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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Chapter 19

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Don’t worry, I haven’t stopped writing this fic ;)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE CEMETERY

Venturing down the neatly carved path, Eivor wandered through a tunnel of trees as he made his way to the cemetery, crushing little twigs underneath his boots. The snow in front of him lay disturbed thanks to a recent chain of footsteps belonging to the jarl, and up ahead, he could see the man himself.

Arngeir was currently sitting amongst all the tombstones, wallowing in the silence of his clan’s resting place. A touch of sunlight broke through the naked branches dangling above him, and kissed the top of his head as if it were a beacon sent from the divines.

Despite the serene nature of the graves lying around him though, the jarl seemed equally as lifeless as the souls he accompanied. Within a single day, he had lost two of the most important people he ever knew, and the grief was starting to take a toll on him.

He looked absolutely exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot due to a lack of sleep, his expression hung low from having mourned for so long, and his somber gaze seemed to lose itself in the nothingness before him.

It broke Eivor’s heart to see his father this way. He had gotten so used to the fortitudinous shell that Arngeir always wore, that now, it felt as if he were looking at a completely different man.

It was understandable, of course. Considering their clan’s recent losses. There were few things in the world that surpassed the pain of a child’s death, and Eivor couldn’t help but wonder how this would affect Arngeir in the battles to come.

Would the jarl even be able to fight in this state? Would he be capable of surviving? His mind had already been left in tatters ever since Thora’s passing, and the young man feared he’d be too weak for the ordeal ahead.

He just hoped that Gorm’s information would be enough to spark some hope in Arngeir before they faced Kjotve again. Thora may have been gone, but their clan had not yet been defeated. There was still a chance to recover from the damage that had been done, and Eivor prayed he’d be able to make his father realize that.

“Father?” He called out, approaching the forlorn man.

The jarl barely turned his head in response, showing a complete lack of interest in chatter.

“...Eivor.” Arngeir greeted bluntly. “What brings you to this place?”

His son stepped next to the bench he was sitting on, gazing at the grave before them. “I’ve come to tell you that Sigurd and I managed to get Gorm to speak. He told us where Kjotve is.”

The other man hardly seemed fazed. “Is that so.”

“Yes. We interrogated him just now.”

Arngeir was totally silent in response, leading Eivor to carry on the conversation.

“...He said that Kjotve intends to sail west. To England. Apparently, he has allies there, and plans to rally them in the war against us. He hasn’t departed yet, though. He’s gathering supplies on an island not too far from here before embarking on the journey. We still have time to catch him.”

Still, the jarl said nothing in return.

“Kjotve has powerful allies, father,” Eivor reiterated, trying to get the man’s attention. “According to Gorm, these men are more than simple raiders. They’re part of something bigger than we ever imagined. We can’t let him roam into English seas. Otherwise, we’ll all be finished--”

“--Hush, my son.” Arngeir said softly, raising his hand. “We will discuss everything later, I promise. But for now... allow me to grieve for our loved ones in peace. I grow weary of all this turmoil.”

Eivor nodded in sympathy, putting the subject to rest for the moment. “...O-Of course, father. I understand.”

Arngeir took a deep breath, refreshing his mind with the icy winter air. “Thank you, my boy. I realize our situation is urgent, but we must always make time to remember those we have lost, for we would not be here without them.” He glanced at the younger man, beckoning him to join. “Come. Sit. You would do well with a rest.”

The Wolf-Kissed complied and took a seat next to his father, basking in the tranquility of the graveyard. It was oddly peaceful, despite the tragic tales behind each of the shrines. The rustling of the trees harmonized beautifully with the wind that glided throughout the cemetery, and carried the scent of saltwater within its grasp.

Meanwhile, a profound presence watched valiantly over the lost souls who now roamed in the unseen oblivion, guiding them from a realm that existed beyond rational understanding.

It almost felt as if Thora and Ulfar were still there, despite not having a physical entity anymore. The mark they left on the clan’s heart had yet to wither, and even now, Eivor could hear their last words whispering in his head.

He just wished he could’ve responded to them. There were so many things he wanted to say, and so many questions he wanted to ask. He would’ve given anything to have one more conversation with his deceased friends, but now, all he had were regrets.

“Father...?” Eivor said. “Can I ask you something?”

Arngeir’s interest was piqued. “Of course.”

“What did Ulfar do before he found us? Who was he when they still called him Wulfgar?”

The jarl paused. “...You know about that?”

“I overheard Ingrida saying a prayer for him at the funeral,” Eivor explained. “Instead of calling him Ulfar, she used his Saxon-given name. Apparently, he always requested her to do so. I tried asking her about his past, but she was reluctant to speak. She said I should talk to you instead, since you were closer with him.”

Arngeir’s eyes lit up with remembrance. “...Indeed. That man was like family to me. A brother from a different land.”

He turned to face his son, shifting in his seat. “Well, if you’re really curious, Ulfar always wanted to go by his birth name, but feared that his Saxon roots would instill suspicion in our people’s hearts. The only ones he trusted with his identity were me, Ingrida, and of course, Linnea.”

“But why all the secrecy? Our clan knew him well. They knew he was a man of honor. Surely, having Saxon roots wouldn’t be enough to change that.”

“Well, it wasn’t just about his roots. If people ever learned that Ulfar was originally from England, naturally they’d become curious. And with curiosity would come questions. He’d have to explain how he ended up living with a Norse clan, and the reason why he was no longer with them.”

Eivor urged him to continue. “And what reason is that?”

Arngeir sighed out of hesitance. “...Ulfar did not forgive so easily when he was younger. Even though the Norseman who raided his village provided him with a new home, he still wanted justice for what happened to his family. He wanted revenge.”

“...So what he did he do?”

“Nothing, at first. He was just a boy, after all. There wasn’t much he could do to begin with. Ulfar spent the rest of his childhood and adolescence living with the clan in peace, adapting to their culture. He learned their language, held faith in their gods, trained with their techniques. He became a Norseman in everything but blood.”

Eivor could already see where this was going. “But that didn’t last forever, did it.”

The jarl shook his head. “No. When Ulfar finally became an adult, he betrayed his clan and killed the four raiders responsible for his family’s deaths. Three of them were slaughtered within a single night. The fourth one -- a man named Geirmund -- escaped.”

That name sounded familiar to Eivor.

“Geirmund...?” He repeated. “I think Ulfar told me about him once. He met Linnea while he was searching for him. I never knew the history between them, though. What happened to Ulfar after he killed the other three?”

“Originally, his clan planned to have him executed. They wanted to put his head on a pike for his treachery, but his father convinced them to simply exile him instead. So, as a young man, Ulfar was banished from his home, and spent the next handful of years wandering Norway as a jomsviking, offering his services to anyone who could afford them.”

“What about his father?” Eivor wondered. “Did Ulfar ever see him again?”

Arngeir frowned in pity. “...No. The day he left his clan was the last time he spoke with him. Ulfar never forgave himself because of it.”

“He regretted his betrayal?”

“Very much so,” the jarl confirmed. “Ulfar often told me that he wished he could return home. Not for the sake of a reunion, or for making amends... but to simply apologize. He never had the chance to watch his father grow old, nor bid him farewell when he wandered into death’s embrace, and I know the guilt haunted him for years.”

Eivor’s gaze sank to the ground. “That explains much.”

Arngeir quirked a brow. “Does it?”

“Indeed. Back when you first adopted me, I often expressed my desire to go after Kjotve. To kill him for what he had done. I wanted to avenge my parents and reclaim their honor, but Ulfar was always there to soothe my pain. He told me to never lose sight of what matters.”

“And he was right. Not too long from now, Eivor, you and many others will be leading the final charge against Kjotve and his clan. It will be a battle that determines the future of this kingdom, and you must not lose yourself in your grief. Fight Kjotve with honor, and perhaps, the gods will grant you the opportunity to reclaim Varin’s.”

The young man nodded assuredly. “I understand.”

The jarl seemed pleased. “I know you do. You’ve always carried Odin’s wisdom, even when you were just a boy. I trust that you will do what’s best in the storm to come. My only hope is that the Allfather can protect you where so many others have fallen. I couldn’t bear it if you and Randvi perished too.”

Arngeir quickly changed the subject, unwilling to let his spirit dim again. “But enough about that. Go on, my son. Wait for me in the longhouse. I will meet you there shortly. For now though, I'd like to spend some more time alone.”

“Are you sure, father?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about me, Eivor. My heart sits heavy in my chest with sorrow, but I am not ready to lay down my axe just yet. I will be alright.”

Eivor rose from the bench and straightened his tunic, preparing to leave. “Okay, then. If you’re certain, I’ll meet you in the war room later.”

“Good. We have much to discuss, and I imagine Sigurd will be eager to devise a plan. Until then, take care of yourself, my boy. These next few days will be the most harrowing yet. Do not allow yourself to fall prey to the grief, or this will have all been for naught.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

OUTSIDE THE LONGHOUSE

Peering at the view before him, Sigurd sat quietly on the very same hill where he and Eivor shared their first conversation, waiting patiently for the man as he lost himself in the distant horizon. At the moment, the sun’s light was being obscured by a gathering of wispy clouds that circled around the mountains’ peaks, causing its beams to spread across the land in a golden haze. It glimmered on the ocean’s surface like a handful of scattered coins, and warmed the sheets of ice that clutched onto the shore’s edge.

It was as beautiful as ever, despite the mayhem that thrived in it. An illusion of peace concealed the pandemonium raging amidst their kingdom, and sheltered the death that littered the ground below. It made Sigurd feel as if he had stepped backwards in time, and he found himself wishing desperately that he could rewind the clock.

Only a few weeks may have passed since the prince first arrived at Bjornheimr, but to him, it seemed like an eternity. So much had changed in less than a month, and he could scarcely recognize his own face anymore, nor the faces of others.

Ulfar was dead. Kjotve was losing this war. The son of the jarl had taken his wife’s position, and now, the man he once called brother lay forgotten in a traitor’s tomb. It was as if the Nornir were toying with his fate -- plucking at whatever threads they could find -- just to see how much of a mess they could make.

It felt cruel to Sigurd, to curse him with such an arduous path. In a strange way though, part of him was grateful for having braved this trek. If it weren’t for the gods guiding him to Bjornheimr, he never would’ve met Eivor, or discovered the true nature of those he trusted. He would’ve lived the rest of his life believing in a false brotherhood, and possibly have fallen to one of their blades sooner or later.

This war had caused him a tremendous amount of pain, that was true, but it had also taught him lessons that no mentor ever could. It would be a chapter in his saga that he would never forget, yet at the same time, never wish to remember.

“Sigurd?”

Tearing his eyes away from the view, Sigurd looked to his side and spotted Eivor approaching him from the longhouse, prompting him to rise from his seat.

“Ah, Eivor,” he said with a smile. “There you are. Have you spoken with your father?”

“Yes. I just finished talking to him in the cemetery. He’ll meet us in the war room later to discuss our next move, but for the moment, he wishes to spend some time by himself.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in concern. “...How is your father?”

Eivor sighed, his breath turning into a trail of mist. “He’s... faring surprisingly well, in spite of our recent losses. He seems to be doing alright, but part of me suspects it’s only an act.”

“You don’t think it’s genuine?”

The younger man lowered his voice. “He just lost a child, Sigurd. And an old friend. No one passes through an ordeal like that unscathed, especially during a war. I can tell my father is hurting on the inside, but I also know he’s far too proud to show it. He would never risk hurting his clan’s morale like that. Or mine.”

Sigurd nodded in understanding. “A man who cares more about his people than himself. Admirable, but I hope he doesn’t neglect his own needs.”

“As do I. We’ve already lost so much in this past week. I can’t lose him either. Not when we’re so close to victory.” Eivor trailed off into a brief silence, softly clearing his throat. “...Anyway. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about the war later. You said you had something to show me?”

The prince reached down and picked something up from the ground, patting it clean before presenting it to his lover.

“Indeed,” he said, flicking some snow away, “I brought a gift for you.”

Eivor’s expression beamed at that. “A gift? What is it?”

Sigurd held his arms out, laying the object flat in his palms. “See for yourself.”

Looking in the man’s grip, the Wolf-Kissed found a beautifully-crafted shield resting proudly in his hands, waiting for the touch of its new owner. It had been fashioned out of a wood darker than ebony itself, and bore the intricate design of a raven on its surface. A vibrant mixture of blue and white pigment had been used to paint the majestic bird, and the edges of the shield were outlined with a ring of engraved iron.

Overall, it was an impressive piece of craftsmanship. Its small yet sturdy build made it an effective piece of armor, and the colors stood out from the wood like an aurora in the night sky.

“You got me a shield?” Eivor said, staring at the gift in awe. “It’s gorgeous, Sigurd.”

The prince grinned. “Ah, but it’s not just any shield, my love. This shield was passed down to me from my mother when I was only a boy. She gave it to me at a young age so that I could start my training, despite my father’s protests.”

A wave of reminiscence washed over Sigurd’s face. “...I used to carry it with me everywhere I went. Even after my mother’s death, I would wear it proudly on my back and use it as a... good luck charm of sorts, I suppose. An accessory to ward off the shadow lurking in my step. I don’t use it much nowadays since I don’t want to risk breaking it, but I’ve always kept it close nonetheless. It serves as a good reminder.”

Eivor tilted his head. “A reminder of what?”

Sigurd’s tone faltered with melancholy. “...Of what really matters.” He paused for a second and glanced down at the shield, unlocking the memories that lived inside it.

“With all the losses that we’ve suffered recently, I’ve found myself thinking about the past more than usual. My mind is often preoccupied with the burdens of regret, and my dreams are tainted by the men I’ve killed. In times like these, it can be difficult to remember why we’re even fighting in the first place. Hatred can become a familiar face if you indulge it for long enough, and eventually, you’ll find yourself burying an axe in someone’s chest without really knowing why.”

“It’s frightening to lose control of your life in such a way,” he continued. “It feels like... all the love you once cradled is slipping out of your grasp, and that there’s nothing you can do about it.” He slid a hand down the shield’s surface. “But when I look at this, I think about all the memories I hold dear. I think about my mother, about Dag, about a life without constant terror. I think about the hope I once carried, and how alive it made me feel.”

Sigurd flicked his eyes up to Eivor, unable to hide the glint of hope shimmering in his gaze.

“It’s the same feeling I get when I look at you.”

Eivor was flattered by the comment. “It is?”

The prince displayed a faint smile. “Yes. You remind me of the life I wish I could give to our people. But more importantly, you give me the strength to fight for it. Had it not been for your company throughout this past month, I’m not sure I’d be the same man I am today. And that’s why I want you to have this.”

The younger man carefully brought the shield into his grasp, mindful not to scratch it.

“Are you sure about this, Sigurd?” Eivor checked. “I mean, this shield used to belong to your mother. If you want to keep it, I’ll understand.”

The prince shook his head, holding up a hand of refusal. “No, no. It’s yours now. Even if you don’t use it in battle, I still want you to have it. I trust you to keep it safe, and I know my mother would’ve been honored to pass it onto someone such as you.”

The Wolf-Kissed slipped his arm through the strap, testing its weight with a few gentle swings.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Sigurd. It’s a magnificent piece of armor. I promise I’ll treat with the utmost care.” He closed the distance between them and leaned forward, pecking a small kiss on his companion’s cheek. “Thank you.”

The older man’s face radiated with a warm delight. “You’re welcome, Eivor.”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Sigurd’s attention was suddenly diverted to the longhouse when he noticed Arngeir striding through its doors, eager to get started on devising a strategy. It looked like Styrbjorn had also decided to join his small entourage and was currently accompanying him to the war room, looking more determined than usual.

“I think your father’s ready to meet us at the war table,” Sigurd observed. “We should join him as quickly as possible.”

Eivor chuckled softly, letting out a short breath. “This war never waits, does it?”

The prince returned the laugh. “It would seem not.” He placed a hand on Eivor’s shoulder and guided him away from the hill, bringing his lover along for a quick stroll before heading into the longhouse.

“Come.” Sigurd beckoned. “We have a battle to plan.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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thefantasticm · 6 years

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Establishing Angst in AGBM

I am by no means a master of angst or conveying tension, and a lot of the times some of what I write that affects people the most was completely incidental. But I do try, and meet varying degrees of success depending on the scene. Here are some dank tools/things/advice I use and constantly keep in mind in order to help crank up the FEELS, and can apply to pretty much anything if you want some ideas as to how to do so.

1. Showing and Telling First thing’s first: ‘Show, don’t tell’ is absolutely ATROCIOUS advice. It is vague and unhelpful and wrong. Some things must be told. If everything were shown, every story in the history of man would sink to the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by a bloated scrotum of tedium and pedantry. There must be a balance, and yes, showing should be favored, but never to an extreme. I personally aim for a 70:30 ratio when it comes to showing and telling in my writing. It is a good ballpark to aim for because landing at 60:40 is still fine and 80:20 is also perfectly readable. Falling to 50:50 and below is where things start to get... bad. Anything below will usually be noticeably boring to even unpracticed readers. When it comes to conveying angst and tension in writing, emotions are key (so Cage has the right idea, but his execution is... well). It is fine and good and proper to tell the reader what the character is feeling, in simple terms. Yet it is something that must be balanced, as we’ve established. It is not enough to say “Hank was sad.” We must say “Hank was sad ABLOOBLOOBLOO.” And by ABLOOBLOOBLOO, I mean describing the physicality of that reaction. We’ve all been sad before, know what it feels like, so describing that churning gut, that beating heart, that sinking feeling - all of it helps to establish that sadness, and can make the reader feel it in turn. Maybe Hank will lash out with that sadness in an unhealthy attempt at emotional release. Maybe he’ll think about wanting to drink, or holding his gun, etc - and describing all of that becomes a showing of where that emotion takes him, depressive, reactionary thoughts that the audience can relate to. I say all that, but it’s also sometimes okay to just say “Hank was sad” and leave it at that. Sparingly, mind you... And exactly when those moments are most appropriate is a whoooole different discussion. 2. Third Person Limited This is less advice and more... information, since something like this is really at the mercy of the writer. Everyone has different preferences for how they narrate a story. I personally despise first person narration, I adore second person (in short bursts, it’s hard to carry a longer story with it), third person objective can be interesting or the exact opposite, and third person omniscient... well. In my very humble opinion, there is no easier way to suck all the emotional tension out of a story. If you are trying to tell an emotional story, third person omniscient is just... heinous. It can be great for grand, sweeping adventure stories, but when trying to establish an angsty emotional creep? Noooo fucking thank you. Holding the audience’s hand when it comes to how every character is feeling, giving information too freely - what a great way to remove any and all emotional stakes! Pick a character. A. One (1). Beyond that character, there can be no ‘outsider’ information. Everything must come through that one character’s eyes. They can infer, they can guess, they can assume the feelings of other characters. They might even be right most of the time! But the audience must never be told this through any other means. Which is why... Keep the narrating character uninformed. Nothing can dispel tension faster than certainty. Emotional tension and angst is most readily mined in what is uncertain. And God, this is such a fucking pain in the ass with ROBOT characters - not impossible, but fuck, I digress. Hank’s emotional hang-ups and struggles become more real and relatable when he does not know what Connor is thinking - when he projects, when he guesses, when he assumes. Hank does not KNOW Connor is in love with him, he simply perceives it, and convinces himself it is true, and thus convinces the audience. They see only what he sees, what he observes, and even when Hank is oblivious to it at the start, the audience is given the room and space to fill in their own conclusions because Hank does NOT know everything, and so when Hank has his ‘realization,’ the audience is even more convinced than he is! Absolute 9000 IQ shit, I know (it’s not). And so when Hank falls away from what he convinced himself of, which is separate from what the audience knows, it’s a little... gut wrenching? No, Hank, don’t doubt it! He does love you! But Hank can’t hear your screams from where he is... And when he comes back to it, when it is far more obvious, it has a much stronger effect. Can you imagine how fucking boring that shit would be if Hank was absolutely 100% certain Connor loved him from start to finish? Jesus. However, it’s important to give the audience a bit more to work with than just everything the main character perceives. Bits and pieces that the audience will pick up on, that the main character technically observes, but is something they do not out and out notice or give much thought to. Not every insight can and should be shared between the main character and the audience. The audience should have just a bit more information that allows them to draw conclusions that characters in the story might not otherwise think of. Which leads us to... 3. Dramatic Irony Mmm... Dramatic irony is just... *chef kiss* Mwah! It is beautiful and glorious. This is what makes the collective sphincter of an audience shiver with fear. I would not say it is my bread and butter, and good angst needs it not, but when it comes to a hard hitting tragic turn of events, no tool will smack an audience in the face harder than dramatic irony. Quick rundown: Dramatic irony is when the audience knows something the characters do not. Some of the most memorable tragedies make use of dramatic irony. Romeo and Juliet? The audience knew Juliet was asleep, not dead, but Romeo... did not. Oedipus? We know that’s his mom... Oedipus... Oedipus no! Dramatic irony is so powerful because the audience is given time to sense the impending doom but they are powerless to do anything about it. They want to stop it, but cannot. Helpless to watch things go wrong. The cold sinking feeling of your heart dropping to your feet. Dramatic irony can be hard to handle, since it will have little to no effect if you cannot get the audience invested in the story and the characters. It is also difficult in the sense that it can become somewhat silly if it is made too obvious. If the feeling of ‘oh god, x is probably going to happen’ comes too soon, the tension when it happens will not be as strong. On the flip side, if it comes too late, or god forbid, it’s not picked up on at all, it will fall flat. Not saying I did it perfectly by any means, but I did try. If you are looking to pull any sort of twist, or just fuck with the audience in general, dramatic irony is a great way to do so, without being hamfisted and preachy, or sudden and purposeless (like Alice being an android).

4. Repetition This is also highly personal choice, but over the years in writing I’ve found that pieces in which I used repetition tended to have better reception than those that did not. Repetition, whether it’s purely through language (which is mostly what I do) or theme, can help really really really drive home a point or emotion to an audience. Repeating certain phrases. Or just one word. Maybe a character says something they said once in the beginning of the fic. Of course, all of this must be done in moderation, and the timing of it has to line up with whatever you are trying to convey to the audience. Sometimes the ‘thing’ you are trying to convey can even be nebulous and mysterious, but then the point becomes to make the audience think more about it, which makes them more invested, which makes the hurts a bit hurtier... I do this a lot by repeating questions. What would he change? How had they arrived at this point? Honestly when I put it out like this I feel a bit silly, and it doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for some, and that is what matters. Mostly... it works for me! 5. The Short Short Long ‘Something was holding him back, a lump lodging itself in his throat. He thought of Connor at home and the way he called him Hank, Hank, Hank. There was nothing unusual about it, but beneath Wilson’s scrutiny it felt private, it felt intimate, and Hank could not find it within himself to lay open something that all of a sudden felt so profoundly raw.’ ‘Connor was the one that was embarrassed. Intensely so, to the point it had rubbed off on Hank. This was not a situation he would normally give much thought to, but Connor’s reaction made him feel as if he had done something wrong, as if he had broken some unspoken trust between them; and as he stood there watching the android, so human in the smallest of ways, Hank felt dirty.‘ ‘Hank wasn’t sure whether he dreamt those words or not. It felt like he did, with the hazy dreams that followed. In them, it was not Hank who left, but Connor - the one that could not be held down by the words that boiled in Hank’s chest but lacked the strength to be spoken; the outline of his body as he stepped through the front door, bathed in sunlight, warping the vision of him until there was nothing left.’ ‘In what capacity? It didn’t matter, did it? Hank needed him and his chest felt light; how easy it was to admit it now, all of a sudden, as if the past ten days, those agonizing ten days, had never happened.’ ...Get it? I’m not sure if this actually does anything. But I like it, so I’m putting it in. Long Short Shorts are also valid. Really the idea is that the rhythm of the tension suddenly gets much faster in the final point, thus making it seem more desperate, and driving it home more. But. I could just be imagining things? Hmm... 6. What Remains Unsaid Sometimes a character will want to say something, but doesn’t. Or they’ll think something, but say something completely different. Or they will infer a hidden meaning, unspoken sentiment, from another character. The things that aren’t said should still be told to the audience! However you want to do it. As much as these things can work in comedy, so too can they work in angst. It’s a very simple thing, but this can serve to drive up the tension, and have the audience clench their teeth from it. Deceptively simple! The feeling of ‘just say it, dammit!’ is a near universal one and should not be ignored! 7. DURRRRRRRRRR MUH CLICHE There is no such thing as an ‘original’ story anymore. You can add your spins and your twists and your little tweaks, but the fact of the matter is that every ‘core’ of a story has already been written. There is NOTHING wrong with cliche. NOTHING. Themes and plots and twists that are common are common because they are usually effective. Anyone who insists otherwise is... as much as I’d like to call them stupid, I really would, what they need is to be educated. The reason people tend to shy away from ‘cliche’ is because when it is done poorly, it is often excruciating. It can be really awful. But one should not shy away from cliche for the fear of doing it poorly. Embrace it! Write it to the best of your ability! If a ‘cliche’ is where a story leads you, then it’s not wrong! Why did I include this? Because most of all this fear of cliche applies strongly to angst, sad tropes, tragedy, etc. After that? Fantasy adventure stories and romance. 8. The High Highs Angst is worthless without a counterweight. Personally I think I’m god awful at writing fluff, but you will never be able to write good angst if you can’t squeeze out some manner of happy scenes. And going back to point #1, you have to show at least one of these happy scenes. It doesn’t have to be over the top. It can even be bittersweet. Hope over happiness, in case you don’t want to go full joyous. Once you start really getting into the angst the happiness and the hope will likely start to diminish, but I say it is usually a good idea to leave ONE good upwards scene interspersed in there somewhere. My final hopeful scenes in AGBM were Connor returning from Washington DC, and to a lesser extent the beginning of their final argument. I used a lot of loaded language in that small span of time to make the drop-off even worse, but that is an entirely different post...

9. Never Reward Your Readers Never reward your readers. Never reward your readers! NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS!!!!

Tell your story how you think it should be told.

NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS.

10. Alliteration Doesn’t actually do anything. I just like it.

#fantastic writes

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thorne93 · 7 years

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Old Flame, New Problems (Part 4)

Prompt: You’re in a serious relationship with Sebastian Stan, when news from your first love informs you that he’s now single and in need of a friend. Will your old flame burn out or will the flames get fanned and consume you?

Word Count: 2913

Warning: language, angst, fighting (verbal), cheating, drama

Notes: This idea came to me when news hit about Hayden and Rachel splitting. Of course I’m sad that a long time relationship such as theirs is ending, but it also means he’s single sooo…Also, no hate towards Rachel. I don’t know her, don’t know what really happened between them, etc. It’s a fic and in no way reflects what I think of either of them or their precious daughter ^.^

Beta’d by my #1 gal @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laying on your bed, you were talking to Seb.

“God, I miss you so much,” Sebastian breathed into the phone. It’d been four months without seeing each other and it was killing you, bringing up old fears and old worries you didn’t want to visit.

“I know, I miss you too,” you echoed, the devastation in your voice. “How much longer?”

“Two months,” he answered with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s your career, you have to be there,” you assured, but deep down, you were breaking, terrified history was repeating itself.

“I love you. You’re so supportive. We’ll make it through,” Seb promised.

Jet lagged, but happy that your five short stories had been sent in, you were just about back to your home. All in all, you’d spent about a week at Hayden’s farm. The entire time, you either wrote, cooked, or chilled out and watched movies or shows. You played cards a couple of times but all in all, it was relaxed. It was a nice change of pace from the galas, book signings, premieres, and other soirees you attended.

Being with Hayden felt...right...It felt natural, casual, laid back. You remembered that was how it was while you dated. Lazy days in the apartment, you scribbling away on your stories and Hayden practicing lines right next to you.

The entire time was spent with you trying to drown out old emotions that had never truly gone away. Time was a funny beast like that. They say it heals all wounds, but in this case there were no wounds to heal.

Every time he looked at you, got near you, touched you, gave you that shy smile, you felt yourself falling for him all over again. Considering you and Hayden never had closure, it was somewhat natural to feel the way you did. No one cheated. No one drifted. No one strayed. No one gave up. That was the tragedy of it. You two were very much in love, but neither one of you would ask the other to give up their dreams, so the dreams won. They broke your hearts and you moved on...Or at least, you tried to. There was a reason most men didn’t last with you a full year.

Despite being captivated by him still though, you remembered Sebastian, how could you not? He was wonderful too. It wasn’t fair to him to feel or think the things you were so you continually locked them away and burying them. Except for that tragically awful kiss. Hayden had asked if you would tell Sebastian and you said you would when the time was right, hopefully soon.

But now you were back to reality, back to your life with Sebastian, your current love. You unlocked the door, a happy Spinee greeting you with a wagging tail.

“Hey, buddy! I missed you too,” you sweetly said to him as you pulled your luggage into the home. You were tired, not to mention tense. All of the interactions between you and Sebastian had been strained. He wasn’t thrilled about you staying there, or writing there, or anything, it seemed. And you were upset that he didn’t call or text more, when you’d sent several messages. You knew he was working, but he did have the time while getting ready, going to the table reads, and lunch.

You stood up, ready to just throw your stuff in the bedroom and sleep, but a sight kept you from doing just that.

Rose petals.

They led a short distance to the dining room to the right. Your eyes followed them, and they led you to your boyfriend. Sebastian stood in one of his nice, expensive button downs and jeans, his hair combed and slicked back, on the edge of the dining room. He had a soft smile planted on his face as he looked at you and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“What’s going on?” you asked, confused by his attire.

“An apology dinner,” he informed with that smile that always took your breath away. He walked over to you and kissed you, deep, a “welcome home kiss” as it were. He grabbed your hand and pulled you to a beautifully set table. “I was an ass. You were helping a friend and I should’ve been more supportive. Despite your history, I should be able to trust you, and I do. So, to make up for my behavior, I made dinner.”

“Seb…” you started, a happy tear coming to your eye while your insides melted and twisted in torment simultaneously. “This is so nice.”

“I’m glad you noticed, I went through a lot of effort,” he said with a cocky grin that made you wrinkle your nose and grab him to kiss him.

“So what’d you make?” you asked excitedly as you sat on one end of the table.

“Steaks with bleu cheese sauce, roasted potatoes, and a salad. Is that okay?” he asked, his concerned eyes searching yours for validation.

“Yes, babe, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The two of you began to dig into the food when Sebastian continued his apology. “I really am sorry. I should’ve supported you. You were just being a good friend...I also shouldn’t have given you a hard time on finally being able to write. That’s your career, and I’m happy for anything that progresses it...Even if it is spending a week with your ex,” he muttered with a teasing tone and wink. “So how’s he doing?”

The mention of Hayden instantly sent a surge of panic, regret, and dread through you.

“He’s not dealing with it,” you answered honestly, trying to keep your composure. “He’s suppressing his feelings. I tried to get him to open up but he was being his typical self…”

“Did he say why they split up?” he wondered while cutting into his steak.

You shrugged. “His anxiety...depression...his general hermit-ness.”

“Ah,” Seb noted.

You nodded in agreement. “Yep…” There was a hint of annoyance in your tone. Rachel and you had never, ever gotten along. You had tried. You tried very, very hard to get along. She didn’t want anything to do with it though. For her to leave him because of his mental issues felt so wrong to you, like a betrayal.

“Not in agreement?”

“I think it’s just odd to wait ten years, and three years post baby to leave him. Ten years is a long time to figure out you’re unhappy,” you stated.

“Everyone’s different, babe. Maybe the kid shone some light on things she was missing in life. You have to respect both of their decisions to split.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I just don’t like seeing him hurt.”

Seb gave you a half smile, and nod. “Because you’re a good person.”

-----------------------

After the delicious dinner, Sebastian showed you just how much he had missed you in all the best possible ways. He spent two days with you either in bed or going out to dinner and it seemed like just the ticket. His attentative affection made you forget about the recent problems you two were having and it made you focus on the good.

But now was the time for returning to the real world. You had a lot of press to cover for your novel that released a couple months ago, and Seb had to do his promotion for his new movies.

Today, you would be on Good Morning America to talk about your new book.

“Good luck today,” Sebastian wished you as he got ready for his day and you were putting the finishing touches on your outfit. You chose work slacks, a silver silk blouse and a french twist for your hair.

“Thank you,” you softly responded.

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” he assured. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the life of every party,” you commented with a smirk in the mirror.

“It’s your book, they’re there to ask you about your book, it’s not gonna be hard,” he promised.

You smiled and nodded. “Well, you liked it, right?” you questioned.

“I haven’t gotten around to reading it, but I will,” he promised. Instantly, sorrow and anger flared within you. He couldn’t read your book on the plane while he traveled? Or in betweens shots while filming? Or a few pages before bed? He hadn’t read your last book either, or the last few short stories you did. Was it so hard or so awful to ask for your boyfriend to read your work?

“But...you said you’d read it two months ago when it came out,” you retorted lightly.

He gave you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, babe. I haven’t had a chance is all. I will get to it though.”

“I need to get going,” you stated glancing at the clock on the wall in your bedroom.

“Okay, I love you,” he said as you leaned forward to give him a goodbye kiss.

“Love you too,” you stated, ignoring the guilt that was slowly ebbing away at your soul.

A rather short ride--for New York--to the Good Morning America set. From there they gave you more makeup, messed with your hair, and then they were calling you out.

“So happy to have you here with us today, Y/N,” Robin stated as you all began.

“Well thank you so much for having me,” you responded with a wide grin, ignoring how the cameras and lights made you feel.

“So you have a new book out!” Robin exclaimed happily.

“Yes, yet another one,” you said with a small smile.

“Now tell us about this one,” she instructed kindly.

“Well it’s about a young woman who falls in love with someone she shouldn't, and it deals with the aftermath,” you explained, trying to sound casual.

“Oh,” she responded with a fun face. “Sounds very interesting!”

The two of you went on to talk about the book, your upcoming book tour, and other works you have in the bag right now. Then at the end, they said where your book was available. The show ended, they wished you a good day, and you left.

Just as you were walking out of the building, you got a phonecall from Hayden.

“Hey,” you greeted cheerily as you answered.

“Hey, I saw the show. You looked good!”

Your face lit up at his words. “Thanks. I didn’t feel it,” you admitted.

“No you really did. I loved the ending of it. Very poetic. A little Jane Austen, but great, nonetheless,” he offered and you could practically feel his smile through the phone.

“You read it?” you asked in surprise delight, stopping in your tracks on the sidewalk.

“Well yeah, Y/N, I read everything you write,” he informed as if it were obvious.

“That’s so sweet. Thank you, Hayden, for your support.”

“Hey, you don’t need my support,” he said with a laugh.

A cheerful smile popped onto your face and you started walking again. “No, I suppose I don’t need it, but it’s still incredibly nice.”

“Think nothing of it. Your works always been amazing, but like fine wine, it gets better with age.”

“Now who’s the poet?” you teased.

“Maybe I’ve been inspired,” he said in a sweet voice.

Your heart stuttered at his words.

“So...have you told Sebastian yet?” he questioned.

The pit of guilt in your stomach grew five sizes. “No...Not yet.”

“You need to tell him, Y/N, he deserves to know.”

You nodded and swallowed, your heart hammering and palms sweating just thinking about it.

“I know. I know I do. I just…”

“Don’t wait for the right time,” he interjected. “There is no right time to tell him. Do it as soon as you can, in person. The longer you wait, the worse it will get.”

Sighing, you admitted defeat. He was right.

“You’re right. Yeah. Okay. I’ll tell him tonight when he comes home.”

------------------

There was practically a hole in your floor by the time Sebastian came home, you’d been pacing so much, wringing your hands, and muttering to yourself about how you’d finally tell him.

He opened the door and smiled at you, the expression sending a knife right through your chest.

“Hey, babe. How was the show?” he asked before coming over to give you a quick kiss.

“It was okay...Uh...Seb, we need to talk,” you said, the knots multiplying rapidly in your stomach and your chest constricting. You may be about to lose your boyfriend, the man you were in love with, for one minute of idiocy.

He frowned and put his hands on his hips. “That’s never good,” he said in a serious tone. “What’s up?”

“No easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Hayden and I...we...kissed,” you started and as soon as Seb’s face changed from concern to a blank expression, you added, “but I stopped it. It didn’t go any further. It didn’t mean anything. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

He ran his tongue on the inside of his cheek as his eyebrows raised and he looked down at the floor.

“Wow….Okay,” he said.

Your breathing stopped as you stared at him.

“Why?” he asked, looking back up at you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It just happened.”

“It just happened,” he echoed in a humorless tone, with a small laugh coming out of his nose. “This...This is exactly why I didn’t want you going up there,” he said angrily, his eyes flashing to yours.

“Sebastian, please. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you tried desperately.

“No, it just happened,” he repeated, throwing your own words back at you, his voice raising.

“I stopped it. I told you. It didn't mean anything,” you said again.

“So you just threw everything we have away for a kiss?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing on you.

“No! No. It’s not like that. I just...I had a moment of weakness. Seb, I’m sorry. I really am. If I could take it back, I would.”

“We have a home, Y/N,” he said, gesturing with his hands how dire this was. “We live together. We’re practically married and you do this...Our relationship meant so little to you?”

“No! I love you! Our relationship means everything to me.”

“Clearly! That’s why you couldn’t last a week with your ex. I should’ve known better. I did know better…”

You didn’t know what else to say.

“We made a commitment to each other, Y/N, and you couldn't honor that. I love you,” he said, angry, his face pinching into rage.

“I know! Okay? I fucked up! I’m sorry! I wish it never happened. But it did and I’m trying to deal with this responsible way.”

“Responsible? You think it’s responsible to betray me, come home and act like nothing happened, lie to my face for days, and then telling me makes you the hero?”

“I never said that,” you countered, your teeth clenching. You took a deep breath.

“When did it happen? When you walked in the door? That night? When?”

“Two nights before I left,” you quietly answered, your eyes not on him. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him right now.

“We talked on the phone twice after that,” he spat, furious. “You didn’t think to mention it?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to since it didn’t mean anything,” you shouted back.

He threw his hands about in an angry gesture. “Oh, so you thought you’d just make out with him and then lie to me about nothing happening. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can,” you argued evenly.

“How can I? When your ex from over ten years ago becomes single and within a week, you’re already betraying me to make out with him?” he demanded, yelling at you. “Is that really all it took? Was a simple, ‘Oh, hey, I’m single now, come up and see me’? And you’re chasing after him?”

“I didn’t chase anyone! I went up thinking I’d be there for a friend.”

“Seems like it worked. You got him to forget all about Rachel,” he remarked, glowering at you.

You were getting angry at this point. “I fucked up, I owned up to it. I’m human, Sebastian, I make mistakes.”

“Clearly so do I,” he responded, his eyes burning on yours.

That hurt...a fucking lot. His words felt like a bullet striking your chest.

“Sebastian,” you breathed, feeling the coldness spread within you.

“Do you love him?” he demanded in a low voice.

You thought for a moment. You hadn’t even asked yourself that question. Possibly, because the answer scared the shit out of you.

“It’s a yes or no answer, Y/N,” he barked. “Do. you. love. him?” he asked, punctuating each word.

“I don't know,” you answered honestly, the tears just at bay.

He shook his head, his body shaking from rage. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.” He turned around and started to head toward the door.

“Sebastian, no, wait!” you begged, running toward him, grabbing his arm.

“Let go of me, Y/N. I can’t be here right now.”

You didn’t want to let him go. You wanted to sit and sort all of this out. But you needed to give him space. Releasing his arm and stepping back, he didn’t look back at you before storming out and slamming the door behind him.

#old flame new problems #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen x reader

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7daypandemicblog · 4 years

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Quarantine Reading List

As I’m getting back into reading, I thought it would be appropriate to read all the books relating to plagues and end of the world. Just current events in general really. This is what I have on my tbr right now. Obviously I have other books on my tbr as well, but I want to finish reading the books on this list in particular during my 5 months of summer. (btw I don’t know much about these books. I prefer to go into movies/books/shows/etc. not knowing what to expect, but I will give some explanation on why I choose each book)

The Stand by Stephen King - A classic King novel. It’s a survival story where society collapsed after some sort of disease wiped most of humanity out.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel - This book along with The Stand are considered the 2 of the best books about the world ending due to a plague. This is also a survival story, but this time we follow a group of famous people apparently.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy - Another survival story following a father and son this time. I actually started this sometime last month, but wasn’t able to continue as class work demanded more attention. However, I got to say I went in without any expectations, but I was still caught off guard. I’ve heard great things about this book from everyone, but of the 5 pages I’ve read—I can already tell this is going to be rough.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks - This was also made into a movie starring Brad Pitt back in 2013 and it’s about zombies. But it has some strangely accurate details on this pandemic. The author, Max Brooks, actually did an AMA on Reddit a few weeks back to talk about the pandemic.

The Plague by Albert Camus - I read The Stranger by Camus last year for AP Lit, and I don’t know what to say. It was interesting, but I think the enjoyment of the story itself was taken away for me because I was over-analyzing it for school. It would be nice to experience his philosophy through fresh eyes.

A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe - This is by the same guy who wrote Robinson Crusoe. It’s about the Great Plague of London that happen 1665-1666. I think it’s a fictional retelling in journal entries? Defoe actually lived through this time but he was like 5 the time the plague happened. But hey, I’m here for it.

The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio - This was written even longer ago during the mid-1300′s around the time of the Black Death. It contains a bunch of stories “group of seven young women and three young men sheltering in a secluded villa just outside Florence to escape the Black Death... range from the erotic to the tragic. Tales of wit, practical jokes, and life lessons contribute to the mosaic” (Wikipedia). Mood. The Decameron actually inspired one of my favorite movies, The Little Hours, so I’m kind of excited to read this one.

The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley - Yes, this is by the Mary Shelley. It’s set in a futuristic world ravaged by a plague. Let’s see what else the queen of sci-fic has to offer.

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez - This is more romance heavy and it doesn’t really has the concept of plague from my understanding. But the title is fitting with what I’m looking for so I’ll just have to read it and see.

Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam #1) by Margaret Atwood - I read The Handmaid’s Tale by Atwood for AP Lit last year and I loved it. Her writing takes a little getting used to, but the allusions and setup are on point. Can wait to read another dystopia, this time about a plague, by her.

Severance by Ling Ma - I’ve honestly never heard of this book before but I saw this a several plague-inspired reading list so I guess I’ll read it.

Blindness (Blindness #1) by José Saramago - A plague that blinds people....? So like Bird Box but without the crazy I guess. And yes,

Bird Box (Bird Box #1) by Josh Malerman - Might as well.

Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks - Another story about the Great Plague of London.

The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson - The Black Death, but it killed 99% of humanity.

Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel #1) by Connie Willis - Another one I haven’t hear of before looking for plague-inspired books. I think this one is about trying to find a cure.

Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson - Set in America this time, based on the 1793 Philadelphia yellow fever epidemic

And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts - One of the best books written on the HIV/AIDs epidemic. My only nonfiction on this list. Hopefully it’ll offer some insight as history is repeating itself.

Ok, I think that’s all the books I have that are directly plague-related. It’s a lot, but hopefully I’ll be able to finish them all before college starts again.

#apocalypse diary #quarantine #coronavirus #pandemic #reading list #books #book recommendations #covid 19

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brujahinaskirt · 7 years

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Stylized Fandoms - or, when It’s All The Same, but also It Isn’t.

NECESSARY STUFF: The OP above gave full permission to use their post as a launchpad for this commentary, so please don’t mistake this as either endorsement or criticism, and please do not mistake it as a group invitation to attack. I’ve written about this phenomenon in the Rowling fandom before and this gives me another excuse. Plus, as someone who tried to join a fandom via this writing strategy and failed, I think I can contribute some thought fodder on the issue of content sameness.

I’m bout to drop an essay, hobbits. This essay isn’t, however, a critique. This is a non-evaluative observation and a writing theory. And, finally, an open question to fellow fic writers.

BASE OBSERVATION: The dominant writing styles in book-based fandoms mirror and pay homage to the style of the original author.

In Summary: The Hobbit fandom (and the Harry Potter fandom, which I originally theorized about) experiences a high degree of stylistic sameness as a whole because a lot of stories attempt to recreate Bilbo’s voice as it appeared in Tolkien’s first-person-via-third-person POV technique. They achieve this, naturally, by following the original text. This trend may be especially pronounced for The Hobbit as opposed to the Lord of the Rings or Silmarillion works because Tolkien’s narratorial voice is more exaggerated – if not better-written – in The Hobbit.

Now, to break that down a little more.

Tolkien’s Hobbit style contains a few highly recognizable elements that stick out to a contemporary prose reader: sentence structure that mimics speech, brisk dialogue, use of mundane exchanges to instill realism, avoidance of emotional description, exclamation use, childlike diction, minimalistic characterization, parentheticals, verse, sweeping summarization as an alternative to scene, laboriously expanded setting descriptions that prioritize listing physical details over atmospheric metaphor, reliance on simple/well-known similes, frank delivery of fantastical elements and world mythology, limited access to character feelings, and huge time skips. When an author chooses to maintain most of these at once without selective deletion or without constantly highlighting their own personal stylistic flourishes, we get something that sounds – ‘course – super Tolkienesque.

There’s a really dominant style in Snicket’s fandom, too. And Butler, Bradbury, Rowling, Gaiman, etc. Which is important to note, because…

Generally speaking, stylized writing tends to be more popular, more memorable, and more marketable than contemporary “high literary” minimalism. And it’s more likely to have intensely stylized fandoms. Which makes sense; book-readers generally come to fanfic because they want more of published content that is already familiar to them in some way. It follows that one of the reasons those style-adherent/style-preserving Hobbit fics are so successful is because they gain a lot of traction with people who are specifically looking for recreations of Tolkien’s writing style. (Since stylized writing isn’t really prominent on those abovementioned literary main markets anymore, I think this is a large part of his lasting appeal.)

Let’s take a quick look at the opening chapters of a few of the most popular, widely-read fics in this fandom to pinpoint what I’m getting at. I’ve only sampled first chapters here – mainly because I don’t want to spoil ‘em for anyone.

First, from the illustrious Sansûkh:

"You have come to a place of rest, Thorin son of Thráin," said the voice, and Thorin blinked furiously, trying to make out the voice's owner in the gloom. His excellent Dwarven dark- vision did not seem to be working, and he began to push himself up onto his elbows. He was unclad, and his skin shivered and prickled in the icy darkness.

"Explain," he snarled. "And show yourself!"

"Patience," the voice chided. It did not sound angry at Thorin's disrespect. Rather, it sounded fond, even fatherly. "Do calm yourself. Your sight will return."

In my opinion, this style is the pinnacle of faithfulness to Tolkien’s Hobbit voice. Taking a minute to identify Tolkien elements, we observe a skilled and almost intimidatingly close use of: Tolkien dialogue, Tolkien exclamation patterns, Tolkien diction, Tolkien avoidance of emotional description, Tolkien character access, Tolkien rhythm and tempo, and much more as we continue to later chapters.

From A Shot in the Dark:

Shaking, he scrambled out beneath the mountain of blankets and quilts and stumbled over to the mirror. Grasping the edge of it, he stared at the face of the young Hobbit before him with freckled skin and thick brown curls, and felt something in him crack.

"I'm young again," he said aloud, watching the face in front of him repeat his words. "I'm young again, and in my old house in Bag End before I went to Erebor—"

Understanding dawned on him and brought him to his knees. He recalled now, a story from long ago, of a Hobbit lass that had watched her beloved die in an accident. When she awoke the day after his funeral, she found herself reliving the days before the accident over and over again, and was able to save her beloved from his cruel fate.

Obviously, this fic – and every fic – displays subtle voice differences from Tolkien (and, by extention, other fic writers). And thank goodness for that, or how would an author develop a fanbase at all? That said, we can see a lot of Tolkienesque, highly attentive and skillful patterning in the prose itself, the vantage point, the syntax, and the overall voice.

Just a few more clear examples of this homage-style at its best and brightest:

An Expected Journey:

An ancient hobbit lay in a soft bed below them. His eyes were closed. There was a breeze coming in through the open window that made his thin white curls stir slightly. The sheets lifted with each shallow breath and Bilbo realized that he was looking down at himself and that he was dying. There was a pale cast to his features that showed that he was not much longer for this world. Outside, Frodo sat in the garden the elves had gifted them, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. A smile made his face light up as he turned the page and there was an inner peace about him that helped to settle Bilbo’s fretful heart a little. His nephew would be happy here and maybe with time the pain of his wounds, the ones on his heart especially, would diminish. No doubt he would miss his uncle, but that was such a small thing that it hardly seemed to matter now.

“Change is a fickle thing. Remember this in your journey, Bilbo Baggins, and perhaps you will be able to alter history after all.”

The hobbit in the bed took its last breath and was still. Frodo closed his book.

Comes Around Again:

“Come on, slug-a-bed,” his mother called. “Time to rise.”

Gimli blinked at the ceiling. Was he in the Halls of Mahal? He didn’t expect them to look quite so much like his room in Ered Luin. He pushed himself up to look.

The room was exactly as he remembered: dark, lit by lamps shining blue-green with the glowing plants that lived in the deep, dark places, and with grime caked in corners that he could never scrub clean. There was the crack in his wall, more an eyesore than a danger. The tapestry he had hung to hide it, his first and last attempt at loom-work, had fallen again. The stone face was too brittle. His chest of drawers, also a product of his hands, stood straight and even, if modestly decorated. His mirror, tinted green with age and spotted black, had been a relic found when they had come to these mountains when he was a lad. Between his drawers and his trunk lay his things: his training axe, his ‘prentice tools, a pile of clothing that would quickly become far too small for his growing frame.

[Purely an aside: You may notice a striking similarity of introductory schemas, too! Most of these fics begin with the classic “protagonist wakes up” scene popularly found in all storytelling mediums – but given the tragic nature of the source material, it’s become a “wake up from death” scene. This, though, is not a precedent set by Tolkien; it’s a marker the Hobbit fandom gravitated to all on its own. How? I dunno, exactly; seems like it just kind of happened that way. Cool question, if you’re a writer/literary critic/English major type.]

Please note here that I am completely uninterested in debating how good these fics are (or any fics, for that matter). Frankly, my dear, I do not give a damn whether or not you love Sansûkh, A Shot in the Dark, An Expected Journey, or Comes Around Again. What’s indisputable and relevant is that all of these fics are extremely successful. For the sake of this piece, we’re going to put artistic innovation on the back-burner and define successful by two measures: 1. sustained popularity, and 2. accurate replication of their source text. Do they achieve the dominant fandom (original author) style, and does this style reap the harvest of massive audience feedback? It’s hard to argue no, regardless of how these fics measure up to your personal tastes.

To put it another way: If you misread this essay as a rallying cry, then go and yell at individual authors for making successful creative choices, I DON’T KNOW YOU, and what’s your fuckin’ problem? That’s like yelling at one person for painting their room green because you feel there’s too much green in the world. These writers are fandom tone-setters. They know their room is green; they picked it because they like green, not because they aren’t skilled interior designers. Targeting a writer for a style trend is not helpful; it’s bratty, it’s misguided, and it’s futile.

So why would anyone worry about this? If overwhelming majorities are deliberately seeking works that recreate the experience of reading Tolkien’s prose, and writers are having great success with that style, are there any drawbacks?

IMO, there’s one big one. In fandoms like this one, I think authors can come to feel beholden to Tolkien’s style – like if they don’t recreate it, their fic will flounder – and that danger zone, not homage, is where creativity and variety come to die.

This can put a fic writer in the uncomfortable position of making a choice between three imperfect options:

Faithfully reconstruct and largely adhere to Tolkien’s style. (This is the choice most Big Fic writers in any book-based fandom make. On the downside, this limitation can feel creatively constricting. It should, however, be mentioned that some writers find this strategy ultimately increases their creativity – the stylistic constraints demand they make more daring creative choices in other realms, such as plot or characterization.)

Ignore the original materials. (The downside here is obvious: In a book-based fandom, this choice is likely to significantly decrease traffic on Page One and therefore decrease responses to your fic. As the overwhelming majority of fic writers will attest to, nothing kills a fic faster than a writer who feels like no one is interested.)

Take the middle-road. Borrow a few secondary elements from Tolkien; consistently prioritize core elements of your natural style while deliberately limiting his. (Runs the same risks as the above example. This can also be incredibly difficult, especially for newer writers who haven’t quite settled on their natural style yet, or for authors whose natural styles conflict with Tolkien’s. It’s more complex than saying “get gud scrub.” Many new writers use fandom to begin the process of creative self-discovery. This process takes years of constant writing and is arguably never finished. Long story short: We can’t simply foist this strategy upon everyone and sustain a thriving book fandom.)

To more fully illustrate the pitfalls of Option Three, let me turn the criticism on myself and my own floundered fic – one of the nameless masses out there that never got airborne.

I tried out the middle-road mentality: taking a few major elements of Tolkien’s style and weaving it with personal storytelling priorities. But since some of my priorities are in direct contrast with Tolkien’s style – the style I tried to lean on! – and since his style is so dominant, I think I ultimately left readers feeling duped.

For the sake of this theory, maybe we can take my common experience and apply it to why stylized fandom functions as it does. My primary failure was that those Tolkien elements I wrote in effectively set up a story contract I had no intention of fulfilling. To explain: You’d not be out-of-the-norm in this fandom to spot those telltale Tolkien signs and expect to get the whole Tolkien suite, and you’d not be out-of-the-norm to feel disappointed when you end up somewhere you specifically didn’t want to go… namely, stuff that isn’t like Tolkien.

In my story’s case, the Tolkien seduction might be his parentheticals, and the disappointment might be winding up at action scene, lots of emotional description, and snotty diction – all antitheses to Tolkien. People don’t usually come to Tolkien for those elements, so it stands to reason they don’t often come to Tolkien fanfic for them. And it stands to reason they’d feel confused or even cheated when the contract they expected carefully set itself up only to run off to the Keys with some nobody from accounting.

Option Three can feel, to those readers, like a carefully constructed scam.

In fact, I wonder if contract-thinking is one of the major reasons why the readers who feel dissatisfied with the dominant Hobbit style find themselves flummoxed by all this. Tolkien’s Hobbit voice is obviously married to and designed for Bilbo. If you’re not paying pedantic attention to the writerly mechanics (maybe even if you are), hearing Tolkien’s Bilbo-voice transposed over another character’s POV can be a disorienting experience – if you’re in this particular reader’s shoes, something sounds off, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is.

SUPPORTING NOTE: I see this sameness happening at some level with characterizations, too. For The Hobbit, this strikes me as especially true with characterizations of the dwarven people as a whole – their culture in fandom tends to appear as traditionally male-prioritizing, Western nuclear family-based, and (strangely, given the Jewish inspiration roots of the dwarves) Christian-toned. They are also often considered by fandom to be among the more progressive Tolkien civilizations, but that by itself isn’t saying too much. (I expect this is because patriarchal habits are so prevalent in Tolkien’s canonical civilizations, even in the ones that aren’t supposed to be.)

OPPOSING NOTE: The biggest characterization element I can’t reconcile with this theory, annoyingly enough, is my personal pet peeve: the romantic feminization of Bilbo. It’s often found in fandom and often grounded in sexist stereotypes, but is not a feature of Tolkien’s original works. That’s another essay, though, and I’ve already rambled long enough.

On to the open question!

It’s probably too late to dismantle a dominant style in a fandom as longstanding as this one – and anyway, the cost-benefits of dismantling any style trend are sketchy at best. In general, though, I wonder what can be done to neutralize the more damaging byproducts. Specifically, how can we stop that “contract” dead in its tracks, and prevent fic writers from feeling obligated to an original author’s style?

Any ideas, folks? I’m scratching my head.

(Also, if you read all this, I love you.)

Special thanks to determamfidd, MarieJacquelyn, scarletjedi, and Silver_pup -- whose works were cited in this analysis without solicitation -- for writing, and for providing hours upon hours of joy to your thankful, hungry fans.

EDIT: Edited to clearly explain how fic “success” is defined here, as well as to further prune any impressions of my personal fic preferences. Success, in this essay, is quantified partly by number of kudos/comments a piece receives and partly by the closeness of its style mechanics to Tolkien’s. These quantifiers are used here solely to explore the relationship between popularity and stylization. In the broader world, popularity on its own is a poor measure of quality or artistic merit. (And it would kind of break my heart if you left this essay feeling down about your own work. Writers out there, please know that’s not at all the implication.)

In simpler terms: Just because it ain’t famous, honey, doesn’t mean you ain’t damn good at what you do.

#the hobbit #tolkien #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #fanfiction #essays #writing

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a-scribbling-intruder · 7 years

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Fanfic Recs pt.1

Soo this was long overdue. I don’t really read fanfic that often, and when I do it is mostly things other people have reccomended to me. So i’ve always wanted to create my own rec list to return the favour, but somehow never got around to it. So yay years later, here’s at least a start. Will probably sort it better if i update it. Anyways if fanfic and any of these fandoms are your cup of tea, enjoy. Mostly gen and either humour or horror, it think. Fandoms included: Harry Potter, Death Note, MCU, LOTR, Sherlock Holmes, Original Fiction and weirdly, Samurai Champloo

Harry Potter (and Crossovers with Harry Potter)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9238861/1/Applied-Cultural-Anthropology-or Applied Cultural Anthropology (Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Cruciatus) (Hermione/Tom Riddle) Really well done, pairing is not the main focus (they’re not even together yet), instead hermione being her usual brilliant self but being sorted into slytherin. She isn’t just suddenly evil, she’s still righteous and wants to better the world. But exactly this (with a little help of a unassuming black diary) leads her down a slippery slope. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11160991/1/0800-Rent-A-Hero 0800-Rent-A-Hero. Harry has finally gotten rid of snake-face and settled down with Teddy and Andromeda. Cue inter-dimensional space vortex opening in his living room. Summoned from his finally peaceful life by Dumbledore and the Order to solve their voldemort problem, Harry is less than pleased. But can he truly just ignore them? Grudgingly „Harry White“ accepts the free post as divination teacher at hogwarts and starts befriending his female interdimensional counterpart, Iris Potter, all while wanting to get revenge on Dumbledore and trying not to get too involved with Tonks… The beginning is a bit grizzly but overall it is definitely more on the humorous side, and also poking fun at so many fandom chliches! (Last updated 6 months ago, so there is still hope…)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10954546/1/Framed-Fractured Framed and fractured. During the fiendfyre-incident in the Room of Requirement Harry barely escapes through some kind of black hole. Now he’s stuck as a painting in the RoR, with a surprisingly sane, young and healthy looking Tom Riddle as the only visitor. The painting only decipts a bleak room, the door is shut and strange shadows lurk in the 4th wall whenever the RoR is not used. There is also an old diary there, speaking of monsters just outside of the room… – very interesting start, tom and harry haven’t really interacted yet but the descriptions of the timelessness in the painting and the “unexplained horror” vibe are fab. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10136762/21/ The Case of the Man who was wanted. (Harry Potter x Sherlock crossover) Harry Potter lives as a fugitive after being accused and imprisoned of a string of murders after the defeat of voldemort. Sherlock gets called to solve the case of the mysterious death of the Dursley couple in Surrey and finds known terrorist and fugitive Harry Potter inside, who, unexpectedly, claims to be innocent. Sherlock gets involved in not only the world of witchcraft and wizardry, but also in a strange man who seems kind of hollow and has many well-kept secrets… (Again, the kind of lovecraftian creepy horror vibe i love. Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11115934/1/The-Shadow-of-Angmar The Shadow of Angmar. (HP x LOTR crossover) Harry gets summoned by the witch king as „the master of Death“. Broken and battered, he starts searching for a way home in an unknown world where his magic doesn’t work. Has FANTASTIC world building and a very bitter and world-weary Harry. (Ongoing)

Marvel Cinematic Universe

http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/425428 The Calculator by katsu. THIS IS MY FAVORITE FANFIC IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. Just imagine Good Omens but more superheroes-and-supervillain themed. Loki is not going full villain like in the thor movie, but instead is more of a chaotic-neutral kind of guy more keeping the supervillainery for appearance’s sake and the occasional meddling to aleviate the boredom. But then he takes the meddling a bit too far, and karme comes to bite him in the butt. Big time. I really don’t want to say more about the plot bc it is so brilliant and original. Just read it. Also, have a quote (this is only a footnote, actually, so imagine what the real fic mus be like): “yes, he had filled several little leather-bound diaries with childish scrawls of red ink that read things like, “Die Thor” and “You never really accepted me!” And then he’d attended a few sessions of primal scream therapy and taken a modern dance course at the local community college. Between finding a constructive way to express his anger and making some lovely friends that he still had tea with every Wednesday afternoon while they chatted manicures, fashion, and lap dogs, he felt much more comfortable in his own skin these days. All it had really taken was escaping the poisonously macho atmosphere of Asgard, which according to Kevin was something like living in Omaha and not being interested in Football.“

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5460221 Genesis by teaberryblue. Reluctant to make the truth about their secret weapon known, the American Government tells the world that Captain America is a man named Steve Rogers. According to public record, he died, tragically, in 1945, and he became legend.In 1998, the Avengers find a body trapped in ice. She’s alive. Her name is Eve. She has Captain America’s shield. Featuring a slightly different cast as the Avengers and brilliant discussion of gender issues, kinda whimsical-poetical writing style. (Oneshot, completed.)

Death Note

http://archiveofourown.org/works/461685 Murmur in the Shell. Light Yagami’s dead, L is dead. Yet the idea of them stays in the world, embodied by black notebooks that always will fall. History repeats, even if nobody wants to be a part of it. After all, there will always be new players. (Near, new!Kira. Really nice, jus a short ficlet about the roles we sometimes must play and the ideas of dead men we pick up along the way.) (Oneshot, completed).

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9380249/2/ Rationalising Death. Light Yagami finds the Death Note, we know the rest. But in this story, light talks all his steps through with his inner voices (like „Test It“ aka „Death“, Moral which everyone kinda ignores and also could be called Caution, or Practice). Its less cracky than it sounds now, i promise. Rather, it’s a very interesting character study bc it doesn’t just paint Kira as a sociopath with a god-complex (well, that too -) but explains his actions as being very, very human (while not excusing them). Seems to be dead at 10 chapters but i still would recommend reading it bc its brilliant, the style is a bit like hpmor’s. It explains the thought processes of everyone (L, Light, Misa, Ryuk, all that jazz)) very thoroughly and is also quite amusing (light comparing hinself to batman consantly, e.g.). But the best part is probably Misa’s characterisation (i’m not gonna spoil it for you but omg) –> https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10580913/1/Rationalising-Fiction Rationalising Fiction also check out this nice lil’ timestamp (recursive ff?) of another author wherein Misa realises she is a fictional character. Very meta, very lovely.

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/8415898/1/God-of-the-Machine God of the Machine by The Carnivourous Muffin. The OC/SI Anna Jones suddenly appears in Light Yagami’s bedroom. When you read about fictional characters they can fall kind of flat, not that they’re not interesting but you always know they’re not really like you. Light seems less scary, L less creepy and Misa… well Misa always seems insane, even in the Manga. So Anna Jones is fucking terrified, curses herself for not paying better attention to the details in the manga and has to consider her survival and the prices she’s willing to pay. (Yes, this is the Self-Insert Trope but played so well. Also very philosophical. Ongoing. Also, go read everything by this author while you’re at it.)

Other

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9915682/5/ The Last Christmas. A industrial engineer takes up the mantle of santa claus and gets some dangerous ideas about the true meaning of Christmas… (No fandom, or is that like the mythology fandom?, anyways, it’s creepy and give’s you some food for thought, although the story itself isn’t that polished. Very interesting and original take on santa claus!) (Completed.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2865379/1/Nenju Nenju. Samurai Champloo. Because no anime has ever kindled a bigger need for a love triangle. This one’s fairly good and really long, with a nice dose of angst but a happy ending. (Mugen/Fuu, Jin/Fuu, Mugen/Yanusha)

#fanfic rec #fic rec #death note fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #rec list #if anyone ever reads this enjoy #how do i put a cut in this srsly #typos in abundance bc mobile #also bc english tbh #sorry for that

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