Last Seen Blogs
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Trying to get a glass of water but i cant. The water goes up
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Kill me once, shame on you.
Kill me twice, how did you did that.
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It's not WIP Wednesday, but have some sad small Cassian amd Brasso anyway.
After his mother’s funeral half of Ferrix had crammed into their shambling rooms, a confused amalgamation of older tenements into a semi-respectable, union-owned family unit that somehow managed to be spread across three floors without ever filling one. Cass had liked it as a boy, squirrelling along its corridors with whoever else’s children were there or shadowing Brasso’s mother as she narrated her day in to him in Basic at half her normal speed and twice everyone else’s. He’d liked that you could only reach Brasso’s room, a strange triangular attic that was wedged up on the third floor and had no business being part of the property at all, by a single steep ladder, and had patiently taught him how to build a snare at the top of it in case of enemy attack.
When he’d disappeared during the wake Brasso thought he’d retreated up there, but instead found Clem and Cass arguing at the door to his mother’s room.
“Mate, you can’t be here,” Clem was saying. “It’s private.”
“Brasso doesn’t mind,” Cassian said, very confidently for someone who hadn’t spoken to Brasso at all that day and didn’t know he was currently making his way down the corridor with a tray full drinks.
“Let’s ask him then, shall we?”
“You don’t need to - ”
“Sorry about this, Brass,” Clem said, leaning round the door. “He’s not touched anything. He’s just a bit upset.”
“Because they’re doing it wrong - ”
“I told you, Cass, it’s different here. Where’s she going to find a mountain in this place?”
“It’s not in this place,” Cassian insisted, and when Brasso made it through the door he saw that Cassian was perched on the end of his mother’s bed, spine erect and face resolutely turned away from Clem, eyes focused intently on an overflowing plate of food of the dresser. “Brasso, when someone dies - ”
“What people believe happens when someone dies,” Clem said gently, “on Fest.”
“On Fest,” parroted Cassian, mustering a level of adolescent scorn that suggested he was, at most, one name day away from becoming ungovernable, “everyone knows that after they die people have to go up the mountain. And it’s difficult, so they need to take things with them. Like food and stuff. And then you need to watch to make sure that they take it, so you know they’re ok, they’re on their way.” He didn’t move, didn’t turn, just applied all his considerable attention to the food, which on closer inspection was only the centre of a wider offering that included an old drip lamp, barely burning, and a note in an awkward hand in a language Brasso didn’t recognise. Clem shrugged apologetically, a silent promise to deal with this and leave, but Brasso quite liked it. Outside, people were telling him how good his mother was, and how gone. In here, he was just babysitting Cassian again. His mother could well be in the other room, laughing with the Daughters of Ferrix and about to call Brasso to ask where the kaff was.
“Where’s the mountain?” he asked.
“You can’t see it until you’re dead.”
“What’s it called?”
“You wouldn’t be able to say it,” Cassian said, haughty, which Brasso was beginning to realise meant he’d forgotten the word in his own language.
“Okay. What’s that say?”
“Oh.” Cassian wavered slightly, his eyes cutting quickly to Brasso, his posture wavering. “It’s just a message for her to take. I thought she’d like to have someone to talk to.”
That got Brasso somewhere in the stomach and somewhere round the throat at same time. HIs mother was dead. She was going to the next place, whatever that was. And here was one of the neighbourhood kids - someone she barely even knew, really - concerned enough that he’d found her someone to talk to and wanted to make sure she got on her way.
His mother is so good, and so gone.
His face did something that prompted Clem to take custody of the tray. “I’ll take this through,” he said, and then: “is one yours?” Brasso nodded dumbly then took one of the mugs and put it on the dresser next to the rest.
Cassian hummed approvingly. “I told you he didn’t mind.”
“How long should I tell people you’ll be waiting?” Clem asked, and Cassian chirped “three days” so confidently that Brasso huffed out a laugh for the first time in days.
They didn’t manage three days: Brasso got called away and Cassian fell asleep, but after everyone was gone Brasso gave into the childish urge to curl up in his mother’s bed and in the morning the drip lamp had gone out, the kaff had curdled and Cassian’s note had found its way to the floor, so maybe someone had been through. Maybe his mother had her message and was on her way to the mountain, wherever it was.
#brassian#andor#fic rec#the WEIGHT this gives maarva's brick#helping each other's mums along their way ;_;
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mutuals can open my protective plating and play with my wires and say its to check for viruses but we both know its just to put your hands in my organs
#droidcaptain#i've done this with like two or three droidcaptain fics lmao#ymatmiu#is probably the one that best combines them
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Characters being compared to dogs always use terriers or pitbulls or something for their metaphors. “They grab on and they don’t let go” “They keep worrying at it until it’s dead” etc.
Anyway, I want to see collies used as metaphors. Albert Payson Terhune style. “He was like an attack dog–making slash-and-run attacks, cutting them up worse every time, never staying in range long enough to get hurt but circling back over and over.”
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Oh you're writing a gay smut fic with a fantasy setting? Don't forget to give one of your characters a
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do you think insight can be gained about an author from the stories they write?
no. authors are like squids and can only be understood through spirited but ultimately futile combat
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decided to make my own post rather than bothering op (original)
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“Oh the people are gonna love this” I say making the most niche piece of media art work that is really only for me,3 people ,and a plastic bag that blows in every so often
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not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…
‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.
‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.
even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.
I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.
fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.
idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.
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Aspencore
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re-reading my own fic because the author has exactly my taste in tropes, ships the same ships in the right way, and also shares my sense of humour. what a find, what a revelation. i hope they write more of this sort of thing.
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I should note, I hate the soulmates "we would fall in love in every universe" trope for the aforementioned "where's the tension and interest and really anything worthwhile" reasons. However, "we would find each other in every universe" fucking rips. We would interact meaningfully in every universe but sometimes we are lovers and sometimes we are friends and sometimes we are bitter enemies and sometimes we'd simply both be in the same HOA.
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"did i tell u this already?" we are in a timeloop and i am in love with u tell me again
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Fanfic tiktok is wild... I see so many people saying shit like "I could never read anything below 60k!!", or "What story can you even tell in under 5k words?" or "A oneshot below 10k isn't even a story!" or "I always filter completed fics by 100k< only!"
And I'm like...
A) which fandoms are you reading fics for where you have this kind of offerings on the regular?
B) have you heard of short stories? If you truly think every story NEEDS to be longform to connect with people, I sincerely feel sorry for you.
C) Average novel length is between 50k to 100k. I'm sorry, but CONSISTENTLY demanding fic writers to push out fics of that length is insane. Just think about it: YOU DEMAND AUTHORS TO PUT OUT FICS THAT COMPARE TO COMMERCIAL NOVELS IN LENGTH (AND QUALITY) AS A BASELINE.
Yall are wilding.
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