#River writes

[theriu]

I'm curious what the actual consensus is on this, please feel free to share your reasons in the tags! This series I've been slowly working on for years has a large-ish main cast ranging from ages 6 to 20, and aside from one possible one-sided crush, I currently have no plans for any of them to date each other, now or in the future. And I've often wondered how much of an effect that knowledge would have on reader interest.

I guess the question for the shippers out there comes down to, "Is romantic shipping the only kind of shipping the majority will accept, or are people willing to see how characters interact simply as really close friends?" (Or, as in some cases, people who don't get along but are stuck together XD)

[armandyke]

universal writer experience

[riverevanss]

Unexpected Company - Part 1

Fandom: The R/ings of P/ower Pairing: E/lrond P/eredhel, D/urin IV. - friendship for now Summary: D/urin has never met an Elf before. And now - after getting saved from a bunch of hills trolls - he's locked in a dusty house with one. A strange one, mind you, as the Elf, E/lrond, won't stop with his strange, annoying noises, which are unfamiliar to D/urin.

Durin has never met an Elf before. He, like every other Dwarf, was told stories about Elves being weird and interesting, creatures others should not interact with because they didn’t interact with others either. All his life, Durin thought Elves were distant and thought more about themself than they should have. 

Probably this was the case for some of them, but as Durin was watching the - not even that tall - Elf standing in front of him, smiling at him with concern in his eyes, the Dwarf prince could hardly believe anything that he heard from his father was true. This particular Elf looked so much more different than Durin imagined - not like he didn’t look pretty. Still, Durin always thought Elves were ethereal beauties, with glowing eyes, sharp, pointy ears, and judgemental stares.

“Are you okay?” Asked the Elf quietly. His voice was just like his face - pretty, but a little bit rough, like his throat was hurting, or like someone who didn’t speak for a long time. “You just keep staring at me like you have never seen an Elf before.” Said the stranger.

Durin almost laughed, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at the Elf. The stranger had curly, dark brown, nearly black hair, eyes that looked like the most beautiful gray orb, and a shy smile on his lips. His cheeks were a little flushed like he was embarrassed, but Durin didn’t really blame him - after all, he kept staring at his slim form half hidden by his dark turquoise-gold cloak.

“You’re welcome,” said the Elf finally after a quiet cough, which made Durin shake himself to look at the stranger.

“What do ya mean you’re welcome?” Asked Durin, then looked behind himself, where lay three dead trolls. Oh, yeah, he was so busy staring at the Elf that he almost forgot about how they met… “Ya didn’t save me, I was handling the situation perfectly” added the Dwarf, and the Elf laughed.

“Of course, I can see that” smiled the stranger. “My name is Elrond” He offered, still smiling.

Durin was close to telling him to leave him alone, to go to hell or something, but the Dwarf couldn’t help himself, and also flashed a quick smile towards the Elf - Elrond, as he called himself.

“Durin,” He said.

***

It was quiet. Durin was sitting next to the fireplace that Elrond successfully got working, and stared out of the window. After their quick introduction, the Elf offered Durin a shelter next to the woods. According to Elrond, it was once built by humans, but now Elves use it sometimes when it is needed.

“We don’t really come here, so it’s quite… dusty” added Elrond. He was watching Durin from next to the fireplace. The rain was still hitting against the window, and the dark was sometimes broken by lighting that followed the occasional thunder. It was a huge storm outside.

“Aye” nodded Durin, looking around. He was still hesitant about talking to the Elf, after all, he didn’t even know him. But he looked kind. Nice, even. “Dwarves don't really care about dir…”

“He’gnxt” 

Durin froze, then turned around to look at Elrond. For a moment he was confused and reached for his axe hearing the unfamiliar noise, something he had never heard before. But it came from Elrond, undoubtedly, because as Durin looked at him, he repeated the same strange noise. This time, it sounded a little bit different.

“Heh… he’gnxts”

The Dwarf stared at the Elf. Elrond’s fair face looked a little confused, he was looking towards the fire, with cloudy eyes, lips half parted. His nose wriggled, like he was smelling something uncomfortable, then he took a sharp inhale, and squeezed his eyes shut. He ducked his face in his left elbow, and then…

“Heh’gnxht… h’ETSHIEW” 

Durin jumped at the second sound, because while the first… well, three times the noises coming from the Elf were quiet, the fourth was quite loud, which gave a Dwarf a little scare. 

“Excuse me,” said Elrond quietly, and his face was now definitely flushed from embarrassment. 

“Excuse… what exactly?” asked Durin, confused, looking at the Elf. “What the hell are those… Please tell me you’re not dying or something like that” he added, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’m merely just… he’ghnxt” he ducked again, shaking his head a little annoyed this time. “Bothered by the dust” he added, face still behind his left hand. Meanwhile, with his right, he was looking for something in his cloak, then pulled out a white cloth thing. “Heh… heh”gnxnt”ghxnt… arghh."

Well, at least Durin definitely recognized the noise of frustration, even if he still had no idea what was happening. The last two... something scared a little but Durin, because it sounded like the Elf didn't even have time to breathe between them.

Elrond threw an apologetic glance towards the Dwarf from behind his hand, then he turned, so Durin only saw his back. And then he… blew in the cloth with his… nose?

Durin shook his head. Elves were certainly… curious creatures. He just hoped that it wasn’t some magic that Elrond was doing.

“Excuse me.” Elrond turned back. His eyes were still a little cloudy and red, as well as the skin around his nose, but at least he stopped with those strange noises. “I won’t sneeze this much once I get more used to the dust, bu… but… he”gnxgt… sorry… As I said, once I get more used to the dueh… heh’TSHIEW… I give up.” Elrond shook his head, then turned around again to blow his nose into the cloth.

“Quit apologizing!” Snapped Durin, who was more frustrated about not understanding something than Elrond apologizing. “Instead, tell me what the hell are you doing, would you?” He asked, still eyeing the Elf with suspicion. 

It was Elrond’s time to be confused. He turned back towards Durin, the cloth still in his hands, holding it over his nose. His eyes grew wide, and then he ducked again, but this time he was silent - his eyes squeezed shut again - like he was in pain -, and he jerked forward from some kind of force, but he didn’t give a single noise.

“Durin, you’re telling me that you have no idea what a sneeze is?” He asked, confused, tears in his eyes.

[quietblueriver]

15 questions for 15 friends

Tagged by @gingerniiiija. Thanks, friend! This was super fun.

Were you named after anyone? I was. In good Southern (US) fashion, I have a double name that incorporates my grandmother's maiden name, which was also my mom's middle name and is now one of my niece's names.

When was the last time you cried? Today. I took one of my dogs to board at the same time that a pup was coming for their last vet visit and watching him surrounded by his crying family while an instrumental version of a Brandi Carlile song played over the vet speakers broke me. Managed to keep it together until I got to the car. Before that, Thursday during Critical Role.

Do you have kids? I do not. I do have wonderful nieces, and being their aunt is one of the best things in my life.

What sports have you played/do you play? I played church basketball and soccer when I was little. As an adult, I've played rugby but I tend toward activities like running, yoga, swimming, and hiking/wandering with my dogs.

Do you use sarcasm? Yes, in a dry humor way. My entire family is dry as hell, so it's a big part of my sense of humor, although I rein it in with strangers so as not to be a tool. I'm typically called a golden retriever gay, but one of the highest compliments I have ever received was one of my oldest friends telling me that Sister Michael from Derry Girls reminded her of me.

First thing you notice about people? I genuinely don't think I have a pattern here. Voice, maybe? Or smile? I do often appreciate and take note of people's style as well, especially shoes.

What is your eye color? Green

Scary movies or happy endings? Whichever has the better queer storyline

Any talents? I come in clutch in the following trivia categories: pop culture (non-reality tv); 90s country music/modern women of country; name that song; US history and politics and/or law; and queer things. Per my nieces, I am very good at the "funny faces" feature on FaceTime, a solid water slide escort, and an acceptable makeshift jungle gym. I have been told that I'm an excellent driver; I enjoy driving and have driven both a passenger van and a U-Haul up most of the East Coast of the US.

Where were you born? A military base in the United States.

What are your hobbies? I love writing, feeding/spending easy time with friends, reading (preference for fiction, poetry, and comics, although I do love some philosophy and theory as well), exploring good food and new places (solo or with friends, my own city or others), live music and theater, playing board games and Switch, watching tv and movies (my oldest niece and I see a movie every time I visit them in person and it brings me great joy), and being silly with my nieces. I'm a lawyer and a law nerd, so I also spend time following SCOTUS and listening to legal/political podcasts.

Do you have any pets? Two dogs, Annie and Buffy, a big doofy retriever mix and a tiny poodle-ish terror respectively.

How tall are you? 5' 8"

Favorite subject in school? Growing up, English/Lit, closely followed by History. At university, I majored in History and Gender & Sexuality Studies.

Dream Job? Obligatory note that I do not dream of labor. But I'm actually currently working on a career shift, so I'm giving this a lot of thought. I'd love to be a writer, journalist, professor, or preacher (last one is more complicated, for probably obvious reasons).

Would love to see answers from anyone who wants to do this! Tagging @korralone, @kasadilla11, @antlereed, and @overnighttosunflowers. Pls forgive me/disregard if you hate this, ha.

[karmirage]

fic masterpost

yeah i do have other marvel fics on my ao3 but some of them i wrote in high school also some of them i don't vibe with anymore

note that some of these are from a while ago! my perceptions and takes on characters change and grow, so if i wrote something, sometimes i won't agree with the characterization later. keep that in mind.

on that note: many of the old fics name Xuân as Xuyen, bc that was the fanmade actually-Vietnamese alternative to Xi'an before her name was changed in canon.

Family Colors (2018): 1,679 words. Standalone (there used to be a second chapter but I didn't like it so I got rid of it). Gen, Kamala-centric, Civil War II era. To whom do the Captain Marvel colors belong?

cloudburst (2019): 423 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. ever wake up to a thunderstorm?

Retail Therapy (2020): 1,209 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. Early-krakoa era -- I wrote this just a bit after krakoa became A Thing, when we didn't know what had recently happened with more minor characters like terry. also i think they're very cute.

Morning Song (2020): 955 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. idk I think Jimmy would like cooking.

if you don't mind me saying so (i love you) (2020): 25,423 words. Part 1 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. my funny little fake dating indulgence. the epitome of "I wrote it for me but you can read it if you want" (as so many of my works are). i haven't actually reread this one i have no idea if it's good or not. but it sure exists.

Days Off (2020): 1,523 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam wakes up sick and Roberto tries to help.

sunlight (2020): 2,090 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Seasonal affective disorder strikes Roberto.

the whole 'not being dead' thing (2020): 1,094 words. Standalone. Gen. Early-krakoa era. Jay is resurrected and catches up with his new nephew.

Winner Takes All (2020): 2,006 words. Two chapters (so far. might fuck around and add another chapter idk). Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Utopia-era. sparring and unsaid feelings and also Doug's new ability to read body language.

i don't want to spend my life (without your kiss goodnight) (2020): 1,702 words. Rated M for non-explicit making out. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. the world has not ended so obviously let's party

my home in you (2020): 2,122 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. patching up the other's wounds.

The Meaning of Family (2021): 10,926 words. Standalone. Gen. Ruth-centric. Ruth bonds with her family -- because she does have family, and no x man is truly ever alone. Also, possibly, she might kill someone in the future.

live our life like we know we could (ONGOING/HIATUS): 22,300 words. Part 2 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Post mission, post reveal, navigating uncharted relationship waters.

in the name of the moon! (2022): 4,382 words. Standalone. Gen (though it's tagged as Sam/Roberto, and you can certainly read it like that if you want, but that's not the focus). Sam textile artist real To Me. also: halloween and sailor moon.

i mean every word i say (2023): 1,559 words. Rated T for mention of sex. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam's been keeping secrets, and that makes Roberto nervous.

we will never be forgotten (2023): 2,689 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Roberto gets mindwiped, knocked out, and a visitor in the infirmary (in that order).

you're never gonna get a second take (2023): 2,166 words. Standalone. Dani Moonstar/Xuân Cao Mạnh. don't you just love those undercover missions where they have to dress in fancy clothes? yeah so does xuân

nothing holds me back at all (2023): 1,461 words. Part 1 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Dani-centric. Dani rides a horse for the first time (with her father's help).

you can never take this part of me (2023): 1,691 words. Part 2 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Sam-centric. Sam goes fishing with his dad and his gaggle of younger siblings.

~~~

works in progress (that I'm posting to hold myself accountable so I actually finish them someday):

- the rest of "the memories that make us" (i.e. the other 13 parts, one for each of the original nine and the six academy x era students. all of it is me practicing writing kids)

- king/lionheart Sam/Roberto medieval au. even tho I hate royalty the aesthetics kind of slam

- megafic (62 chapters planned! six tie ins! almost fully canon compliant all the way up to war of realms!) the ties that bind & related works wrt the better endings au

- rewriting document of high school fics (mostly samberto. I'm more or less a one trick pony)

- several shorter smaller things that I just have to work up the courage to post (including practice with NSFW writing)

- not a fanfiction: but my long ass academic paper (fully cited) that talks about the mutant metaphor and the actual minorities within the x men and my huge large spreadsheet that goes with it.

[riverthebooknerd]

just so y’all know, this won’t impact my current/ongoing fic (“smeared with oil like david’s boy”)! i’m still gonna be writing that one :)

[aggressive-swan-noises]

LOTR Fic Sneak Peak!!

I don't know if I'll ever get around to posting the whole thing... I'm about twelve chapters in and I want to make sure I know where it's going, but this part was just too funny not to share, so here's an out-of-context scene:

“You need to learn this,” Boromir said, swinging from above again, starting the pattern over, “I could have struck your side, you left it wide open— if you wish to survive—” another hit— “you at least need to know how to defend yourself!”

Josephine ducked out of the way of a blow aimed straight at her head.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

“You keep letting me back you into a corner,” he said, “If you had been in a fight with a real enemy, they would have skewered you through your shoulder and pinned you between those bricks.”

That was certainly the most creative death Boromir had described for her during today’s training session. In the last twenty minutes, she’d been beheaded four times, disemboweled three times, impaled six or seven, had her throat slit, her heart pierced, and her lungs run through twice.

[theriu]

(A/N: I fell in love with this prompt and wrote the following story last year, and I was honored for it to receive a Silver Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future contest. I'm so excited to finally share it with you guys!)

----

The day the headquarters of the United Protectors fell should not have been so bright and sunny. Even from the innermost sanctum, a person could look out through holes as large as semis on every side of the building, or see the clear, blue sky through the gaping roof. Steel beams lay broken and bent, advanced technological equipment wrecked, tempered glass shattered. Outside, the ground was cracked and pitted, devoid of plant life—a jagged wasteland of earth and rocks and melting ice, puddled with acid and choked with slowly dissipating smoke for a mile in every direction.

No one would be coming near this place anytime soon—no one sane, at least. The battle that caused such devastation had waged for mere hours as the world waited with baited breath. Now, all that remained was the aftermath, the victims . . . and the victors.

Inside what remained of the central meeting room, The Destroyer walked around the oblong table, trailing fingers that left acid-burned furrows along its metal surface. There wasn’t enough wall left to block his view of the distant main entrance, which still held one startlingly intact glass door. He could see many of the bodies that lay strewn about the building, too: Bright Beacon, her once-golden skin darkened to midnight-black. Liquidity, more puddle than human now. The tattered wisps of The Ghost’s spectral form, still struggling to draw themselves back together. In one corner, Fox Fire held her flaming hand above Sir Sunder, sniffing suspiciously for signs of life in the man half-hidden beneath an avalanche of concrete.

There were scores more, some probably beyond retrieval. Losses and injuries had been incurred on both sides, but what did that matter compared to this victory? Destroyer came to a stop over the only one that interested him: the crumpled form of Diamond Drake, the one-time “unbreakable man.” A fitting moniker for a worthy opponent. Now he lay broken and dying, his diamond skin as cracked and pitted as the earth outside.

Other superior individuals—the feared men and women who had come together to form this team of villains—wandered through the ruined building, licking their wounds or looting the wreckage or simply marveling that they had really done what no one believed to be possible: The League of Conquerors had defeated the strongest superhero collective on the planet, a team assembled specifically to defend the world from other superhuman threats. The thrill of it pulsed through The Destroyer, setting his hands to smoking.

Now nothing could keep him from taking what was rightfully his.

“You . . . fool . . .”

Destroyer looked down on the defeated hero at his feet. Diamond Drake struggled to lift his crystalline head, one draconic horn snapped in half, as he glared up at the smoke-wreathed conqueror. “You . . . don’t know what . . . you’ve d-done,” he gasped, each word as jagged as broken glass.

With a cold smile, Destroyer crouched down, looming over his fallen archnemesis. He placed a hand on the man’s head, letting the acidic concoction he had created just for this purpose eat slowly into Diamond Drake’s previously impervious skin. “What I’ve done,” he said, with vicious pleasure, “is remove the last real obstacle to my rightful rule of all the lessers on this planet.”

The raspy laugh that burst from Drake’s mouth made Destroyer blink in surprise. A grim smile, split partway along one lip by a deep, bleeding crack, contorted the hero’s face into a disturbing mask. “Oh, you . . . removed an . . . obs-tacle . . . alright.” He had to gasp for breath between words, but The Destroyer waited, intrigued by (if not actually concerned about) Diamond Drake’s last words. “But we weren’t . . . just protecting . . . the w-world . . .”

“Wow, is he still alive?” The new voice made Destroyer twitch in irritation, and he turned his head to see Lady Frost leaning over them. A series of claw marks on the ice-wielder’s dark scalp and shoulders testified that Plague Doctor was still busy healing the more grievously injured villains. The dried blood only made her look more menacing as she smiled cruelly at the dying hero. “Well, it’ll be fun having someone to repay for all the damage we took. I liked Blind Bomber, and I don’t say that about many of my allies.” The woman reached down, a wisp of the freezing power that was her namesake forming around one finger. “How about we widen those cracks a bit—”

“Get back,” Destroyer growled, swatting her hand away. “I’m enjoying the final, useless threats of my dying archfoe. It’s a rather momentous occasion.”

Saberman, whose moniker and personality frequently made Destroyer question his own choice in allies, poked his head out of the hole that had once been the heroes’ vault door. “Make sure you tell me what he says, it’ll be great for the book!”

“For the last time, Saber, no one wants to read any book you write,” Fox Fire scoffed as she strolled over, her three tails flicking.

“They don’t have to want to. Once we’re in charge, I can make it mandatory reading!”

The Destroyer shut out the bickering of his annoying, but regrettably still necessary, teammates and looked back down at Diamond Drake. There probably wasn’t much time left to enjoy his fading foe’s meager mutterings, so he leaned closer. “Tell me, hero: Just what else were you protecting that I should care about?”

Somewhere in the background, a single, inexplicably intact door fell over and shattered. Fox Fire hissed in surprise, but Destroyer continued to stare at Diamond Drake as the broken man looked him dead in the eyes.

“You.”

The voice was not Diamond Drake’s, though his mouth twitched at the word. But someone had called out—someone Destroyer didn’t recognize. He stood, muscular frame rising to his full, intimidating height, smoke already wreathing his hands as the villain turned to face whatever final trick the heroes had in store.

He stopped in surprise. It was a woman.

That, of course, bothered no one in the League of Conquerors. Female superheroes could be every bit as dangerous as males, and The Destroyer had no qualms about removing either kind when they got in his way. But the person picking her way across the cracked concrete floor of the entrance hall, her fists clenched and her mouth a tight line, looked utterly unheroic. She could have been in her mid-twenties or early thirties, her race indistinctly Caucasian. A ponytail of brown hair swished as she moved, and she had on a light blue-and-black jacket over an orange T-shirt advertising some vintage gaming console. A thick, plain, black backpack was slung over her shoulders. She wore jeans. One knee had a hole in it.

Destroyer couldn’t have explained why he noticed these details, other than that he was so focused on finding something extraordinary about this person who appeared determined to face a cadre of supervillains all alone.

The woman stopped at what had once been the door to the council room, stuffing both fists into her jacket pockets. Her eyes locked onto Destroyer. “I had a feeling it’d be you,” she said flatly.

For another long moment, no one moved. Others had gathered by now, many of them the most dangerous supervillains in the nation, if not the world—all standing ready to face a new threat. The air fairly thrummed with the concentrated power that had reduced this building and the land around it to ruin. They had defeated the full might of the United Protectors; even with their numbers reduced and many still injured or exhausted, they could handle one more hero between them.

But the woman did nothing. She simply . . . stood there. And glared.

The Destroyer’s wariness and disbelief slowly gave way to amusement. Whatever Diamond Drake’s cryptic warning had been about, it couldn’t involve one overconfident, underdressed hero.

The woman abruptly broke the silence as she began ranting to the room at large, hands waving. “I knew this might happen someday. I hoped it wouldn’t, and Drake was sure they could keep things under control so it wouldn’t be necessary. Others were helping so many people, you know? It wouldn’t be right to throw out the good with the bad.” She glared at each of the villains, making fearless eye contact. Saberman actually flinched, as if he’d received a disapproving look from his mother. “And yet, here we are. You couldn’t be happy with the way things were, oh no. It’s always a few people who ruin the game for everyone!”

Mr. Rumble (how Destroyer hated that stupid moniker) loomed behind the woman, gazing down at her with amazement. “Lady,” he rumbled (of course he did), “are you right in the head? Do you even know where you are right now?”

“Of course I do!” the woman shouted, whirling on him. She prodded a finger into the man’s mountainous chest. Prodded! “It took me a while to pick my way through the mess you all made, but I live nearby for a reason. The walk was not enjoyable, either.” She lifted her leg, revealing where the toe of one sneaker had been burned off. “Who just leaves acid lying around? Do you know how long it’ll take the ground to recover from that? Do you ever think about the future beyond ‘kill, win, enslave’? How is it none of you can be bothered to care about anyone or anything but yourselves?!” she finished in a furious shout.

“We also killed some people,” Lady Frost pointed out sardonically. “But to each their own moral outrage, I guess.”

The stranger turned a cold look on Lady Frost. “If I start focusing on that part, I’ll be far too angry to make any sense.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense now,” Saberman pointed out.

Destroyer’s amusement was turning to irritation. How dare this sniveling little heroine ruin his moment, waltzing in on their victory and scolding the new world rulers like misbehaving children? Well, enough was enough. He stepped slowly around the edge of the United Protectors’ conference table, annoyed that he might miss witnessing Diamond Drake’s dying breath while dealing with this aggravation. But one had to do things right.

“And who are you,” he said in a low, dangerous tone, taking his time as he stalked towards the nagging intruder, “to come here and cast a shadow on our triumph?” The Destroyer put a hand on a chairback and let it disintegrate beneath his smoking acid touch. To the woman’s credit, she didn’t act the least bit intimidated; she simply stood there, hands in pockets, her average appearance belied by an unflinching fire in her eyes. The Destroyer narrowed his eyes further, intrigued despite himself. “What is your moniker, little hero?”

She waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t have one of those.”

Destroyer hadn’t thought his disdain could deepen further, but now it sank into cold, prideful fury. A lesser. He could understand such casual arrogance from a superior being with an exalted name. To be spoken to this way by a mere mortal was an unforgivable insult. “Then you’re even more a fool than I thought,” he growled, coming to a looming stop in front of her. “Before I wipe you from existence like the insect you are, tell me: What foolhardy impulse could lead a mere lesser to dare raise its voice against its betters?”

The woman gave him a disdainful look. “Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? It’s like you got all your ‘how to talk dramatically’ tips from 80’s fantasy movies.”

Through the stunned disbelief that briefly froze him in place, Destroyer heard a noise from Fox Fire’s direction. That had better have just been a cough.

“As for why I’m here . . .” The woman crossed her arms and looked around at the assembled villains. Her voice dropped to a low, carrying simmer. “I’m the final boss. The cheat code you only use when there’s no other way to win. The game-ender.” Destroyer noticed her hands clenching the fabric of her jacket where they rested, her posture stiff with tension. “So, congratulations. You finally pushed the limits too far, and now I’m the only one who can shut you down. And nobody is going to be happy about the way I have to do it.”

A few of the villains laughed or jeered. Others looked wary; the experienced weather controller, CumuloNemesis (also a stupid moniker, but admittedly more clever), started sparking tiny lightning bolts from the cloud atop his head, and Gem Knight subtly raised her battle-damaged ruby shield. But The Destroyer stood directly in front of the woman, his shadow completely covering her; and for all her bravado, he could see no signs of any power whatsoever.

With a sneer, Destroyer grabbed her tightly by the shoulder with one smoking hand. She flinched, but no defenses activated, no abilities manifested to fight him. He used only the barest coating of acid, of course, although it was already eating through the jacket and shirt beneath his touch. He wouldn’t reward such monumental disrespect with a quick death.

“I don’t know who you are or what power you think you have,” The Destroyer said in low, fierce tones. “But nothing can stop the League of Conquerors. We have already defeated the greatest heroes on this planet.”

To his surprise, the woman’s expression softened. Her gaze drifted across the room, taking in the bodies. “Yeah. I wish I could have acted sooner. But I promised . . . promised I’d give them every chance to stop you themselves.” Anger flared in those eyes again as they returned to his. She didn’t yet react to the acid chewing at her skin. “I can’t bring back the people you’ve murdered, but at least no one else will need to be afraid of you.”

“But what are you gonna do?!” a gremlin-looking villain, whose moniker escaped Destroyer, shouted impatiently from the back of the watchers. “Just get on with it already!”

Her gaze still locked with The Destroyer’s, she shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t holding. “I’ve been doing it this whole time.”

There was a long moment of confused silence among the villains. Then Fox Fire shrieked.

Destroyer turned with the others to stare at the fire-wielder. She spun in circles like a dog chasing its tails . . . but something else was off. “What’s happening?!” Fox Fire screamed, grabbing at one of her inhuman appendages. Fur came off in her hand, and that was when the nearest villains realized her three tails were . . . shortening.

With cries of alarm, others noticed the changes that had started at a creep but were quickly picking up speed. Saberman’s bladed arms flattened out, and Mr. Rumble’s rocky skin smoothed like mud beneath a roller. CumuloNemesis’s cloud crown shrank away to nothing, leaving a bald pate ringed by the barest wisps of white hair. Throughout the ruined hero headquarters, villains yelled and jerked and flailed as their powers dried up before their very eyes.

The woman in Destroyer’s grip watched impassively as the panic spread. “I could have done it sooner. Maybe I should have. But it’s an all-or-nothing effect, y’see—like pulling a plug. And there’s so many people in the world who use their powers for good. For every villain in the world, there was a crimefighter, a disaster-relief worker, a healer. Heroes who used their gifts to help make the world a better place. Even your acid, Destroyer”—she gestured at the man, who could only stare dumbly at the chaotic scene around them—”could have been used to help instead of hurt. None of these powers were good or evil—just the intentions behind them. But you’ve finally made the cost of us keeping those powers much too high.

“So now everyone loses.”

Understanding finally broke through Destroyer’s denial in a cold, terrifying wave. He raised a fist, summoning the acid that had always manifested freely from his skin . . . but only a plain, pale, lesser hand appeared before him. Even the red tint that had always marked him for the superior being he was had faded away. Destroyer staggered back from the woman, staring at his hands in horror as he tried and tried and ultimately failed to summon his power.

“It was a hard choice, even still,” she said regretfully, talking to herself as much as to Destroyer now. “The responsibility came with perks.” She touched her jacket where Destroyer had gripped it—the skin beneath the hole made by his acid was completely whole. Just as whole, he realized distantly, as her foot where acid should have chewed off several toes along with the shoe. “I couldn’t be hurt while I was the bearer. But I think it’s right, don’t you?” As the villain’s gaze darted to hers again, she smiled sadly. “The person responsible for taking away everyone’s power-ups ought to be willing to lose hers, too.”

With a roar of blind rage and a fear he’d never felt before, Destroyer grabbed the woman by the collar. “Change me back!” he screamed, shaking her like a rag doll. “Reverse it!!!”

When he stopped rattling her long enough to get a response, she wearily shook her head. “I can’t. My power was made to cancel out all powers—itself included.” Genuine sorrow filled her eyes as she said in a gentle, almost apologetic voice, “They’re all gone, and there’s no getting them back. This is game over, Destroyer.”

Shrieks of horror and anger continued to fill the broken building, but Destroyer barely heard them over the fury welling up, turning his vision black around the edges. His victory . . . his power . . . they couldn’t be gone. This was madness! No one could defeat him! This one nameless speck couldn’t steal his destiny away! Legions of lessers revered him as a god! The Destroyer could not be lessened!

With a scream of feral rage, the depowered man lifted a chair and swung it towards the woman’s head.

CRANG!

Destroyer’s swing whiffed past the ducking woman, the chair flying clumsily from his hands to crash against a wall. He wobbled for a moment, face blank with confusion. Then he collapsed to the ground, revealing another man standing behind him and holding a chair. Only this chair had hit its target.

The woman let out a deep, whooshing breath. “Thanks, Ghost.”

“No problem, Karen,” The Ghost wheezed, letting his arms fall but still gripping the chair for support. “Appreciate you stalling long enough for me to pull myself back together.”

“I mean, I wasn’t excited to learn whether we’d get a whole guy or have chunks of you falling out of the air,” Karen replied lightly, nudging the poleaxed Destroyer with her unburnt shoe. “But I was just rambling so nobody would notice you while they still had some power to fight with. You should really be grateful Cancellation has a grace period; I released it as soon as I walked through the front door.” When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand to forestall the question. “I waited because I needed the invulnerability to get here safely. It’s a real wreck outside.”

“Not much better in here,” The Ghost growled, turning to face the people staring at them. Many looked aghast, and others, murderous. As a man in aquatic attire started to raise the spear he held, The Ghost hefted his chair into a fighting stance, pale features hard despite his exhaustion. “We still have some messes to clean up.”

“Oh, them? Nah.” Karen reached under her jacket and pulled a handgun out of its shoulder holster. She pointed it at the crowd of depowered villains. “None of you are invulnerable, incorporeal, or shielded anymore,” Karen pointed out in a loud voice. “And I have a concealed carry permit and the legal right to shoot in self-defense. Please don’t try me, because I’ve never in my life been more tempted to fire at a person, and I won’t be picking favorites.”

For a long moment, the two sides stared tensely at each other. Then a few broke for the door. Soon, the majority were flooding out of the building, too stunned or injured or sensible to risk being one of the recipients of Karen’s retribution. Lady Frost stood firm, though; and even without her powers, the former ice-wielder’s glare was as cold as death.

“Watch your back, Karen,” Lady Frost spat. “Every superior being, whether villain and hero, will know it was you who stole our powers from us. You will pay for this!”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Karen said blandly, and waggled the gun as if to shoo her along. “Might want to leave before the cavalry gets here.”

The woman spat on the ground, then turned and fled. Karen and The Ghost stayed in place, gun and chair held aloft until every remaining villain had left. Minutes later, The Ghost finally relaxed; he collapsed into the chair he’d been wielding, shaking his head with a whistle.

“Boy, look at ‘em run! You’d think they really expect you to shoot ‘em in the back.” The black-haired man chuckled—although he gave Karen a sidelong look, as if to check whether or not she was considering the option.

But she only nodded and holstered her weapon. “Flight response for some, but I was counting on most wanting to avoid dying before they could be sure it wasn’t possible to just get out of my range of influence. Some’ll probably wish they’d taken me down with them when they realize their powers are gone for good.” She made a face at the door. “They aren’t going to like crossing that nightmare-scape outside, either. But considering they made it, I call it poetic justice.”

The Ghost hesitated. Then, reluctantly—because he already knew the answer—the man asked the burning question that would no doubt be asked a thousand times over again. “So it really does affect . . . everyone? In the whole world?”

Karen sighed and dropped to one knee, slipping off her backpack. “That’s how I understood it.” As she talked, she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of one of the pockets and cuffed the unconscious Destroyer to a table strut. “The last bearer didn’t have the clearest answers, either—all we know for sure is that it gives the bearer invulnerability until it’s passed on or used, and if you release it and don’t call it off within five minutes, the effects are permanent. Based on previous records, though, we probably won’t see any new powers for three or four generations.”

The woman stood and moved further into the conference room. “I’m just glad it also got rid of physical quirks,” she continued, hurrying to the other end of the table, “or this guy would need way more glue than I have on me.”

Diamond Drake lay where The Destroyer had left him, but he was greatly changed. His blue-diamond skin and scales and dragon horns had melded and transformed into normal, cocoa-brown human skin. Karen dropped to her knees and began busily setting out bandages and medical supplies. The Ghost hurried to help, and together, they shifted the injured man onto a clearer section of floor, both going carefully to minimize any further damage.

“Thank the Lord the change unmade all the acid,” Karen murmured, carefully wiping away blood with an alcohol-soaked cloth. Diamond Drake still had several serious wounds and chemical burns, but much of the damage seemed to have sloughed away with his powers. After a few tense minutes of work, she tucked an escaped lock of hair behind her ear and looked up. “Ghost, I think I’ve got this. Go check on the others and see if anyone else is alive, alright?”

He nodded and hurried off towards the nearest body. They knew it was foolish to hold out much hope, but both also had to believe there could be a few more like Diamond Drake or The Ghost: clinging to life and partially or fully stabilized by their transformation. Seeing The Ghost whole and standing had nearly taken Karen’s breath away, and every life they could salvage from this catastrophe would be another shining point of light in the darkness.

Please, Jesus, give us a few more stars.

As Karen began packing gauze into one of the more freely bleeding wounds, Diamond Drake groaned, his eyes flickering open. “Karen . . .?”

“Yep. Hold still, you’ve already lost a lot of blood,” the woman responded in a businesslike tone. “Probably more than a few breaks in there, too, but that’s for the professionals to deal with.”

He didn’t move, his ragged breathing and occasional groan the only sounds for a few minutes. She silently prayed there wasn’t too much internal bleeding.

When Diamond Drake spoke again, it was with quiet resignation. “You had to . . . do it, then.”

Karen nodded shortly, mouth tight. “The military was prepared to send a nuke if the villains came out on top here. And that still might not have stopped the League, but we both know the results would have been cataclysmic either way.” She gave him a quick smile. “Thanks for giving me General Grayson’s phone number, by the way—he should know by the mass exodus that the coast is clear.”

Drake let out a long, pained groan, a shudder passing through his body. Karen tensed. “Don’t you die on me, Drake Ocampo. I just unalterably changed the world, lost my sweet, sweet invulnerability, and will probably have a legion of angry ex-superhumans after me soon. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

Drake let out a coughing laugh that ended in another groan. “I don’t know if . . . I’m that great . . . of a p-prize r-right now.”

“You’re my friend,” she said fiercely, her voice rough with held-back tears that had been fighting to emerge for hours and now sensed freedom was at hand. “Friends don’t get to decide whether they’re worth being saved.”

He fell quiet, watching her as she continued to work on him. But he didn’t protest further.

She was just finishing the last of what seemed within her power to stabilize the man when a shout drew their attention. The Ghost reentered the room, a person in blue fabric draped bridal-style in his arms. Behind him, a very short, stocky woman limped along, holding a broken arm gingerly and scowling at everything. Karen leapt up with an overjoyed cry and Drake breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Liquidity’s unconscious, but she seems to be in one piece,” The Ghost said, and Karen realized she had never seen the normally wraithlike man’s eyes before. They were green and narrow and pinched with strain and excitement. The thin woman who could once become one with water was breathing steadily in his arms. “Caterwaul’s crystal prison vanished with Gem Knight’s powers,” he continued, tilting his head at the second hero he’d found. “She has some broken bones but insisted she could walk.”

“I’m depowered, not an invalid,” Caterwaul growled, still managing to sound catlike despite losing access to her feral form. Even so, her olive skin looked waxy as she settled onto one of the few upright chairs around the council table.

“And All-Terrain is still breathing, but he looks really serious, so I didn’t think I should move him,” The Ghost continued, ignoring his perpetually grumpy teammate. “There were a few I couldn’t find.”

“Good work . . . Ghost,” Diamond Drake rasped from his prone position. “Good work . . . everyone. I know this . . . was a defeat, but . . . the United Protectors m-made a valiant . . . l-last stand . . .”

Karen, whose face was openly streaming with tears by this point, sniffed hard and pretended to kick him. “Quit monologuing, you blowhard. You’re officially retired.”

“Seriously, boss, if you die giving one of your infamous speeches, we’ll never live it down,” said The Ghost with a wry grin. He kicked away a few more pieces of debris and laid Liquidity gently on the ground next to Drake. “So, Karen, I trust you have a plan for getting us out of here, too?”

Karen nodded, and the others waited patiently while she scrubbed her face and collected herself. “Uh, yeah . . . I warned Careflight about what might go down. She may not be able to fly us out herself anymore, but the hospital’s medevac team can.”

As if on cue, the distant thumping of helicopter blades reached their ears. Everyone looked up through the shattered roof of the building, then back at Karen. Caterwaul gave an impressed nod.

“Always . . . m-making plans,” Diamond Drake managed to chuckle.

Karen gave a dry laugh, flopping onto her butt beside him. “Making plans is what I do. I just wish none of them had been necessary,” she added soberly.

“Me, too,” Caterwaul growled, and Karen tensed, bracing herself for the first recriminations of many. Then she looked up in surprise as the short superhero waved a dismissive hand and muttered, “But you did what needed to be done.”

Karen drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Thanks, Caterwaul.”

“It’s Reva.”

After a moment of stunned silence among the group, The Ghost barked a laugh at Caterwaul/Reva, then offered a hand to Karen. “Bob.”

She blinked at the hand, then shook it with a grin. Drake opened his mouth, but Karen shot him a glare. “I already know your secret identity, Drake, and I will tease you till the day I die for using your actual name in your moniker! Now lie still before I conk you myself!”

A few more chuckles were shared. Then they waited in mutual, exhausted silence, listening to the helicopters grow louder.

The wind was just beginning to pick up when Bob looked over at Karen again, a small grin playing across his features. “You know, Karen . . . you never did pick a moniker.”

Karen raised an eyebrow at him. “Bit late now, isn’t it?”

“But I just thought of a great one!” Bob insisted. “You even said it during your very nerdy monologue.” Before Karen could point out that said nerdy monologue had been mostly for his sorry benefit, he held a finger in the air and intoned dramatically, “Game Over.”

Karen scrunched her face, mouthing the name in silence. After a moment, she cracked a smile. “Okay, I admit it: That does sound cool.” But the smile dropped just as quickly, along with her gaze. She studied the end of her acid-burned shoe, rubbing her arms against a creeping chill. “And I get the logic. It does feel like we lost for good, doesn’t it?”

No one replied, though each of the survivors looked around again at the wreckage. Surrounded by the ruins of their headquarters, the bodies of friends and allies, and the loss of something special and powerful that had set them apart and allowed them to do so much good . . . it was hard not to feel defeated.

A frown flickered across Karen’s face. Then she slowly climbed to her feet, looking up at the clear, blue sky. “But . . . it’s not over. Not really. We’re still alive. The world’s in one piece. We’re just working with the same rules as everyone else now.” She turned to face Bob and Reva, fists clenched with fresh determination. “There’s still so much we can do in this game called life. We’ll just . . . need to learn new ways to play.”

Bob nodded thoughtfully, and Reva gave a begrudging grunt. The medevac helicopters were directly over the entrance now, rope ladders unrolling into view. Liquidity’s head shifted.

“I’ve got . . . an idea, then,” Drake mumbled from the floor as the sounds of running feet entered the building. “For your m-moniker.” He had to pause for breath, but he finished with a smile. “How about . . . Restart?”

Karen smiled back, the warmth of the sun on her shoulders chasing the cold away.

“I like it.”

----

(A/N: If you liked this story, please consider visiting it on my writing Wordpress site and leaving a Like! I hope you enjoyed and I would love to hear your comments. =D Thanks for reading!)

The villains finally managed to defeat the league of heroes. But unbeknownst to them the league did not exist, primarily, to fight them, but to keep an even bigger threat in check: you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you.

[theriu]

I like to think about what differences other races (aliens, fantasy) might have that humans are better at. Because we always seem to make ourselves the baseline and then everyone else is humans+extra attributes. Here’s a few I’ve come up with:

- Lower level of vision. They don’t consider this a handicap because that’s how ALL of them see, and the idea that we can see super sharp details is kind of perplexing. All of their technology and writing is a bit bigger than ours. They have a very hard time reading our writing because it looks like a bunch if slightly blurry patches (they like our giant lit restaurant signs). They use colors to differentiate things and are actually more attuned to color than us, with some of their letters being specific colors as well as shapes. Humans find this challenging, too, because they have to kind of lean/stand farther back to get the full scope of a word, and they can’t see all of the colors (some letters are indistinguishable from each other in shape but they are different colors).

- Slightly shorter lifespan. Not extreme or anything but maybe they only live a max 50-70 years. Some are slightly in awe of the longer-lived humans who actually have a chance of seeing 100 years; many revere such ancient humans and may even visit nursing homes to glean wisdom from the oldest living beings.

- Just big ol’ aliens who can’t fit into tiny spaces. Maybe they have hard carapaces or similar that make them less flexible. They are fascinated by how even overweight humans can often wiggle into spaces they couldn’t imagine anyone fitting into. Possibly they hire very short/thin humans for maintenance on ships as they can reach repairs that the alien would have to dismantle the whole section to fix.

- Now hear me out but I think telekinesis could have drawbacks that humans can overcome. Maybe this armless race can manipulate things with their minds, but it does take concentration. They are amazed by humans who can do some rote tasks completely on autopilot, to the point of even forgetting what they were doing. Among their race, whoever has the strongest concentration wins a tug-o-war with an object, but a human can simply pluck the object out of the air and the telekinetic can’t wrest it from their grasp. They are also fascinated by the human ability to identify texture by mere touch.

- Lower sense of smell. This race operates almost solely by sight, hearing, taste, and touch, but they barely or don’t have smell. It completely mystifies them when a human sticks its nose in the air, breathes in, and then is like, “Mmm, someone’s making pizza.” They tend to feel more at home with humans who have severe allergies and thus rarely comment about smells.

There’s a few to start! Anyone else have ideas they want to share? =D

[armandyke]

The final time you called me baby

The interview is done, Louis is gone, and Daniel can finally get the fuck out of Dubai and go home to his significantly less comfortable couch. But there's something lingering in that penthouse. Memories that don't make sense. And try as he might, Daniel can't resist the pull, and the answers Armand might finally give him. or What really happened between Daniel and Armand in that penthouse after Louis left? And what in the goddamn hell went down in San Francisco?

Read Chapter 1 here

[quietblueriver]

Making slow and steady progress on some Avatrice stuff for the first time in a long time and I’m so excited. Really do love them so much.

[karmirage]

practice writing kids part 1/15: Dani

as always, thanks to @inflashback for proofreading <3

[heritageposts]

Translation: What a shitshow. This years Eurovision has gone to hell. And it's first and foremost the EBU's fault.

Also, excerpt from the same article:

Throughout the course of the Eurovision Song Contest, the EBU has acted as if they live in a parallel universe. Eurovision is one thing, the world outside something else. The EBU has stuck its head in the sand. Shoved the problem under the rug. Held their hands over their ears and shouted LALALALALA. They appear to have done everything they can to pretend it's possible to hold an apolitical event in a world that's on fire. We have come together to be "united by music", they say, but the sharpshooters on Malmö's rooftops have nothing to do with us! In its struggle to remain apolitical, the EBU has become like a small fascist state in itself, where the artists' space for expression and action has been reduced as much as the undergarments of the Spanish dancers. It is reprehensible.

Reminder again to BOYCOTT EUROVISION 🇵🇸

Don't watch, don't vote.

[riverthebooknerd]

sometimes it’s just you, your favorite coffee mug, and the haiku bot against the world

[theriu]

Holy cow, these are SO HANDY, thanks! I was wondering where to find resources on how kids act around age 7! Also the height comparison chart made me look up what average heights are for kids and finally figure out my main cast XD

I have new respect for Barrenger carrying Jenny through the woods for an entire night. (And this was after I made her a few inches shorter than the average 7-year-old.)

helpful sites for writers

i have a little collection of websites i tend to use for coming up with ideas, naming people or places, keeping clear visuals or logistics, writing basics about places i've never been to, and so on. i tend to do a lot of research, but sometimes you just need quick references, right? so i thought i'd share some of them!

Behind the Name; good for name meanings but also just random name ideas, regardless of meanings.

Fantasy Name Generator; this link goes to the town name generator, which i use most, but there are lots of silly/fun/good inspo generators on there!

Age Calculator; for remembering how old characters are in Y month in Z year. i use this constantly.

Height Comparison; i love this for the height visuals; does character A come up to character B's shoulder? are they a head taller? what does that look like, height-wise? the chart feature is great!

Child Development Guide; what can a (neurotypical, average) 5-year-old do at that age? this is a super handy quickguide for that, with the obviously huge caveat that children develop at different paces and this is not comprehensive or accurate for every child ever. i like it as a starting point, though!

Weather Spark; good for average temperatures and weather checking!

Green's Dictionary of Slang; good for looking up "would x say this?" or "what does this phrase mean in this context?" i love the timeline because it shows when the phrase was historically in use. this is english only, though; i dig a little harder for resources like this in other languages.

[crispycreambacon]

Cut Through The Noise

Even as the strike ends, the Palestinian genocide has not.

Now more than ever, there are so many conflicting voices. People with their own self-serving, hateful motivations speak over us, and sometimes our own voices can turn against us. We may feel like our voice isn't enough or we aren't doing enough.

This is why it's so important to learn to shut down that noise. No matter how much people scream that what we're doing is useless or a waste of time, keep talking. Keep talking about Palestine. Keep talking about Palestine for as long as this goes on, both online and in real life. If Israel won't end their genocide, we won't end our protest.

Below is a list of what you can do and the poem transcript.

Check and spread this post which contains a comprehensive list on how to help Palestine.

Learn about the history of Palestine and how the displacement and eventual genocide of Palestinians started in 1948.

Learn more about Palestine, the myths surrounding it and the arguments debunking it.

Boycott companies who are either directly or indirectly supporting and finding Palestine's genocide.

Click a button to raise funds for UNRWA – an organisation aiding Palestinian refugees.

Attend a protest.

Help Gazans stay connected by purchasing eSims for them.

Donate to the following organizations – any amount, no matter how small, goes a long way:

UNWRA

Care for Gaza

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Islamic Relief

Here's another post detailing more charities you can donate to

And most importantly of all: Don't Stop Talking About Palestine! However you interpret it as – creating art, talking to the people in your life, emailing and calling your representatives, even reblogging and making posts – make your voice loud and clear!

— Poem Transcript —

There's a lot of noise right now

Screams dehumanizing poor souls

Groans from those in willful ignorance

People digging deeper and deeper holes

And it's overwhelming, it really is

I do not blame you

Sometimes you feel that your voice is too small

I feel that way too

But despite that, I urge you to keep going

And demand for what's right

Even it sounds like a whimper

You're still joining in the fight

And soon the rest of us will join

We can stand together here

We can cut through the white noise

And make our message clear