#(addendum readers will know this is a bad thing)

[sergeantpixie]

2023 character wrapped: 9 characters you loved in 2023! Was tagged by @frankensteinsmona

From left to right this is Rory Gilmore (Gilmore Girls), Daisy Jones (Daisy Jones & The Six), Aria Montgomery (Pretty Little Liars), Midge Maisel (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel), Elena Gilbert (The Vampire Diaries), Riley Flynn (Midnight Mass), Erin Greene (Midnight Mass), Annabel Lee Usher (The Fall of the House of Usher), and Ilonka (The Midnight Club).

Daisy, Annabel Lee, and Ilonka are the only three I met this year but I did rewatch all of the others' shows this year so it still counts lmao.

Tagging: @woodswit, @purplesigebert, @randomestfandoms, @imperpetuallylost, and anyone who sees this and wants to participate!

[badlywritingmagazine]

Wanna help a by-and-for transfem journal?

Wanna get involved?

Thank you everyone for your interest so far! If you have a sec, I’ve written a quick post about a few ways you can help. 

Lili Elbe, painted by Szív királynő, serving “journal reader” realness Do you have trans female mates?

Let your girl friends know. Share it amongst your networks. 

Can you read? 

Wonderful. Subscribe to this substack to be notified when an issue is released. 

Can you think?

If you’re a trans woman and you have feelings about something, send it to us. If you’re developing an idea, come chat with us over email (or arrange a phone call) and let’s figure it out together. 

Do you sell books and zines? 

Wonderful. Email me. Stock it. Perfect. I can also send you a poster version of our invitation to submit to print out. 

Have you written?

If you’re a trans woman who writes about things relevant to our lives, send it to me. If it is online and you worry that it won’t stay up forever, it’s affecting your job and life prospects, or that it is a reflection of its time and not 100% wise anymore, send it to me and get it archived. Archiving is part of the goal here. We’re not uncurated, but that doesn’t mean you should shrug and let the internet, time, transmisogyny and linkrot eat your hard work. 

If you’re a trans woman with jobs and obligations and you don’t like having your essay ‘Why dickgirls should commit more assassinations’ or ‘transgender materialism: towards a de/coterminous understanding of post tipping point transmisogyny’ or whatever attached to your name then send it to me and get it re/published under a pseudonym.

If we get a large number of submissions like this we will publish it as a separate supplement, but else it will come as a section within WBM.

Do you know grants?

Rates for unfunded zines and pamphlets suck. We want to pay the women well. Let us know if you know of funds or grants you think we fall under. We’ll be sending off applications. 

Can you help us host a launch party in a major city?

We envision low-cost evening events with discussion, trans women, and piles and piles of essays to talk about. (Can we crash on your couch?) We’re based in the UK, but are happy to come anywhere Ryanair goes where there’s a willing audience. 

Got an idea I don’t have? 

Ultimately, I want to keep this dirt simple. Essays come in, paper goes out. No columns, shite graphics. Couple core editors. Schedules loose enough to spend half the year depressed and still get it out. Stolen printer paper. Something that won’t collapse after two years. Posterity. 

That said, if you have an idea (and maybe if you want to do it), email us. Think you know enough people to get this translated and shipped somewhere else? Can you translate and know of a non-English language transfeminist text that’s not got much attention in the anglosphere? Maybe we can submit an application for a grant and distribute your translation? Understand distribution better than me? Do you have the wherewithal to manage a personals board? Something else? Anything except an agony aunt section. I’ve called dibs on that one. 

Do you have agonies? Issues? Want bad advice?

Write to the agony aunt. writingbadlymag snail symbol gmail dot com.

Do you have something to say which won't make a whole essay but is still worth saying?

Write a letter to the editor. Same email.

Addendum: Can you help us set up a website?

Websites we think are beautiful are dirt simple. Low-tech Magazine has a beautiful low-energy website. Filmmaker Margot McEwan has a lovely fitting website. Any thoughts or suggestions should be sent to the same email.

(update: we're all set now! Check out badly.press!)

See a good stack cutter?

If you see a cheap paper stack cutter for cheap, let me know. :)

Thanks all!

Forthcoming posts: information for writers, extracts from the issue.

[an-active-rabbit]

// Okay, I'm scared and things are going to get bad for my family once stuff starts changing for the worst, but I will continue my blogs even if they become illegal. I will persist, and my content will still be here for those that need it in the coming darkest time. To me, this is not political. This is a threat to the human rights of every minority group, and the election was the point of no return. I will fight, and let my muses be a source of joy for us who fear for our lives.

// Addendum: I, mod Sunny, am an asexual non-binary AFAB person who is neurodivergent. I am a survivor of an early childhood full of bullying, physical abuse, and emotional abuse. I am an atheist who opposes all religious cults who grew up religious until it was used to hurt me.

// To the one soon to be in power and his cult followers, I am a walking incubator who can't understand adult things. A poor little girl with autism who was led astray by 'transgenderism' and just needs to find the right man to 'fix' my asexuality before 'my clock runs out.'

// Those who get to know me can see that this is a lie. Ever since I was young, I did not experience gender the same way others did. I liked to dress in cute, feminine outfits, but I was a tomboy by nature. I was a voracious reader by the time I was 4 and I loved solving puzzles on websites I don't remember the URLs for. I never went to pre-school since I lesrned to read, my reading comprehension surpassing that of my peers easily.

// After many years, I met my best friend and we bonded over our favorite fandom. My love for RP started with him, and our friendship has never wavered even when their 'friends' tried to turn me against him, isolated them from me, and then he moved after graduating high school.

// When they came out to me when I was 16, I realized that I could question my gender and sexuality too. I was not 'led astray' by him, they just opened my eyes to the possibility. I researched, learning about so many amazing things. I identified strongly with asexuality, and still do to this day. I then began to question my experience with gender, and realized that it was a fluid thing. I found labels that described my gender, and over the last 4 years have simplified my label to non-binary for convenience.

// My family, while not understanding it, have shown that they care enough to accomodate me. My dad began wearing nail polish and skirts, and my grandmother has bought binders for me with the knowledge that they improve my mental health by reducing gender dysphoria.

// My family, who do not believe that Project 2025 will be implemented, have unknowingly screwed themselves over and supported a man who plans to take actions that will make it very hard for my youngest brother who needs a variety of medications to regulate the 'seizure cycle' caused by a genetic mutation. My other brother, who has fallen down the right-wing pipeline due to his struggles as a neurodivergent white cis man, is too indoctrinated to see clearly. Out of all my family, despite them being the ones who taught me to think critically, I was the only one who voted against the death of people like us.

// If the ones in power had their way, I'd either be gone now or scared to the point of conformity. I am scared indeed, terrified even, but I will never conform to their expectations as long as I am alive. They can take away my right to express myself as I am, but they will never kill the resolve that kept me going as a child. Never let them take away your will to survive, and whatever drives it. Live, so they see that we will not give in.

[saint-starflicker]

Addendum to Overview and Criteria for Gothic Fiction

When I wrote this thing about gothic novels I only mentioned Friedrich Maximilian Klinger's stageplay Sturm und Drang that premiered in 1777 and lent its name to a proto-Romantic artistic era in Germany.

I completely neglected to consider the influence of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's Kinder und Hausmärchen or "Household Tales" published on the 20th of December 1812, because I was focusing on English-language gothic literature, and Margaret Raine Hunt did not translate this collection into English until 1884. (I elected not to measure how many upperclass Englishwomen would be educated to fluency in German before a translation of the Grimm's text was published.)

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a novel by Oscar Wilde published in April 1891. He published a collection of shorter fairy tales before, The Happy Prince and Other Tales in May 1888, but like Wilde's technically-perfect-yet-passionless aesthetic poetry I personally consider them rather twee or prankish. The Picture of Dorian Gray makes a more interesting showcase of gothic fairy tale.

Literary critic and gold-trophy Worst Human Being in History of the Year 1814 Marquis Donatien Alphonse François de Sade keeps turning up in my gothic literature research like a bad penny. (I've read the Marquis's books, they're horrible, I hated them.) His literary criticism remains connected with the gothic, having first theorized in Idée sur les Romans (translated into Some Thoughts on the Novel) that the upheaval and slaughter of the French Revolution inspired authors to get some horror into their Romanticism, and also that the introduction of the Supernatural in the gothic novel posed a dilemma innate to the genre: Either it gets explained, and then the mystique is gone (I'll say this is me about Old Gods of Appalachia when the witches turned cosmic horror into calculated urban fantasy)...or it never gets explained, and then the reader remains at a loss (I'll say this is me about Picnic at Hanging Rock).

What I think the Marquis didn't consider, because The Picture of Dorian Gray was long after his time, was Wilde's creation of a marvelously original "Zaubermärchen" (magic fairytale)—the poetic justice, and the poetic logic that is exhibited in such a way that it only needs intuition rather than explanation. Dorian Gray is so sure he figured something out about his wish, so exactly, but the way the "magic" in this gothic 19th-century fairy tale truly operates makes a tidy and particular sort of sense that is magic of its own.

Grimm, Jacob, and Wilhelm Grimm. The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm: The Complete First Edition. Translated by Jack Zipes, Princeton University Press, New Jersey: 2016.

@rwoh I'm trying to practice dual-mode citations what is this

Grimm, Jacob, Grimm, Wilhelm & Zipes, Jack (Trans.). (2016). 😥 ...wat whas that... The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm: The Complete First Edition. Princeton University Press.

de Sade, Donatien Alphonse François. Some Thoughts on the Novel. Translated by R.J. Dent, Oneiros Books, 2021.

de Sade, Donatien Alphonse François, and R.J. Dent (Trans.). (2021). Some Thoughts on the Novel. Oneiros Books.

I don't have to cite The Picture of Dorian Gray, right? You all are the dark academia subculture, you all know by now what The Picture of Dorian Gray is.

[a-girl-called-bob]

okay i feel like this is an unpopular opinion but I do not care about The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.

I'm tired of hearing about it. The question implied - would you stay or leave, if neither option could meaningfully improve the situation - is already answered for each and every one of us. By continuing to participate in any society that exists in today's world, we all remain in Omelas.

Everyone knows that exploitation is bad, and everyone believes themselves powerless to stop it. This is the core of the Omelas citizen. We may, in the land of reality, believe change is possible eventually with enough teamwork, but that's not an option to someone who takes the core question of Omelas 100% seriously at face value. That would be treating Omelas as a puzzle to solve, and if you don't accept Omelas's premise 100% seriously at face value then you have nothing of value to add to the discussion.

Omelas is a parable describing the way things are. It's deeply, self-admittedly arbitrary. At every turn it raises the question, 'why? why is it this way? why does it have to be this way?' I think that's a far more interesting and poingnant question, really, than arguing over the morality of staying or leaving. I think you're supposed to reject the premise.

Because the real Omelas? It's inescapable. Unless you die, you're going to be in a system of exploitation - living off the fruits of exploitation or being exploited for fruits, or most likely both. But once we start asking 'why?' That's when we can get to the core of things, when we can understand not just what needs to change but how it can be made better. Because unlike in Omelas, the torture of the child in the real world doesn't magically produce a beautiful utopic city. The torture of the child in the real world produces a tangible good that can be obtained without torture or children. The truth is, unlike in Omelas, it *doesn't* have to be this way, and with concerted effort things *can* be improved without everything simply disappearing instantly.

Plus, y'know, the story was essentially written as a 'reductio-ad-absurdum' argument against popular dystopian fiction of the time. The structure of '[utopia description], is this believable? what if i throw in a tortured child that everyone knows about, *now* do you believe me?' is a direct challenge to the reader's ideas of the 'cost' of utopia. If you're not up on dystopian fiction, if you don't have those preconceived notions about what it must cost to have a utopic society, if you're reading the story in a 7th grade classroom alongside The Lottery and The Yellow Wallpaper, then the pivot kind of seems to come out of left field; if you were reading the types of magazines that originally printed and reprinted Omelas, the question of 'what's the catch?' would always be in your mind by default in the first half of the story.

[For my money, my going theory is that Omelas doesn't even exist; inside of the story, the Narrator is just making the entire thing up and the city is just as real to them as it is to us. From that perspective, perhaps the narrator is Ursula K. Le Guin herself and the story is technically quasi-nonfiction, but I don't know if I buy that the perspectives of the narrator and Le Guin line up perfectly.]

addendum: i'm realizing that it's less that I 'don't care' about omelas and more that i 'don't care' about the way that some people on here seem to think you Should or Must discuss omelas. I'm not going back and rewriting the intro to this post though.

[piastrinorris]

make me write!

ty for the tag @keerysquinn <3

THE RULES

Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count)

Tag anyone you think might also enjoy this game (No pressure of course)

Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

If somehow that completes the fic or reaches the end of a chapter, move to the WIP with the second highest votes and continue where you left off on your sentence/word count. Repeat until you reach your goal.

(Optional) Share what you wrote in a new Tumblr post with a link to the poll or in a reblog!

More about each fic can be found under the cut at the bottom just in case you want to know what each one is before you vote.

tagging: @wordscomehither @corroded-hellfire @inourtownofhawkins @lunatictardis

neither steel nor torch: ralph penbury is bored. he always has been. everything that's exciting about his social life, is purely as an addendum to living with his socialite sister. he tells his sister all the time: one of these days, he'll be the sort of person people write stories about. victoria tells him that'll happen when pigs fly.

and then, while the pair are holidaying at their beachfront property, a pillage rages upon the town they're in. it's the most beautiful sight ralph's ever seen. the adventure of it all, the passion they all have. especially you, taking charge of it all. but ralph's no fool, he knows there's no way you'd take a man of high society such as himself seriously if he were to ask to come aboard. thankfully for him, ralph's always been good at not being seen.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

bsbl epilogue 2: (a follow up from this fic, to be posted on @busyralph) today, ralph penbury wakes up at 5:30am on the dot, thanks to his very handy silently vibrating alarm on his phone. not that he needs the humming beneath his pillow to wake him up. he already woke up at 2:17. and again at 3:39. and again at 3:52. and again at 4:57. you see, this is a big day for ralph.

today is the day he proposes to the love of his life.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

long time no see: years ago, when you were freshly 18, you'd had yourself a most epic whirlwind summer romance with the very cute handyman at the caravan park you were staying in. although it never ended on bad terms, university life just kept getting in the way and you and tom lost touch.

fast forward, years later, you wonder if it's a coincidence that the big business client your boss so desperately wants you to net happens to be called thomas grant. but there's no denying that face, those eyes, that spark between you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

worth the wait: (an old wip i found that i'm kinda feeling again) you've got a real soft spot for tom, you have done since he started coming to your pub. you never wanted to say anything when you'd see how obviously his "girlfriend" was feigning happiness around him, but you hid your triumphant glee at the news of their breakup when he came to you to drown his sorrows.

and now that he's getting over her, he's starting to get a little more confident with the way he talks to you - flirts with you, even. if only you could get him to say all those things while sober.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

returning the favour: (part 2 to this) you and keys have built up quite a friendship since he made that one almost-career-ending blunder of giving you access to his personal phone number. but there's an elephant in the room, an imbalance in your dynamic, and keys knows it.

and so he gets to work on fixing that. to embody the... dirty stripper cop persona he's promised you, he needs to believe in it, he needs to become it. he just hopes you won't lose interest by then.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

man's best friend: you're starting a new jogging route, one you're hoping to take your own dog on once he's recovered from the Big Snip, when you're greeted by what looks like a stray, quickly followed by a guy who tells you he's taken her in until he can find her a good home.

the more you jog down the same route, the more you see keys and his dog, that's not his. he's just looking after her. in the same way you just go past the same places every day just to get a routine going. totally not in the hopes you'll keep running into your new favourite duo.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

dethroned: steve harrington has always commandeered the social hierarchy everywhere he goes. king of his high school, already king of college and only just starting his second year.

but chrissy cunningham won't fall for that schtick so easy. there's something beneath steve's surface. she can tell. she just needs to wear down this "king" persona of his until the real steve harrington shows his face.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

playing truant: the only good thing about chrissy being dragged to her mother's country club's debutante lessons, is that the guys' beautillion lessons happen at the same time. that means that when she sneaks out of her lessons, she's always met by steve harrington doing the exact same.

as she and steve open up to one another, share their lives, their dreams, their fears, chrissy's certain she has a surefire way to enjoy the hellscape that the debutante ball her parents so desperately want her to attend would be. but they've got one more trick up their sleeve to keep all the cards in their hand.

[ere-the-sun-rises]

Okay, some addendums to this infographic:

1 - News citing other outlets is not an inherently bad thing. Big outlets will often rely on other sources who get there first so as to not crowd the space. For instance, if MSNBC quotes CNN, who had a reporter on scene, that is fine. HOWEVER, I do suggest then looking at the original outlet to see exactly what they said because misleading paraphrasing can and does happen.

2 - The way news phrases itself can be very hard to parse out. Often "we have learned" does mean they have a fact or statement about the event. HOWEVER, it doea pay to actually listen to what they say. For instance, there is a difference between "we have learned the details of what policy is being proposed" from "we have learned what Senator Blah-Blah thinks of this new policy proposal." Both of these are true, in the barest sense, but only one of them is reporting concrete facts and not opinions.

3 - Written articles are often more factual and less speculative. Partly this is because, by definition, they can't report "in the moment" or speculate out loud as an event happens. Partly, this is because authorial opinion and fact-relaying must be clearly denominated for the reader in a way that televised(/social media) news isn't always. For instance, Fox News "personalities" (note that title is not "journalist anchor") like Sean Hannity and (formerly) Tucker Carlson could present their opinion on news items as though they were fact (usually though a "just asking questions" lens) specifically because they were quietly marked as opinion shows and not proper news segments. Print does not get that excuse - opinion and fact must, legally, be separated.

3a - Don't jump down my throat, I know bias exists. It's not actually avoidable simply because even attempting not to have feelings about a subject is a feeling about it. "Bias" itself is a somewhat loaded term that doesn't accurately capture what the issue with "bias in news" really is. "Bias" in this context is usually understood as "in favour of" or "opposed to", but should be better understood as "the amount of influence perspective has over the presentation of facts." For example, a black journalist discussing black racial justice issues in an article has a valuable perspective to offer on top of the facts they're presenting.

3b - Again, don't jump down my throat. "Bias" doesn't have a negative connotation for no reason. Authorial perspective does skew what facts are deemed relevant/important and the way they are expressed. Some journalists/media personalities DO have a harmful agenda on purpose, and some have editorial decisions made that negatively impact their work. Language can be used to evoke emotion, but also to dampen it. "Bias" shows up in how an event can be downplayed or sensationalized. Print media is generally better about this (though their headlines aren't necessarily - but again, those are editorial, not necessarily authorial decisions), but they are by no means immune. Really read what you're looking at.

4 - The graphic is right - we are part of the problem. We like drama. Drama is fun, it's entertaining. And while news certainly can be that and still be valid, factual information, I strongly advise approaching sensationalized news cautiously. Here is where hyperbolic language, speculation and projection are most rampant (especially for breaking news). Search for identifiable facts about the event - names, dates, locations, times, numbers, titles, basic personal descriptors (hair/eye/skin colour, clothing, sustained injuries, age, gender, demographic info, etc) - and discard elaborate and evocative illustrations of events - "his fist was raised high and proud in glory". You want details, not theatrics. Try listing the information in bullet points.

5 - Infographics and short-form videos are good for getting snappy info out quickly to grab attention. But how many of you looked to see where THIS infographic came from? It's from a site called onthenews.org, but if you search for it on google, the link will be dead. If you type the thing in, it redirects to a podcast page called "On The Media with Brooke Gladstone", under the outlet WNYC Studios. At the top of the page, there's a link to its parent organization, NYPR (New York Public Radio) Network. Now, luckily, NYPR is a highly factual, centrist organization (thank you, Ground News) and is therefore very trustworthy. However, much more malicious organizations like PragerU use the exact same media tactics to champion white supremacy, homophobia, misogyny and US nationalism.

5a - Be very, VERY suspect of a graphic or video that does not list a source, and definitely google any you don't recognize. Malicious and misinformation actors often obfuscate or omit their parent organizations to make themselves seem more legitimate than they are. If they are hard to find or if what they are is difficult to discern (are they a charity, a lobbying organization, an educational organization?) then they are not to be trusted at all. Find more reliable information somewhere else.

6 - Remember that you will see and find what you want to. This is the basis of conspiracy and cult mindsets. Just as outlets' phrasing give away their bias, your search results will do the same (especially inundated with algorithms as we are). For example, you may look up "essential oil health benefits" to see what it says. If you want to believe in them, you may gravitate to sites/blogs that discuss testimonials about what they cured and how they helped. If you're neutral or negative on them, you're more likely to click on a Mayo Clinic or WebMD link that discusses the pros, cons and unknowns of essential oils. What answer appeals to you can impact how trustworthy you find the source.

Media navigation is difficult and nuanced even when not being actively sabotaged. It can also be exhausting, constantly looking shit up and double checking everything you see. Things with specific and identifiable meanings get co-opted and misused (see what buzzwords "bias" and "misinformation" became), and the style of information presentation can't tell you whether the author means you harm. It's all a game of balancing between too-much and not-enough skepticism - it's almost never a conspiracy, but it's almost never "nothing" either. Just because bad actors do/use something doesn't mean the thing itself is bad.

I suppose that this is my best advice: everything has a perspective and a point to make, even when it's trying not to. Read language carefully, but believe something when it tells you what it is. Be honest about what matters to you and what doesn't. Having the moral high ground or being right can be drowned out by yelling loud enough, so beware of the ones who never stop yelling. Facts do not care about your feelings, but your feelings about those facts inform what you do with them. Outright lies are obvious - the real insidious ones form around a truth.

Lastly, don't stop caring. It's hard and exhausting and it sucks, but when you stop caring, everything goes to shit.

A lot of rumors are about to fly about this rally. Trump's team is 100% going to try and take advantage of this situation. So will malicious foreign actors/bots/etc.

Please don't auto share. Check your sources, and vet their wording/sourcing carefully.

Ask yourself - What do you not need evidence to believe? Be very careful with those biases.

[ladywaffles]

hello fellow enjoyer of things >:)

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

💖 What made you start writing?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

💞 Who's your comfort character?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

😈: i am so bad at writing smut scenes so i always fade to black, even when it feels like there should be a scene there and i've built up to it, and it just feels cruel. i would say like 60% of the time there was a sex scene there but i just couldn't get it right so i always end up cutting them out before posting. also i wrote a story once where the entire thesis was "what if the villain deliberately broke the rules on bioethics, as a character study and worldbuilding exercise" and well. readers did not seem to like that. conversely, i also have not updated either of my big WIPs in over a year, so like, that too.

🛒: music and sound are a very big part of my life, so they come up in my stories pretty often! i really enjoy writing to set the place of a scene/story, so i do a lot of touch/smell/hearing similes and metaphors. in terms of feelings, there's a lot of contemplating of loneliness, but not the kind that is, "i am alone in my room," rather the, "i am the only one who has this set of experiences and circumstances, and i cannot explain myself to this person who i care about so they can understand my actions/affections/choices fully, and that makes me feel isolated."

🛠: i primarily use scrivener to write fic, although if you catch me without my laptop, i'll sometimes use google docs or just a plain old fashioned pen and paper. if i'm plotting something out for a longer story, i might use a handwritten timeline on a blank sheet of paper and then just cover it in highlighter and sticky notes as i tack on addendums, if i'm not just screaming about it in a friend's DMs. thesaurus dot com is my best friend.

💖: i started writing fic when i was maybe 11 or 12, right around the time that i first learned that fic existed when i was looking up pictures to make my nook wallpaper, and you could do self-inserts and change the story around to suit your desires, like play-pretend but better. there were just so many permutations to explore, and i really liked that idea! i didn't start publishing fic until i was about 15. that first fic is still out there on ao3 somewhere, but i've since anonymized it so i don't have to look at it on my profile anymore lol. (not because i think the fandom is cringe, but rather because i've grown a lot as an author and it's not necessarily representative of my ability anymore!)

👀: so i know the answer you want me to tell you about is the comphet iceman accidental lovechild aaron tveit AU but sadly i have no more words on paper than that which i have already told you (iceman, very gay and upset over breakup # 3 with maverick, comphet rebounds with a woman who is also very gay and rebounding comphet style and whoops there's a baby now and here comes a bouncing baby aaron tveit). i'm still working on the timelines, because the top gun timeline in relation to the actual universe timeline of when everyone got married/how old aaron is versus when CMIYC was on broadway/aaron's nearly 10-year long absence from broadway is a hot mess and i'm trying to piece things together in the way that is the most true to form/makes the most sense.

💞: donald scripps from the history boys ("I have never particularly liked myself but the boy I was, kneeling in that cold and empty chapel that winter morning, fills me now with longing and pity," spoke wonders to my eighteen-year-old self who was also off to university and questioning reality) and obi-wan kenobi from star wars ("until this very moment, he had never realized he’d always expected, for no discernible reason—that when he died, anakin would be with him." his place in the series as a man who fights for good because it is the right thing to do, because he believes in goodwill, even as the world crumbles around him because it is inevitable that he fail in his mission and ultimately lose everything and everyone he loves, and we all know that he must fail so that others will succeed where he did not... i eat that shit RIGHT up.)

✅: there are at least three separate instances where i have used the righteous brothers' unchained melody in my writing, and two of them are because the song plays on a jukebox in a greasy spoon diner. it was completely unintentional, that's just a song that keeps popping up lol.

fanfic writer emoji ask

[mirtifero]

I was thinking about Fear State so I'll make a little rant here sorry. (The last 4 paragraphs are important for my point)

So, like, I'm a part of the people who dislike Fear State's ending. Not necessarily how the ending was achieved itself but the fact that they defeated Scarecrow with a fucking GUNSHOT. That seemed very lazy but I'm not here to talk about that.

I really enjoyed Fear State overall, but ever since I read it I felt like there was something missing there. Now, I'll have to add a lot of addendums so I don't look stupid while saying this, but bear with me.

I don't think that anyone in their right mind believes that the Fear State was, like, an ethical idea whatsoever. And I don't want the story to spoon feed the reader with "ohh why is the Fear State a very shitty idea". BUT, I think they should have... done something with how much of a bad idea it was.

The idea of the Fear State is, to put it rudely, "traumatize everyone so they grow thicker skin" (very simplified). Thing is, it wouldn't fucking work. Even if he succeeded and put his very unethical plan in action, it wouldn't fucking work. But why? Tell me, the reader, why. Tell me why it is a stupid idea. Don't feed me the obvious, I KNOW it is unethical and stupid. I just want to know why it wouldn't even work.

The level of vagueness when it comes to the veracity of the Fear State theory upsets me. They frame Jonathan Crane as an intellectual, and the plan as unethical, but leave it to be believed that the Fear State has actual basis on any proper idea of "growing thicker skin" that is academically proven or whatever. He wrote a fucking paper on it. Show me how delusional the idea is on paper. Show me that it isn't ONLY unethical but also STUPID.

This probably feels stupid to read but it was something that deeply upset me. It was almost as if they were trying to frame Jonathan as an anti-hero???? It's not how it works! That's bullshit!

I think it would have been interesting to connect the idea of the Fear State with a Scarecrow backstory.

How the Fear State was a way that Jonathan was desperately trying to "justify" something that he went through.

That would have been AMAZING and would have told the reader WHY it is a shitty idea without spoon feeding them with it. It's a way he is using to JUSTIFY to HIMSELF why he went through something. It's a SELFISH plan. He wants to believe trauma has MEANING when it DOESN'T. Wouldn't that be interesting???????? Wouldn't that tell the reader how it was a bullshit idea in every shape and form without leaving this gap of vagueness that makes to be possible to interpret him as an "anti hero"??????

Idk I just think it had potential to do something.

[hawnks]

the eightfold path: 2

r18

suguru getou x reader

[soulmate identifying marks, canon divergence, reader is not a sorcerer, canon-typical violence, olympic level pining, gojo is still a bastard in this send part, protective getou suguru, maybe a little too protective..., mention of food, everyone's really going through it, MAJOR spoilers for hidden inventory arc]

He lost you, somehow. He is going to get you back. Somehow.

Incident Log

March 6, 2006

Jujutsu Technical College (Tokyo Branch) has lost contact with The Anomaly. Second Year Grade 1 Sorcerer Satoru Gojo is suspected of having aided in the escape.

When asked to confirm these allegations, Gojo had this to say, quote, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

It is not believed at this time that The Anomaly has defected, though current motivations are unclear. Further investigation will be conducted at a later date.

Addendum: This situation has been marked as Non-Critical as of April 2006.

…

Suguru sleeps for seven days.

It’s a magically induced coma, and Shoko sends you a blurry picture of his face each morning, always with some unhelpful caption. Nothing new. Maybe he won’t wake up?

You know she’s just fucking with you, trying to prove some point in the cruelest way possible. It just reaffirms your decision to cut ties. He’ll never be able to defend himself, when he’s always looking after you.

He’s shirtless in the pictures Shoko sends, laying flat on his dorm bed. You can see the shadow of his mass of soulmarks leeching out onto his shoulders like an augue. In the massive tangle of words, yours is unidentifiable.

He must have found some of the others, already. There’s only so many days in a lifetime, only so many chances to meet someone. Did he give them the same promises? Did he sacrifice himself for all of them like he did for you?

How unfair is that, you think. So much to do.

But he only has two hands.

Sometimes you would watch him interacting with others at Jujutsu Tech, trying to figure out which of them belonged to him. Out of masochism, or genuine interest, you weren’t sure. You were never able to tell, anyway.

He treats everyone with the same temperate kindness. Wry smile, cards close to his chest. He’s something benevolent, and powerful. A peacekeeper among the sorcerers. He tries to be that for you, too. But there’s no peace to be had in your life, not with what you are. And so there is no peace for Suguru, either.

Ironically, it’s Gojo who helps you run. You’re not sure how a seventeen year old has so much reach or authority, but suddenly you have your highschool diploma in your hands, three months early, and a passport delivered to your door by an unhappy looking man in a charcoal gray suit.

“Pack everything you need,” he tells you cryptically. “It’s a one way ticket.”

He leaves you a twenty-page itinerary, every part of your journey covered in the bullet points. Your Visa is a special work permit. You’d be there under the jurisdiction of another sorcerer, off the record. You don’t recognize the name.

Details about the job you’d be doing are vague, and slightly daunting. Research. You guess that couldn’t be too bad, whatever it is. And if it’s untenable – you have nothing keeping you tethered.

Suguru sleeps for seven days. That’s exactly how long it takes you to get away.

Your plane takes off from Narita International Airport. It’s a red-eye flight, and hardly anyone is loitering around your gate beforehand. You get there severely early, giving yourself enough time to eat or catch a few winks of sleep, but you’re too amped up to do either of those things. Instead you just sit in front of the big, picture window, watching the planes scroll up and down the runway, feeling vaguely nauseous.

Your hands are cold. You miss your soulmate, already.

You’re half asleep when Gojo plops down in the seat next to yours. The chair is too small for him, and his legs are folded up at an uncomfortable angle. His lean body curls in like a crescent moon. He’s holding single serve cup of lucky charms, which he rips open unceremoniously. He picks out only the marshmallows.

You can’t remember ever seeing Gojo in a place he seemed to fit. Too large, or loud, or modern. He always stands out, a foriegn entity. It was the exact opposite of your soulmate, who seems like a fly on the wall even when he’s fighting.

For a second, you think you might be hallucinating, this boy glowing in the almost-light. But then he speaks.

“Will you die?” You can’t tell if he’s serious. He’s not smiling, but he rarely does in your presence.

“I don’t think so,” you return, honestly.

It’s never a sure thing, with soulbonds. In some cases, soulmates parting for any amount of time causes severe distress, be it bodily or mentally. You knew one unlucky girl who would vomit if she didn’t have physical contact with her soulmate everyday.

But you don’t feel anything, without Suguru here. Just… unhappy. Terrible but not unbearable, a sunburnt kind of discomfort.

You’ll get through this; it’s just going to hurt a little, first.

Gojo tilts his cup toward you, in offering. You scoop out a few pieces (there’s hardly any marshmallows left), chewing as you turn back to the window. The taste isn’t like you remember, from childhood. Sweeter, maybe. Drier. A bit harder to swallow.

Gojo asks, “Are you making the right decision?”

“Are you?” you counter.

He lets out a short breath through his nose. Almost a laugh.

A silence falls between you that would have been awkward, if not for the clear animosity he holds toward you. Instead it’s almost comfortable, the two of you inspecting each other, passing judgment that will ultimately hold no bearing on anything. The two of you are so out of each other’s hands at this point it may as well be trainspotting. He can’t hurt you because Suguru would never forgive him; you can’t hurt him because no one can.

Besides that, it’s hard to muster any real ire toward him. He irritates you to the point of insanity on the best days, but you’ve never really wanted to see harm come to him. Even when everyone on campus was muttering about how they’d like to see him taken down a peg, you didn’t feel the same.

Suguru certainly has something to do with it — how could you hate your soulmate’s best friend? But it runs deeper. You’ve gotten to know him, these past few months. Seen first hand what he’s capable of, and not.

Gojo is a brat, sure. But you believe, really and truly, that he has the capacity to be better.

Maybe that’s why you trusted him, with all this.

“You’re not gonna find redemption out there,” Gojo says. “I’ve seen better people try, and fail.”

You flick his arm, half-hearted scolding. “Good thing I’m not looking for it.”

He looks at the place you’ve touched him, the sleeve of his shirt. He’s not in his uniform, and his clothes are less flashy than you thought they’d be. He looks like just a boy, right now.

“This is gonna make him miserable,” Gojo sighs. “I can already imagine it. Wet cat type of damage.”

You hum, not ready to consider that. You reach for another handful of cereal, and he meets you halfway, letting you take your fill, watching as you eat.

He smirks. “Can’t believe you’re dumping your soulmate.”

“I won’t stand between him and his life,” you murmur. “That’s just not fair.”

You peek at him. You’ve gotten used to him hiding his eyes, but at this moment you’d be curious what’s behind the sunglasses. Revelations or regrets. Or nothing at all. It could very well be that his concern for you only extends to Suguru-related territory.

“Life’s not fair.” Gojo stands, the conversation evidendently over. He kicks the heel of your boot, lightly, his own form of a farewell. Then he’s stalking away.

It’s quiet, the small hours of the morning still hushing everything. Even the ambient sounds of bustling passengers seem to float above it all. You may as well be alone in the world.

“Gojo,” you call, but he doesn’t stop, just slows his pace slightly. You don’t know where the desire to ask comes from. Maybe because this is the last time you’ll ever get the chance. Maybe because this, your escape, has formed some terrible sort of kinship between you two. But the words slip out, unbidden. “Are you one of his, too?”

“Who knows,” he says dryly. He doesn’t even turn around.

…

Are you okay? sent 18:06

I’m sorry for not contacting you sooner; I’ve been asleep for the past few days, or I would have reached out. Can we talk? It doesn’t have to be on campus, if you don’t want. Wherever you’re comfortable. sent 18:20

I’m sorry about what happened. I know you must have been scared, and that’s on me. I’ll talk to Yaga in the morning. You won’t have to go on anymore missions, I promise. sent 19:15

missed call

missed call

Can you please just let me know you’re okay? sent 21:32

missed call

We don’t even have to talk. sent 02:03

No one will tell me what’s happening with you and i’m worried. sent 03:45

you can yell at me if you want sent 03:56

or anything sent 03:57

im sorry sent 05:34

missed call

missed call

missed call

…

Please don’t worry, because I’m alright. opened 08:07

Miss you, love you. opened 08:08

Take care of yourself okay? opened 08:08

…

please sent 14:02

…

Message Error: The number you are trying to contact is no longer in service, or message blocking is enabled.

…

They’re Shoko’s cigarettes. He knows where she keeps her spare pack, in her bottom dresser drawer, tucked into an old pair of knitted socks. They have little pink stars on them, and they smell well worn, like a quilt, or a winter jacket.

No one comments when he skips class, or practice. Yaga hardly spares him a disapproving glance when he catches him halfway through the pack of Camels. He’s sitting on the balcony walkway of one of the spare temple buildings, feet dangling over the edge. The railing is reed-thin, and about a foot too short to catch anyone. He’d worried, insanely, when the two of you were up here. Always put himself between you and the fall.

He’s only been awake for a day, but already he’s exhausted. Not quite ready to talk to anyone, let alone Gojo.

The other man doesn’t sit, cautious, for any number of reasons. Suguru can’t parse his body language at the moment, pointedly lax. Trying too hard to seem casual as he props a hip against that too-short railing, arms folded across his chest.

Suguru offers his lit cigarette, which Gojo takes but doesn’t smoke. He holds it, pinched between two fingers like the stem of a flower, peering down at the red hot tip as it burns.

“Where is she?” Suguru asks.

It was the first thing he’d done upon waking, ask for you. He’d believed, foolishly, that you’d been waiting for this. For him. But it was Shoko at his bedside, shoving him back down before he rose too quickly, fainted again. Gone, he was told. Been gone.

He’d been denied information about you, told that this was all above his station. After an hour of trying to keep a level head, he snapped, tossing around threats he can’t even remember. They were grievous enough to make the higher ups blanche, though.

But it turns out, no one knows where you are. They admitted to him, sheepishly, that you’d slipped away, and the search for you was ongoing, but non-critical. They wouldn’t be devoting resources to this. Their connections outside of Japan are limited, and the chances of finding you if you’d fled the country are slim.

He could threaten and fight all he wants – it would get him nowhere.

Gojo shrugs. Loyalty is an odd handicap of his. He’s fickle at the best of times, but that never gets in the way of knowing exactly who’s side he’s on.

“Is she… okay?” Suguru tries.

Another shrug. “Probably pretty jet-lagged, right about now.”

“So it’s true, then,” he says. “She left the country altogether.”

Gojo smiles, slightly crooked. It sits uncomfortably on his face, like the skin isn’t meant to stretch that way. “How would I know?”

Suguru bites back the urge to toss him over the railing. He taps out another cigarette, places it between his teeth. Gojo presses the stub of the lit one against it, until it begins to glow.

“They say those will kill you,” he notes, flicking the other one onto the brick path beneath.

Suguru just chuckles, takes a long drag.

The sun has begun to set, and the dregs of daylight smolder on the horizon, all of the buildings on campus shimmering with it.

He’s never been anywhere so beautiful as the sacred grounds of Jujutsu Tech. His life before this was simple, mundane. Not terrifying or awing. And he’d seen lovely places before, places that took his breath away, but this was the only one that he felt down to his core. Peace eclipsing any other. A bone deep belonging.

The future wasn’t something he’d had to worry about. Destiny had made promises, the web of soulmarks on his back was proof of that. All he had to do was be patient, and the world unfolded before him with the surety of breaking dawn. Everything falling into place, in perfect synchronicity.

He hadn't bothered keeping track of the soulmates he’d met. The number seemed irrelevant. Each one of them was vital, and important. He’d give his life for any of them, gladly.

Yet you’d deny him the privilege. A perfect wrench in his perfect life path.

“She’s gonna be alright, you know,” Gojo says. “She’s in good hands.”

Suguru’s knuckles squeeze around the cigarette so hard the tobacco starts to fray, spilling out of the paper and onto the ground. “Why did –”

He can’t finish the question. Doesn’t want to know. Already does, deep down.

“Something had to give,” Gojo answers anyway.

“Yes,” Suguru sighs, rubbing at his swollen eyes. The ash on his fingers just makes them sting even more. “But did it have to be this?”

Gojo leans down to take the busted cigarette. He rolls it between his fingers, touching the burning end with a pinky, testing its heat.

“What will you do, Suguru Getou?” Gojo asks. As if the future were so simple. As if everything he thought himself to be hadn’t disappeared like smoke in a single afternoon.

“What else?” he returns, mildly. He closes his eyes, tipping his face up toward the sky. The sun has fully set, leaving a chill to settle over everything. It feels nice. “What I have to.”

…

The motions of his life are mostly the same, after you’re gone.

Wake up. Train. Try to keep Gojo out of trouble. Try to keep himself out of trouble. Swallow down curses that taste like curdled milk and tar and raw meat. Go to bed. Sleep for ages—or not at all.

He dreams of you, often.

Your face and your hands. The curve of your knee. The peach fuzz on your cheeks.

He dreams about you and candy, pressing morsels onto your tongue, watching your lips curl around them. You smile and laugh. You touch his arm, or tuck his hair behind his ear.

He wants it so bad he wakes up with hands fisted in the sheets, every muscle in his body tensed, as if to chase.

He spends his free days scouring the country for you, or convincing himself that if you want to be gone, he owes that to you.

But it weighs on him, always. Your absence is like another body in the room.

The missions become more perilous, but there’s no glory in them. Just the threat of loss, always. Suguru and Gojo are the strongest, and they are forced to prove that over and over again.

Every hit seems more lethal, now. Every potential injury grave and brutal.

Zenin clan begins to fracture. Too many of their ranks had been born lesser, weak. Non-sorcerers, devoid of cursed energy. It throws their place in this ongoing fight into question, leaves people scrambling for footholds while everything shifts around them.

Surguru and Gojo are sent to into the field more, as the reorganization takes place. Big, important things are asked of them, because big, important things are expected of them. The strongest of all the students. Bound to be the strongest of all time, soon.

But Gojo’s technique is still unsound. It leaves him vulnerable, always with a contingency plan whenever his power misfires, or comes out wrong. He breaks a femur, and cracks his skull, on two consecutive, unlucky missions.

Suguru is less careful, without the anchor of your presence. He loses his left pinky and ring finger while saving a kid from a rogue curse, and Shoko informs him that if he keeps falling to pieces eventually he’d become inured to her healing. His body would simply reject the energy like a bad blood transfusion.

Suguru just smiles at her. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

They’re in the morgue. Shoko’s always down there these days, swamped with the constant toil of it. Death is a demanding mistress, she’d told him once. But Suguru has a way of making life seem just as laborious.

After fixing his hand, Shoko instructs him to stay seated in the little plastic chair. She stands before him, looming, knuckles tracing over the little cuts scattered across his face. He’d taken a fall badly, landed in a patch of gravel and nicked his forehead and cheeks. Those would heal on their own, in time.

She tilts his head forward, so his crown is resting against her belly, and begins searching his skull for any perforations, or signs of trauma, tapping gently along his scalp.

“You don’t look so good, Suguru,” she murmurs, suddenly pressing hard enough that he winces. She holds on for a moment more, before relaxing the pressure. Then her hands are moving over his head in a way that hardly feels investigative at all. It just seems like she’s petting him.

“It’s been a long year,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

They pass a few minutes in silence, Shoko doing whatever she wants with him, moving him this way and that, scratching behind his ears, detangling knots of hair, and Suguru allows it all to happen, passive.

It’s been a long time since anyone has touched him like this. Steady but benevolent. Maybe you were the last one, your hands on him like the wholesome touch of sunlight. Maybe you were the only one.

“Where did she go?” he asks eventually. The morgue is always eerily quiet. The underground location and the thick cement walls muffling all outside noises, isolating the space. Even still, she barely catches the words.

They rarely speak of you, these days. Suguru never initiates the conversations. The investigation into your whereabouts is still technically ongoing, and sometimes the higher ups grouse and complain that certain missions would be easier if you were still around, at their beck and call. The other second years simply know better than to mention you.

“What difference would knowing make?” Finally, sick of trying to work around it, Shoko pulls his hairband out, letting it all fall around his face in a dark curtain. He doesn’t flinch.

“I just need to know she’s safe,” he returns, looking up through his bangs.

“Do you want to protect?” She brushes the stray hair away from his face. Her touch lingers at his temple. “Or control?”

Suguru tips his face down, inspects his restitched hand. New scars criss-cross over his knuckles, like rings. He cracks them, testing the durability of them, but it feels as if he’d never lost them. Same as always.

When he speaks his voice is quiet, but clear. “I want my soulmate, Shoko.”

She taps one of his cuts, the biggest, tracing over his right brow. The blood clotted hours ago, leaving behind a soft scab. The attention irritates the skin, fresh blood welling beneath the surface, trapped.

“Some things are simply out of your hands,” she tells him, pulling away. She stalks toward the other end of the room, where frigid body cabinets line the wall. “The sooner you realize it, the sooner you can move on.”

His expression is almost a smile. His tone is dry. “From what?”

Shoko touches the stainless steel handle of one of the cabinets. The corpse inside is fresh, brought in just this morning. It’s just waiting for the mortician's inspection, and then it will be her job to cremate it. “You have such a romantic idea of the world. You think everything will come to pass just because you believe it’s right, and you’re strong enough to make it that way.” She glances at him over her shoulder. She shrugs. “But life is random and cruel. It doesn’t matter how hard you can throw a punch.”

Suguru lets out a breath, halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to throw a punch.”

Shoko turns to face him again, arms crossed. She says, “I don’t know where she is. But I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

He rises without another word, leaving her behind in the shadow and chill of the basement. Another mission is waiting for him, when he emerges. He accepts it, graciously. He accepts everything that way.

…

Then everything comes crashing down, like dominoes. A perfect chain of catastrophe.

Just how many people is he going to lose?

…

Incident Log

April 6, 2006

A plot on the Star Plasma Vessel’s life has been discovered. Second Years, Grade 1 Gojo Satoru and Suguru Getou have been dispatched to escort and erase the girl.

…

Incident Log,

April 9, 2006

The Star Plasma Vessel has been eradicated by Toji Fushiguru. Secondary measures have been taken to secure a new body for Master Tengen.

…

Sorcerer: Satoru Gojo

Status: Special Grade

Card Distribution Date: 12/01/2007

…

Incident Log,

February 20, 2007

Second years, Grade 3 Yuu Haibara and Grade 2 Nanami Kento dispatched this morning for a routine exorcism. Haibara was maimed by a rogue curse. Healing was attempted, but he has since succumbed to his injuries.

…

Paris is nothing like Tokyo, and Yuki Tsukumo is nothing like any sorcerer you’ve met before.

Of course, she’s brash and loud, just like everyone else. But there’s a distinct caution to the way she approaches the world. As if everything around her is as fragile as a butterfly wing.

As one of three special grade sorcerers, it may as well be. The few times you’ve seen her fight had been brutally one-sided. No curse stands a chance against her, and she lives her life with the confidence of someone who’s already proved herself. The kind of confidence only the strongest could wield.

She asks very little of you, and you do what you can. Sometimes you accompany her during exorcisms, but she seems just as content to leave you be. The majority of the time you’re left to while away the hours, taking online courses in the top floor apartment you share, or wandering the city.

Tsukumo travels often, but mostly she stays close, relegating herself to Europe. Only once in your time together is her presence requested back in Japan. She doesn’t tell you this, nor does she offer to take you with her. You don’t know what was discussed between her and Gojo, but there seems to be some taciturn agreement that you remain far, far from Tokyo. Not that you mind.

The only reason you even know she visited your home country is from the information she omits, upon her return. Usually she’s glad to tell you every detail of her travels. But when she arrives home in the early hours of the morning, pulling you from bed and out the door still in your pajamas, all she has to say is, “Long flight. Glad to be back.”

The two of you get coffee at your usual spot, the only place that caters to the unusual hours you both keep. It’s begun to rain, but you grab a table outside under the awning anyway. The air is cool, seeping through the thin material of your sleep shirt. It makes your drink taste better somehow, the errant chill and the soft pattering of rain all around.

Tsukumo is unusually quiet, watching the few pedestrians that pass by as the two of you sip your drinks.

“I met a boy at Jujutsu High,” she says slowly. “Kind of a hunk. In a dark and brooding sort of way. Could use a haircut, but there’s no accounting for taste I suppose.” She peers at you, waiting for a reaction. You sip your coffee, gaze purposefully  trained on the empty street. Desperate for any glimpse into his life, and afraid that knowing will undo all the progress you’ve made toward letting him go. Doubting and praying. Tsukumo continues, “He’s fallen off the wagon a bit. Lost a lot of people – like all of us.”

At that, you can’t hold back your wince. You still check the database from time to time, to see what was happening in the Jujutsu world. Death is frequent, unbiased, and quick. The numbers posted each day only confirmed that.

“He reminded me of you,” Tsukumo says, tapping you on the wrist with one long nail. “Optimistic, to his detriment. It’s always the hardest hit when you believe the world is kinder than it is.”

You try for a sardonic smile, but it comes out wrong, more a pursing of lips than anything. Your hands are shaking as they curl around your cup. “Ignorance is bliss, isn’t that what they say?”

Tsukumo hums, noncommittally. She takes a long moment to nurse her drink, peering at you. Its the strange, wily look sorcerers sometimes get. Like they’re making plans. “Satoru never said why I wanted you, did he?”

You shake your head, and she smiles.

She says, “I believe we can save a whole lot of people.”

“I thought you were already doing that,” you return.

Tsukumo turns away, tapping that single nail against the metal table top. The noise is barely audible over the soft thrush of rain. “Sorcerer society is stagnating. Everyone is so blinded by their own power struggle that they can’t see how far we’ve fallen behind the times – it’s one thing to respect tradition, another to be handicapped by it.”

She gestures sweepingly, to the cityscape all around you. “There are better ways to do things. We have to move on from treating symptoms, and attack the source directly. It’s like we’re swinging around a putty knife when what we really need is a wrecking ball.”

You reach your foot out to tap a puddle with the toe of your sneaker. It lets out a satisfying splash, but soaks you through immediately. Water begins to pool again in the small indentation, filling in around you.

“And I’m the wrecking ball,” you finish.

“No.” She takes your hand. “My friend, you are the blueprint.”

You’ve learned since becoming aware of the darker sides of the world, that sometimes power is the inverse of freedom. This is something you can do, so you must. So you will.

You turn your hand over, beneath hers, slot your fingers together. “Okay,” you say.

[babsvibes]

Do you have any good bb fic recs? Louigan or otherwise

Ah! I hope you are prepared for more than you asked for 😅 I’m a terrible reader. I usually just sort by most kudos and go from there, BUT I do have some lovely authors I can recommend you! They’re amazing and wonderful and I love them 💕

TullyBlue

Tully is one of few authors that can convince me dialogue isn’t the only thing that matters, and I fall deeper in love with her stories, her descriptions, and her with each reread. Mainly Tina/Zeke and Louise/Jessica, and they’re all heart stopping and wonderful!

Puff22_2001

Do you want to know what it’s like to love love through all the ups and downs and with some creative storytelling? That’s Puff’s polyam stories! She focuses more on the adults (recently has been BLESSING me with louigan), but of course you see her love for all the characters great and small woven into each amazing piece 💜

Prawnperson

Prawn’s works often ask the question “what if” and answers it in a concise, unique, and well thought out way that will definitely get you thinking and then never leave your brain! Lol, mainly gen, Bob/Linda, and Tina/Zeke fics plus a lovely rarepair: Trev/Deli Guy

Lanan26

I hope you’re about that louigan banter life because Lanan26 has got you covered! Fun, imaginative, and enthralling 💕 Quality writing, and they were a total sweetheart to call my fics an inspiration 😅

GoodMourningCoffee

Listen, they have one Bob’s Burgers fic and It. Is. So. Good! Fantastic characterizations and a lot to mull on while you’re reading. (Also, thanks for sending this ask because I realized I hadn’t left them a kudos! Bad reader Babs 😔)

Amutemockingjay

Man oh man, do you want to Feel Things? Maybe in more of the angst category? Give amutemockingjay a try! They’re one of the earlier Louise/Logan writers, and they have left an amazing impact (and are still writing with a fairly recent update)!

Addendum

If you catch yourself thinking “I would like to read classic fanfic for Bob’s Burgers by a great storyteller” then Addendum is your go-to! They do Bob/Linda, Zeke/Tina, and Rudy/Louise (which… obviously isn’t “my thing” however they write in a compelling way that helps me understand why people ship it)

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 12

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: You want to make a run into town, but you're forced to take one of the Guardians with you if you want to leave. Guess who get's the pleasure of annoying you? If that wasn't bad enough, someone decides to show up at your door...

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: For my records, this is day 17 of the Guardians living with reader.

Word Count: 6,751

"Where you going?"

You turned and looked towards the source of the voice, Peter's voice, coming from a door to the kitchen. You had just grabbed your keys from the kitchen counter and you were finishing up the short list on your phone.

Obviously you had intended to quickly run your errands the other day when you planned to take the raccoon corpse into town to be tested, but when Fury showed up having brought his own doctor and lab to test the raccoon on site, and also sentenced you to wearing your arm in a sling, you obviously hadn't done that.

It had been a couple days since then, you having wanted to get used to the sling a little bit before attempting to drive. You knew it still wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but you really wanted out of the house.

"Just running into town," you say, not paying him much mind.

"Why?" he asked, his tone weighting the word, almost as if he wanted to tell you that you weren't allowed.

You look up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Because I need to? Ya know, check the mail, pick some stuff up, post a few bills?" You knew it could all wait, and the bills could be paid online if you really needed to, but he probably didn't know that. "Unless you need something I really don't see what it is to you." You weren't meaning to sound like a dick, but he was acting weird. You didn't like his tone, and his weirdness was only emphasized when you start to approach the doorway to exit the kitchen but he didn't move.

His eyes briefly went to your arm in the sling-brace. "Don't you think you should be taking it easy?"

That's what it was. Knew it. You roll your eyes so hard one might think they'd get stuck. "I'm literally fine." You make a shooing motion but he still doesn't move. Sighing, you make your way toward the other door, only to hear him jogging up the hall to meet you there, the sound making you pause before completing the distance, rolling your eyes before continuing on to see he had indeed done just that. You awkwardly cross your good arm with the one in the sling. "Can I help you?" you say irritably.

Gamora entered the kitchen from the other doorway and you looked to her. "Can you please make your boyfriend stop being annoying?" you ask.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," she quipped with a slight smile, "Why? what's he doing now?"

By now Peter had entered the kitchen through the doorway he had been blocking. He ignored Gamora's quip about him being forever annoying and said, "She's trying to leave, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Well, lucky for me, you're not my boss," you say, admittedly a bit childishly.

Peter then donned a smug grin. "You're right. She is." He nodded in Gamora's direction, referring to the task Fury had assigned Gamora, essentially making her your babysitter as punishment for you neglecting to seek medical attention for your arm.

Your nostrils flared in irritation at him bringing it up and Gamora gave him a look that clearly stated she was uncomfortable. No one had mentioned the incident since the first day. You, because you didn't want to be reminded Fury was treating you like a child, and the others for pretty much the same reason, seeing no reason to provoke you, especially since you were seemingly behaving. (Again, aside from Rocket, but you had taken to keeping your earbuds in for most of the time, so if he did act like a dick to you it often fell on deaf ears.)

"Peter, I really doubt Fury intended for us to keep her locked inside." Gamora said, having assumed Peter was only wanting to refuse to let you go out for a walk, which she didn't understand, because he hadn't said anything when you took one the other day.

"Well I really doubt she's supposed to drive like that."

Finally understanding the issue Gamora grimaced. Peter was probably right.

Just then Yondu and Kraglin came into the kitchen looking to make something to eat, but saw the tense atmosphere.

"What's goin' on?" asked Yondu with a raised eyebrow. He hadn't heard any fighting coming in, but the way you were standing between Peter and Gamora almost implied someone was getting into it.

Peter spoke up, stating how you were looking to make a run into town and how he thought it was a bad idea for you to drive, only he phrased it to group him and Gamora together as having the thought, which prompted Gamora to say back to him that she actually hadn't given her opinion on the situation yet.

Yondu eyed you, or more specifically the brace on your arm. "Can ya drive like that?"

"Yeah." you reply. It was true, the arm in the brace wasn't the one you'd need for changing gears or signaling, so you should be fine, even if truthfully it'd be better if you didn't.

Yondu shared a glance to Kraglin and then shrugged. "Don't see a problem then." He turned toward the pantry, Kraglin following his lead, before he added, "Long as ya take Quill with ya."

You blinked. "Excuse me? Why would I- That's not- I'm not-" You were caught off guard and were now sputtering, clearly not thrilled with his addendum.

Yondu grinned at Kraglin, who was wondering where the elder was going with this, before saying nonchalantly, "If you're too nervous to take a passenger like that, then ya don't need to be going alone."

"I didn't say that!" you countered, pushing down the fact that the thought actually had entered your mind. "Maybe I just don't want to be annoyed by him- and I actually don't know if I can take him. That was never discussed." Again, this was also true. The topic hadn't come up. You had no idea if they were allowed to leave the property. Sure, for some it seemed obvious that they couldn't go into public, but you truthfully had never asked and had consequently never been told.

"He's Terran. Not like you'll run into issue there. I s'pose we could always call yer boss and ask..." His tone was laced with a grin as he turned back to face you with a Terran fruit he'd come to enjoy. A pear, he believed it was called. He was sure you wouldn't go for calling Fury, and he was right.

"No, we don't need to do that," you say irritably. Last thing you wanted to do was call Fury for something like this when he was already unhappy with you.

"I do think it'd be better if someone went with you," Gamora finally spoke up. "It couldn't hurt, at least." She was actually leaning towards the "don't let the Terran with an injured arm drive" party, but part of her believed you'd probably be fine and wanted to soften as much conflict as possible. Being transported in SHIELD vehicles she had seen how the insides operated, and it didn't look so complicated that you'd need both arms. It's not as if you were piloting a ship, and if you did wind up needing help, she was sure Peter could figure the vehicle out well enough.

You give her a mournful look and Yondu speaks again.

"But if yer still set on goin alone, I'm sure Gamora there won't mind callin' that Fury feller. Bet ya just wanna get away so ya can take that brace off without gettin in trouble," he said cooly with a grin. Catching the frown Gamora threw his way he added, "An' if she don't, I can always do it myself."

You tilted your head at the man, expression a mix of confused irritation. "First off, no, I'm not just leaving to do that. Secondly, who do you think you are? My mom?" you snarked.

"Nah, but yer acting like a kid. Somebody's gotta knock some common sense in that stubborn head of yers." Yondu replied, unfazed by your attempted insult as he took a bite of the pear and nodded once more to your injury.

You didn't get it. Why would he care? Why did any of them care?? Was it guilt? Because you wouldn't have been injured if they weren't there? You wanted to ask but settled for just sighing in defeat. You looked Peter over. He wasn't wearing a shirt with any alien writing on it, so at least he wouldn't get any funny looks for that. "Fine," you relented. "Get ready."

Peter let out a triumphant laugh and said he was already ready to go.

You took a moment and opened a couple drawers before finding what you were looking for. "Take these just in case." You tossed him a pair of black sunglasses. "You'll look like a douchebag, but you're probably used to that."

Peter let out a, "Hey!" but you ignored him, making your way past the others to the front door, telling Peter to hurry up.

***

"Can I drive?" Peter asked as the two of you walked to your vehicle.

"Absolutely not." you answered back with an incredulous glare.

"Why not? It'd be easier to let me drive than you try to drive with your arm in that."

"Because I seriously doubt you have a drivers license," you begin to say. Peter opened his mouth to retort but closed it again when you added, "that would be valid here." You open the driver's side door and add, "And because I don't even know if you know how to drive."

"I'll let you know I've been flying a ship since I was ten!" Peter countered.

"I don't care." you reply. "You're not driving. I can't risk us getting pulled over and you not have a license. You're fully free to stay here if you have a problem with that." You gesture back towards the house.

Peter disappointedly huffed but got in the passenger seat. You won this round.

***

Once you and Peter had left out the front door Yondu grimaced. "Might've miscalculated that one..."

"What'dya mean?" Kraglin asked. Gamora also gave him a funny look.

"Thought fer sure tellin' her to take Quill would've made her see that stayin' put wasn't that bad."

"Wait, you were trying to use reverse psychology??" Gamora asked, clearly annoyed.

"If that's what ya want to call it." Yondu shrugged with a frown, watching through the window as you pulled away down the drive, making sure the vehicle looked like it was driving straight. Luckily for you, it was. Otherwise he was fully prepared to whistle and spear a couple of your tires. Kitchen window would've needed replacing too if that happened, seeing as it was closed.

"Doesn't matter what I call it! It didn't work!" Gamora scolded. "If you didn't think it was a good idea you should have just taken our side instead of trying to play games and sending Peter with her!!"

"What'dya mean 'our side'? You were saying she should take someone with her too!"

"I didn't mean it!" Gamora snapped back.

Kraglin looked uncomfortable, not liking the feeling of being stuck in the room while the two of the more intimidating Guardians argued. Not wanting to draw attention to himself by leaving he just stood there and nibbled at his protein bar.

"Calm down, missy." Yondu said. "It'll be fine. And if not, Quill's got one of those phone things SHIELD gave us. Boy can handle himself."

Gamora glared but didn't speak any further, choosing instead to grab an apple off the table and head to her room. Yes, it likely would be fine, but it didn't mean she felt good about it.

***

After several minutes of driving in silence Peter tried to make conversation.

"So... lotta trees out here..."

"Uh huh."

"You make these trips into town often?"

You shrugged.

"I can see you don't feel much like talking..." Peter said awkwardly. You obviously weren't pleased with taking a passenger.

You turned on the radio in response.

Peter tried again after a few minutes when the music cut to a commercial break, trying a different tactic. "So, why are you afraid of doctors?" he asked, turning the radio down.

You gave him a strange look. "What? Where'd you get that idea."

He went into how you seemed tense when the doctor was checking you over when Fury came, and then recounted an incident that had happened the other day.

You had been reading in the sitting room when Mantis came in. You overheard her tell Gamora that her throat hurt, and so you pulled a lozenge from a drawer in the nearby table, telling her to suck on it and to tell you if it still hurt in an hour. If it did, you'd contact SHIELD to inform them she needed to see a doctor. Hearing this, Kraglin had piped up and asked why you would see that Mantis got a doctor straight away, but you had to have one forced on you. You gave him a look before telling him that it was different, and left the room before he could ask how.

"I only just put the two together." Peter said. "It must be because you're scared of doctors."

"No," you said flatly. "I'm not scared of doctors. I just didn't need one. If Mantis was sick, she would have needed one."

"But you did need one." Peter countered. "And Agent Hill told me about what you did in Romania. You needed one then too. Why would you do that to yourself unless you were too scared to go see a doctor?"

You exhale out your nose, annoyed that Maria had been telling him your business. "I'm not afraid of doctors, ok? It was an important job. There wasn't the time to stop and say 'Oops, will ya look at that, my appendix needs out. Better put the job on hold so I can find a doctor.' Not when I can do it myself. Happy?"

"She said you nearly died. That doesn't sound like being able to do it yourself. You can't do things like that. It's insane."

Your face hardened. Who did this guy think he was? Telling you what to do, you barely knew each other! "What's insane is a crime ring that traffics children to the wealthy elite for sexual favors," you snap at him. "So I guess I'm sorry if I wasn't willing to compromise the job to go lay in a damn hospital bed."

Peter didn't know what to say to that. He still thought you were insane for performing surgery on yourself, but he couldn't quite find a suitable argument after what you just said. After a moment he asked, "Did... did they get out?"

You knew he meant the kids. You swallowed. "Most of them. I don't want to talk about it." You turned the music back up, and Peter let it go.

The two of you rode in silence for a good bit longer before Peter turned the music back down again to speak.

"How much longer until we get where we're going?" he asked.

"Not long. Another ten minutes maybe. Why?"

"I need to take a leak."

You almost roll your eyes. "Why didn't you go before we left the house?"

"I didn't have to go then!"

A huffed laugh escaped your throat. "Seriously? You're like a toddler." You shake your head and say, "Do I need to pull over? I can if it's an emergency."

Peter almost pouted from the toddler comment. "No, I can hold it."

"Alright. Suit yourself."

About five minutes later you come up to a town, and a few minutes after that pull into the lot of a shop, the first stop on your list.

"I just have to run in here and grab a few things, they'll have a toilet you can use." you say as the two of you got out of the car, adding, "Don't forget those sunglasses. I don't want to take any chances."

He rolled his eyes but put them on anyway.

Upon entering the store you told Peter he'd find the toilet in the back and told him you'd be looking in the spices, pointing in the direction he'd find you when he was finished. You debated going along and waiting for him since he was technically your responsibility, but you decided against it. The shop wasn't too large so you trusted he wouldn't get lost on his own.

You split off on your separate ways and you grab a hand basket before heading towards the spices. You had only browsed for a short while when suddenly Peter was back at your side. "That was quick." you said to him, locating two of the spices you needed and dropping them in your basket.

"Door said it was out of order." Peter replied, sounding almost pouty.

You shook your head and said, "See, this is why you go before we leave the house." You find the last spice you needed and give him a knowing look as you began walking away from the spices.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a kid!" Peter said indignantly, following you as you left the aisle.

"Don't act like one." you reply, turning to find the cleaning aisle. SHIELD had been kind enough to include other basic things like toilet tissue on their supply drops, which you had been grateful for with eight other people living in your home, and the Guardians had already come with their own toiletries like toothpaste and soap, but you were seemingly on your own for cleaning supplies. You were now running low on dish and laundry soap. Gods, there was always laundry now. At least they did their own. Mostly.

"You're one to talk!" Peter retorted, gesturing to your arm.

You glare over to him as you walked. You swore, if you heard one more time about how you were acting like a child just for being stubborn about not seeing a doctor...

"Ow! You did that on purpose!"

"Did not." You said flatly, though you absolutely had smacked him with the basket on purpose. Not super hard or anything, but enough for him to feel it crack him in the knee.

He pinched you on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Didn't do it on purpose." Peter mocked.

You were by the dish soap now and so you set the basket down to grab a bottle. However, you were sure to flick Peter on the back of the head before you did.

"You did not just flick me!" he said irritably, retaliating by giving your exposed side a couple quick squeezes.

Your arm jerked down fast as lightening, having been just shy of grabbing your preferred bottle of dish soap. Your cheeks were burning and you looked around as you scolded him in a whisper-yell. "We are in a public shop! Don't you dare start that!"

"You started it," he countered smugly. However, his the smugness was wiped off his face when you gave him a taste of his medicine.

"See how you like it then!" you say, using your good arm to return his actions. You hadn't been positive it would work, but you weren't disappointed to see the playing field leveled when it did.

Peter's eyebrows shot above the sunglasses, his eyes widening as he crippled away from the touch and grabbed your wrist. "Don't! I told you I had to pee!"

"Oh." You had been so busy bickering it had honestly slipped your mind. "Sorry."

"Truce?" Peter offered, releasing your hand.

"Yeah, fine. Truce." you agreed, reaching up to finally grab the bottle of dish liquid, a little embarrassed as you realized how much like children the two of you had just acted. "Just hurry up and figure out if you or your friends need anything before we leave," you say, making your way down the aisle to grab the laundry detergent.

It was Peter's turn to look embarrassed, only for a completely different reason. "Actually, now that you mention it- if it's ok, I was wondering if they sell... "certain"... things here?"

You put the detergent in the basket and begin to head towards the pharmacy section, realizing it wouldn't hurt to pick up some bug spray and more of that gel for the bites. Mantis had a bad habit of getting bit by midges, and most of the others had started falling victim to them as well. You didn't look at Peter as you walked, saying, "You're going to have to be way more specific than that, dude."

Peter's cheeks we turning noticeably pink by the time you looked at him when he said, "You know... um... the things... for "special moments..." he used air quotes and looked quite uncomfortable, even with the sunglasses hiding his eyes. "Um... you know... uh... When two people like each other very much..."

You wanted to cover your mouth to hide your grin, but one arm was stuck in a sling-brace and the other was too busy holding the grocery basket. "Are you asking if they sell condoms here?" You tried really hard to bite back a laugh, but a tiny chuckle slipped out. It wasn't that he was asking for them that was funny, it was the way he seemed like a teenage boy about it, all nervous and such like you'd call his mother on him.

Peter's face was bright red now. "Don't laugh! Just- never mind."

"No, it's totally cool. It's just funny. I mean, we're adults, you can ask for them. Like, at least you're being safe about it." Suddenly feeling in a better mood and wanting to tease him you say, "Unless... do we need to have 'the talk' young man?" Now you really couldn't hide your giggles.

"So not cool!" Peter pouted, hiding his face in his hands.

You nudged him in the arm and pointed him down that aisle and told him he could find what he needed there. You continued up a couple aisles to grab the bug repellent and itch cream.

You met back up and he wordlessly threw what he had retrieved into the basket, barely looking at you as he did so. You held back giggles at his behavior and asked if he knew of anything else you needed to grab before checking out.

Peter shook his head, and you can tell by his expression he's eager to leave the shop and go back to the house. You almost feel bad for laughing, and you get an idea.

"If your friends liked the Oreos I can pick you up some more. We'll pass that aisle to get to the checkout anyway."

Peter nodded and you grabbed another double sleeve of Oreos before walking to check out. You only hoped you wouldn't get stuck with one of those chatty cashiers.

Wouldn't you know it, of course you did. You weren't super familiar with the cashiers despite frequenting this store, but you had become familiar with the fact that you didn't care for the one who's line you got stuck in, not realizing you had until it was too late.

Normally you feel for retail workers. You knew it was a tough job, but this one cashier just didn't know how to get the hint that not every item he scanned needed a comment.

Laundry soap? "Ooh! Great taste in scent!" Spices? "Someone likes cooking! Anything good tonight? Yum Yum! Ha ha!" Bug spray and itch cream? "Oh those nasty midges are out again. I feel you, haha." Cond-? Oh fuck. "Oh ho! Someone's getting luck-ay tonight! Am I right, my dude?" He winked at Peter, who noticed you looked like you wanted to reach across and murder the cashier.

Peter chuckled nervously and tried to smooth it over. At least, that's what you thought he was attempting. "Oh- aha- no. We're not together. We're uh- She's my sister."

You snapped a glare at Peter as you thrust your payment to the cashier and grabbed one of the two bags before storming off, telling him to keep the change. Peter grabbed the other bag and left the cashier standing there, who at least finally had the decency to look embarrassed by his comment.

Peter caught up with you quickly.

"Don't call me your sister. I barely know you," you say grumpily. That wasn't really the full reason it upset you. Peter wasn't your brother. Your brother was gone. Peter didn't get to call you that.

"Sorry, I panicked," he said.

You brush him off. You knew there was no way he could know. "Whatever, let's just leave. Sooner we finish in town sooner we can go back to the house."

You made your next stop to a nearby petrol station to fill up your car and give Peter a chance to find a working toilet. After the two of you successfully completed both tasks respectively, you stopped by the post office to grab the mail and post your bills while you left Peter in the car. On your way out of the post office you caught glimpse of someone across the road and a brick fell in your stomach when they waved, indicating they clearly saw you. You nodded back out of politeness but hurried to get in your car.

You buckled in and looked in the rearview mirror, only to see the person, a middle aged woman in a flowery blouse, walking towards your car, still not quite to the road yet, and waving her arms trying to get your attention.

"Fuck," you say, putting the car in gear to reverse before stopping to put it back in drive to finish pulling away. This would be so much quicker if your arm wasn't in the damn sling, but you still managed even with having to completely stop to remove your hand from the wheel to safely change gears.

"What?" Peter asked, turning to look out the back window once you began to pull forward.

"Don't worry about it- and don't look back!" you scold. You take a peek in your review mirror to see the woman gesturing in defeat, thinking you hadn't seen her trying to get your attention, and you let a small relieved sigh.

"Who was that?"

"No one." you replied.

"So you ran away... from no one. Sure."

You shoot him a look and turn the radio back up, clearly signaling that you weren't about to discuss it. The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

***

Once home you told Peter to put his "special" items (yes, you called them that, air quotes and all, just to embarrass him) in one of his pockets unless he didn't mind advertising them to the rest of his friends. You had assumed he'd be embarrassed if they were just on display for the others based on how he acted in the shop, and the fact that he obeyed implied to you that you were correct.

Once inside you and Peter made your way to the kitchen to put things away. He had refused to let you carry both bags, and you didn't fight him.

Sitting at the table were Kraglin, Yondu and Rocket. On the table were five empty bowls and an empty tub of ice cream.

You sat your bag on the counter and began pulling out it's contents to put them away. Honestly you were slightly bummed that they had finished off the whole thing, if you had known that you might have picked some more up while you were in town, but you didn't say anything about that. You did, however, say something along the lines of "Looks like you guys had fun without us."

Kraglin, who knew you didn't like the house to be messy and knew they were expected to keep up after themselves, began gathering the bowls to put them in the sink, to the eyeroll of Rocket.

"Yup. Ya two missed the party," said Yondu with a chuckle. "I'll admit, that ice cream stuff ain't bad." He then said to Peter, "Yer girlfriend is the only one who didn't want any."

You froze in place, your eyes widened. It hadn't clicked before. Your mind had been preoccupied with other things. Ice cream. Five bowls. There were seven people left at the house. Gamora hadn't wanted any. Tiny Groot probably shared with someone else. Yondu literally said he ate some. That meant... fuck.

You turned around to face them. Looking right at Yondu you say, "Uh, how long ago would you say you guys had the ice-cream?"

"Not quite half an hour ago, why?"

You bit your lips before saying, "Do none of you think to read labels before you eat things?"

Kraglin rolled his eyes playfully as he sat back down. "What? Ya mad we ate your snack?" he teased.

"No no no-" you state, holding up your pointer fingers like a teacher instructing the class on why they were incorrect. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or groan. Probably the later. You look over at Peter, who held a slight grimace on his face. You say to him, "You know what ice cream is?"

Peter nodded. He remembered ice cream. He also knew the moment Yondu claimed to have eaten it what the problem was.

You look back to the others. "Any of you know what ice cream is?"

Yondu and Kraglin exchange a strange look and Rocket rolls his eyes, wanting you to get to the point.

"It's basically frozen milk."

"Ah." Yondu says, clasping his hands on the table and dipping his head with a slight wince of understanding. He was about to have a bad time. Kraglin and Rocket now share a look that can only be described as 'Crap..." (No pun intended)

Disbelieving laughter bubbles up your throat as you bend below the sink to retrieve a can of aerosolized air freshener and plop it down on the table in front of Yondu. "That's for you, for the inevitable. Use it." You walk to haphazardly throw the contents of your grocery bag in the pantry, leaving your mail on the counter and grabbing your earbuds. "Make sure to open the windows... I'm going for a walk, because there's no way I'm sticking around to deal with that again," you say, giving a mock salute as you make your way out the back door, leaving the guys there to deal with what was sure to be the horrible aftermath of their oversight.

*** You finally came back a couple hours later to find all the windows still open, but no one outside, and decided that was probably a good sign.

You cautiously re-entered the house to find that no bad smells seemed to have stuck around and decided to go look for survivors, but first you needed a snack. You were starving.

You ate a pop-tart just for something quick and then found everyone in the sitting room. Feeling in decent humor you said, "Oh good. You lived." This earned groans from the others. They weren't really annoyed with you for abandoning ship, so much as they were annoyed that Yondu would have messed up and ate dairy for a second time. Well, Peter was a little annoyed that you had just left him there when he hadn't been part of who caused the issue, but he'd get over it.

Your phone started to go off, startling you and a couple others in the process. You checked the caller-id and recognized the number. "Nope," you say aloud, ignoring the call.

"Who was that?" Peter asked.

"No one," you reply, only for your phone to chime with a text almost in response. You open the text and your eyes widen before you make your way quickly but calmly to the windows to shut them and draw the curtains.

This, of course, gathers the attention of the Guardians.

"What's wrong?" Yondu asks, perplexed by your behavior.

"Nothing," you answer at first, before turning to face them and amending it to, "Nobody's home," and continuing your task with the other three windows, still trying to retain a semblance of being calm.

The others watched as you made your way about the room, sharing perplexed glances. Once finished with the final window at the back of the room you started heading towards the door when Mantis grabbed your hand.

"Are you ok? What can we do?" she asked, concerned. "Please tell me?" She could feel you didn't want to ask for help, but she hoped her asking nicely might work.

You barely glance at her, don't notice her antennae are glowing. "I'm fine. If you want, I could use some help shutting the rest of the windows and curtains, please and thank you." You pull away and head to the hall, where they can see you draw the curtains on the front door shut through the sitting room doorway.

"I know you said you can ease people into compliance, but I didn't think you could actually make people do things." Peter whispered to Mantis. He naturally just assumed that's what happened. You, miss "I don't need help from anyone!" had actually asked for help. Clearly that wouldn't happen without some Mantis mojo. The closest you had come to asking for help was the first time Yondu had dairy and you wanted Peter to help open the windows, but still, that was less asking for help and more of telling him what to do if he wanted to live.

"I can't." Mantis replied. "She was genuinely asking. She's very nervous."

Peter shared a look with Gamora and Drax stood up from the couch to follow you, and the they followed him along with Mantis.

Yondu and Kraglin stayed in the sitting room with Rocket, who told himself he didn't care about whatever this nonsense was about and continued to play with Groot. Kraglin and Yondu exchanged puzzled looks, because unlike Rocket they were genuinely curious what was going on to make you as nervous as Mantis claimed. Why were you batting down the hatches for?

In the kitchen Drax helped you close the windows and curtains. As soon as he heard Mantis say she felt you were nervous he felt there must be a good reason and that he should probably help you, just in case.

Then you started shutting out the lights, and this increased the other's concerns.

"What's going on?" Gamora asked, authority in her voice as she followed you out of the kitchen. You may be their host, but she still felt they had a right to know what was going on, if they were in danger.

"Nothing." you say, shutting off the lights in the hall on the way to the sitting room.

"If it was nothing you wouldn't be doing this. Something is wrong. Do we need to call SHIELD?" She asked more insistently, not believing you.

You turn to her irritably at the doorway. "No. We don't need SHIELD," you say, flicking the switch to turn the sitting room's light off, much to the puzzlement of those inside.

"I will if you don't tell us what's wrong."

Just then there was a knock at the front door, and you visibly startled in response before freezing in place and whisper yelling, "Quiet!"

The other's obeyed, not sure what else to do or what was going on.

Peter quietly stepped out of the kitchen where he had been peeking through one of the curtains when he thought he could see the dim glow of headlights through the fabric. He saw a blue car pull up next to yours, and out of it stepped a tall man in a light grey sweater and a woman in a floral print blouse. She looked familiar.

"Hey," Peter whispered across the hall, "It looks like that woman from earlier. The one you ran away from."

"Shut up." you hissed.

Gamora looked at the two of you in confusion, but didn't say anything, didn't get the chance, because the knock sounded again and a woman's voice could be heard from the other side of the door calling your name.

"We know you're in there." said the voice. It wasn't angry or confrontational like the others might expect for someone you were apparently hiding from. "Your car's in the drive and we saw you shutting the lights out when we drove up."

You grimaced.

"We just want to talk." It was the man's voice this time.

Peter and Gamora looked at you expectantly, and you shook your head at them. Drax was now standing behind Peter in the kitchen doorway, Mantis having already moved past him to stand next to Gamora in the hall with you.

"Yes, we just want to talk." The woman's voice again. "We saw you in town today, we've been thinking about you."

By now Yondu and Kraglin had made their way closer to the door to better hear what was being said. They didn't care if they were being nosy.

The man spoke your name now, questioningly, as if to ask if you could hear them. "Ok, we understand if you don't want to see us, but please listen; We forgive you, and we're sorry."

You take in a breath, trying to mask your feelings with the others near. They were looking at you. Gamora's face had softened, wondering what the man meant. Forgave you for what? Sorry for what?

"We shouldn't have blamed you for what happened. We know that now." came the woman's voice. "We've had a lot of time to think it over, and we were wrong."

The man spoke again. "We were just hoping you could find it in your heart to forgive us, too."

You felt your chest tighten and you eyes burn, and so you clenched your jaw and your fists, unwilling to show any emotion to the space-strangers in your home, but they noticed anyway.

Peter gestured to get your attention and mouthed, "Open the door."

You shook your head, and he gave you a confused look. You nodded your head towards Mantis and Gamora as if to say, "Um, not with aliens in my hall!" Although that wasn't completely the reason, and you had the feeling he could tell, as he only sighed and frowned slightly in response.

After a pause the woman spoke again. "Alright. We understand you may not be ready yet. Maybe another time. We're still at the same place when you're ready to speak with us. Hopefully that's soon. We'll be going now."

You waited a few moments before approaching the door, and the other's thought you might finally be going to talk to the couple. You didn't, mostly to Peter's disappointment. Instead you peeked through a sliver in the curtains to watch them leave, not pulling away until their vehicle was gone.

As soon as you stepped back from the door Peter asked, "What was that? Who were they?"

"Nothing and no one," you answer, not meeting anyone's gaze as you flicked the hall light back on and walk towards the stairs.

Mantis grabbed your hand, but you pulled away, telling her that you weren't in the mood to hold hands right then and you were going to go take a shower. She just looked down sadly in response, but you wouldn't look at her to notice.

No one stopped you as you walked upstairs, and when you were out of earshot, Drax whispered to Mantis asking what you had been feeling just then, having noticed Mantis had been reading you when she grabbed your hand.

The other's listened in to her answer as she mournfully replied. She hadn't been able to touch you for long enough to get a full reading, but there had been one dominant emotion when she did touch you. You had been sad.

This only rose more questions from the team. Had the couple been been angry with you? What had you done? Why would their forgiveness have made you sad?

Weren't most people happy to be forgiven?

The sound of your bedroom door opening and shutting travelled down the stairs, followed shortly by the same noise of the bathroom door as you entered for your shower.

Yondu almost thought he could hear the faint sounds of crying before the noise was drowned out by the sound of a shower blasting on.

[mgsapphire]

What’s in a name

As an avid literature reader, if there’s one quote I think that has been quoted so much it has lost its meaning, it’s this quote:

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

We all know the Shakespearean quote, engraved in souvenir cups and tattooed on people’s back. And yet, with today’s closing scene of Doom at your Service, that’s the only quote I could think of, even if it’s not related at all to the plot.

But names are powerful. And it’s not the meaning we give to them, but the ways others call for it. As much as we wish to be entities separate of other people’s perception of ourselves, we need those perceptions for our existence.

I won’t go into the tree in the forest dilemma, but take it as me saying there’s no tree if no one heard it. 

If you’re aware of the context in which the quote Juliet uttered was, you may know that I’m dissecting this whole thing backwards. Juliet basically says, that if Romeo were to get rid of his name, he would still be Romeo, the Romeo she loves.

This part previously said forces me to divide this rant (essay sounds prettier, but is it?) in two parts, what Doom is, despite having no name, and who Tak Dong Kyung is because of her name.

Doom, life and death

For this part right here, I’m going to use my own posts as references, you can find them here in my blog, as poorly done gifs titled Every time Doom was described. Doom has no name, but he has many descriptions. God did me the favor of piling them up this episode, but I’m going to list some descriptions for you real quick:

You’re a butterfly.

I’m Evil.

I’m [...] the last. The end.

I’m just a button of doom. Everything about me leads to doom.

You’re winter, darkness and death.

None of these, out of context have necessarily good connotations. But today, God did a good job explaining why they were good. He exists for balance to exist. He is the balance to God’s creation. In mythologies and lore, there’s always a simultaneous creation of lightness and darkness. As if everything coexisted from the beginning. However, in Doom at your Service, darkness come after lightness, because lightness realized, we need shadows for a garden to rest.

For Doom, since he has no name, but that of darkness, evil and destruction, it is impossible for him to be loved. And in comes Tak Dong Kyung, the Juliet in this bizarre odyssey, who says, I’ve seen Doom so many times, I can’t distinguish between it and luck.

At some point in episodes 3 and 4, she even describes him at fate. This is something he’s dumbfounded about, for him, fate has always had a bad connotation. That’s why he said he was her fate, a bad one.

Even when she said he was winter, darkness and death, she meant those words as a compliment. It was Dong Kyung’s way of saying, you are needed and you are necessary, and what you do is beautiful.

For her, after doom, always comes luck, and so, for her, Doom is her lucky charm. The same way that for Juliet, Romeo is her beloved, even if she’s supposed to hate him.

Tak Dong Kyung and the ultimate power of calling out to someone

This part was the part that made me want to do this post. The montage of all the times people called out to her when she was feeling at her worst. The parts doom didn’t see in the trip God sent him to (expect a separate post about this). After every misfortune she had, Dong Kyung always had someone to remind her not everything was all that bad.

I was reminded of the stylistic decision of the Word of Honor script writer of having A Xu call out Wen KeXing’s full name. The writer once said that there was nothing more romantic than calling out the full name of the one you love and them answering back “why do you call my name so sweetly?”*. There’s a power in calling out to someone.

The way our name is called often tells us about other people’s intentions of approach. When our mother call us by our full names, it’s often to reprimand us, when someone our loved one calls out our name softly, it’s often with tender intentions. And when someone calls out for us in a crowd, it’s because they want us to notice them.

Tak Dong Kyung is often called out by her loved ones in that way. Doom calls out to her in that way, notice me, notice my silent devotion for you, notice the turmoil going on in my heart.

And here’s the funny thing, in Hanja, 동경 means longing**. It’s interesting how much thought the writers put into the characters.

Dong Kyung has always longed to not be abandoned, to live a better life, to be loved. And in turn, Doom longs to love her and to be loved by her.  So he calls out to her.

Dong Kyung says:

My life always consisted between the misfortune of the front page and the back page that cannot be flipped to, waiting for an answer. At the end, that person who will call me. That kind of answer.

For her, someone calling out to her is what pulls her out of her misery, her sadness. For her, the next page is always in company of another person.

And it’s the power our name conveys in the lips of others that left me in awe once again. It is sometimes the thing we need; someone calling out to us to pull us out of the darkness of our thoughts.

The following are addendums, not relevant to the post, per se:

*Word of Honor is a Chinese BL adaptation of Faraway Wanderers, a chinese web novel by Priest. Due to censorship, screenwriters often have to find loopholes to convey the true depth of the love between characters. Great YouTube channels that make analysis about c-dramas and Word of Honor in particular are AvenueX and Chinese star news. I honestly don't remember which of the two gave out that piece of information.

**Hanja refers to the incorporation of chinese meanings and characters in Korean language. This can be seen throughout the korean language, but it is specially relevant in the naming process.

[ivanaskye]

4, 10, 36, 38

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

This is tumblr, so feral probably means in a good way. And I... cannot think of any! Sorry!

(In a bad way, "presently" when used in past-tense prose is a huge pet peeve of mine, lol.)

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Yes, and I don't think I have a particularly unique definition of haunted. "Something you think about long after it's over." The prologue of Dust of Dreams (book 9 of Malazan, by Steven Erikson) comes to mind.

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

This feels like a question my writing answers for itself.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

I am absolutely fascinated that this is the only question on the list that has an "if you are comfortable" addendum. Why is this the one presumed too personal?

Anyway, I think the weirdest process thing to me is probably that I edit in Vellum. Which is... a formatting software. For books, so it's not irrelevant! But it's absolutely not designed for editing. This very much does cause me additional problems with exporting and importing from any document type my beta readers can access (pdf, google docs...), and yet I do it. I think basically any other vaguely word processor-adjacent program I have access to doesn't hit my brain as different enough for me to actually be able to re-approach the words I drafted. It's like an extension of the 'change the font' trick.

[pressedinthepages]

Relief

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Eskel

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n:  Reader Request: [Hiya! I’m not uh sure if your still taking requests or not and I’m not entirely sure if this is the place that I should be making a request? But uhm I had an idea that like Hurt +Comfort where Eskel is being held captive somewhere/ being hurt n stuff and like Geralt rescues his bf bc there really isn’t enough whump of Eskel and Geralt being the knight in shining armour we all know he is.or enough of Eskel being loved by his family ( also I just love the feels lmao) Take care! Dee xx] Ok first of all I am so sorry that this took so McFreakin' long to write. I just got a promotion at work recently (yay!) so my hours have doubled and there has been a bit of a...transition period that I've been stuck in (boo.) But! I really enjoyed writing this while I had a moment or two of peace, and I really hope you enjoy it :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, nameless mage being a Grade A Dick

Eskel finds himself in a bit of a bind without a soul nearby to help. Or...so he thinks.

    Eskel liked to think that he was a smart man. He trained hard, keeping himself in a state to face any foe thrown at him. His bestiary was filled with notes and addendums written in his own hand, filling in the blanks with more detailed descriptions from his encounters. 

    But, Eskel was still human. And, just like any human, could be taken down by a swift bonk to the back of the head with a big stick. 

    And that’s precisely why Eskel found himself, hours later, kneeling on the floor of some ancient ruins with his hands bound behind his back. His armor had been stripped away, leaving him in his tunic and trousers. His muscles strained as he twisted and flexed his arms to no avail, and he heard a voice filter in from the far corner of the room. 

    “Ah, ah. I’m afraid that struggling won’t do you much good,” a man with a voice that nipped at the ends of Eskel’s nerves stepped into the light, “They’re dimeritium. Quite expensive.”

    Eskel sighed to himself. Dimeritium severely narrowed his options for escape. Signs were useless, and the man had seemingly trapped Eskel within an invisible barrier that would keep him within the confines of the magic. Eskel took a cursory glance at his surroundings. A small table rested in the corner from which the man had approached, and atop said table were his swords and potion pack. Why would he keep those out? Eskel wondered, No matter. Can’t very well force my way out, guess I’ll have to outsmart him. 

    He focused his senses, attempting to quell the sounds within the tiny room to listen for others. Eskel couldn’t hear a thing lingering outside of the area, so either this mage had some very silent friends, or was an idiot who decided to take on a Witcher alone. 

    Eskel would put his money firmly on the second. 

    His attention was swiftly brought back to the mage by a faint jingling as he moved closer to Eskel. Oh, for fu- he didn’t even bother hiding the key. 

    The mage crouched in front of Eskel, resting on the balls of his feet just outside of the invisible barrier and looking Eskel straight in the eyes. “I believe you will serve my purposes well, Witcher.”

    Eskel cocked his head to the side with a scrunch of his brow. “Just what are you hoping to get out of this? You’ve already taken all of my stuff, can’t possibly be holding me for ransom. Nobody out there would want me that badly, hmm. Maybe-”

    “Enough.” The mage was curt as he spun back to his table. “Your voice is truly grating on my ears, Witcher. Though I must say that it matches the rest of you quite well.”

    Eskel narrowed his eyes, having found a way to weasel into the mage’s brain. If he could just keep talking... “I have heard that before, my young niece once compared it to that of a dog’s bark.”

    The mage hummed, glancing over his shoulder at Eskel before resuming his pilfering through Eskel’s bags. He knew that there wasn’t really anything of import in there, shit except for maybe-

    “Sweet Gods, is this a Greater Chernobog Runestone?” The mage breathed, pulling the dark stone into the light.

    Eskel sighed and cleared his throat. “That, uh, is exactly correct. I just recently stumbled across it and wanted to add it to my silver sword, but if you wanted to maybe trade-”

    The mage barked out a laugh as he stowed the precious stone into his robes. “Or,” he shrugged with a smirk, “I could just take it.”

    Eskel nodded, “Or you could just take it. That’s fine. You know, I could show you how to craft runestones of your own-”

    “I think that’s quite enough of that.” Eskel whipped his head around to find Geralt dropping from the top of one of the crumbling columns. A few stray pebbles tumbled to the ground as Geralt stood to his full height and unsheathed his sword. 

    The mage smiled just a little too wide, stepping forward in Eskel’s direction. He could hear Geralt’s heart, a slow and steady thrum beating across the room into his own chest. The mage’s heart, on the other hand, matched the nervous breaths spilling from his lungs, shallow and shaky. 

    As Geralt came around to Eskel’s front he subtly raised a brow, are you alright?

    Eskel winked and shrugged, been worse.

    Geralt’s hand tightened on his sword. The blade glowed bright blue with runes and inscriptions that flashed with the flex of his wrist. “What did you want with him?”

    The mage’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two Witchers. Eskel knew that it wouldn’t be too much longer now, but Geralt sometimes could be, well...dramatic. 

    Geralt, right on cue, hummed low in his throat as he took in the quivering mage. “Well?” He asked, “We’re waiting.”

    The mage stammered and glanced back to Eskel’s swords on the table. He suddenly reached out towards them and the steel sword flew across the room. The hilt landed firmly into the mage’s outstretched palm and his fingers wrapped around it, and then his shoulder dropped as the immense weight of the sword knocked him off balance. 

    “Melitele’s tits, why is this so heavy?” The mage grit his teeth as he tried to swing the sword up and around to meet Geralt, but he was already three steps behind. Geralt stood before him and swung high as the mage screamed, quickly lopping his head off and letting the ruins fall silent once more. 

    Eskel sighed as he felt the containment of the invisible barrier dissipate into the air. Geralt knelt at the mage’s side, searching his pockets and untying the key. “Guess we’ll never know what he wanted with me.”

    Geralt grunted as he stood back up and walked around behind Eskel. His fingers were warm on Eskel’s wrists while he unlocked the shackles and let them clatter to the floor. Geralt held them there for a heartbeat longer, feeling the blood pumping under his freed skin. Eskel held his breath, more scared now that he’d open his eyes and Geralt would be gone than he had been throughout the entire ordeal with the mage. 

    “You were wrong,” Geralt finally rumbled, the vibrations singing through Eskel’s bones. 

Eskel looked over his shoulder, “About?”

“No one wanting you bad enough to come and find you.” Geralt wouldn’t look at him, he just kept his eyes on where his fingers still rested on Eskel’s wrists. Eskel moved his hands up and slowly intertwined their fingers and he felt more than heard the hitch in Geralt’s breath. 

“I’d cross the Continent a thousand times over for you,” Geralt whispered, only barely more than a shaky breath. Eskel closed his eyes and exhaled, letting his body sink back against Geralt’s chest. 

“You shouldn’t have to-”

“But I would. In a heartbeat. I...I’d even go through a portal if it meant finding you again.”

Eskel chuckled at the pained tone in Geralt’s voice, “Never thought I’d hear you say that, Wolf.”

Geralt leaned his head down so that his forehead pressed against the crown of Eskel’s head. He smelled of stale blood and the granite stone beneath them, and orange blossoms and cedar. Like home. 

“You deserve it. Always.”

Eskel moved slowly, turning so that he knelt facing Geralt with their hands still clasped together. “So do you. Thank you, Geralt. For everything.”

He lifted one of his hands to cup the sharp line of Geralt’s jaw. He could feel the couple of days’ worth of stubble scratch his palm and the shiny notch of a crescent scar on his chin. Eskel leaned forward first, close enough to hold their air between them between a single pinch of his fingers. Geralt met him halfway, his free hand finding Eskel’s hip and squeezing softly as their lips finally met. 

Geralt’s lips were chapped and warm between Eskel’s, and he tasted of the dust in the air and pine needles and sweet berries. Like home. 

Eskel slid his hand up and back into Geralt’s hair as he deepened the kiss. Geralt groaned into his mouth as their noses bumped against each other, his fingers tightening their hold on Eskel’s tunic. 

They could’ve stayed there for days, reacquainting themselves after too long apart. But they didn’t. They breathed each other in, their foreheads resting together and their eyes drinking in every inch that they can see. 

“You’re sure that you’re alright?” Geralt murmured, knowing well that they would need to leave before the fast-approaching nightfall.

Eskel nodded, taking one last deep breath of the two of them together. “I am now, Wolf. I am now.”

[fanfic-collection]

Addendum: the TVA are bad guys and we all know it, all henceforth fics and ficbits assume this, reader is always in cahoots with Loki somehow or going to fall for him and betray the TVA, at some point (spoiler). We are pro Loki.

The TVA just happens to be the major thing to talk about so that's what the imagines are currently being centered around