to open it?”

“Nope,” Jim said without hesitation, and without apparent annoyance at Kane’s prodding inquiry. “It’s not a gift. Its garbage, and the garbage is where it’s going as soon as I’m done cooking these onions.”

“I can take care of that for you,” Kane offered, desperate to be helpful, especially after the scene he’d nearly caused because of a simple package delivery. Whatever was in that box was definitely a sensitive subject for Jim: Kane could hear it in the human’s rapid heartbeat and he could see it in his tensed muscles.

“It’s fine,” Jim said, his voice wavering a touch. “But… sure. Just dump the contents right into the trash, and put the box in after it, alright? Might have to cut the box down for it to fit.”

“Yes, Jim.”

Eager to assist, and pleased he’d remembered to use Jim’s name under pressure, Kane sprang forward and whisked the box off the table. His talons effortlessly split the tape and he proceeded to shake out the contents into the nearby trash can.

Much to Kane’s surprise, a pile of letters came fluttering out of the box, and they fell in piles onto the waste that was already sitting in the bottom of the trash bag. The panic that had just been quelled re-emerged. Kane drew in a breath and let out a shaking whimper. There was no way Jim had meant to throw out letters, right? They were handwritten, addressed to him by name, sealed with stamps and beautifully scrawling script.

“I- Jim- I don’t think this is- these are letters! They’re addressed to you!” His nervous exclamation was louder than he intended, but Kane wasted no time in digging his arms down into the wastebin, fishing out fistfuls of letters in a hurried attempt to save them.

When he glanced up, Jim had a scornful look on his face, which made Kane shirk back.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why they’re trash. Put ‘em back, stuff ‘em to the bottom of the can, and get the bag ready to go to the curb.”

Kane had to force a swallow, and he quickly dropped the letters back into the bottom of the trash. The rest followed, and he tore the cardboard box into pieces that he piled on top of the letters. Whatever they were, Jim didn’t want to see them, much less acknowledge them.

Before he closed the lid he noted the return address on the box. It fluttered to the bottom of the trash just like the letters, but not before Kane had taken in the sender’s identity.

Birchwood Forest Publishing, Inc.

That created more questions than it answered. However, Kane knew he had already pushed on Jim’s good graces with this matter, and the thought of upsetting him further made the hair on the back of Kane’s neck stand up straight. If this was something Jim wanted to keep a secret, Kane would let him have that secret.

Still, the curiosity gnawed at him like hunger.

---

Five days after the incident with the mysterious package, and four days since any remaining evidence had been schlepped outside for trash collection, Liz and Laken came to visit. Kane had been gradually growing accustomed to their visits, including Liz’s caustic stare. It was no less than he deserved.

The two hunters had just come off shift, so it was quite early in the morning when they’d arrived. Kane had heard their arrival upstairs, and he’d listened with earnest pining as the family laughed and joked and made their way through the otherwise quiet house.

Kane had been allowed upstairs after sunrise. The ankle restraints were familiar by now, even comfortable, and he was able to sit on Jim’s couch in silence as Laken retold stories of the last week in town. He was sure the interest was apparent on his face, but he sat rapt through Laken’s retelling of the butcher who had finally gained the courage to ask the diner owner on a date. Although the entire affair could have lasted no more than two minutes, Laken had managed to stretch the tale into almost ten minutes, and their impassioned dramatization was the most relaxed Kane had been in days.

It was pleasant. There was no denying how nice it was, sat like a friend among these three humans, even if they largely ignored Kane’s presence. He was soaking in the laughter, the smiles, no matter the fact none were directed at him. Their blood smelled sweet, but not nearly as sweet as the joy Kane gained from listening to them laugh at something aside from his own pain.

The illusion of perfection was shattered when Jim finally piped up.

“Yeah, you won’t believe what I got in the mail this week. Another box of fan mail from the fuckin’ publishers. I told them months ago that I didn’t want them forwarding that shit anymore.” When he spoke he only sounded mildly irritated, at best, while Kane knew he’d been furious when the box had first arrived.

Kane immediately sat at attention, his calm dissipated, and he leaned forward as the siblings scowled in unison.

It had to be about the box and the letters, of course. There was no other noteworthy mail that Jim had received over the last week. “Them” could only mean one thing: Birchwood Forest Publishing, Inc.

“Fuckers,” Liz grumbled, and she took a sip of her cold cola, her lips smudging the frost on the side of the glass. “You’d think they’d at least screen it, right? You know, actually look at what they’re sending you, not just stuff it in a box and hope all is well.”

Jim scoffed.

“I don’t want any of it. No praise, no love letters, nothing. They can burn it, for all I care. Just stop sending it to my doorstep.” There was no hiding the sheer disgust that dripped from every word.

This only piqued Kane’s interest further. Why would Birchwood Forest Publishing send Jim love letters? And if they were indeed love letters, why did Jim speak of them with such vehement hatred?

Of the humans in attendance, Laken seemed the least bothered by the cryptic discussion. They stood up and stretched before grabbing the now-empty plate in front of them.

“I’m going to the kitchen to grab a beer and get the dishes started. Anyone else want anything?”

“I’ll be back once I take a leak,” Jim said, standing up alongside Laken.

“Guess that leaves me to babysit,” Liz said, to which the other humans laughed.

Kane’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. He knew that Liz’s words were in jest, but dread knotted in his stomach nonetheless. As Jim and Laken left, Kane wrung his hands together. Being left alone with Liz was always scary. Even now, before Jim had left the room, her glare burned holes in his tattered soul.

“So, do you even know what Jim was talking about? The letters?” She asked once both humans were out of earshot. The accusatory tone was yet another clue Kane hadn’t picked up on before – whatever this was about, it was because of him.

When it came to Jim’s endless pain and suffering, what wasn’t Kane’s fault?

“J- Jim got a package the other day,” Kane started. There was a soft waver to his voice, but he pushed on. “It was large box that came with the mail. He told me to throw it away, and I did- well, I started to. I thought he made a mistake, because it was letters, and they were addressed to him. But… he made it very clear that he didn’t make a mistake. He told me to throw them out without even looking at them.”

“Mhm.” Liz leaned back into the chair and crossed her right leg across her lap. “Do you know what those letters were?”

For a moment, Kane was tempted to lie. After all, Jim had told him to throw the letters out, not look at who the box was from. He didn’t want to admit that he had learned more than he’d been allowed to. At the same time, he felt as though Liz could stare through him and all his secrets.

“No. All I know is that the box was sent from Birchwood Forest Publishing, and that it made Jim very upset.” This confession came just as quietly, an admission that he’d snooped where he shouldn’t have.

“You know that Jim published a book, right? A book about what you did to him. A book about how he survived, despite that.” There was no missing the accusatory tone in her voice, that anger she never quite abandoned when speaking to Kane. It was a sound that made him want to sink into the earth and never reemerge.

Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear that I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me please please please…

“Yes,” he squeaked out, and pulled his hands close to his chest, as though that could protect him from a hunter’s stake.

“Well, you see,” Liz continued with another sip of her cola, “the book was a bestseller. Everyone loved the story. A human escaping from vampire territory? It was unheard of, especially after five years in captivity. It sold like wildfire the first year, and the sales haven’t slowed down since. But that level of notoriety, well, it causes problems too.”

Of course it did. Everything Kane touched caused problems for Jim. Even the very story of Jim’s captivity, and his attempt to make some profit from it, caused years of cascading pain.

“I’m sorry.” This time he couldn’t stop the apology slipping from his lips. It burned in his throat, and tears pricked his eyes. There would never be enough apologies in the world for what he’d done, and the thought that it continued to this day ached in Kane’s very bones.

“You don’t know the half of it.” That acidic abrasiveness gave Liz’s voice an edge. “The book had only been out for a week when the publishers forwarded the first box of fan mail. That’s what they called it, anyway. These were letters that readers had sent in to the publisher, addressed for Jim, because the publishers are some of the only people in the world with his address. They gathered up the letters, put them in a box, and sent them his way. You should have seen the way he smiled, thinking that maybe he’d inspired hope in some people, or that he’d find someone else who went through the same thing.

“Sure, some of the letters were like that. They told him how brave he was, how they could never imagine being so strong, or that his story gave him hope that their missing relatives would come home safe one day. But there were awful letters too. People who wrote solely to tell him that he should have died in captivity. Vampires who snuck into human territory to send words of vitriol for all humans, not just Jim. There were letters that accused him of being a liar, that he’d made up all of that suffering for the fame. For every kind letter of inspiration, there were at least two more than made him sick. They hurt him all over again.”

Kane’s head spun. He’d known that humans could be cruel – he knew that intimately well after his stint with the hunters – but he had no idea they could be so cruel to one another. And because of his own ignorance, not just trusting Jim when he said to throw the letters out, he’d dredged up all that hurt again.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, wishing he could hide his face. “I swear, I didn’t- I didn’t know. I never meant for people to hurt him like that, I swear, if I could stop it-”

Liz cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“For once, this isn’t your fault. I mean, it is your fault. But people being dicks for the sake of being dicks? Humans have done that to each other since the beginning of time. Still, it doesn’t mean that Jim can handle it, not anymore.”

That sisterly softness crept into her expression, sadness clouding her eyes. She didn’t look up at Kane, but instead down at the floor, focused intently on the edges of Jim’s rug.

“I won’t ask about the letters again,” Kane assured her. If he’d learned anything from his time in captivity, it had been that making mistakes was unforgivable. Jim had been kind enough to let the letters slide this once, and without comment. If Jim had been upset by Kane’s inquiries about the letters, he’d hidden it well.

“I’m sure you won’t,” Liz said. “If you do, and he gets upset, you’ll have to deal with me.”

It was a threat that was often left unspoken, so Kane didn’t hesitate to acknowledge it.

“Yes, I understand.”

After a moment of thought, Liz tilted her head to the side.

“Have you read his book?”

“N- no, I haven’t. The only books I’ve read are the ones he’s given me.” These were the words that Kane managed to say, but even more ran through his mind.

I don’t think I can read Jim’s book, not by myself. You’d have to tie me down and read it to me so I can’t run away from what I did. It just hurts too much. Haven’t I already paid the price? Do I just have to keep reliving my sins over, and over, and over again? Is this the rest of my life?

“Well, maybe you should one day.” Liz spoke in a noncommittal tone. “I know he has some advanced reader copies still up in his attic.”

Kane was spared having to answer as Jim walked back into the room. He patted water off his hands onto his jeans, and stared at Liz with a smirk.

“What, not helping Laken with the dishes?”

“It’s their turn,” Liz shot back without a moment’s hesitation. “I did them last time!”

The siblings continued their chatter and Kane took the opportunity to retreat into himself, pushing out the questions and the discomforts from his time with Liz. If he sat with them for much longer, he’d be sick.

---

Kane had excused himself to the basement looking rather ill, and Jim hadn’t pushed the issue. The hood on the jacket had come up and Kane had wrapped his arms around himself, which Jim had come to recognize meant Kane was having a bad time. Given that it had only happened after he’d left the vampire with Liz, however, he had his suspicions as to the sudden cause.

“What did you say to Kane?” he asked, giving Liz a pointed look. Her shrug and averted gaze told him that she’d pushed something she shouldn’t have.

“I just told him about the hate mail.”

“Dammit, Liz,” Jim groaned. “You think the guy doesn’t have enough guilt? I tried not to tell him when it came in the mail the other day, and that was on purpose. I can promise you he’s blaming himself for it now, and I’m sure that’s why he left early.”

“I told him it wasn’t his fault,” she said, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, like that’s going to make a difference in his fucked-up brain! Ask me how I know.”

“He needs to understand that his actions have consequences. Sometimes, those consequences are so far removed from the action that they’re hard to conceive. I just wanted him to see that his actions have long-lasting effects in ways he’d never have expected.”

Jim sighed and brought a hand up to his neck. In his discomfort, even in front of his sister, he was compelled to cover his scar.

“He sees those consequences. He sees them every day, and I don’t think he needs any more punishment than he’s received. You’re not here all day with him. The guilt, and the trauma, they’re eating him alive. Every. Day.”

“If you say so,” Liz said. She wrapped her arms around him, a sensation he’d never grow tired of. “But if you ever need any help keeping him in line, you call me, alright?”

“I know,” he said, and closed his eyes. All he could see was Kane cowering away from him on the first day he’d been home. How was that the same vampire that had tortured him for years? “I know.”

---

“Hey, Kane?” Jim called down the basement stairs, unwilling to enter Kane’s space without permission or good reason. “Are you alright? Liz and Laken are gone, you can come up if you’d like.”

It took a few moments for the vampire to take him up on the offer. There was the telltale shuffle of chains around his ankles, which he hadn’t removed before Kane retreated to the basement. Those familiar red eyes appeared at the base of the stairs and Kane made his way up slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not in trouble,” Jim reassured him, hoping to head off any nervous questions before they emerged. “I’m not upset that you and Liz talked about the letters.”

“Oh. Okay, I’m… Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Jim said as Kane tip-toed into the first floor of the house. “You’re allowed to talk with my sister about things like that. Hell, you’re allowed to talk to me. You know you’re allowed to ask questions, right? If I’m uncomfortable I won’t answer, but you’re still allowed to ask. You’ll never be punished for asking.”

“Yes, Jim.” The answer wasn’t particularly convincing, but Jim wasn’t going to push it. He carried on instead.

“I know I was upset when the mail came, but you were still allowed to ask about it if you had questions. I would have told you why I was uipset. I was mad at the publishers for sending it, not at you for checking about the letters.”

Kane’s red eyes watered with sadness, but tears didn’t fall.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said, all but blubbering. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel to you. I know it’s- it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” Jim tried to stress this, despite the small voice in his mind wanting to scream. Yes, of course it was Kane’s fault, in some distant way. But the Kane in that stupid book, the Kane that the rest of the world got to know, wasn’t the Kane that stood before him today. This Kane could hardly get a word out without sobbing.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Thank you for not getting upset.”

“Not upset at you,” Jim reiterated. “If you have any questions about the book, or the letters, you can ask. I might not be able to answer all of your questions, but I’ll try.”

He watched carefully as Kane looked down at the floor, then back up to Jim, and then back to the floor again.

“I… I had an idea.”

“Oh?” This came as a surprise to Jim. There were some things Kane had taken an initiative with, such as being useful around the house, but he rarely contributed any attempted ingenuity.

Kane fidgeted where he stood before continuing.

“You, uhm, did you like some of the letters? The nice ones?”

It had been a year since Jim had even opened one of the boxes from the publisher, and even longer since he’d read any letters the boxes contained. Even if there were a dozen letters praising his courage and complimenting the storytelling, one hate-filled page was enough to send him spiraling. It got to the point where even seeing the box in the mail spiked his anxiety and brought on nightmares.

It took a letter from a vampire, one who had managed to post the letter into human territory, to make Jim swear off opening them altogether. Those were the letters he remembered, not the kind ones. Those letters were the ones that gave him new nightmares.

“I suppose so,” Jim admitted with a sigh. “It was nice to hear from people who were supportive. I used to wonder if putting that book out into the world was the right thing to do, but enough letters convinced me that it did some good. I’d like to think it helped some people, wherever they might be in their lives. Maybe it still is.”

“Then… maybe I could screen the letters for you?”

This was something that Jim hadn’t foreseen. He stared at Kane with wide eyes, blinking in disbelief.

“Wait. You mean you’d read through all of the letters?”

“Yes, Jim.” Kane’s voice rose in pitch, likely a combination of nerves and excitement. “I could read all the letters, and only pass on the ones that are kind and supportive. You’d never even see the other ones.”

An ache blossomed in Jim’s heart. This wasn’t just groveling and begging: it was Kane offering himself up as a barricade between Jim and the rest of the world, and he was doing so without any care for his own self-preservation.

Jim didn’t need prompting to remember some of the other letters he received. Letters that were neither expressing hatred towards himself nor admiration. There’d also been the letters from the vampire hunters and various victims, all dripping with hatred for not just all vampires, but Kane specifically. Undoubtedly, there were similar letters in the box that had been discarded just a few nights prior.

No words of affirmation from strangers would be worth putting Kane through that. Not now, not after everything had changed. Kane’s well-being was worth more than any hollow words of praise.

“No, man, it’s all trash. I don’t need that shit.” His smile felt painfully fake, but he put it on for Kane’s sake. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

A pause spanned the air between them as Kane’s distress prickled.

“And, uhm, Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Liz said I should… she said I should read the book. You never gave it to me, so, uhm, I’m not sure if you wanted me to, but I… I would do it, if that’s what you wanted. It would… it would be hard, I’m not sure I could do it on my own, but I’d try, I’d really try, if you said to.” The tears Kane was holding back were obvious as his voice cracked. He couldn’t even look up at Jim as he spoke.

Dammit, Liz. Part of Jim wished she was still in his living room so he could ask her what the hell she’d been thinking when she said that.

Instead, he had to draw a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. Yes, this was a sensitive subject, but he was ready to navigate it. Jim knew he was healing, because he patted Kane gently on the top of his head instead of screaming. There were things in those pages neither would be able to bear revisiting.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never read the whole thing,” he ended up saying. He was painfully aware of just how much in the book could wind up traumatizing them both if they ever dared to read the words. “I would never, ever ask you to read that. It was something from a different time in my life. A different time in your life. So long as the cheques keep coming in the mail, that’s all I’ll ever care about it.”

“Are you… are you sure?” The incredulity in Kane’s voice never ceased to break Jim’s heart all over again. Even after all this time in Jim’s home, it was like the vampire expected him to become as grotesque as the hunters.

“I’m sure.” Say it until you believe it. “It’s in the past now. For me, and for you.”

“I can handle the pain,” Kane choked out, tears coming in thick now. “I can, I swear. It’s the least I deserve, to try and understand…”

“No. I mean it. You’ve been through enough; no, we’ve both been through enough. The book is a paycheck, that’s it: it’s not a part of any fucked-up penance you think you deserve. I don’t want you to read it.”

“Okay. I understand, Jim.” The pain in Kane’s voice was still heavy, but Jim could bear it now. So long as the vampire was willing to back down, rather than spiral into a panic, they were making progress.

“Alright.” Another smile on Jim’s lips, this one feeling slightly more real. “As long as we’re on the same page – no pun intended.”

For the first time in almost two days Kane let out a sound that resembled a chuckle. He still didn’t meet Jim’s eyes, but that was okay. This is how their life was now. Baby steps, one day at a time.

“How about we get the kitchen properly cleaned up?” Jim offered, trying to brighten his tone. He couldn’t be jovial, not with his heart thundering so fast and the weight of the conversation on his shoulders, but he tried nonetheless. “I know Laken and Liz try to be good guests, but they never put the glasses back in the right spot.”

“Yes! I can do that.” Kane was still wiping tears from his cheeks, but his enthusiasm was impossible to miss. There was no mistaking his relief at being granted a task, one that he’d been praised for before.

Without another word, Kane darted off towards the kitchen on light feet, the jacket relaxed a touch across his shoulders.

Jim followed after him, trying not to think about the advanced readers’ copies of the book that sat in his attic.

#whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #kane & jim #whumpsday #tagging a creator who is so heralded in the community is honestly intimidating #I could have done better on this work... but I'm just glad I'm writing #I am so self conscious about this #I'm a very exhausted and out of practice author without a beta and alcohol in my veins #but kane and jim give me so much inspiration... I love this series so dearly #I have other ideas for fanworks but we'll see #thank you whumpsday for being so tremendous and such a cornerstone of the whump community #fanfiction

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ra-archives · 7 months

Text

Ah yes its 'Follow the Lights' time where we get to watch everyone in the chain get shocked half to death because they had the audacity to simply exist.

Lu-tober day 14

Prompt: Electrocution From my Goretober prompt list

*TW* A bit of lighting and Wars being shocked. Its not very graphic, but figured I'd throw this on there anyway

Experimenting with art styles? More like I didn't have time for todays prompt but still wanted it to be colored so I decided to just go a messy version of my texturing style and hoped it looked good without lines. Honestly its not terrible, could use a bit of clean up but otherwise pretty okay.

IS IT RAMBLE TIME YES IT IS

'Follow the Lights' is a fic written by CluelessMoose on Ao3. 'Don't Go Into the Light' is the follow up alternate POV fic, and they are both fantastic. Expect more angsty art based on this fic.

The idea behind both of them is a Chain meets Wild fic, except everyone gets scattered across hyrule between a bunch of different shrines. Super angsty, and is definitely on the more extreme side, but is also fantastic. Come here to get your helping of hypothermia, heatstroke, blood, gore, unreliable narration and a lot else. Its essentially just kicking the chain while they're down and I love it. Especially Wild, he gets kicked a lot.

#lutober #lu warriors #tw electrocution #tw lightning #Once again on my way to not tag the author bc I'm not thrilled with the art #Idk my art seems to just find the people that inspired it naturally so I'm sure they'll stumble on it eventually #Tumblr really be like 'Oh you don't want people to see this art piece you made bc its not your favorite?'#'Boom more notes on this art piece in a day than your last five original posts got combined and multiplied by three'#Thats totally not what happened with the day one prompt what are you talking about #Anyway might reboot this piece and some of the other less impressive prompts once LU-tober is over and I have some goD DAMN BREATHING ROOM #Rambling in the tags again sorry #I'm not sorry actually but I'll say it anyway #Also everyone go read 'Follow the Lights' right now

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