#I’ve been thinking of how I like to read fics and the most effective method to help fully enjoy them without rushing through

[00queasy00]

I was curious how other people read fics for the first time...do you binge read as much as you can of what is published? Or do you read it slowly with days in between the chapters? Do you read multiple fics at once? Or stick to one fic at a time?

[voidcat]

— for a moment, I parry

characters: gojo satoru/reader

genre & word count: angst, slice of life, closure if u squint – 5.2k

notes/warnings: discussions of death, dying, drowning, attempting to murder someone. mc p much trauma dumping to gojo at one point. that one theory regarding love and cursed techniques being passed down is implied. timeline is not linear. this fic takes place few days before the shibuya arc. Song is Люди by Дайте танк (!)

a/n: the warnings are listed above so please try to avoid reading this fic bc discussion of those topics take a good chunk of the middle of this fic. normally I keep things vague but I find this one my heaviest? fic- as in most effective in bringing your mood down. regarding the “love and cursed techniques” theory, if u don’t know u can ask, I’ll explain w context of this fic

i. the night slips right out of your hands

ii. the sea in your palm; and love, the greatest curse of them all

The sun shudders above, rays of light and warmth spreading, stuttering.

In the distance you can hear the first years run around and yell, cheerful chatter, sounds of joy and teasing fill the air.

Have they never been given a time off like this? A moment's breath, allowed to rest?

Yaga was an agreeable man at least, though he didn’t accept it all so easily.

A day off for the first years, and for second years another day. The requests for exorcisms have severed as of late, this was a time as good as any.

Turning up the volume of the song slightly, you watch the kids as they splash water at one another, run and swim– typical teen activities a group gets to at the beach.

Reaching out for the can, you let the liquid dissolve on your tongue, the cold, numbing sweet feeling spreading all over.

Gojo appears a little later, holding more cans with him, tossing the alcoholic beverage your way, cracking open what seems to be fruit soda for himself.

He raises the can and shoots you a grin, as if saying ‘cheers’ and gulps down what you assume to be half the contents.

Blindfold ditched for the sunglasses sitting perched on his nose, the look almost brings you back to your younger times.

At least he looks presentable enough, lest anyone else drops by.

The thought itself catches you off– why would you care, now of all times? Why would you think about your teenage years as if it was a lifetime ago, as if you only witnessed it from the audience.

A finger poking your bicep from the side, you push away the thoughts and turn to where the interruption came from. 

“Where did you go just now?” he pokes one more time as you try and back away slightly to evade his index.

“I’ve been here this whole time.” your voice comes out neutral but a slight eyebrow raise keeps the confusion clear.

His chuckling only makes it rise higher. “I am well aware of that.” he brings his soda to his lips and you decide to refocus your attention on the kids.

You know better than to entertain Gojo, or further feed into whatever he has to say– or does not have.

You have conflicted, and complicated, feelings when it comes to being around Gojo Satoru. Or so you've decided early on, from that lifetime before.

Sure, he is the strongest, and quite irresponsible, still manages to get the job, work when it matters and work hard.

For all the awful teaching skills– or lack of it, would be a better way to describe, you can tell from your limited time around that he cares about his students. And his methods, as stupid as they are, work. How can they not, when experience is the best teacher after all?

All in all, despite being one of the most irritating, demanding, petty, spoiled and persistent people in your life, he was a good man.

At least, he hadn’t done anything that would disprove that, yet.

The thought of it alone was unnerving.

He was unnerving, to be around.

For all the responsibility, pressure and just the weight alone of his techniques, he still seemed intact, no more of a mess than you are– and that was telling enough.

And yet, being around him was something you were not a fan of.

Being with him, in a crowd, among people, in front of people, that was even worse.

“There it is again.” His voice draws you back, “where did you go this time, Robin?”

Nose scrunched up at the nickname, you opt to ignore him.

You did not like being Gojo Satoru, you had decided years ago. His behavior even today held proof to that decision, making you somewhat grateful for your intuition, and for him to keep acting like whatever this is, giving you more the excuses to stay as far away as work allows the two of you to be.

“Are you a Larvivora akahige?”

Confusion seeps through your entire being. Why would anyone mistake you for a …bird, was it?

“Because you’re robin’ my heart!” 

A second, another one, a needle drop worthy moment and the horrifying pun was said in quite the awful English, the messy accent on purpose and all.

Above all, you do not like the implications as to why your technique never held even a sliver of effect on Gojo Satoru since day one.

“That was quite the song, you know.” There he goes, again, filling the serene silence of the sea, the noises coming from the kids and the sound of heat waves radiating.

“The one you danced to with Kugisaki?” He adds in, tone more of a question this time.

Attempts of being civil can be rewarded once in a while, especially when it is Gojo Satoru in question.

A curt “Thanks.” He should be grateful he is getting this much now.

Yet the sound of his chuckle filling the air shows that he is choosing arrogance over gratitude.

“Interesting lyrics, too.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew Russian.”

“Who says I do?” He replies. You resist the urge to steal a glance this time, knowing full well the stupid grin on his face that awaits you.

“With techniques such as yours, one would go and learn several languages, expand their knowledge of things and all.” you mutter as you take a sip.

“And what makes you think I don’t?” He asks again, his voice lower than before, head tilted forward, his eyes peeking from behind the glasses. the grin morphed into a smirk, waiting for the fish to take the bait.

Well you are no god damn fish, as his stupid nickname for you has attained that much.

“Relax, I saw the song title on your phone and decided to Google it. I must repe-“ “Guess I’ll bring a walkman or a radio next time.” You cut him before he can finish.

You do not want his emphasis, nor that knowing smile, the arrogant face that claims he knows everyone and everything, anywhere all at once.

Not today, not when the weather is lovely and you’re by the sea.

“Oh, so there will be a next time.”

He sounds enthusiastic about it already, ready to pack his imaginary bag for the idea of a second get away.

Always count on Gojo Satoru when it comes to slacking off.

“Maybe.” You decide to inquire, “one you will be excluded from. That, I can attest to.” A swing of the can and you gulp down the last of its contents.

From the increasing volume of the voices, you can tell the kids are retreating for the moment. 

Getting up, you toss the can into the trash bag.

Eyes locked on your form intensely, you can feel his gaze burning a hole.

Watching intently, waiting for the opportunity, to do whatever it is he set his mind to this time. Because god forbid Gojo Satoru could ever allow a day to be ordinary, just, no conflict present.

“Don’t.” you hiss, watching as he tilts his head to the side, almost touching his shoulder comically. “‘Don’t’, what?”

You squint your eyes at his fake innocence. “Don’t go around, acting like you’re ready for something you have no idea about.” your index shaken in the air, scolding the manchild before you. 

“Don’t talk as if you know anything,” you spit the words, his gaze behind the shades only making your mood worse. “Don’t act as if you’re seeing some big picture- some secret to uncover. Seeing things that aren’t even there!” Once the words come out, they leave one by one, each on their own, each a sentence of themselves. There is no ‘whole’, no integrity, some so desperate to be free, they get out stuttered. You barely notice your hands thrown into the air, pinching the bridge of your nose, every breath deepened. “You don’t know shit just because you got the six eyes!” out of breath, you can sense your throat starting to grow raspy. Having limited your talking just worsens the situation. 

Is this the most you’ve spoken to him, with your own words, in your own voice?

Allowing your head to fall, you let out an exasperated sigh, gulping to smooth out your throat even just a little.

“Don’t act like yo- as if you understand.” the rest leave barely in a whisper.

At the sudden burst of what you prefer not to name, he sits the same, looks the same, stares the same. Azure eyes swirling with everything and nothing all at once, observing you for your next moves.

“I’m going for a walk.” You announce to no one in particular.

But the snow colored participant seems to take the sentence on himself. “I’ll come with.” 

He stretches and tosses his empty can without even sparing a glance at the bag.

The silence resides and you weigh your options as the kids approach.

Pettiness wins over for the second time in that moment.

“I don’t need you to watch over me.” Head turned back, you look at his glasses. 

The words you want to utter hang by your tongue. 

I dont need a babysitter.

I don’t need a reminder of last year.

I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

There is no else on this deserted beach but us, I can handle myse-

“I just like having you around.” He says nonchalantly, as if it is nothing, shrugging as you turn harshly to fully face him.

“And it’s always a bonus to piss you off.” 

And here returns the Gojo Satoru as you know, as everyone else, mocking, immature, annoying, a fruit fly that will not stop pestering you, hovering around your ears, buzzing until there is no tomorrow.

Feet sink into the sand with each step taken.

The igniting warmth of the absorbing sand and the coolness the waves bring to your feet whenever they desire, you walk with eyes half closed, feeling the breeze, inhaling the salty scent of the sea, of the birds nearby and far away chirp, the seagulls a decade ago shriek.

You can see that red moon again if you close your eyes just a tad tighter, travel back into the moment, of the wind kissing your skin, of music in one ear and the sound of the world, lively and lived in, another.

The harsh sounds of another set of feet caving into the sand and pulled out forbids you from touching the memory.

At least he keeps his mouth shut.

Hands dipped into cold gooey earth, you watch as Satoru looks at you horrified.

Palming as much as you can of the substance, you slap your hand on his shoulder with a loud smack and give a reassuring smile.

His scowl only pulls downwards.

It takes a little convincing, and a lot of smiles, sweet expressions and docile voice, you’d rather not give him yet at the end he yields.

Shoulders slouched down, he crouches to get a feel of the clay and slowly smears some on his body.

“Not so bad now, was it?”

He answers in a grumble, making you laugh in return.

It’s worth getting all dirty, smeared in who knows what if it’ll make you laugh like this more.

Seeing his struggle with his face, you take a step closer, fingers lightly touching his cheeks, forehead, tracing his nose, his cheekbones and chin.

Would it be cheating to poke fun at your blush under the clay? Not that he needs the six eyes to know but you’d definitely accuse him of that either way.

“Now what?” “We sit and wait for it to dry– or walk.”

As much as walking by the sea is good exercise, feeling the shy waves of the sea touching him, he chooses to sit.

This way it won’t be a ‘will it, will it not?’ about the waves reaching out all the way to you.

Hands placed behind, you lean your weight against them and raise your head to face the sun– resembling a cat taking a nap under the sun.

That cat, he should say perhaps, it’s not a scenery he viewed often after all.

You watch the sun behind closed eyes and Satoru watches you, your watching, your waiting.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ditched his jacket, this way he could avoid getting a full on, involuntary, amateur spa day from your hands.

Sure, as if he has ever rejected anything coming from you in his entire life, he knew exactly what he got himself involved with.

Even if you are aware of the eyes giving their full attention on you, you do a great job at acting you don’t care. Though your body tells him you are at your own world again, lost in your head.

When you tire of it, or finished with it, you blink a couple of times to readjust to the bright sun, using your forearm for a makeshift shadow over your eyes.

Satoru doesn’t expect you to make much of a conversation after that honestly.

Your silent, non hostile, company is enough.

Maybe the universe truly loves him, maybe you’re in a particularly good mood because of where you were a little while ago.

Because you don’t budge when he lightly elbows your arm, popping the same question from, “Where were you just now?”

When your lips part, you talk of the sea, of the beaches you’ve been to, of living by the sea and visiting it often.

You talk of your mother, and how she found a spot of clay one day midwalk, deciding to spend your hours there that day. How you’d watch when you were little, the way she’d make a clay mask and apply it on her face, fingers working in the same way and order yours did when you applied his.

Days by the beach, breakfasts and brunches, of sunsets spent together with a glass of wine and laughter, sometimes tears of your own in silence, and an arm that wraps around you after.

Sweet, salty, heavy air of the summer, of the gentle sea breeze stroking your cheeks lightly, the sun burning your skin as you’d run away or fall asleep.

You sound as if you’re somewhere else as you talk, a veil over your eyes he can spot, watching something play out only for your eyes.

Are you reminiscing about the past now? Thinking of the good old days when you were just a child, no worry, no curses, no tedious jobs or fellow adults to handle?

Of sunsets and meteorite showers, he learns you like the beach, a lot.

You talk about the body of water as if it’s where you came from.

“It could be partially true, like, the amniotic fluid mimicking water, considering evolution and all.” you muse.

“We could check for a meteorite shower happening tonight.” Satoru offers at one point. “Jujutsu world won’t be on its demise just because we return a few hours later than planned.” his voice comes out louder, almost in a whine when he practically feels you frowning at the idea.

And so you talk, and keep on talking, mindless and conscious, of small things, things that do not matter, afterthoughts and random things your brain locked away into your memory.

You talk and Satoru listens, taking in every word, saving it all away at a certain part of his brain.

It is only the sound of the waves washing over, and your voice occasionally to fill the void.

And he savors every word leaving your lips.

Against the melody nature makes, your voice comes out silent and meek.

“I tried to drown myself once.” 

You say it like it’s nothing. The ‘you know’ you must've contemplated to put at the beginning or the end ringing clear in his mind.

No, I do not know. 

Satoru turns his head slightly to see you, only to find you staring at a random spot in the distance, watching each wave chase one another, grow bigger and faster.

“The view is beautiful down there.” You say, as if this eases the situation somehow.

Rainbow shimmers down, rays of light twinkle, lit and gone in milliseconds.

The waves shiver above, create the illusion of something more, something warm yet just as cold.

“To see from under the water as if you’re above ground. Of course I didn’t stay under much, there was no water flooding my lungs. Just the waves pushing me toward the shore and pulling me back.”

Gojos eyes stay locked on the horizon, doing everything but picturing the image you are describing out to him.

“Dunno.” You mumble “I suppose I was light enough as a kid for the sea to throw me around like that.”

Shouldn’t such a scene raise worry in an instant? He finds it odd no one had noticed.

“Did you know,” your voice comes out much lighter and alive, a tone similar to when someone recalls something random, something unrelated or long gone. “You can never choke yourself to death, the survival instinct kicks in, you cannot hold your breath long enough to finish the job, neither can you strangle long enough…”

A thin fish with prints of a tiger, swimming away in a long stripe, how clear the sea looks, the sand looks bottomless as shadows of water falls upon. 

You must’ve lost the fun in ‘fun fact’, that much your words prove to him.

Warm like the winter sun, the breeze gently stroking your skin.

“Don't get me wrong” you continue to speak in the same tone. “I didn’t have a death wish. I guess I was just curious,”

The use of past tense does nothing to help your case “bored,”

You speak steady, holding each word in, contemplating, waiting, is this an ambush, is that what you warned him about?

“It felt nice to be close with the sea like that, closer than i've ever done with air. Maybe that was my reasoning, though which kid needs a reason for the deeds they commit?”

The silence sits heavy between the two of you.

The serene air to you waits and dispels at the same time, in an instant, without showing itself, loud, quick, gradually and with time.

So you keep talking whenever your mind seems to reach another memory, and Gojo sits next to you listening to every word that drips from your lips.

No sounds indicating he follows, perhaps that’s what you’ve come to find more appealing.

The blazing sun atop burns into every breath he takes, the greenish gray mud crawls at his skin.

You speak of peaches by the beach, small hermit crabs you’ve come across, how your mother made a fuss when you swam too far away, how you always return to the sea somehow.

Gojo knows that to know a person, to truly know someone, you don’t necessarily need to know the details, or every aspect of their life, every minute of their past they can recall or not.

Knowing someone, truly, genuinely goes past that. It is beyond just the pleasantries, it is about the trust, the comfort, the ease one gets as they exist with in the same space as the other, how natural it all feels.

Gojo Satoru knows you.

He has known you for a long time, despite your shared time together falling short compared to all the years long since passed from the moment you’ve first met.

Yet as you speak, that feeling creeps up behind, around, all over, that he realizes perhaps it was all just the surface level, the scrapped bits and pieces– some pieces of a mask, some pieces he gets a peek through the openings and holes of the mask, how vast yet tiny the shell of earth seems compared to the rest. 

Perhaps that is exactly what you meant by your words earlier. Gojo Satoru gets what he wants, once again, yet he stays silent.

As the outer layer is drilled through and goes deeper and deeper, reaching the cold, lifeless magma that roams inside, ready to burn and hit whatever comes into contact, whatever reaches it, and the driller keeps going, and the man keeps digging, hitting piece after piece of earth with the pickaxe.

Is this the same warmth icarus had felt when he flew a bit too close?

Bad analogy, he is aware of it.

Natural just like grass shivering at the slightest of breezes.

“I tried to kill my father once.” you say softly, like a kid telling their utmost secret to someone that yes, it was them who broke the vase, it was them who ate the cookies when no one was present.

“It wasn’t even with any malicious intent or anything. I just recall not liking the guy even when I was younger. Annoying me, annoying mom…” you let your words trail off.

Gojo knows that, it is quite easy to guess, from your choice of words, from the way you act and hold yourself– how it is her side of the family you’ve embraced the technique off while you are clueless what it is even capable of, the technique you should’ve inherited from his side.

“So one day I just grabbed some bottles ive seen in the bathroom, lotions, tonics, the likes– for face, body, to remove a part of makeup, anything. And just spilled the contents down to his pillow.” allowing your words to cool off, you take a pause, “It is ridiculous to think about it, you know. I didn’t even consider a chemical reaction or anything. I just hoped the awful mix of those strong and bitter scents would do something, I guess. Or that’s what I told myself back then.”

He knows a lie when he hears one, as well.

A lie you’re telling yourself, and to him, while perfectly aware you knew of chemistry and its basics. It was most likely the volatility you didn’t take into account, and whatever products you’ve picked weren’t toxic to begin with.

“Oh well, we all know the pig still lives as healthy as ever.” you say with a shrug, with that shift of tone again, like you’ve walked all the way to a restaurant only to find out it’s closed on tuesdays. ‘Oh well, we can visit again another day.’

A butterfly flaps its wings and nothing happens. A bird opens its wings, one strong swing it elevates and everything changes, the moth with the skull print comes, the course of nature, the evident truth that everything changes at all times remains proven correct once more. A caw the bird lets out and death comes, watching from afar.

When he turns his head to face you, your eyes are slightly ajar, unfocused– somewhere else, lost in your head again.

You do appear a little relaxed, he notes. Probably with the help of the sun and memories of the clay hugging you from all sides now.

Perhaps this is why your technique works the way it does, too lost in your head, for as long as you can remember, since forever, conjuring up tale after tale, escape even just for a moment. How the mask fits like skin, how there is one for each feeling, even the cracks filled with a plaster of sorts to keep the play going just a little longer. Nothing could see this coming, painting, dancing, even singing were the more likely candidates, or so it seemed, or so you appeared for it to be. It is up to the artist to pick the medium, which technique to use. It is up to their soul how they wish to tell the tale, create the feeling, rewrite the world when needed.

Tell a lie long enough and it stops being one.

Sometimes things are simple like this.

No great artist ever settled for a single medium after all.

*

Everyone has their turn with the little speaker one by one, each requesting songs, tilting their heads to the melody– or in Yuuji’s case trying to sing, or rap?.. along. An entertaining sight as well as scary you decide.

Nobara complains about everyone’s lack of tastes after a while, claiming none of these match the vibes, and that your 2014 picks barely fit, best of the worst she deems them.

“There is this specific… genre, I can pick from. Not exactly a genre per se, it’s just this wave of songs that get popular during the summer and are forgotten by the end of august.” 

Your reluctant tone is only met with curious gazes that slowly blink at you.

“Uh…” you pause, “Mediterranean songs?” you suggest then shake your head, “Not like that but– god–” (‘Yes, honey?’ Gojo has made it a habit to cut in whenever you utter the word) “I really don’t know how else to explain.”

When explaining reaches its dead end, it’s better to show and tell, and so you do.

Nodding their heads to the song as they listen with serious expressions and all, the council of first years conclude that yes they do get what you mean and your poor definition actually fits.

A day off by the beach, treats, the cold embrace of the waves and simply existing in the moment… certainly does the trick for the kids.

Wrappings of ice cream from a while ago cast aside but you know Gojo bought extras, stored them in the portable freezer.

(I didn’t know they made milkshakes in plastic wrapping.” you eye the halfway melted white treat. He just shoots you a cheeky grin, “You wouldn’t believe the queue.”

As if sensing the arrival of the sugary cold treats, you can spot the kids getting out of the sea as you open the package, only to be met with a vanilla that looks a bit too cylinderic.

Yet again, Gojo turns a blind eye when met with your glare. Something about having never seen you eat one of the classics when you were students, whatever that means.

Two can play this game, so with a shrug you maintain eye contact and bite into the ice cream with force, teeth and all. His gaze fixated on you, you can see his smile waver, gulping almost in fear. ‘I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my life before’.

You only laugh in return, the tense atmosphere morphing into genuine laughter and memories that’ll soon be gone.)

Another song plays next, your head moving accordingly, ignoring the curious gazes of the kids as you begin murmuring along to the lyrics.

You can hear one of them whisper about it, ‘hey isn’t this dangerous?’ ‘could they speak this whole time?’

You cannot blame them for their curiosity, that is what keeps everyone improving after all.

“Up until last year, you could not get them to shut up actually.” Gojo jumps in, shaking an index all knowing. “Well,” he tilts his head to the side, “they’d mostly communicate through songs so that was a tad confusing at times.”

“As long as I avoid certain metaphors, or keep my cursed energy at a low level, I can speak.” you say, “And I’ve been feeling fairly good recently.”

Ignoring the curious gazes that only increase in energy and eyes widening, you get up and grab Yuuji’s hand, pulling him up and moving to the song’s melody.

The chorus is moving, easy to sway, to dart steps here and there, to move your body like one of those old time’s dances. The kid picks up in no time, soon giggling and spinning to the instruments.

With the second verse, you go for Nobara. She must’ve not seen you coming, her yelp proving it pretty much. Compared to Yuuji, she is stiffer, guarded. Arms opening wide and closing, you lean in as you sing the lyric about rings and gems, and by the time she warms up, joining you, holding her hat with one hand yet matching the energy with all the same.

When Megumi gets dragged, it’s by everyone and against his will. He pouts and stands but it doesn’t miss your attention how he bumps his feet to the melody, how slightly he tilts his head, even his frown threatening to break into a faint smile.

How the outro begins and you’re dancing to yourself wrapped in their joy and laughter, four people together yet your form standing alone with each lyric repeated.

This is the most you spoke to him perhaps, and yet you look like it was about the weather and nothing else. Is that how disconnected you feel? 

He knows it’s not that, he sees through your “feeling good today” bullshit, that you’ve managed for so long and did no further improvement to keep it under check simply because you go back and forth with feeling.

“Look, about …that,” one year and you still refuse to even acknowledge it, “ I am tired of staying silent for so long, for living with its fear and ‘what if’s.” You pause and take in a breath, eyes tracing the sand that surrounds his fingers. 

“I am grateful for what you did, really. But I will deal with the aftermath my way. It is my burden to carry, my life in my hands spilling down like sand.”

He only nods, what else can he do, when you’ve said in your life for the first time that you’re grateful? And thanking him on top of that… He’ll take what he can, he realizes, when it comes to you. Mouth still slightly ajar, Gojo remains his posture, eyes on you.

“Everything I’ve said here, we talked about today,” you begin speaking once again, eyes looking into his, cold and distant, still faraway, still behind veils. “Forget about them, they never existed.”

It is not a question, a request, one he cannot refuse.

He doesn’t need to check to know you didn’t use your ability, there is little to no cursed energy left inside you, a hollow shell in the shape of a person.

Seeing no refusal rising from his side, your gaze meets the water again, he can still hear your voice talking of memories. He wonders if the scenery today feels similar to that day you’ve found a starfish, only for it to wrinkle inside your palm suddenly.

Your sudden yawn, and arms stretching over your head pulls him out.

Talk about judging you for getting lost inside your head for too long.

Eyeing the little specks of green dusty, you brush them off your leg, only for more crumbs to rain down. “Guess we should take this off, huh?” 

You get up before finishing your words, already making way to meet the waves once again.

It’s a long shot, he knows, and he has asked before, yet Gojo cannot help but wonder if you’ll show more of yourself like you did today. Allow him to read your words, or listen to them come out of your word, with no malicious intent, with survival not being the priority of your brains.

Following you, he gets up as well, “You think it’s alright to do that?” 

He sounds skeptical, one foot in the air, you freeze in a position he’d laugh any other day.

Placing it down, you turn and open your arms in a big gesture, “What comes from nature, returns to nature.”

You wear a smile and keep your eyes closed but in your words, he can hear someone else– the who of it is a mystery just yet.After few seconds of staring, he shrugs ‘fair enough’ and follows after you, back into the body water.

[heartbreak-sandwich]

CHAPTER FOUR: THE HIDEOUT PRESENTS: CORRODED COFFIN

NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI

Master List | Read on Ao3

Chapter Three is SFW content (though later there WILL be NSFW content, therefore, the 18+ label).

A/N: Here is CHAPTER FOUR!! Things are finally being set in motion in this long winded fic. I'm making the chapters a little shorter because it's easier for me to write and post at a more consistent pace, so I hope that's okay! Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading my work and interacting with me, I love you very much, and you make all of this work worth it!

The remainder of your walk beside Billy was mostly silent with the exceptions of the muffled booming of music coming from deep inside The Hideout and the click of your heels on concrete. Though Hawkins was a relatively small town, the night life had its own hours, and people were starting to stumble out of the woodworks and onto the streets to find the nearest place to grab a drink and get lost in some local musicians’ handiwork.

“A little late tonight, Miss?” Ray, the doorman of The Hideout always greeted you respectfully, and tonight was no different. His dark eyes and bald head glinted symmetrically with the dim glow of the outdoor lights.

“Hi, Ray. Yeah, Eddie’s gonna kill me for this one,” you replied with a toothy grimace. “Fifteen minutes isn’t too bad though. I guess it could be worse.”

“It could, indeed,” Ray agreed, eyeing Billy up and down with the intensity of an overalert bodyguard.

“It’s okay. He’s with me. Billy, this is Ray.” You introduced the two in an attempt to diffuse the tension and in hopes that Ray would let Billy in as a friend of the band. He knew your age, but he didn’t ask too many questions as business was exploding lately thanks to Corroded Coffin’s new set. Ray gave Billy another methodical once over with his almost-black eyes before nodding stoically and gesturing to the door.

“Break a leg, Miss,” he wished through a bright smile as you approached the doorway.

“Hey, what are you – don’t – HEY!” You only caught a few words before you felt a sharp blow to your sternum and the wind was completely knocked out of you. “I don’t even like beer! I just wanted to see the band!” You steadied yourself as the boy who had just body slammed into you turned around.

“Dustin?!” It was Dustin Henderson. “What are you doing here?!” You were too young to be at the bar, but you were also technically employed there. Dustin, on the other hand, was even younger, and you knew his mom would be worried sick if she had even an inkling of what he was doing right now.

“Hey! I was just, uh – you know, uh –”

“Dustin, where does your mom think you are right now?” Dustin’s braces shone as he kept his grin all through trying to stutter out some kind of excuse as to why he was trying to sneak into a bar after 9 p.m. on a school night. Realizing you weren’t going to accept anything other than the truth, he conceded with a sullen sigh.

“At Mike’s playing a campaign that ran late.” Dustin avoided your gaze, feeling slight guilt for creating another problem you felt responsible to solve.

“You need to get home. How did you even get here?”

“That’s not important. I wasn’t doing anything stupid. I just wanted to see the band play. I’ve never seen you guys live, and I’m always missing out,” he explained. Your expression softened at Dustin’s obvious want to support his friends.

“I hear you, and I get it. But this isn’t safe, okay? We’ll find a way for you to see a show soon at a different venue. I promise. But right now, we need to find a way to get you home.”

“Oof!” A man came stumbling out the door and barreled into the back of Dustin, creating a domino effect and knocking him into you yet again.

“Hey! Watch where you’re – Henderson?” Thank God it was Steve. “What the hell are you doing here?! Where does your mom think you are right now?” It was the most common question for any of your crowd to ask Dustin who was always into some kind of mischief due to his insatiable curiosity.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you assured. “His mom thinks he’s at Mike’s playing DnD.” Steve rested both of his hands on his hips and scowled at Dustin, incredulous.

“Well, this is just great,” Steve complained, turning to you. “I was high tailing it to hunt you down because Eddie is having a total diva meltdown over you being late. He’s really hard to handle when he gets like this, you know, and I can’t soothe diva Eddie, I just can’t –” Steve trailed off as both of the boys’ eyes locked on a target slightly behind you. Shit. You were hoping that the commotion of the moment would get you out of answering any questions about why Billy seemed to be escorting you to your show.

“Evening, gentlemen.” Billy’s voice slid out in deep, velvety tones, and you could tell he was putting on his best smooth guy ruse so as not to highlight the blatant awkwardness of the situation.

“What is with today,” Steve lamented, shaking his head, closing his eyes, and massaging the bridge of his nose, his opposite hand still perched firmly on his hip.

“As much fun as this has been, I really need to get going. Eddie will have my head already, I’m twenty minutes late, and the night isn’t getting any younger. Dustin, it’s time to go. Steve, make sure Dustin gets home safe, okay?”

“Oh, hold on, no, no, no,” Steve protested, holding up both hands in defiance.

“What other choice is there? He can’t get home on his own. It’s not safe for him to be out alone right now, especially in this part of town, and Billy can watch our table since Robin isn’t here yet. See? It all works out.” Steve gawked at you, neck flushing as his anger crept up on him. “I’ll see you when you get back,” you called over your shoulder as you rushed through the door with Billy hot on your heels.

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered, turning to Dustin who was just as dumbfounded. “Always the goddamned babysitter.” Steve rolled his eyes, cupping Dustin’s shoulder and turning him to trudge across the parking lot to where his BMW was parked. “I can’t believe you thought this would work,” Steve scolded as he unlocked the driver’s side door. Faint bickering could be heard until the purr of the car’s engine overpowered all other sounds. Steve backed out of the parking lot and onto the main road, swearing Dustin’s ass would be grass if he ever pulled a stunt like this again.

Rushing around the crowd of showgoers, you led Billy to the table in the shadows closest to the backstage entrance. You shrugged off your jacket and draped it around the back of one of the chairs, tossing your bag onto the seat.

“Robin usually keeps guard of all of our stuff at the table, but she’s running late tonight. Do you mind filling in until she gets here? It shouldn’t be too much longer.” You had to yell over the metal music that seemed to suck all the air out of the room.  A smirk tugged at the side of Billy’s mouth, his cerulean eyes glued to you as you hastily checked your pockets for loose items, tossing your lighter and pocket change into your bag.

“I don’t mind at all,” he barked back over the crashing of a drum solo.

“Thanks. I promise it’s not usually this chaotic,” you belted, apologetic.

“Something tells me it is, but I’m not complaining.” He flashed you a smile, and your insides backflipped. You could tell he was truly amused, and there was something very satisfying about Billy Hargrove exhibiting genuine emotion that sparked a warmth behind your cheeks.

“I’d better get up there. Samantha should make her rounds for drink orders any minute. Feel free to put whatever you want on my tab. CC groupies drink for free,” you teased with a wink. Billy let himself laugh, his brilliant smile making a second appearance. In a fluid transition of emotion, his eyes trailed up behind you and widened. You whipped around to see Eddie staring directly at you from his spot onstage. Get up here NOW, he mouthed as his fingers worked the neck of his guitar at rapid speed. You nodded in response and gave Billy a quick pat on the forearm before bursting through the beaded archway to the backstage loading dock.

The sound of springy guitar strings tainted the entire space followed by a cacophony of “BOOs” from the front of the crowd. Eddie’s riff fell flat after being distracted by your fucking around with Billy while you should have been joining your bandmates onstage. You knew Eddie was already livid, but you would have to do your best to talk him down later. As the last chords of the song rang out and died down, you stepped your way onto the stage and took your place at the microphone, giving Eddie an apologetic smile, and gripping the stand.

“How are you feeling tonight, Hawkins?!” The sound of your voice resonated off of the back walls of the bar, and the crowd below you roared with excitement. This was a sizable turnout. There seemed to be more and more people on the floor each week since your new demo had been finalized, and you took full advantage of the audience participation. “Give it up one more time for Jeff!” The crowd obliged once more, monstrous cheers ringing throughout the venue. “We are Corroded Coffin, and this is what we’re all about. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!” The snare drum signaled the beginning of the song the waves of people in front of you went wild for.

Billy watched from your table in the darkness, never taking his gaze off of you. He could tell you were in your element, and he had never seen someone influence a room so effortlessly. He tapped his foot and nodded along to the beat of the song, a smirk plastered on his contemplative face. There was something about you he just couldn’t shake, and he was playing words over and over in his mind trying to grab at something he could say to you when you stepped off the stage and back into his world – some kind of compliment that would mean something. For that moment, all he could do was watch, and there was nowhere else he would rather be.

[stitchkiss]

Hi!!! I’ve been following you for a while and I see that you’re very active in the teen wolf/thiam fandom. I want to be more active too and I’ve noticed that you tend to leave really long comments on fics and I was wondering how you do that? I don’t always comment but I want to more, do you have any tips?

hello anon! what a question! i’m going to use comments i left on @raekensarcher’s fics as examples bc that’s where i do my best work.

but first let’s start with why commenting is so important: it is a great way to integrate yourself into fandoms and can even gain you mutuals/friends! i tricked jack into friendship by dropping comments left and right! commenting is also a great way to encourage writers and to keep a fandom alive! it’s basically the entire purpose. i find that writers are kind of like crows. you drop a nice and thoughtful comment and they’ll latch onto it (and possibly you) forever and so they keep putting them out bc they want to keep writing to keep this good shit going with you. help a crow, they bring you shiny things. you comment, they write. it’s a rapport that needs to be nourished bc it’s beneficial to both parties. fandoms are kinda like an ecosystem in this way. comments are like the food and water to keep this network thriving.

alright let’s get into it!

when i comment, i usually type my thoughts as i read, so basically like live blogging. i like reacting in real time. more than once i’ve typed out a prediction or inference about what’s to come and it turns out i was right, so i make sure to mention that too! pointing out an author’s foreshadowing/hints is a good way to let them know that you’re paying attention to what they write. sometimes (depending on the fic and how i feel) this method of commenting can be a little distracting from the actual fic, so reading through it all then going back might be more helpful to get your thoughts in order. this helps make the comment long BUT the length of the comment doesn’t actually matter bc it’s about what you’re saying/putting into the comment

so, what should you say? easy: tell the author your reactions to what they’re writing. humans are social beings, they thrive off interaction and authors LOVE knowing their words elicit emotions in people. writing is basically a superpower in that way! below are a few comments i’ve left on jack’s fics.

as you can see, my responses to what jack writes is very emotional and slightly violent.

there is no wrong way to comment a reaction. in fact you should utilize all the ways you can think of for variation. such as telling the author that you’re screaming, typing an all caps “AHHHH” to show you’re screaming, tell them that you’re crying, laughing, etc. add in keyboard smashes, hyperbole, and even use emojis. there’s a lot more but these are my go-to. (also, please, be cautious if you’re going to threaten yourself with bodily harm, especially when commenting on a stranger’s fic. jokes aren’t often translated well online and it can also make the author uncomfortable nevertheless)

moving on! notice how i quote the author. they LOVE that shit. they eat it up like candy fr. when i pull out quotes they’re usually the ones that effect me the most and stand out. this varies by person ofc but the reason i do this is to show the author that i’m noticing what they write and that i understand (hopefully) what they’re trying to say. it’s even better when the author tells you that you pointed out lines that mean a lot to them or it was their favorite to write. although i will mention that pointing out seemingly small scenes or “throwaway” lines matters just as much! like a slice-of-life moment in the bigger fic pie. if something strikes you, tell the author!

following that, reacting to lines and quoting them is good, but what will make your comment better is if you tell the author WHY you reacted the way you did or why that particular line stuck out so much to you. this often leads me to typing an analysis of what they’ve written about a character or situation. while i’m not the most articulate person out there i do try my best. for example:

analysis! these are harder to write bc they actually require brainpower. like this whole comment is longer than the lit paper i wrote that same week, i even checked the word count. i don’t think i need to explain literary analysis even tho ppl on tumblr sometimes tend to lack comprehension and critical thinking skills BUT i have faith in whoever is reading this bc you wouldn’t have read this far if you weren’t interested. go you! anyway, my analysis usually comes from understanding the source material and the character(s)/situation in question, but i apply this to how the author decides to write. paying attention to what they’re saying and how it challenges and/or confirms canon as well as your interpretation of it will make a good comment. fics are often character driven rather than action/plot driven so consider that. but honestly analysis is up to you and your understanding of a fandom/ship, so good luck if you chose to drop an essay.

there will often be themes in fics, point those out if you notice it! sometimes they’re subtle and sometimes that’s the basis of the fic. tell the author how the application of a chosen theme works with what they’re writing about. reoccurring details are deliberate and authors will love if you mention it!

i think this comment is a good example of a few things i’ve outlined so far! this fic has an underlying religious/christian theme so my comment (analysis) acts according to that as well as my understanding of theo raeken and religion.

if you notice something about the authors writing style, point it out! this is actually something you have to tread carefully with though, so make sure it’s nice and polite if you do decide to say something! authors are human and their fics can be a way for them to bare their soul, so make sure you’re not causing them anxiety by pointing out certain structures/formats of their writing. so again, make sure to be nice about it.

you can also tell the author what the fic means to you. fics can be so personal and you might relate to it more than you realize. if it hits it hits.

interlude on what NOT say: if an author doesn’t explicitly say you can leave constructive criticism then leave that shit out of your comment and stick with unconditional love and support. while it’s true that constructive criticism helps authors they don’t need it all the time, especially when they didn’t ask for it. fics are like their homes, they’re inviting you in so don’t be a dick and insult their curtains, alright?

finally, compliment the author! i am the kind of person that tells strangers that i love them so i usually default with that to wrap up a comment bc i got a lot of love to give and it has to come out somehow! if spontaneous declarations of love aren’t your thing for whatever reason then tell the author how amazing they are! complimenting the writing itself is probably the way to go if you’re allergic to affection but it does make the author really receptive and happy. it’s very cute. acknowledgment of their work will bring them to their knees i promise.

i will admit that commenting how i do takes time. i usually comment when i’m not busy like at night or on weekends. one time i even arranged my schedule with the sole purpose of leaving a hefty comment on a 20k+ multi chapter fic! obviously you don’t have to do that, but i am certifiably insane and like avoiding responsibility. hope this helps anon! :)

jack’s ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raekensarcher/pseuds/raekensarcher/works

[satashiiwrites]

Death, Rebirth and the Jackal for the WIP game! I am intrigued

So, this fic is partially posted but got put on the back burner because I made too many commitments for the back half of 2023 on the writing front. The base fandom/characters is Mass Effect Andromeda but it’s very AU and not quite a fusion of The Mummy (1999 Brendan Fraser movie) but has huge influences from Moon Knight, Egyptian Mythology and probably every other piece of media I’ve ever consumed about Egyptian archeology in the 1800s/early 1900s. Mixed with were-creatures. Kinda.

Some liberties have been taken. I don’t usually do straight-up scene for scene fusions unless i’m writing crack!fic.

My muse had been long chewing on another one shot I wrote (A Soul’s Weight) that invoked Reyes as his fanon callsign: Anubis where I may or may not have borrowed Egyptian myth and not put it back where it belongs in the same condition in which it was borrowed.

Here’s a bit that hasn’t been posted to AO3. It’s two snippets from Alec’s POV that is a flashback that gives some backstory as he’s dead in the present day of the fic. (I’m great at fridging Alec in my fics I’ve just realized and I regret it not at all).

From: Death, Rebirth and the Jackal, unknown chapter

Fandom: The root character source is Mass Effect Andromeda. Recognizable elements from the Mummy trilogy, borrowed some Moon Knight and other things as well.

Tags/warnings: first draft. Flashback. Ryder family feels.

They’d made good progress today.  The finds had not been too significant but it felt like they were getting closer to something significant—he could just feel something was coming. Their permit was good for the whole year so they had time to be methodical with their dig and focus on accuracy and scholarship rather than being simple grave robbers like those that had come before them.  

It made Alec’s blood boil to think that most of the tombs had been almost fully cleared out by the time of Plutarch and turned into tourist attractions.  So much lost but he knew there had to still be significant discoveries hidden underneath dirt, sand and rock. They only had to carefully dig to discover them. Ellen was even more hopeful than him, having found parts of a broken beaded necklace just last week. 

They hadn’t found a new tomb yet but he knew they would.  All that talk of the last tombs having been located was false.  His skin itched, he knew the dead still slept in these hills—he just had to find them. 

Rubbing his face tiredly as he approached the tents that his small family was currently living in, he found his daughter sitting quietly with a book.  Sara’s small little face was screwed up in concentration as she studied her hieroglyphics book, a pencil stuck between her lips making her front teeth stick out just a bit as she had yet to grow into them. 

Smiling, he placed a kiss to the top of her fine hair that somehow had gotten sand in it even though it had been carefully braided into a crown atop her small head. He ran his hand  down her back, encouraging her to curl into his side in a hug.  “How goes the studying?” He asked as they sat together curled up on the overlapping rugs used as carpeting and reaching for the small container of dates that their nanny Nailah had thoughtfully left for her young charge to snack on as she studied. “Where’s Nailah and your brother?” 

“Scott went outside when he finished,” Sara admitted with a little huff.  “He’s much faster than me.”

Laughing at his daughter’s grumpiness, Alec let her cuddle deep into his side.  Sara was good with hieroglyphics but it was his son Scott who seemed to just effortlessly read and write in the ancient script like he’d been born to it.  Sara was more studious and dedicated while Scott had the natural aptitude yet no drive to learn like his sister which was a shame.   

“Where outside?  Nailah too?”

“She went looking for him a bit ago,” Sara sighed with all the weight of the world on her thin little nine-year-old shoulders. “He said he wanted to go play with Jabari.”

“Jabari?” Alec inwardly groaned.  Jabari was the son of one of the head porters that had been hired without his say so.  The man was only middling at his job and his son had a penchant for trouble that he often pulled Scott in by association. 

<<scene break>>d

He held out his own wrists, offering them to her.  “And mine?”

The pity in her eyes was answer enough. 

“I’m too late aren’t I?”

She nodded her head slowly, her hands coming to grasp the outside of his and thumbs resting over the pulse point and rubbing the drying blood into his skin.  “If you had been brought to us as a child…”

Alec looked away from her toward his son who slept fitfully, wrists bleeding still from the marks that had been cut into them.  For Scott it had to work. His son couldn’t bear this curse. the call of the desert was too strong of an influence. The need to run and howl, to be only half a man.  The thought of Scott being burdened like he was… he would do anything to prevent that. 

God forgive him for what he had done to his own son. 

“But for him?”

Her head bowed, gaze serious as they landed on the mop of chestnut hair arrayed like a halo around his son. “The binding will hold…”

“But for how long? He’ll live a normal life?” He pleads, desperate. 

Her lips press together firmly, but she doesn’t answer him. 

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

BNHA x DP crossover

Why do I feel like in every BNHA/DP crossover fic that I’ve read no one seems to be inclined to give Danny a believable cover story for his powers, when a really easy one popped into my head the first time I ever thought of it.

Quirk: Archetypal Ghost

This Quirk gives the individual the potential to develop any ability that is/was correlated to Ghosts in mythology, folklore, and pop culture (with in the human collective conscious).

Why can Danny produce ice? Because ghosts cause cold spots everyone knows that. Why can Danny affect radio waves and cause tech to glitch out? Because ghosts can affect radio waves and cause tech to glitch out. Why can Danny be invisible, intangible, and fly? Because ghosts do those things.

And just on and on for every single one of his powers.

There’s not a single one of of his innumerable abilities that doesn’t fall under the category of “It happened at one point in mythology/folklore/pop culture and has since been adopted as a Ghost thing by the collective conscious”.

Even his more unique and obscure powers like Ghostly Wail, Dream Walking, and Entering forms of media, fall under this explanation. Because Banshees, the idea of spirits of the dead communicating via dream, and the movie The Ring, are all ideas that have existed for more than 200 years by the time BNHA starts, and are firmly entrenched in the collective conscious by the time the story starts.

So yeah, don’t know if writers are intentionally going with “Danny doesn’t know how to explain how all of his many superpowers are just one highly versatile super power (even though the boy is the most generic ghost to ever ghost when it comes to powers)” on purpose. Or if they just don’t want to come up with a proper Quirk name and description for Danny’s halfa status.

Using this method you could even write a fully blown “Danny was Reincarnated into the BNHA world, and his Quirk ended up just being his powers from his previous life in the form of a Quirk” story. Instead of just, “Danny ends up in BNHA world due to Ghost Zone shenanigans and/or ghostly meddling of some sort, but ends up going back to his original world at the end” type of stories.

Danny would actually have to stay in BNHA world and deal with their form of crazy. Instead of just getting mentored for a while, getting to build a support structure of adults who somewhat understand what he’s going through, and then dip before the absolutely mental shit starts to happen.

Also in the Reincarnation stories, at least there’d be a reason as to why and how Quirk-effecting-Quirks would work on Danny’s ghost powers. Because it doesn’t make any sense at all in cross-dimension Danny stories for Aizawa’s Eraser Quirk, or Monoma’s Copy Quirk to work on Danny’s powers at all.

He doesn’t have a Quirk in those types of stories, so there shouldn’t be anything for Aizawa to erase, or for Monoma to copy. He’s half ghost in those stories. No Quirk/quirk factor for them to interface with.

Aizawa and Monoma (and AFO) being able to mess with Danny’s powers when he’s from another dimension and doesn’t have a Quirk, is like if Superman was dumped into BNHA and they were able to affect his powers. Really lazy writing.

And when fic writers make Aizawa/Monoma/AFO able to mess with Danny’s powers, they don’t even bother to try and make it make sense. They don’t make Quirks be caused by this entire dimension having a much higher concentration of ectoplasm and the result of extremely high numbers of human/animal liminality. Which would be an extremely easy way to make it make sense, and it’s right there.

Also in reincarnated Danny fics, you could actually just make Danny AFO’s literal son, instead of just being mistaken for his son by the people who know about AFO. Which would be hilarious. Because Danny’s got an entire past life of dunking on villains who think they have the right to be his father due to power set similarity.

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[zecoritheweirdone]

so..

dream smp superhero/villain aus, am i right

recently(as in, about a few hours ago at the time of first writing this), i just had the sudden urge to just.. write a whole essay about this topic. and like, who am i to not bend to the will of my own mind?

so, strap in, and prepare yourself for me rambling a bunch about how people write plot twists and identity reveals in these kinds of fics(this is gonna be mostly, if not all, positive, if i may add).

(also, quick little disclaimer, for anyone who sees this who doesn’t know of me(which, fair), yes i will be writing in italics the whole time — it’s just a thing i do. just letting y’all know now jandkdndjd.)

now, i’m sure we all know, or at least have heard of the superhero/villain fics, of which there are many, that us dream smp fic writers have latched onto. we all know of the fic that, while may not have invented it, has definitely popularized it — tommyinnit’s unbeatable method. while i myself have never read it fully — got a little bit too crack, for my personal tastes, and pure angst has never been my forte, either (but to each their own, of course!) — i cannot deny the effect it had on this fandom, and i, for one, absolutely love it.

i’m not here to simply talk about the super fics(which is what i shall be calling them from now on, for simplicity's sake) in general, however. no no, here, i want to focus on something specific, something that typically is the main thing that draws one in to this kind of fic.

that is to say, as i’m sure you already know if you’ve read the intro.. the identity reveal, as well as just plot twists in general.

now, i could really have used any sort of fandom to use as an example here, but the dream smp is the first fandom that comes to my mind when i think about this — plus, well, dsmp fics are the only kind of fics i’ve been reading recently, so.. haha, yeah.

so, let’s get this straight, right out of the bat — it’s incredibly obvious to a reader who exactly the supposedly hidden identities are supposed to be. most fic writers, and do note i say this with love, i promise; are not all that great with coming up with original names. when i read a fic, i know that siren is wilbur, that the blade/blood god is techno, and that the angel of death is philza. and while those are the most common names to see, there are more that alert one to their true identities, as well: orpheus, whippoorwill, jubilee, zepherus, crowfather..

(dude i looked so hard(not really) to find other common names ppl use for techno but i could not find any.. either they use blade/blood god or they’re using a unique name or something else that isn’t used much by people.. in which case kudos for them.)

that isn’t to say that most official superhero media have great names, though. i mean.. captain america? ironman? spider-man? batman? whole lot of blank-man’s..

but, well.. for the people who know the characters well(which, well.. if you’re reading the fic, chances are, you’re gonna know the characters), it’s pretty obvious who’s who from the get-go.

but..

that isn’t really.. the point of these fics.

while it isn’t unwelcome to be in the dark about certain people’s identities(or at the least, have semi-original names),, that’s not the point.

the point is to see how all the characters interact with each other.

and.. it’s to see how they react to the reveal.

because, while the reader may know who the character’s real identities, the characters themselves don’t. and that, folks, that’s why most of you lot read them.

if not because of their names, then the summary often clues you in on what exactly you’re reading — that is, typically, an identity reveal between either a civilian or vigilante tommy, and a hero or villain trio of techno, phil, and wilbur; with some sort of extra spice thrown in to make it unique. what that is can vary, either tommy and gang are some sort of experiments, or are otherwise wanted by a not-so-good group, or maybe a different, just-as-good(that is to say, not as good) group is causing mayhem, and everyone around them has to pick up the pieces while keeping secrets locked tight. maybe nothing is as it seems at first glance, or maybe tommy is a kid with a power who heals the wrong(or right) person.

there are a ton of ways you can take this to keep it from going stale — and even if a fic is just like those that come before it, well.. two cakes is always better than one, you know?

brief fic plugging aside, and to reiterate a previous point.. it’s the characters’ reactions that drive a fic forward, not just their secrets.

a great example of this in a popular media is in this show, i don’t know if you all would have heard of it, it’s called, uh.. lemme think real quick...... oh yes, the owl house.

jokes aside, the owl house does provide a wonderful example of what exactly i’m talking about. major spoilers for the show for the next few paragraphs, for those who haven’t watched it — which, i highly recommend doing so, for it is very good. the start is a bit weak, i will admit, but the rest of the show absolutely makes up for it. definitely gets better halfway through the first season, if not a bit earlier than that.

(warning this went of for way too long,, woops djndkdjd)

now — and forgive me if i get a couple details wrong, it’s been a hot second since i’ve seen the earlier episodes — in season two, luz, with amity’s help, comes across a book, one written by a human who was previously trapped in the demon realm, just like luz is currently — you know, after she destroyed the only portal door they had to keep belos, the show’s main antagonist, from getting his hands on it. and apparently, he was building a portal door to the human realm — and was presumably successful.

so over the next few episodes, they build up this human, named phillip wittebane, as a fairly nice and smart guy. mans is just trying to get home, you know? and as luz reads the book, she begins to idolize phillip a bit. she follows his instructions, and eventually, she manages to rebuild the portal.

it uh, fails.. but that’s a story for another day.

she goes back to the book, and finds out phillip needed to go consult this being called the collector — who is important but not to this essay — and luz assumes he needed to find him to help with the portal.

with help from her aunt, lilith, she manages to go back in time(don’t ask how that’s not important), and find phillip. they team up, and adventure to find this macguffin that’s used to summon the collector.

good news! they find the macguffin.

bad news? uh.. phillip, isn’t quite as nice as was first believed. in fact, he happily tries to sacrifice his new companions in order to get away with the macguffin.

the two manage to get away, and end up confronting phillip once more — which ends with lilith punching phillip in the face, hell yeah girl!

but once they return to their own time, well.. the show cuts back to phillip, and..

it’s revealed that he’s belos, who is, if i may reiterate, the show’s main antagonist.

fans theorized about this for a while now, but this was the first time it was confirmed.

but folks, we’re not done with the owl house talk yet!! (i promise this is relevant okay the toh talk will be over soon).

so, it was revealed to the audience that phillip was belos..

but the cast, all they know is that phillip is a bitch. for all they know, phillip was a human, and belos is a witch.

but this all changes when the episode hollow mind airs.

luz and hunter — the golden guard, belos’ right hand, and supposedly his nephew — end up traveling into belos’ mind(again don’t ask it’s not important).

they end up falling deeper into his mind, and find out all the terrible things belos has done(which absolutely crushes hunter’s mindset, as he was advocating for his uncle earlier, poor kid) — launch an attack on a witch town, claiming it was by wild witches; horrifically kill a bunch of witches with a test version of the sigil system(well, they were still alive when we last saw them, but they were in agony, and i wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up dying a while after), and literally murder his own fucking brother.

and if that wasn’t enough, turns out? he cloned said brother. and then had to kill that clone when they fell out of line. rinse and repeat for the next, oh,, four hundred fucking years.

icing on the cake? hunter is a clone — or a grimwalker, as the show calls it. which, in of itself is another great example of the fans knowing something before the characters, but if i touched in it deeper this section would be longer, and y’all probably came here for the dsmp talk,, jdnkdmidj.

anyway, luz ends up getting confronted by belos — or rather, inner belos, but if you haven’t seen the show you don’t need to worry about the difference — and this.. this is where he reveals his true identity to luz.

and were this a lesser show, this would probably be very underwhelming for fans. like, c’mon, dude, we already knew that, give us something new.

but, again.. this wasn’t a reveal for the fans. this was for the characters.

and by god, did they deliver on that.

luz, who was already kicking herself for idolizing the prick that was phillip, now has to deal with the fact that, not only was she idolizing belos, albeit his past self, but she also helped him.

so, all this to say.. plot twists don’t need to be a surprise to have a reaction.

now, i just accidentally made like half of this essay so far about owl house, which, in a thing that’s supposed to be for, well.. you know, not the owl house.. probably not a good thing?

so, well.. how about i spend the rest of this time talking about a fic that i believe handles plot twists really well — that is, both ones that a surprise to the audience, and ones that aren’t.

let’s talk about.. tommyinnit’s services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds by scorpionoesit.

that’s right, folks, this whole post was secretly an advertisement for vagabonds this whole time!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! YOU WERE FOOOOOOOOOOOOLED.

[coughs].

anyway.

in my opinion, vagabonds perfectly handles both types of twists.

for those who haven’t read it before, the TLDR of the fic is that tommy is just.. some guy, who ends up helping all sorts of people, be that civilians, vigilantes, the mafia.. even villains and heroes.

granted, we haven’t seen the latter two yet, but it’s only a matter of time!

and usually, these sorts of fics would have tommy have some sort of healing powers, like tommyinnit’s clinic for supervillans by bonesandthebees, which i linked earlier. but.. this fic doesn’t do that.

that isn’t to say fics that do have him use healing powers aren’t good — for one, have you seen tommyinnit’s clinic, or like- literally any other fic like it? and two, the last thing i want to do is talk down in writers for using tropes, even if they seem overused. once again, i’d like to bring attention to the two cakes theory.

but, i do have to admit.. it is refreshing.

i could explain his power, but tommy puts it together better than anyone could, over in the second chapter. the tldr of it, though, is information. which.. doesn’t sound all that good, until you see what he can get up to in the fic. i won’t spoil much(i say, knowing i’m going to spoil so many other things),, so if you’re really interested in knowing, and haven’t already, i’d say check out the fic!

and, just to state again, i’m gonna be going over some things that are spoilers for the fic, so either go and read the fic, or proceed with caution. and if you’ve already read the fic before, hell yeah!! take a peanut butter cookie.

now, as i’ve said before, there are some things — mainly characters — in this fic that are pretty obvious to a dream smp fan — which, as stated before, is not a bad thing.

there’s the vigilante orion, who’s stated to have a “large red cape” and a boar skull — who you can immediately pin down as techno from that description alone. and then, when tommy mentions a protégé of orion’s, who just know he’s talking about ranboo(technosensei for the winnnnn).

then we have masquerade, who, if not from his name(presumably being a reference to one of the tftsmp episodes), or his power(semi-time travel and portals), then by his outfit, we can say safely that he’s karl.

the hero marauder, even if you haven’t seen that name used for her before, is also pretty clear to be puffy, seeing that she’s stated to be dream’s mother.

and the author isn’t hiding their identities, either — in fact, they want you to know. because trust me, you’ll know when they’re attempting to hide it. or, well.. not quite hide it, but they aren’t giving any obvious clues, either.

jägerbomb is a villain that hasn’t shown up much, beyond a few mentions here or there, but even his identity can be found, if you know where to look. there’s the fact that jägerbomb is a type of cocktail, and the fact that, apparently, his power causes him to not be liked a lot by micheal(who, for those who don’t know, uh.. doesn’t have good parents, to say the least). all this to say, well.. there’s only one person in the dream smp that’s so obviously connected to alcohol. jschlatt.

schlatt, though, even through his minor appearances, can still be found out(unless we’re wrong but like.. [points at the villain jschlatt tag] we’re.. probably not). but, what if there’s a person who isn’t so obvious?

enter, geyser. or, sewage boy, as he’s more commonly known as.

at first glance, especially at the latter name, you’d probably think, like.. they’re charlie, right? which.. sounds plausible, until you take into account their power. manipulation of water — or, more specifically,, steam. which, well.. probably not charlie, then? especially considering he shows up later in chapter three, with.. you know, not steam powers.

when looking into at sewage boy’s identity by focusing purely on their powers, there’s.. not many people you could pin to them. maybe foolish, but, if anything, he’d be related to water, not steam. boomer, mayhaps? i don’t know much about him, but he’s like, some frog guy, right? again, still related to water, not steam. and while this fic was first posted a bit after he joined, i can only assume that it was planned out beforehand, so.. again, probably not him.

again, looking purely at their steam powers, or their name,, doesn’t really reveal anything about their identity.

but.. if you look deeper.. it can be done.

looking at their powers at the surface, as i’ve said before, doesn’t help much. but.. their powers isn’t just steam — or, well.. it is, but they can do more than just control steam.

specifically, in the fic, it’s said that they can, and i quote..

“..turn all the surrounding water...into steam so fast that the steam so fast that the expanding pressure could and would rupture every pipe in the vicinity with an explosion powerful enough to level every building in the area.”

and, i should mention, just a few paragraphs before that quote, he’s said to wear a trench coat.

folks, is there any sort of character that comes to mind when you think of explosions and trench coats?

that’s right, the one and only wilbur soot.

now, personally, when i first saw this theory, i shot it down real quick. knowing what we know about him and his son, fundy, back when chapter two first came out(which is it’s own can of worms), i thought it didn’t make too much sense. if wilbur wanted to protect fundy, yeah, i could see him being a villain, but.. wouldn’t it make more sense to just.. lay low?

but.. then i saw more and more evidence leaning towards it. the first two things i mentioned, as well as the fact that he is absolutely down to murder a kid because he might threaten his son’s safety — something i assume someone who is willing to become a villain would do.

plus, well.. all we know about wilbur’s power is that he needs to charge it, which.. makes sense if he needs to summon steam to use in a fight.

and then there’s the fact that both wilbur and fundy are a bit weird about sewage boy — specifically when wilbur finds out tommy and tubbo went to fight between orion and sewage boy.

“But the Lower is dangerous, Niki,” Wilbur argued. He glanced at Fundy for a second before continuing. “There was a massive villain attack just down the street last week!”

Fundy glared at him instantly. “Really, Dad? That’s your argument?”

…

“That attack was a major outlier, dude,” Tommy argued. “Besides, I was there, and I got away literally without a scratch.”

...

“You were what?” Wilbur yelped, at the same time Fundy yelled, “Wait, you guys actually went?!”

Tommy turned to Fundy, confused. “Yeah? We said we were going as we left, we weren’t exactly hiding it.”

Wilbur turned Fundy. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Fundy turned a fierce glare on his dad. “I’m sorry, I was a little busy freaking out over why the fuck Sewage Boy was in the Lower.”

...

Wilbur suddenly looked sheepish. “F-Fair point.”

so.. yeah, i am definitely on the side of sewage boy = wilbur soot now.

(also there’s the fact that villain wilbur is literally in the tags but shhhhhh this is the more fun way)

all this to say, well.. uhh. something something plot twists.

okay i’ll be honest this deviated a little bit from my original point but uh. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

and all of that,, is just the stuff from the first two chapters. and it’s not even everything there is. we’ve got tubbo’s stuff, i’ve only kind of mentioned ranboo, micheal is lovely, clementine is the best character, tommy’s got a whole thing, and.. [gestures at fundy] yeah.

and then there’s the stuff in the third chapter. this fic isn’t even done yet we’re not even halfway done yet.

i could go on for so long about this fic. like i didn’t even get into the non-superhero/villain related foreshadowed stuff. eret’s powers,, niki’s connections.. and like, duuuuuude i could ramble so much about the fucking implications of the peanut butter cookies. was thinking about those implications since like the first week of may.

but i’ve rambled for far to long, and at this point it’s only vaguely related to my original point. so i should really wrap this up by now, hahaha.

so, tldr.... the best plot twists and identity reveals aren’t always reliant on the audience being surprised as well, character reactions are important as well; the owl house is a good show, and read vagabonds.

[hollyoakhill]

do you have any tips on how to write a good oc? I just read your Intruder fic (it was absolutely amazing!!!!! thank u for blessing us all with that masterpiece) and one thing that really stood out to me was how 3-dimensional and well developed the characters were- their different personalities, the way they interacted with eachother, their behavior in relaxed vs stressful situations, all felt so real and genuine. I know it might be a complicated question, but how do you make your ocs feel real?

Aaa thank you, that is such high praise!

I'm not an expert, but I can go into a little detail of how I approach the creation of my characters. At the risk of this becoming lengthy, I'll put it all under the cut. None of these things will be one way of creating a character, so feel free to pick and choose these tips as you see fit!

1. Tropes are your friend!

It might be disheartening to realize that your character may fall into certain archetypes - the Mentor, the Cheerful Protagonist, the Angry Rival, the Silent Hunter, etc, but this is far from a bad thing. By being aware of what sort of archetype your character falls into, you can use it as a starting point to create some truly fun and memorable characters.

2. Consider what your character does

Do they have a job or some kind of duty? What kind of person do they need to be in order to do their job? Are they unemployed, and if they are, how do they choose to spend their time?

I like to think about this a lot because it helps inform a lot of their other interactions. A character who is used to being in action might get antsy in longer periods of quiet, or maybe they might relax entirely.

3. Your OC's Neighbor

Creating a character all by themselves can be rough. Sometimes all they need is a friend. I can confidently tell you that pretty much all of my characters exist because I started with one Main OC who just needed a friend (or enemy). Sometimes, creating one character means you have to create a whole family of them. This is where tropes will be super helpful again because it will save you the time and energy to work on the characters that matter to your narrative.

And hey, sometimes by creating a Neighbor to your Main OC, you open the door to create some of the most fun and memorable characters in your narrative. (Kitfox would not exist without Sunshine, and Frostbite would not exist without Kitfox.)

4. Play dollhouse with them

Just plop 'em in a scene! Any scene will do. Have one character ask a question and force your fresh baby OC to answer it. What do they say? Do they say nothing at all? Force them into a house with an exit guarded by fifty dogs and a shark. Now, toss a meteor in there. How do they respond to this new threat? Do they run for cover or do they perhaps have a loved one to rescue?

Honestly, anything goes. This is by far the most effective way to foster and nurture a new OC's personality. I've written countless scenes of a character in scenes that will never be 'canon' because it's all just a playground for them to grow.

I really can't overstate how useful this method is to me. To get you started out, here are some fun questions I like to start a scene with:

- "How the hell did you get in here?!"

- "Are you... bleeding, sir?"

- "I thought she was with you?"

- "Why would you let him into the restricted zone?"

- "When will the reinforcements arrive?"

- "Did you eat the last donut?"

5. Find your character's voice

This might be the trickiest thing when making a new character. It's something that might emerge as your write them more and get a feel for their personality. It kind of goes back into the point of playing dollhouse with your OC's a bit, to experiment and have some fun with the different ways your character sounds. Do they have a distinct accent, do they speak with clipped tones, are they quite short and stoic or are they loud and brash? How you write their dialogue will affect your character's personality a lot. Perhaps they don't speak at all? How do they communicate with others? This leads into my next point:

6. Find your character's mannerisms

Body language is probably one of the biggest factors in characterization. It's not just what a character says, but it's what they do as they say it. Do they gesticulate wildly, or are they sheepishly fiddling with the hem of their shirt?

"Where is the book?" he commanded, stepping briskly toward his men. His voice resounded in the massive chamber, the vibrations felt under the soles of their boots.

"Where is the book?" she smiled, gently brushing a blond lock from her face. She leaned against the counter with mild disinterest, but with shifty eyes that said that she was looking for something else.

A LOT of writing can be done outside of the quotation marks. Have fun with the things you add in there! Really, there's nobody stopping you.

Non-verbal characters are fun to write because it really makes you consider the way they move and behave around different people. Are they perhaps proficient in sign language or do they use different tools to communicate? Dialogue can sometimes be far more than just two characters speaking, and sometimes an interaction done without a single word uttered can be more powerful than a lengthy sonnet.

7. Pretend they're real

This might be a little silly, and this is definitely where you can choose to ignore it entirely. I like to keep things within the realm of naturalism. It means that these characters I create all have a hint of human, real-world flavor in them, no matter how whimsical or ridiculous they are.

What I mean in this case, are just simple, ordinary quirks that may or may not have any bearing on the narrative at all. Like, I'm talking just human, ordinary, flawed things, like bad habits, illnesses, mistakes, making stupid decisions... anything really. Sometimes this means having your superhero OC ordering pizza takeout because they're always too tired to do the dishes, your honorable paladin having a toy collection habit, or your witty, wisecracking Captain having depression (cough, cough, Kitfox). Does your character need to take meds? Do they have issues focusing on a subject for a long time? Do they have a gambling habit? These are all things that can affect how they interact with others, or how they behave themselves.

A lot of writing tips mention giving your characters a Flaw (hubris, arrogance, overprotectiveness, narcissism, etc.) It's a great writing principle, but it doesn't always work for me, because I feel like they can be too floaty when I still don't fully know how the OC works. That's why I like to work with this particular Human principle. Keep in mind, I'm not saying these things are Bad Things, but rather ordinary, human quirks that we have to deal with on a daily, and so does your OC.

///

Aaaaand I've been going on for a long time hahah. It seems I got a little carried away! Anyway, these are all things I like to think about when writing, and it's in no way peer-reviewed by other authors, so pick and choose these subjects as you see fit! Hope this helps and have fun OC-making!!

[obviouslygenuinely]

Free Resources For Writers & Creators

This is a quick post of free resources that may help fandom creators (or creators in general). I’m sure many of these have been shared before. However, it doesn’t hurt to spread the word. A few quick points:

As a professional writer, I think this post will cater mostly towards writers.

I’m also a freelance photographer, so digital photography/editing/art sources are included, too.

I chose not to use any affiliate links in my post. I don’t want to profit from this, and I’m not sure that’s allowed on Tumblr anyways. 

If I’ve listed a resource I haven’t used myself, I’ve made sure to state it. 

Masterlists and/or huge resource compilations are marked with asterisks.

Alright, here we go! I hope you all find this post helpful. Happy writing/creating! 

Research

All of these are free resources for research. I use most of them for my writing jobs because they are extremely credible. These are great for making accurate references in your fics/creations. 

1. ***Research Resources For Writers***

Writer’s Write has an enormous database of research resources for writers. They are divided into 20+ categories such as:

careers

historical research

crimes and forensics

religion

Each category contains 10+ resources like websites, articles, tips, databases, and so much more. It’s the most comprehensive and organized free research tool I use.

2. PubMed

My go-to source for citing medical studies. You’ll find 30 million citations related to numerous physical and mental health issues. 

3. BioMed Central

I don’t use this website as often, but I keep it in my bookmarks. It’s similar to PubMed - great for discovering current and former medical research. 

4. Drugs.com

If you need to name a medication and/or refer to medication side effects, Drugs.com is a straightforward resource. It’s easy to navigate and understand. 

It also has a tool that lists potential medication interactions. This is really useful for accurate descriptions of med combinations. 

5. Merck Manuals Consumer Version

Merck Manuals started out in 1899 as a medical reference guide for professionals. This consumer version is really comprehensive and updated regularly. It includes definitions, studies, and more. 

6. FindLaw

If you’re writing about legal topics, FindLaw is useful for learning about laws/procedures in reader-friendly language. Categories include:

accidents/injuries

criminal law

family law (divorce, custody, etc.)

Keep in mind that laws vary based on location! You’ll often find additional links to state-related laws within articles. I do recommend double-checking state/location-based legal resources for accuracy. 

7. APA Dictionary of Psychology

This psychology dictionary is provided by the American Psychological Association. It covers 90+ areas of psychology and 25,000+ terms/definitions. 

You’ll also find links to additional psychology databases, resources, and so on. The website is updated frequently to provide updated information.

8. U.S. Bureau Of Labor Statistics

If you’re writing about a character’s job/career in the United States, this is a great source for accuracy. For any job sector, you’ll find details about

education requirements

positions in the sector

average salary for positions

what the positions entail 

I imagine there are alternatives for other countries, too! 

9. Investopedia Financial Term Dictionary

My area of expertise is personal finance; all of my writing published under my name is in this niche. I still refer to Investopedia’s dictionary for help. It’s excellent for understanding/explaining financial terms in a way that your reader can understand. 

10. MedTerms Medical Dictionary

This is the medical version of Investopedia’s dictionary. I use this source less frequently, but I find that it’s accurate and helpful. There are many similar references online if you search for “medical glossaries” or “medical dictionaries”. 

11. Domain Authority Checker

I’m not sure if this one is too helpful for fic writers, but it’s one of my most used tools. Domain authority “a search engine ranking score developed by Moz that predicts how likely a website is to rank on search engine result pages (SERPs)”.

The Wikipedia page for domain authority (DA) explains it clearly and simply. To sum it up, websites with good DA scores are considered reliable and accurate. If I cite sources in my work. I always link to sources with good DA scores. 

Writing/Editing

This section is the most thorough one. All of these are completely free tools for writing and editing any type of content. I currently use or have used all of these at some point in my career. 

1. ***List Of Free And Open-Source Software Packages***

This Wikipedia page applies to multiple categories in my post. It’s a masterpost of free and open-source software for anything and everything. Software is divided up into categories and sub-categories. Some relevant examples include:

media

networking/Internet

image editing

file management

There are hundreds of free software links on the page, so you’ll need to do a bit of browsing. Start with the categories above to find software geared towards writers/creators. 

2. OpenOffice

This is a free alternative to Microsoft Office. I’ve used it for nine years and love it. OpenOffice software includes free applications for:

text documents

spreadsheets

presentations

drawing

templates

There are many more tools with OpenOffice that I haven’t used. If you write offline, I cannot recommend it enough. Tutorials are readily available online, and the software is pretty user-friendly. 

3. Evernote

I briefly used Evernote and found that it’s very user-friendly and helpful. Most of my colleagues use Evernote and recommend it for taking notes/staying organized.

(I’m personally not a fan of note-taking software or apps. My method is messy text documents with bullet point lists.)

4. Google Drive

This might seem like an obvious one, but Google Drive/Docs is my writing haven. It has the tools included with Microsoft Office and OpenOffice and then some. It’s great for collaborative writing/sharing documents, too. 

5. Grammarly

I use the Premium (paid) version of Grammarly, but I also used the free version for years. It’s helpful for detecting simple spelling, style, and grammatical errors. 

There are numerous ways to use it - desktop, copy/paste documents, and so on. I’m not a huge fan of how well it works with Google Docs, but they’re improving it/it’s moved out of beta mode. 

If you’re interested in the paid version - which I highly recommend -  wait to buy until a holiday pops up. They offer a major discount on the software for almost every holiday/special occasion. 

6. Plagiarism Detector

This website is handy for scanning for plagiarism. You can scan your own work to ensure uniqueness, too. My clients are big fans of this tool. 

(I no longer use this resource; I use a paid tool called Copyscape Premium. The low cost has a big return on investment for me.) 

7. TitleCase

The name says it all. It’s free and simple! I’ll be honest - I’m terrible with proper title case. You’d think after a decade of writing I’d nail it. However, I use this tool pretty often. 

8. Hemingway Editor

Hemingway Editor is an online and desktop editor. It’s excellent for scanning your writing to check for:

readability (a grade-level score is listed)

adverb usage

passive voice usage

complex phrase usage

estimated reading time

This tool is color-coded to make editing easy. For example, adverbs are highlighted in blue. I don’t use this as often as I used to, but it was essential for my early writing career. 

9. Polish My Writing

This tool is very straightforward. You paste your writing into the text box. Spelling errors, grammar suggestions, and style suggestions are highlighted in red, blue, and green. 

It’s great for double-checking your work alongside Grammarly or Hemingway. When using free editors, I recommend using at least two for higher accuracy. 

10. OneLook Reverse Dictionary And Thesaurus 

I’m going to use the definition directly from the website:

“This tool lets you describe a concept and get back a list of words and phrases related to that concept. Your description can be anything at all: a single word, a few words, or even a whole sentence. Type in your description and hit Enter (or select a word that shows up in the autocomplete preview) to see the related words.” 

To put it simply, you can use the reverse dictionary/thesaurus to find those words/thoughts that are on the tip of your tongue. Use the tool to:

find a word based on the word’s definition (i.e. search for “inability to feel pain”)

find synonyms and related concepts 

generate a list of category-specific words (i.e. search for “cat breeds”)

answer basic questions (i.e. search for “what is the capital of France?”)

The results can be hit or miss, but I usually find the information I’m looking for. It’s a solid resource any writer regardless of genre. 

11. Word Frequency Counter +  Phrase Frequency Counter

I cannot emphasize how much I love these tools. Repetition is the bane of a writer’s existence; it’s simply inevitable at times. 

These two tools count the number of times you use a single word or phrase in a text document. Just copy/paste your document, hit submit, and you’re all set! 

For the phrase frequency counter, you can scan for two-word to ten-word phrases. 

12. Thesaurus.com

This is another tool that might seem painfully obvious. Combined with the word frequency counter, it’s such an essential resource for me. 

It’s especially useful if you’re writing about the same topic multiple times (i.e. love, getting drunk, sex, etc.). I always use this combo of tools to ensure uniqueness. 

13. Lists Of Colors

Are you stumped when trying to come up with unique shades of blue? Is describing your character’s hair or skin color difficult? This Wikipedia page has you covered. It contains:

lists of colors (alphabetically)

lists of colors by shade

lists of Crayola crayon colors

lists of color palettes

I typically use this resource for product descriptions, but I also used it for creative writing many times. It’s a lifesaver for all things color-related.

Free Photos/Images

Tons of creators need free photos/images for numerous reasons. All of these sources provide 100% free photos, illustrations, etc. that have a Creative Commons Zero (CC0) license. This means there’s no copyright whatsoever on them. 

You can edit the images however you’d like, too. All of the images in my post are from the first source listed below. I made them black and white and added text.

(A lot of these sites have donate buttons for contributors. Donating a dollar here and there goes a long way!)

1. Unsplash

Unsplash is my personal favorite for high-resolution photos. It’s easy to navigate and has over 2,000,000 free images. Downloading an image is a one-click process, and you don’t need to create an account. 

2. Pixabay

Pixabay is my go-to site for illustrations and vector graphics (they have photos, too). There are 1.9 million free images to choose from. You don’t need an account to download images, but I recommend creating one. It’s free and with an account:

you don’t have to complete a CAPTCHA every time you download an image

you can access higher-quality/larger/etc. versions of images

I often use graphics from Pixabay to create overlays and masks for mixed media art pieces.

3. PxHere

I’ve never used PxHere, but one of my writing clients recommends it. It seems very similar to Pixabay, and the interface is user-friendly.

4. Pexels

In my limited experience, Pexels seems to focus on “artsy” stock images/content. I found great high-quality images the few times I’ve used it. 

5. Burst by Shopify

I haven’t used Burst, but it’s another free image site that a writing client recommended to me. It seems a little limited compared to the other sites, but it never hurts to add it to your toolbox!

Digital Art/Photo Editing/Etc.

This section seems brief, but the tools listed are pretty comprehensive and diverse. They are geared towards many creative needs/projects like:

Creating manips of people/etc.

Adding text to images.

Creating collages.

Digital illustration.

Advanced photo editing. 

There’s something for everyone. In my experience, finding your favorites among these will take some trial and error. 

1. Pixlr X and Pixlr E (app available)

Pixlr X and Pixlr E are both versatile free editing tools. Pixlr X is ideal for less experienced creators. Pixlr E is comparable to Adobe PhotoShop. 

I’ve used both software formats for personal and professional art projects.

The Pixlr app is handy for making collages, adding filters/overlays, adding text, and so on. I’ve used it for creating fanfiction collages and similar projects. It’s super easy to use. 

2. Remove Background by Pixlr

This is one of the easiest/fastest tools I’ve found for removing backgrounds from images. It’s perfect for creators who make manips using photos of people. 

It takes literal seconds to use. The tool automatically removes the background. If you spot any mistakes, you can refine the results with brush/erase tools. Then you download the cutout and you’re all set! 

Unfortunately, this feature isn’t available on the Pixlr app. There are a lot of smartphone apps for removing photo backgrounds.

3. GIMP

If you need a full-fledged Photoshop alternative, GIMP is excellent software.  It’s not an online tool like most I’ve suggested; you’ll need to download it to your computer. 

There’s quite a learning curve for it, unless you’re familiar with Photoshop already. Fortunately, the free video/text GIMP tutorials online are endless. I no longer use/need GIMP, but it’s a personal favorite of mine.

4. Paint.NET

Admittedly, I haven’t used Paint.NET, but my art/photography colleagues commonly mention it. It’s comparable to Photoshop and GIMP. It’s a web-based tool, and a quick Google search returns several tutorials for it. 

5. Photopea

This is more or less a Photoshop clone, but it’s free and web-based. If you watch Photoshop tutorials, you can usually follow the same steps in PhotoPea. 

I’ve only used it a few times; I have Photoshop so I don’t need it. Still, it’s very impressive - especially for a free tool.

6. PicsArt (app available)

PicsArt is a photo editing website and app; the app is much easier to use in my opinion. It’s a “fun” editing tool for photo manips, collages, and fan art in general. A lot of users post their art in the app, and I’ve noticed tons of cool fandom edits. 

Some of the features are Premium (AKA cost money), but I don’t think they’re worth the extra cost. PicsArt also has a digital drawing app. I haven’t personally used it but it may be worth checking out! 

7. Adobe Photoshop Express (app available)

(I’ll preface this by saying I have an Adobe subscription, so I have access to the “locked” features. I’ve used the free versions, but my memory of it is a bit hazy.)

Photoshop Express is a free web-based tool and smartphone app. The app is very user-friendly and can be used for detailed editing, adding filters, adding text, and so on. 

I’m less familiar with the browser version; I only use it for the cutout tool when I’m feeling lazy. It seems to be a good fit for quick edits - filters, cropping, and so on. 

8. Make PNG Transparent by Online PNG Tools

This tool is awesome for removing solid colored backgrounds. I use it to create graphics for mixed media art pieces. Here’s how it works:

upload an image

type the color your want to remove (name or hex code)

type the percentage of similar color tones you want to match (for example, 25% will remove your chosen color plus similar warm/cool tones)

the removed color is replaced with transparent pixels

If you want to make a JPG transparent, start with the website’s JPG to PNG Converter. There are a ton of useful free tools offered, but I haven’t tried out most of the others. 

Wrap Up

That’s all I’ve got for now! If I think of additional free tools, I’ll add them to this post. Feel free to reblog with your own recommendations or message me if you’d like me to add anything.

I hope my fellow creatives find these too

[intheticklecloset]

Say Stop (World Trigger)

YES HI @skribblz I DID A THING LOL

Summary: When Yuma steals his phone, Osamu attempts to tickle it back from him. However, he quickly learns that tickling Yuma Kuga is not like tickling anyone else.

A/N: I've never in my life posted a fic all seven days in a week but I got majorly inspired and I don't want to wait to share this so HERE! TAKE IT NOW! (plus I just learned that it's Yuma's birthday today so like that worked out really well lol)

I'm still in the first half of the first season of the anime, so please forgive anything that may be incorrect in this fic. I just really, really wanted to do this for skribblz and I got hit with major inspiration to write it last night so I just kind of let the momentum carry me to this point of posting it. Hopefully it's still good even if it's not 100% accurate! <3

Word Count: 1,233

~~~

“Osamu? Hello?” Yuma waved his hand in the air, hoping to get his friend’s attention. “Hello? Hey, Osamu!”

But Osamu was too busy staring at his phone, absorbed in a news article he was reading about the latest Neighbor attack. He didn’t even hear his smaller friend, let alone see him.

Yuma frowned, hummed, then snatched the phone from the dark-haired boy’s hands in a flash, holding it behind his back so Osamu would have no choice but to focus on him, even if for only a moment. “Hey.”

“What the—?” Osamu blinked, taking a second to meet Yuma’s gaze. “Why’d you do that?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. You just kept looking at your phone.”

“Oh…sorry.” The taller boy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you. I was just reading something.”

Yuma pulled the phone out from behind his back and scanned the article briefly. “Reading stuff like this isn’t going to help you, you know.”

“I know. I just like to be informed.” Osamu held out his hand. “Can I have it back now?”

Yuma blinked up at him, then shrugged and pocketed the phone in his hoodie. “No.”

“What – what do you mean no? That’s my phone.”

“No more doomsday stuff. You need to stop worrying so much,” Yuma said easily, continuing to walk along as if nothing had happened. “I’m keeping this at least until you get home.”

“But…we have training today!”

“I’m aware.”

Osamu stared at Yuma. He almost couldn’t believe his friend was acting like this, but on the other hand, it was totally in his character to do something like steal his phone. The kid was definitely a mystery, but he still wanted his device back.

“Give it back, Yuma,” he said, a little more firmly this time. He stopped walking to enunciate his point. “Please.”

Yuma stopped as well, turning to look up at him. For a moment he just stood there, regarding Osamu with his calculating eyes. Then he smirked. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Osamu frowned. He considered the question, then decided his best course of action was to act fast and talk later. He plunged his hand into Yuma’s hoodie pocket, grabbing for his stolen phone.

Yuma yelped and started squirming. “Ah! Wahahahait – hey!” He twisted away from his friend’s attempts to wrestle the phone back and clutched his chest, panting a little. “Jeez, you don’t have to attack me or anything.”

Osamu didn’t reply. He was too hung up on why Yuma had giggled like that. Was this all just a game to him? One he knew Osamu couldn’t possibly win? Or was it…

Suddenly it clicked. His eyes widened. “Are you ticklish?”

“Of course.” Yuma said it like it should have been obvious.

“I didn’t know Neighbors could be ticklish.”

“Most of us are people, just like you. I’ve already told you that. We eat and drink and sleep just like you. Why shouldn’t we also be ticklish?”

“I…I guess so.” Osamu blinked, eyed the front of Yuma’s hoodie again, and moved in a second time. “In that case, I think I know how to get my phone back.”

Yuma clutched the openings on either side of his pocket, anticipating Osamu would go for his device straightaway once more. Instead, he ended up bursting into giggles when the taller boy grabbed onto his sides and squeezed up and down rapidly.

“Hehehehehey! Whahahahat are you dohohohoing?”

“Tickling you, obviously.” Osamu grinned. He wasn’t even thinking about his phone anymore. It was fun just to hear his smaller friend laugh.

“Okay, buhuhuhuhuhut why?” Yuma didn’t sound at all bothered by the situation, despite his cackling and squirming.

“Well, at first it was to get my phone back.” Osamu smirked. “But now I’m kind of doing just because I want to.”

Tickling Yuma wasn’t at all like tickling a normal person, Osamu quickly realized. Sure, the kid laughed and struggled now and then, but he never protested in the slightest, never really tried to get away. He certainly wasn’t trying to turn the tables, either. It was at once an enlightening and slightly disappointing experience.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to stop?” Osamu finally asked.

“Why shohohohohould I?” Yuma giggled.

“Because…well, isn’t it driving you crazy?”

“Nohohohohohot really.”

Of course it wasn’t. Osamu blinked. “Is it bothering you at all? Like, don’t you even kind of want to get away?”

“Nohohohoho. Tihihihihickling is fuhuhuhun.” Yuma suddenly grabbed Osamu’s wrists to pry him off, and the taller boy stopped without hesitation. He looked up at his friend. “Do you want me to want to get away?”

“I…I don’t know.” Osamu frowned. “Usually when humans are tickled it’s just a natural instinct to want to squirm away or fight back or…or something. Even people who like it end up saying stop eventually.”

“Ah.” Yuma nodded seriously. “So if I want to fit in with humans, I should ask you to stop when you tickle me?”

Osamu was at a complete loss. He struggled to find the words to explain. “W-Well, no, I mean…if you like it – if you’re not bothered by it – then I don’t see why you should have to say stop if you don’t want to. It’s just…” He huffed out a sigh. “I was going to use it to convince you to let me have my phone back, but if tickling has no effect on you that way, then…”

Yuma blinked. “Is it a torture method?”

“No! I mean – I mean it kind of used to be, in the past, but…” Osamu groaned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. “Agh, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“…humans have a weird way of looking at tickling.”

“Well, how do you see it?”

“It’s just fun.” Yuma shrugged. “Not all Neighbors enjoy it, but I don’t mind. It’s fun and relaxing and a good way to bond with someone.”

Osamu put his glasses back on. “So you just…let people tickle you for as long as they want?”

“Oh, certainly not. I’m very capable of stopping people when I’m no longer interested.”

“But you never say stop?”

“I have no need to.” Yuma tilted his head. “Osamu, if you tickle me again, I can ask you to stop rather than force you to if you’d like.”

All of a sudden Osamu’s mind latched onto something else his smaller friend had just said. “Wait…when you’re no longer interested? You just get bored?”

“No. I reach my limit, as everyone does eventually.”

“So…” The taller boy couldn’t help but smirk again, hopeful. “Do you have a spot that makes you reach that limit quickly?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

Yuma opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked up at Osamu with those calculating red eyes of his once more, then smirked, shrugged, and turned his back. “Why don’t you find out, and I’ll tell you to stop when I’m done?”

Well, Osamu certainly wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by. He wrapped Yuma in a bear hug from behind, digging his fingers into his sides once more, enjoying the squealing giggles that erupted from the smaller boy in waves. He grinned. Tickling Yuma was certainly different from tickling anyone else, but he had a feeling he’d learn to enjoy it just as much.

[whentherewerebicycles]

hello anon!! okay, this is going to be a very long post, so buckle up. standard caveat: since i don’t know the specifics of your topic or discipline or situation, some of this will hopefully be relevant and some of it might not, so just grab what works for you and leave the rest! and if you have more specific questions that this general overview doesn’t touch on, feel free to send those in.

it sounds like you have a few different questions here:

How do I find and articulate my research question?

How do I effectively take notes on my background reading in the early stages, when I’m not sure yet what my argument is going to be?

How do I organize a long research project/paper? How do I conceptualize something that has so many moving parts & happens to be a genre (a thesis) that I’ve never written before?

How do I write something that long? 

also I am not sure if by “diss” you mean a senior thesis, master’s thesis, or a doctoral dissertation, as I know US and non-US universities use different terminology! so I will kinda just respond to this as A Very Lengthy Research Paper.

my response here will focus mostly on that first question (how to find/articulate a research question), with some thoughts at the end about notetaking in the early stages of a big research project. I’m going to lay out a method I just used with my own students to help them articulate questions & generate possible lines of inquiry to follow. I have been calling it the ‘research tier’ activity/system but it’s a pretty basic way of mapping out possible directions for a project. I use some version of this for every big project I undertake - whether it’s academic work, planning a course syllabus, or writing fic.

I want to emphasize, before I start, that the “tier” map you construct is a LIVING document, not a set-in-stone plan that has to be finished before you begin. the goal is to get past the anxiety of the blank page by generating tons and tons of ideas and questions related to your central topic -- so that if you hit a dead end, you can trace your way back and follow a different line of inquiry. when i am working on a research project, i am continually updating this planning document (i’ll say more about that at the end, once you have a sense of what the tiers look like).

Those questions are geared towards my students, who are working more in social science-y disciplines and/or on projects that have clear connections to specific communities. If you are writing a more traditional humanities discipline, here are some other examples:

I’m interested in...

the romance novel as a genre

Virginia Woolf’s writings on nature/the environment

the cultural reception and impact of the TV show Will & Grace

what queer social life looked like in 1920s New York

play and playfulness in the college classroom (my current research project, which I’ll use as an example)

once you have some idea of your focus, you can begin generating questions related to that focus. “Tier 2″ begins to get slightly more specific, though you are still very much in “big picture” mode. here’s some sentence stems I give my students to help them generate tier 2 questions:

my students are doing research projects that are ideally supposed to develop out of their preexisting community involvements or commitments, so i give them this additional advice:

[note: if your thesis topic is in a social science-y discipline (or a humanities discipline that leans closer to the social sciences), you can probably use some of those ideas or prompts. if your thesis topic is more of a purely academic humanities-type topic (for instance, a literary studies thesis about a specific novel), not all of those will apply perfectly, but some will hopefully be useful still!]

here’s an example, again using my playfulness project. I’ll list the question and then below it, in italics, I’ll explain what ‘stirred up’ that question for me.

T2: What are some core preoccupations or big-picture questions I want to explore? What are some things I’ve noticed that I want to understand?

Core Question 1: Why are college classrooms so serious? Why is there so little playfulness in most college teaching? Why so little laughter, movement, fun?

Observing my friend’s kindergarten classes made me realize how much elementary educators rely on bright colors, movement, singing, playing imaginative games together, etc. to engage young learners’ imaginations, minds, and bodies. Why do we value that so much in elementary education, but stop considering it important in college classes? Do learners “age out” of a need for highly interactive, engaging learning? I suspect no... so that’s a hunch I can begin to follow. 

Observing other college courses (and drawing on my own experience as an undergrad and grad student) made me realize how much educators rely on the same standard methods of teaching (lecturing with a discussion section; a version of Socratic seminar discussion that is primarily led by the professor). To me, these methods are antithetical to playfulness and tend to quash people’s ability or desire to playfully experiment, try things out, risk failure, etc. I wonder if the actual methods we use to teach content or to structure our classes are producing ‘serious’ classes, whether or not we personally as instructors want that to happen. That’s another hunch I could follow...

I’m thinking of a possible connection here to my past research on the origins of English literature as a discipline (in 1920s-30s England). One of the things that scholars often emphasize is how hard faculty had to work to transform English into a serious, rigorous, ‘legitimate’ discipline, akin to the hard sciences. That’s something that I think we still see today in the way people anxiously defend the value of a humanities education. I’m curious about whether the need to justify our existence as a discipline/field of study influences our methods of teaching college students. Do we banish playfulness from the classroom because it threatens that image of the humanities as a serious, rigorous discipline? That’s yet another hunch I could follow... 

Core Question 2: I have a hunch that people learn better in playful environments. Is that true -- and if so, why? What is it about playfulness that enhances learning?

I’m a lifelong fangirl, and fandoms are creative environments where people are continually engaged in acts of imaginative play. I’ve observed and have experienced firsthand how these playful environments seem to encourage people to try new things, take creative risks, learn new skills even if they’re afraid they’ll be ‘bad’ at them, and commit huge amounts of time, energy, and passion to long-term creative projects that don’t make any money or ‘earn’ them a grade. I’m curious about how we might adapt the playful, passionate energy of fan spaces to college teaching.

In my own classrooms, I’ve noticed that students get so much more into the activity (and seem to internalize the content more deeply) when I frame it as an imaginative exercise, a roleplaying activity, or a game of some kind. Teaching the same content in a way that encourages playfulness seems to produce deeper engagement (and deeper learning?) than using the traditional methods of ‘serious’ teaching.

Core Question 3: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? Could it help build a sense of community in the classroom and strengthen students’ sense of belonging? This question feels especially urgent to me given the epidemic of self-reported loneliness, anxiety, and depression on college campuses. 

*

You can have lots more than 3 core questions/preoccupations! In fact, the more ideas you can generate at this stage the better. The idea isn’t to hone in on your research question (yet) but to generate as many possible paths you could take, so that you can begin evaluating which interest you most, or which seem like the most fruitful questions to explore/answer. Doing the idea-generating for Tier 2 should already begin to set you up for Tier 3 -- which involves articulating specific sub-questions you’ll need to answer to better understand or answer those core questions/preoccupations.

and then we’ll go ahead and fold in T4, as I tend to move back and forth between T3/T4 as I brainstorm.

I’ll just take one of my Tier 2 questions as an example, but again, you can/should do this for all of yours (or at least the ones that interest you most).

Core question: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? etc etc

T3 subquestions (with T4 “directions for inquiry” folded into the first one, so you can see an example):

-- SubQ1 Does play actually strengthen social bonds? If so, how? Are specific kinds of play better for this than others (ie, collaborative or cooperative play compared to competitive play)? With Tier 4 folded in:

Do a library database search to try to figure out where “play” research typically happens -- is it in psychology research? Neuroscience? Early childhood education?

Then begin searching for different keyword strings that might help me gather up initial sources. Some initial ideas: play + social bonding, play + social skills, play + social development, play + cooperation, play + friendship, play + mental health. (Typically finding a couple useful/relevant articles will help you generate better keywords -- as you can begin to see the kinds of terminology that researchers use to describe your topic.)

I could also maybe interview college students themselves, or design a survey - but that would depend on the type of research I want to do. Do I want to conduct my own original research study, or is my focus more on synthesizing existing research from different fields to construct an argument? 

Could I find faculty or researchers who work on these topics, who might be able to direct me to specific resources or help me understand what kind of work has already been done on this topic? Maybe I can’t find someone who specifically researches playfulness, but an educational researcher whose work focuses on social-emotional learning would probably have a pretty good understanding of what features or pedagogical choices help create positive, affirming learning environments.

-- SQ2: Are college students lonely?

Are they reporting (or do they experience) higher rates of mental illness? What are the numbers on this?

What are some of the prevalent theories or hypotheses about why this is? Could social isolation or difficulty forming friendships be a possible contributing factor?

-- SQ3: Why are social bonds good for us - physically, mentally, emotionally?

-- SQ4: Do social bonds enhance learning? If so, how?

What if I looked to other non-academic learning environments (such as fandoms, team sports or group activities, etc where people are learning new skills in highly social settings) to make a case for playfulness in the college classroom? This isn’t direct 1:1 proof that “more playfulness in college classrooms = happier, more socially well-connected students,” but offering detailed descriptions of how those learning environments are structured might spark ideas for my audience (university instructors and administrators) or persuade them that playfulness has an important social-emotional role to play in college learning.  

*

Typically what ends up happening is I produce a huge, messy document (or fill a giant paper or whiteboard if I’m doing it by hand) that has tons and tons of different directions I might follow. usually, the initial process of creating this giant brainstorming document sparks lots of ideas for where to begin researching. then, as i go off and begin reading articles, those articles typically help flesh out my understanding of the core questions or concepts i’m interested in, or my understanding of what kind of research on this topic already exists vs. where the gaps are that my own work might be able to fill. that initial source-gathering phase of research will also usually spark new questions and sub-questions, which get added to my tier map.

having some kind of messy brainstorming map/plan also helps me read in a more focused way. instead of just opening a random article and skimming it without any clear sense of what i’m looking for, i’m now opening articles and reading them with a purpose -- i’m looking for answers to the specific questions i’ve articulated. so i can skim in a more focused way, looking for specific keywords that seem relevant, and i can also take notes in a more focused way, noting down key ideas that

having a question in mind can also help me figure out more quickly if the article is relevant to my research questions or not. for instance, let’s say i open an article about how playing competitive games in high school PE classes improve students’ self-reported moods. if i didn’t know what i was reading for, i might spend a lot of time on this article, trying to figure out if it was relevant to my research (it has the keywords, right? so maybe it’s relevant?). but if i am reading with a specific question in mind (“Do collaborative learning games help strengthen students’ sense of social connection?”) I can tell pretty quickly that this article is not going to be that useful, since it focuses on competitive physical games (probably not something I’ll integrate into an English class). so I can say with some confidence, “I probably don’t need to read this whole thing, but maybe I’ll check out their lit review section or their bibliography to see if the authors cite any other work on play/playfulness that might be more relevant to my specific questions.” 

i think i’ve kinda started to answer your second question about notetaking here, too, so i will also say that in the early stages of a big research project, i am absolutely NOT taking detailed notes on any of the sources i find. my focus is much more on amassing a large pool of highly relevant sources that i know i’m going to want to go back to and read more deeply as my research questions come into sharper focus. this is because deep reading burns through a lot of time and energy, so i want to make sure i’m saving that deep reading energy for sources that are quite likely to be relevant to my project. 

to figure out if a source is relevant, I often skim the abstract and introduction to figure out the core questions the article or chapter is seeking to answer. then I ask myself three questions:

Are the core questions of this article the same as (or very similar to) my core questions or subquestions? If so, mark this citation as HIGHLY relevant - I’m going to want to come back and read this source carefully, to see if it’s already suggested answers to the questions I’m asking. 

Do the core questions of this article seem to resonate with my core questions, even if we’re not asking them in exactly the same way, or the author of this paper is applying them to a different field? If so, mark this citation as LIKELY relevant - it may not be a perfect 1:1 with my own questions, but that can sometimes spark exciting new ideas or ways of reframing my original questions. If not, toss it.

Do the questions this article is asking suggest new questions or lines of inquiry that I am interested in exploring? Sometimes an article will introduce me to a whole new area of research or a new array of questions I hadn’t even originally thought to explore. If that’s the case, I typically pencil those sub-questions into my brainstorming tier document and mark the source as LIKELY or HIGHLY relevant, depending on how excited i am about it. 

OK I WILL CLOSE HERE FOR NOW as I have to get back to work, but I will say that when I taught my students this method, they were very confused by the initial explanation of it, but then when they went back and used the models to work through the tier brainstorming activity for themselves, they seemed to find it really useful. so if you are scratching your head, try doing a quick TIER 1 - TIER 2 - TIER 3 - TIER 4 map for your own research question to see if doing it yourself helps clarify. also: if you can’t get further than tier 2, it’s usually a sign that you need to do some more reading and freewriting about the questions that you’re curious about, or the gaps you’ve noticed in the scholarship, or the threads you’d like to follow. but you can do some of that background reading in a more focused way now, using your initial big questions to help guide your selection of background readings & give you a sense of purpose as you read.

[amillionsmiles]

in your bedroom after the war (Dick/Artemis)

Title: in your bedroom after the war Summary: As far as coping mechanisms go, Artemis could be doing worse. At least her method has a gymnast’s ass. / Post-Invasion, pre-Outsiders. Rated M.  A/N: I have one (1) agenda and that is messy grieving fuck buddies who are each other’s ride-or-dies. if you are not into fic that sits squarely in sad feral horny territory, then this is probably not your speed.

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.  

| GOTHAM

| JANUARY 14, 2017; 12:05 AM EST

Artemis is a bit heavier than she was in her teenage years, but her feet land lightly on the fire escape by the window. An hour ago, she’d called her mom from Metropolis, promising she’d be home by midnight. Ever since her daughter faked her death a year ago, Paula Nguyen has become even more of a worrywart, and Artemis knows that the five minutes she’s running late are going to cause her to receive an earful.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in this neck of the woods.” A familiar figure drops from the roof above onto the rung below her.

“Nightwing.”

She’s not surprised that he’s been keeping tabs. Officially, he’s been on a leave of absence for the past six months, but Dick, like her, is vigilant in his grief.

She’d come back to Gotham because it put her closer to Metropolis and Beta Squad’s continued investigation of LexCorp, but the truth is that she could have Zeta-tubed from Palo Alto easily. Their—her—apartment had been no good though, not without Wally. So she’d left most of her things in storage to figure out later and moved back in with her mom. On days when Artemis can’t muster the energy to get out of bed, Paula wheels determinedly around the kitchen, ready to whip up some mì xào  or a warm bowl of  mì gói.  They play card games and laugh about how bad Wally was at tiến lên the first time Paula tried to teach him. Your boy has no patience, he always wants to play his strongest cards right away, her mom had teased, and Wally had protested, I make it a rule to always put my best foot forward! and Artemis had loved him even more then.

Loved. Loves. She hates the past tense.

“I mean, were you ever going to ask me to grab coffee?”

She can see the bits of Wally in his cracks. In a room together, it was always easy to tell they were best friends from the way they riffed off each other. The acrobat and the speedster: all verbal gymnastics and fast-moving quips. But unlike Wally, who liked poking fun because he liked getting attention, Dick is at his wittiest when trying to avoid talking about himself.

Artemis reaches out and pulls him to sit down beside her. She makes a show of looking at her watch.

“How’s… 12:15 AM this Saturday?”

Dick pretends to check it against his mental schedule. If his is anything like hers, it probably goes: Wake up. Exercise (beating up bad guys counts). Mourn.

“Yeah, seems like I can swing it.”

“Perfect,” says Artemis, sliding up the glass panes to let them into her childhood bedroom. “I’ve got just the stuff.” 

*

In the kitchen, Brucely stirs briefly from his dog bed to sniff the air and  yip, then curls back asleep. Paula hands Dick a mug, waiting for him to take a sip before saying, “So you were the one who had the brilliant plan to have my daughter fake her death.” 

Dick splutters; from the table, Artemis rises to his defense. “Mom,” she says. “Leave him be.”

Setting his cup down, Dick leans against the cabinets, bending his head slightly and rubbing the back of his neck. He does a good job of appearing chastised, and Artemis wants to roll her eyes, if only because she’s heard from Bette and Raquel that this pose is far too effective at convincing women to want to forgive him or try again.

“I’m not leading much of anything these days, if that’s at all a comfort to you.”

“Hmph.” Paula sniffs. “You live alone?”

“Yeah.” Dick shoots Artemis a questioning look over her mom’s head. Artemis shrugs.

“What do you do to fill the time?”

“A lot of reading. Gotham’s library system actually has a pretty good selection, believe it or not. I’ve also gotten really into meditating.”

“And you don’t sleep.”

Dick stiffens. For the first time, he looks exposed, a boy with too much guilt and too much time on his hands.

“I do. Tonight I was just… restless.”

Paula nods and backs up her wheelchair so she can sit by Artemis, curling her fingers over Artemis’s hand and squeezing. She raises her drink, Artemis and Dick following suit, the three of them toasting to invisible losses.

“Aren’t we all.”

*

Later, back on the fire escape, Dick taps his fingers against the railing, jittery. “I feel like I need to start doing jumping jacks. What was in that stuff?”

Artemis bites back a smile. “Yeah, Vietnamese coffee packs a hit. That’s my bad. Probably should have given you something non-caffeinated at this hour.”

“It’s fine. I’ll jog it out, or something.” He turns to go, but Artemis stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, listen—it was good seeing you tonight. And if you need someone to talk to…” What she really means is: it’d be nice to be around someone who’s hurting as much as I am. Not to say that the rest of the team wasn’t as torn up over Wally’s death, but she and Dick had been ground zero. Closest to the blast.

After a pause, Dick nods. “Yeah… I could use a sparring partner, actually. I’ll send you an address.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, Artemis withdraws her hand, curling her fingers into her palm.

It feels like a start.

*

Dick’s directions lead Artemis to Wayne Manor; from there he takes her to the Bat Cave.

“I thought you were striking out on your own,” Artemis says, using her forearms to deflect a kick to her face. Dick grunts and recovers, throwing a punch to her stomach; she dances out of the way.

“I am. I just pop in here from time to time because Bruce has better equipment. Plus there’s less of a chance of me disturbing the neighbors.” He gestures to the eerily blue-lit stone walls around them.

Artemis feints and goes low, ducking under Dick’s guard. Two quick hits to Dick’s sternum pushes him back, before he gets a hand on her wrist and twists her around so that her back is pressed against his chest.

“Weren’t we supposed to be talking?”

Kicking his shin, Artemis breaks free. “All right, fine. I’ll start.”  Jab.  “I keep wanting a scapegoat.”  Kick.  “Like, one person to blame, instead of something as big as the Reach. But it’s not some giant revenge thing, and I know Wally wouldn’t want me to go down that sort of all-consuming rabbit hole even if it was, and that pisses. Me. Off.” On those last words, she manages to use Dick’s momentum against him and flips him over her shoulder.

For a minute, it’s so quiet between them she can hear the faint plip of water dripping from a stalactite into the water below the sparring dais. Still lying on the floor, Dick confesses, “I keep hearing him.”

“I make a joke to myself and he’s there, in my ear, with the punchline. And then…” He passes a hand over his face.  “And then I realize that the real punchline is him being gone.”

Slowly, Artemis approaches him. She feels like she did when they were undercover at Haly’s circus so many years ago, that brief moment of hangtime before their hands connected in the air. She means to sit down next to him, pat his shoulder, she doesn’t know what, but instead Dick sweeps her legs out from under her and she goes down hard, the air whooshing out of her chest as she falls flat on her back.

“Agh!” The release sets something loose inside her. Next thing she knows, she’s yelling again, louder, just because.

Dick catches on and then it’s just the two of them shouting, their voices echoing through the cavern, threading around and piling atop each other like a flock of birds. After they’re done, Dick rolls so that they’re lying side by side.

“You know, when we were starting out—when we first became friends—I used to make fun of Wally that if he kept talking so much while running he was bound to swallow more bugs, or something. And he’d just shoot back like, ‘Nah dude, you think I’m not fast enough to see them and dodge them in the air?’ But you know how he was always so hungry after missions? One time I was so mad at him I put a bug in his sandwich. I’ve never forgotten the look on his face after he bit into it and I said, dodge that.”

“You didn’t.” Artemis gasps and covers her mouth, horrified, but she can see it so vividly: the colors draining from Wally’s face, making his freckles pop even more against his skin, the same greenish tint his cheeks took the time they went to Vietnam and he got food poisoning. He’d spent two days feverishly glaring up at the mosquito netting, and Artemis had draped cold hand towels over his forehead and promised she wasn’t going to leave him for the very obliging boy who kept bringing them ice.

“I did.” Dick is gleeful. “Really put the ‘rank’ in prank.”  

Artemis snorts; the snort turns into a full-blown guffaw. Dick turns toward her, laughing too. His hair is matted with sweat but still soft; it brushes against her forehead.

It feels so good to be close to someone again, to be able to flip on a dime from sadness to frustration to anger to laughter and not have to explain herself. She can’t remember the last time she smiled and didn’t feel guilty about it, and she means it more affectionately than anything when she reaches over and brings Dick’s mouth to hers, like if she inhales whatever they’ve temporarily managed to create here between them, it’ll be enough to tide her over for the next few months. For a second, he’s warm and responsive, before his lips stiffen and he pulls back.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t.  Shouldn’t beat yourself up about it, shouldn’t blame yourself for getting back in the game.  Artemis is sick of people telling her how to deal, how it’s supposed to go.  It’ll get better and then it doesn’t. People talk like there are guidebooks for this kind of shit, like it’s a marathon she just needs to pace herself through. And it’s the stupidest thing, but she misses being held.

She sits up and crosses her arms, resisting the urge to curl in on herself. “You didn’t do anything. I’ll go.”

“No, Artemis, wait, I don’t think you should go, I just want to understand what’s going on—”

“I want you to touch me, okay?” she explodes. “I want you to touch me because he’s never going to again and I know you loved him too and—and maybe if it’s you, I won’t feel so desperately alone.”

Dick looks stricken, and then, hesitantly, he reaches for her. His eyes are so blue, the kind of crushed eggshell you’d use to make a paint. “You’re not alone.”

“Prove it,” she says, vision blurring with tears—wanting, needing him closer, and then his hairline is up against hers again and his nose is at her cheek, his mouth at her jaw, soft but with a willingness to bruise. Don’t ask me what we’re about to do, Artemis silently begs, and Dick doesn’t.

 *

 Wally had been a restless lover. Always turning them over, switching positions. Artemis had taken it as a challenge, part of the ongoing competition that defined their relationship. Deep down, she’d known that Wally would be just as content if the rest of their sex life consisted solely of spooning gently on Sundays, which, if anything, was why she’d been so eager to experiment—because it felt like an easy gift she could give, not something she had to master to “maintain excitement” or make him stay.

She’s not sure what she expected from Dick. Maybe that’s a comfort—that she wasn’t fantasizing before they happened, wondering about all the mechanics of how it would go. Dick lets her call the shots, lets her ride him into the ground, the grip of his fingers around her thighs the only reminder she isn’t just angling toward oblivion. When he presses his thumb between her legs, it’s a weird sort of anchor—like hearing a voice pick up on a line you thought was dead. She has a body, and here’s someone on the other end of it, caring about her release. As soon as that thought hits, the relief shudders through her; she keeps rocking long enough to feel Dick follow, a stutter and a grunt, before she collapses boneless over him, the sweat of his skin a comforting stickiness against her cheek.

Internally, she apologizes to Bruce for desecrating his training space. Then again, they’re hardly the first of the Justice League to get handsy in less than appropriate places. She’s seen how Black Canary and Green Arrow act around each other.

Below her, Dick catches his breath. The rush of blood—his or hers—is loud in her ears.

“I didn’t think you’d be so…”  Giving, she means to say, but it gets lost on her tongue. “I mean, Zatanna…” she trails off again.

If Dick’s embarrassed at the prospect of his ex-girlfriend having blabbed about the details of their sex life to Artemis, he doesn’t show it. His fingers find a snag in her hair; gently, he works it loose. The air smells hedonistic. He keeps combing. Nice is the only word she can think to describe it, and that makes her want to cry again, so she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his chest.

Dick pauses his ministrations. He flattens his palm against the base of her neck and just—holds her there.

“Don’t mention it.”  

When she goes home that afternoon to shower, she runs the water on full blast for a long time.

 *

 Armed with Chinese food, she visits Dick’s place the next day intent on making amends. Dick doesn’t even act surprised; he just points to the glass coffee table where she can set the bag of chopsticks, napkins, and takeout.

“I’m trying to decide what to watch.”

There’s really no need for him to stand in front of the TV the way he does, one hand propped on his hip as he clicks through options with the remote. Artemis lets herself ogle, a bit. The surest way to blow past what happened between them yesterday is to be honest with herself, right? And as far as coping mechanisms go, Artemis could have done worse. At least her method has a gymnast’s ass.

“Any preferences?”

“Between what?” asks Artemis, cracking open the carton of lo mein and settling back against the cushions. The Netflix suggestion algorithm onscreen paints a condemning picture of Dick’s tastes. “True crime or… true crime?”

Wally had been really into nature documentaries. One time during freshman year, when they were still living on Stanford’s campus, they’d gotten high in Wally’s dorm room and watched Blue Planet. Wally had cried when the seal got flung apart by killer whales.

“I’ll Be Gone in the Dark it is, then,” says Dick. He settles next to her on the couch, peeling back one of the orders and sniffing its contents. “What’s this one?”

“Salt and pepper ribs. They were today’s special.”

“Artemis.” Dick beams. “You really do care about me.”

 *

 Ten minutes into the episode begs a single question: “Isn’t it sort of depressing that you spend so much of your day fighting crime, and then you go home to unwind and just watch… more of it?”

Dick shrugs. “It keeps me sharp. And it’s nice seeing other people solve problems.”

“Well, if you ever feel like branching out, there’s a short film about Rubik’s cubes you might like.” Artemis nudges his side. “Remember when you were a scrawny math geek?”

Bringing both hands behind his head, Dick smirks. “Still a math geek. Just not scrawny.”

Artemis stares. That was just a bit of friendly showboating, right? Or was it a flirt? Not trusting herself, she whips her gaze back toward the TV. What feels like eons later, the credits roll.

“Artemis,” Dick says, too soft for having just finished a show about murder. He taps the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some food stuck.”

She wipes with the back of her hand; a breaded piece of orange chicken emerges as the culprit. Without thinking, she flicks it off, sending it flying somewhere onto Dick’s carpet.

“Oops.”

Chuckling, Dick shakes his head. “I need to vacuum tomorrow, anyways.”

The mention of tomorrow stirs her. “Right. I should head out.”

“Yeah.” Dick rises to help her clean up their mess, holding open the plastic bag so she can toss in the soiled napkins and other bits of trash. “Or—”

He hesitates, but the hesitation’s enough. It might as well be a hand on her wrist, with how it stops her in her tracks. All night, despite what she told herself, she’s been looking for proof: proof that his aloneness fits the shape of hers, that he needs her, too. This time, Dick makes the first move—cups her face in both hands and kisses her, slow and deep and full of heat. Some pepper from the food they ate still lingers on his lips, making her mouth tingle, and Artemis is dizzy and flat on her back on the couch before she knows it, giving in.

Not scrawny at all, she thinks, admiring the solidness of Dick’s knees on either side of her, the weight of his frame as they grind together. The sheer mechanics of it feel very horny-teenager-after-prom, but the way Dick sucks her bottom lip and swallows her breath down with it is decidedly adult.  These days, Artemis practically lives in her sports bra, which doesn’t exactly grant easy access, but when Dick’s fingertips skim over the cotton covering her breasts the sensation zings all the way down her spine.

“Need… off…”

“Yeah,” Dick murmurs, humming as he moves down the column of her neck. “Gimme a sec, I’m working on it.”

She’d worn sweats because she figured their bagginess would keep her from sparring again and any potential… situations that could arise from that. Instead, all it means is Dick unties the drawstrings easily, sliding her pants down her legs. Cool air brushes across her as he shifts positions; she wants to sob in relief. His teeth graze her hip and then catch the edge of her panties and—oh. Fuck. The moan tears out of her and she scrabbles at the armrest, hips rising of their own accord. Next time, she is handcuffing Dick to a bed, because what he’s doing with his tongue and fingers should be illegal. She can feel him grinning, the bastard, and the only thing keeping her from crushing his head to a pulp between her thighs is the maneuver he pulls where he hooks her knees over his shoulders, so he can change the angle and plunge in deeper. Artemis shoves the edge of her T-shirt into her mouth at the last minute, only barely managing to muffle her cry.

Dick surfaces from his solo mission looking entirely too satisfied, mouth glistening. Trembling, still, from her orgasm, Artemis squints at him, possessed by some combination of unbridled lust and rage.

“Dick.”

“You calling, or asking?”

“Shut up,” she hisses. She feels like a newborn foal, after what he just did to her, but the urge to dismantle him just as thoroughly sends her surging upward and pushing him back. Dick welcomes their reversed positions by peeling off his shirt and tossing it over his shoulder, all while Artemis works furiously at his belt. It shouldn’t feel so good, to hear the metal clink against his button and watch the leather slide through the loops. To see the shadows the light of the TV casts on him—the lashes on his cheeks, the hollow of his throat. Artemis hadn’t paid much attention the first time, too desperate and caught up a bit in self-loathing, but now she’s actually enjoying this, savoring the flex of Dick’s abs as he pushes up to meet her, his skin pebbling at her touch.

“I’m going to take you apart,” she purrs.

Dick groans and bucks. The sensation sends a sharp spike of pleasure through her, and she clamps down on him tighter, refusing to yield.

“Try me, Tigress,” he rasps, pushing himself up on one arm so he can mouth at her collarbone. With his other hand, he pulls off her hairtie so her hair comes free of her ponytail, and this is going to be a thing with him, isn’t it, him wanting to fuck her while her hair swings loose around her face. She indulges him for a few minutes, claws his back and bites his shoulder for good measure, but then she’s pushing him back down and stretching out her body as languidly as possible to remind him who’s boss. Their pace slows. Dick keeps a hand fisted in her hair, so he can tug her head back in order to keep her neck exposed to his wanton mouth, but his grip gets less sure the closer she pushes him to the edge.

“Art—” says Dick, the single syllable like a painting pinned to the wall, fraught with desire, and then he just lets it drop, the tresses of her hair falling through his fingers. She wants to tell him that he’s beautiful, that he does look like a boy wonder, right then, in the midst of coming undone, chest flushed and hair mussed and pupils blown nearly wide enough to overtake the blue.

She doesn’t, but she stays the night, and that’s close enough.

 *

  High-functioning, Artemis’s therapist had called her, before Artemis moved back to Gotham. And it does feel like a high—the sneaking around, the after-hours meet-ups, the back-and-forth. There’s no one really keeping tabs on her, though Artemis has plenty of cover stories if anyone asks (new intel, side reconnaissance, etcetera, etcetera). Her mom eyes her and says, “As long as you’re not planning on staging your own death again, because I will find out and I will kill you this time,” and that’s that. Artemis nearly laughs. If anything, what she’s doing is the opposite, a small resurrection. An entire month and a half passes this way: day trips and dinners and movie nights and Dick and her in a bathtub, in the shower, against a wall. She even wears a gown and heels once, not because they have an actual event to attend, but because Dick has a fantasy that involves taking her from behind in the Wayne Manor library.

They’re in his apartment on a Sunday morning bathing in the afterglow, sheets tangled around their waists. Thank god Dick is one of those assholes that splurged on not only a nice mattress but also a solid bed frame. Artemis reaches over to push the hair out of his eyes. The black tuft on the back of his head that she likes grabbing is fluffed up like a duck's tail, and under the sunlight slanting through the windows, he looks angelic.

“Are you falling back asleep?”

Yawning, Dick snags her around the waist, dragging her to him. She should not delight this much in being manhandled.

“You wore me out,” he complains, tucking his chin over her shoulder.

“They just don’t make them like they used to,” Artemis sighs. Dick growls a little at the dig, fingers tightening against her hip.

Well. If he’s going to nap, she is, too. Comfortably spooned, she snuggles back against him, prepared to drift off.

“Do you think Wally would have wanted…” Dick doesn’t finish the thought.

Artemis turns in his arms. Dick has long eyelashes, and he’s looking at her through them almost bashfully. She places a hand on his chest. Feels his heartbeat thump once, twice.

“I think he would want us to be happy.”

“Are you?” Dick’s voice fades out and he has to swallow hard to clear his throat. “Happy?”

“I’m not… miserable.” 

Dick runs his hand up her bare arm, over her shoulder. “Me neither.”

“You know, Wally and I thought…” She bites her lip, remembering a whoosh of air, Wally speeding to her side to kiss her and interrupting her report on the disabled Paris MFD.  I know we promised each other we’d get out of this game, but maybe we can have our life together and play hero, too.  “We thought we’d have everything.”

Dick’s response isn’t mournful; it’s matter-of-fact. “After my parents died, I never really convinced myself that I could have it all.”

“That sounds like something Batman would say.”

“Does it?”

“A little.”

Once upon a time, Artemis had stood before the team ready to lay bare her darkest secret, waiting to be kicked out. And Dick had shown his hand: he’d known from the beginning and hadn’t cared.  You aren’t your family. You’re one of us. She knows he’s second-guessed himself over the years, wondering how fit he actually is to play leader. But for her, trust has always been the easiest thing about the two of them. It was why she’d said yes so easily to his deep cover mission—because she knew that he wouldn’t quit until he’d brought all of them home, that he would do whatever he could to keep them safe.

Taking his face in both her hands, she looks deep into his eyes. “You deserve good things, Dick Grayson.”

“Mm.” Dick smiles into her kiss, hooks his ankle over hers. “Keep telling me that. I’ll start to believe it.”

 *

 Jade abandons Will and Lian on a Tuesday, and Artemis’s carefully crafted equilibrium falls apart. At least this time she’s not the one directly being left, unlike when she was a teenager. Her expectations of her older sister had hardly been high, but if she’d plotted them on a graph they’d have trended upward. Now they’ve tanked.

“Did she leave any hint of where she was going?” Dick asks over the whir of his juicer. He’s gotten really into squeezing oranges lately; Artemis can’t complain because he always gives her the first glass.

“It’s Jade. She never wants to be found, and I hardly think she’s about to try an  Eat Pray Love type thing.”

“Eat Slash Steal, maybe?” Dick offers, dropping two ice cubes into a drink and setting it in front of her.

Artemis sips, balling up a napkin and throwing it at him at the same time. “Watch it, that’s still my family you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry. How’s Will taking it?”

“As well as any dad trying to raise a two-year-old by himself would.”

“So, poorly.” Dick taps his finger against the table. “Are they coming here?”

Artemis looks at him blankly. “Why?”

“I figured they might want to be closer to you and your mom now that Jade’s gone. Gotham’s not so bad—you and I turned out fine. And Will probably needs to look into preschools and a babysitter for Lian soon. If you move in with me, you can bring her over whenever.”

The last piece of information slips in so casually she thinks she’s misheard. “What?”

“If you move in with me, you can bring Lian over whenever,” repeats Dick. “This place is as good as yours. You’re over here all the time anyway.”

Suddenly, she can’t breathe. “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She can’t meet his eyes. “W—Will’s home is in Star City. He’s not going to move.”

Slowly, Dick says, “Okay. But my offer doesn’t really depend on Will.”

Her stuff is still in boxes. She’s still paying for a storage unit almost 3,000 miles away. And Dick is waiting on her so intently it makes her chest hurt.

Artemis stands up. “We’re not doing this.”

Dick’s eyebrows rise. Annoyance, or maybe anger, flickers across his face. “You wanna fill me in on what exactly it is we’re doing, according to you?”

“We’re not going to fight about this like we’re…”  In a relationship. In love. In anything other than a messy configuration started by shared grief. She doesn’t say any of it out loud, but she doesn’t need to—Dick’s always been great at reading people, and he’s known all her tells from the start.

“Right.”  The single syllable comes out as cold and pointed as an icicle. He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. The clouds are rolling in, throwing shadows across his features. Even now, Artemis wants to kiss him, wants to be the one to smooth the furrow between his eyebrows away.

“Dick…”

“Do me a favor, will you?” Dick grabs his jacket from the hook by his door, shrugging it on. He pauses, briefly, in the doorway. “Lock my door on the way out.”  

That night, she lies alone in her bedroom next to the picture of her, Wally, and Brucely. Brucely snuffles at the foot of her bed and then leaps onto the covers, and this time she doesn’t shoo him off. Neither does she fall asleep.

 *

 There was a song Jade had liked to sing, passed down from their mother: a Vietnamese lullaby about a yellow butterfly, to the tune of “Frère Jacques.” The butterfly flies all over the sky. Come and see. Come and see. When it became clear that Artemis’s hair would grow in blond, not black, Jade started pulling it, making her giggle. You’re the yellow butterfly, see?

The taxicab she calls for the airport is bright yellow in the morning light. Plain old civilian travel for plain old civilian business. You don’t need to be a superhero to fly across the country and move in with your brother-in-law and your niece. She’ll sing silly little songs and wash Lian’s hair, and they’ll be a family same as anyone else’s: clumsy, incomplete.

“Artemis.” Dick coalesces out of the fog. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in a week, and she should be mad that he’s here because it probably means he’s been monitoring her web traffic and caught wind she’d bought plane tickets. Still, all she feels is relief.

Jade had laughed when Artemis had let slip what she was doing during one rare sisterly bonding moment. “Oh, darling sister, your thing with your little bird boy isn’t about moving on. You’re using him as a holding pattern. Try not to damage him too much, hm?” Rankled, Artemis had hung up the phone—what did Jade know about anything, besides shoving it under the rug and pretending it didn’t matter? Now, though, Artemis sees things more clearly. Jade did know something about bodies and what they could and couldn’t fix; after all, isn’t that why she ran?

She worries with the strap of her duffel bag, letting Dick approach.

“If this were a romcom, you would have waited until I got to the airport and then run through security.”

“If this were a romcom,” says Dick, stopping in front of her and shoving his hands in his pockets, “I’d be trying to make you stay.”

She thinks he might be the one person left on this planet who knows her best. She thinks they could save each other, if they’d let themselves try. But they each have work to do on their own, first.

Setting down her bag, she tucks her face into the crook of his neck and breathes him in. Wherever else she goes, this spot will always feel like forgiveness. Nose buried in her hair, Dick squeezes her back.

The taxi driver rolls down his window. “Is this guy coming with us or not?”

Artemis pulls back, and there’s so much sky in Dick’s eyes.

“You know where to find me,” she says.

 *

 | STAR CITY

| JULY 29, 2018; 7:30 AM PST

 “Who are you here to recruit this time?” Will asks, leaning against the doorframe, but Artemis doesn’t need an answer, doesn’t need any details but the black hair she can see just over Will’s shoulder, Dick’s voice at the end of a line.

He jumps, and she jumps with him. They’ll figure out everything else as they go.

Before Dick can respond, she says: “I’m in.”

[haadeswrites]

fic asks

ghfjdkjfhgjdk i did not think i’d have to do one of these for a while you guys are the sweetest!! <33

HADES!!! That fic was AMAZING. The slow tension build up, the gradual brain washing of the reader is such a delicate story method and you created it so gracefully. STUNNING -🪐

tysm bby!! it’s a mammoth of a fic - at least it’s the longest oneshot i’ve written - so trying to build the tension and keep up the pace without boring everyone half to death was a bit of a challenge but i’m so glad you liked it!! <33

Hades!! Elysium was such a good read!! thank you sm for blessing us once again 😘

how long was Oikawa interested in the reader? was he pulling the strings to get her to the island in the first place or did he really only know about her after she came?

he’d known about her ever since they caught ryuji, and he (and the others) were watching her from the moment she set foot on the island. poor bby never stood a chance

hi Hades, i loovvveeeddd ur last fic and i’ve got questions about some of the cult stuff?

like, with the lunar blessing, do they sacrifice someone each month? what was the energy thing that happened when Ryuji was killed?

lots of love!!!!

yes! so technically he could kill whenever and it would have the same effect, but he’s a drama queen and gotta be showy about it gfhjdkjvhjfkd. but yes – that’s what happens to those who don’t quite ‘fit’ with the rest of the commune. those who show doubts, who stir up trouble, those who just don’t have the right kind of faith... honestly if it came down to it, even the most arbitrary slights would be enough. a handy method of keeping everyone in line too, even if the majority of those in the commune don’t truly know what happens on the lunar blessing :))

What inspired Elysium?

i have been wanting to write a cult fic for the loooongest time! i actually used to be very into a game that focused on a doomsday cult and it was always so much fun to write for! 

[baejax-the-great]

The Egg Method

Mass Effect 1, Kaidan and Shepard gen fic. Read on AO3

Mentions of food, Mindoir, and biotics.

~

“How did you train your biotics, if you don’t mind me asking? Did the colony hire someone or…?”

As much as Shepard hated talking about Mindoir, it was a fair question, given everything Kaidan had told her about BAaT. And anyway, these memories weren’t bad ones for once. Shepard shook her head. “Nah, it was eggs.”

“Uh… what? …Ma’am?” he added someone belatedly.

“I trained my biotics using eggs.”

Her parents really hadn’t known what to do with her when the biotics showed up, but she was not the only colony kid creating mass effect fields in their bedroom and causing structural damage to their prefabs. It was her dad who came up with the “egg method” of training before the Alliance had pulled her out of the rubble and jammed an amp in her head.

Kaidan was still staring at her with one furry eyebrow raised in complete incomprehension.

“Here, do we have any eggs in the fridge?” she asked, “Get ‘em out.”

Kaidain approached the fridge slowly, like he still wasn’t certain if she was being literal or not and set a full carton of eggs on the counter as delicately as if they were little grenades. The eggs exploding all over the kitchen wasn’t the most outlandish fear; she was out of practice with this after all.

“Okay. Pick some number of them and toss them in the air.”

“Ma’am?” If Kaidan’s eyebrow could raise further up his forehead, it would have. Shepard also didn’t miss that she’d caught the attention of a number of people on duty who now paused in their tracks, datapads hanging limply in their hands, and if she screwed this up she’d have the attention of every single member of the crew along with a sticky mess on the floor. Kaidan bobbed his head back and forth as he considered tossing eggs on a spaceship, and Shepard called out, “Do I have to make that an order, lieutenant?”

With a wince he tossed four in the air, and Shepard caught each of them in their own little mass effect field. For one split second she was certain she’d cracked the shell on the leftmost one, gravity and mass fluctuating in her fingers as she adjusted her control over them. She was not mopping the deck today or wasting precious non-frozen food on a stunt.

“Eggs and open space,” she said once she was sure of her grip on them. She tossed an egg out of a field and caught it in a new one. “That is what we had the most of on Mindoir.” She tossed another, then another, and she heard Chakwas start laughing behind her as the eggs hit a juggling pattern. “Throw more in if you like, Lieutenant. This is hardly a challenge.”

Kaidan’s mouth had dropped open, but he tossed a fifth egg in. With a sixth, she had two simultaneous juggling circles. Toss, catch, toss, catch, mass effect fields flickering in and out of existence and not a single egg cracking. An old rhythm that was just like riding a bicycle on a tightrope that was on fire. She was panting with exertion by the time he got the ninth in there, though she still enjoyed the gasp from her crew as she flicked an egg high over everyone’s heads and caught it neatly just next to Quezado’s ear. With twelve eggs, her skin was crackling with blue energy even as the eggs stayed pristine in their fragile shells. Twelve perfectly controlled fields, flicking in an out of existence in perfect coordination and timing.

Had this been Mindoir, her father would have rewarded her with French toast for this performance.

Twelve was enough, though, and the collar of her shirt was soaked with sweat. She brought the fields together to hover just in front of Kaidan, and with her nod, he plucked them out of the air and placed them back in their carton while Chakwas and Liara clapped politely. The rest of the crew looked confused, having never seen a biotic display out of Shepard before, but as their commander rolled her shoulders, a couple others joined in the weak applause.

“If the whole soldier thing hadn’t worked out, I figured I’d have a solid chance in a circus somewhere,” Shepard announced, accepting the performance was a bizarre misstep and deciding she didn’t really care. Yeah, the crew was uncomfortable with someone who could tear the ship apart with her mind—or two someones, as everyone knew Kaidan could, too—and reminding them of that fact probably wouldn’t win her any friends, but her father had been right all those years ago—if she could hold an egg in a mass effect field without cracking it, she wouldn’t bring the house down with every temper tantrum. Or nightmare.

He would have enjoyed today’s show.  

Once everyone had cleared out, Kaidan muttered, “You did all of this back then without an amp?” He shook his head in disbelief as he closed up the carton and turned back to the fridge.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lieutenant,” Shepard objected, one hand in the air. “Where do you think you’re going with those?”

He turned back to her and followed her pointed stare to the frying pan on the drying rack. Instead of putting the eggs away, he pulled out milk and some cheese. “A display like that would work up an appetite,” he conceded.

“Damn right. And I’ve gone through all the trouble of prescrambling those eggs for you.”

Kaidan laughed as he cracked the first egg and found that the yolk had broken and mixed entirely with the whites. Shepard shrugged. Not even she was perfect at biotically juggling eggs.

“Uh, omelet then?” he offered.

“Perfect.”

[arctic-comet]

Osblaineweek2021, Day 2: Prose

I love book quotes. Looking at quotes is one of my favorite ways to to inspire myself to write more fic.

Here’s a small collection of book quotes (and recs!) of where I’ve “found” June and Nick.

This post contains spoilers for the following books/series:

- Lover Mine by JR Ward

- The Wrath and The Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

- A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas

Lover Mine by J.R. Ward

Summary:

John Matthew has come a long way since he was found living among humans, his vampire nature unknown to himself and to those around him. After he was taken in by the Brotherhood, no one could guess what his true history was- or his true identity. Indeed, the fallen Brother Darius has returned, but with a different face and a very different destiny. As a vicious personal vendetta takes John into the heart of the war, he will need to call up on both who he is now and who he once was in order to face off against evil incarnate. Xhex, a symphath assassin, has long steeled herself against the attraction between her and John Matthew. Having already lost one lover to madness, she will not allow the male of worth to fall prey to the darkness of her twisted life. When fate intervenes, however, the two discover that love, like destiny, is inevitable between soul mates.

It's basically a paranormal love story between two warriors. He's really young (although he's actually a reincarnation of a very old vampire warrior, but he doesn't know that), and she's like 300 years older than him. In this book, she's been raped and abused by a guy who also used to bully him. She escapes, but he saves her life. She's hungry for revenge and wants to die after achieving that goal, but of course eventually changes her mind. In the end he actually serves her rapist to her on a silver platter so that she can kill him (sound like anyone we know?). He literally holds the guy down while she kills him.

They're my ultimate favorite ship in this series, and IMO their relationship eventually develops into one of the strongest ones. This series is a bit of a hit-or-miss for most people, because the language and the writing style are pretty ridiculous in all seriousness. If you decide to read this, I recommend starting the series from the beginning because John and Xhex meet for the first time several books before this one, LOL.

Here are some of the quotes that make me think of Nick and June:

“Besides, the story of the two of them was written in the language of collision; they were ever crashing into each other and ricocheting away—only to find themselves pulled back into another impact.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“As his ears rang and his heart broke for her, he stayed strong against the gale force she let loose. After all, there was a reason why here and hear were seperated by so little and sounded one like the other. Bearing witness to her, he heard her and was there for her because that was all you could do during a fall apart. But God, it pained him to see how she suffered.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

“...the only thing that had tethered her to the earth had been him and it was strange, but she felt welded to him on some core level now. He had seen her at her absolute worst, at her weakest and most insane, and he hadn't looked away. He hadn't judged and he hadn't been burned. It was as if in the heat of her meltdown they had melted together. This was more than emotion. It was a matter of soul.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

The Wrath and the Dawn duology by Renée Ahdieh

Summary:

One Life to One Dawn. In a land ruled by a murderous boy-king, each dawn brings heartache to a new family. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, is a monster. Each night he takes a new bride only to have a silk cord wrapped around her throat come morning. When sixteen-year-old Shahrzad's dearest friend falls victim to Khalid, Shahrzad vows vengeance and volunteers to be his next bride. Shahrzad is determined not only to stay alive, but to end the caliph's reign of terror once and for all. Night after night, Shahrzad beguiles Khalid, weaving stories that enchant, ensuring her survival, though she knows each dawn could be her last. But something she never expected begins to happen: Khalid is nothing like what she'd imagined him to be. This monster is a boy with a tormented heart. Incredibly, Shahrzad finds herself falling in love. How is this possible? It's an unforgivable betrayal. Still, Shahrzad has come to understand all is not as it seems in this palace of marble and stone. She resolves to uncover whatever secrets lurk and, despite her love, be ready to take Khalid's life as retribution for the many lives he's stolen. Can their love survive this world of stories and secrets?

This is a young adult fantasy romance, and basically, Khalid is a lot like Nick. He’s made mistakes that he needs to own, but at the same time he’s forced to commit atrocities he doesn’t want to do. He hates himself and doesn’t believe himself to be worthy of love, and yet he falls in love with Shazi. He's viewed as the villain of the story by everyone aside from Shazi and a few other characters until almost the end of the 2nd book.

“I love you, a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it.”

―Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. to want something so much—to hold it in your arms — and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“When I was a boy, my mother would tell me that one of the best things in life is the knowledge that our story isn't over yet. Our story may have come to a close, but your story is still yet to be told.

Make it a story worthy of you”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Wrath and the Dawn

“In that moment of perfect balance, she understood. This peace? These worries silenced without effort? It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

“A boy who'd thrived in the shadows.

Now he had to live in the light.

To live . . . fiercely.

To fight for every breath.”

― Renee Ahdieh, The Rose & the Dagger

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

Summaries:

Book 1

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ... Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

Book 2

Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court—but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms—and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future—and the future of a world cleaved in two. With more than a million copies sold of her beloved Throne of Glass series, Sarah J. Maas's masterful storytelling brings this second book in her seductive and action-packed series to new heights.

Fantasy romance with explicit sex scenes, and book 2 is a lot better than book 1. Our main character Feyre falls for a really boring fae guy, but also meets the hottest guy she’s ever known. The first guy of course isn't the real love interest (this is a twist this author loves to do). They all end up as prisoners, and the 2nd guy saves her life when the 1st one is totally useless. He also makes her hate him as he does it because he has to. After getting out, she tries to make her old relationship work, but it doesn’t, and guess who swoops in?

I do see some Nick in Rhysand (in addition to his role in the love triangle). They’re both traumatized and prefer to keep a lot of their feelings to themselves. I also see some of the same selflessness in both of them. Rhysand wants Feyre to choose him because she loves him, but he’s willing to accept that she may not, and doesn’t tell her that they’re pretty much destined to be together (it’s a supernatural thing, and he will suffer a lot if she decides she doesn’t want him).

“Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me.”

―Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“It took me a long while to realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Because," he went on, his eyes locked with mine, "I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone."

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He thinks he'll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I was his and he was mine, and we were the beginning and middle and end. We were a song that had been sung from the very first ember of light in the world.”

― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury