#perhaps i should have written this when i was less tired perhaps it would have been a bit more coherent?

[ayjadasblogforeverything]

Fic Writer Q&A

Can you imagine that *I* got tagged at a *fic writer* q&a? Yeah, me neither! Thank you, @sirenofthegreenbanks!

Perhaps I should precede this with saying that I barely write, I have published 5 works or so. And when I write, it is very short, perhaps because I am a mathematician, perhaps because I talk so much on a daily basis. My longest work is <1k and three of the five works are drabbles (like, the old school 100-word pieces). Also, I can ironically already feel that this is going to be an essay. You were warned :)

How many WIPs do you currently have?

I usually don't have WIPs, or if I have a WIP, I usually only have it for a few days, as my pieces are very short. I have fragments that I wrote for myself that I do not intend to publish. There will not be progress there, so they are not WIPs. But currently I actually have not only one, but two fragments that I would consider WIPs! That's infinitely more than on average!

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish?

Most of my fics so far are based on more or less stupid jokes and are in general light-hearted, funny or cracky. I think in general, I find it hardest to write earnest stuff to a satisfactory level. Perhaps that is because that might be inspired by me projecting, which leads to things being too out of character. Perhaps I just find it hard in general to hit peoples' voices, which might have a greater impact in serious topics. Perhaps it's also that writing always feels like a striptease of my soul and I deal badly with the perceived vulnerability that it brings, which is worse when it is about more serious topics. So out of the two WIPs I have, I expect the one that deals with some insecurities to be the one that is harder to finish or to finish to my satisfaction, even though it is the shorter one.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

Öhm. If it is about how I find inspiration, I don't know. It either comes or it doesn't, and I am very chill about that because I am very much not ambitious with my writing. Once I have a situation in my mind, I aim to note the gist of it down on my phone, but I am a master procrastinator but also forgetful, so that will take some time.

Then if I feel like I want to get creative and challenge myself at some point, I look up my list of ideas and pick one that feels doable at the time. (Rarely, I sit down immediately to write up a first version, but it needs to be a special idea for that to happen.)

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

No. With the length of my fics, it would take way longer to curate a playlist than I would have time to listen to it.^^ I tend to not have any music on when I am writing or only music without lyrics. I think I wrote the last few drabbles late in the night when I procrastinated going to bed or something and some invisible force possessed me to open my document with my drabbles and I just started writing and stopped when I had a decent not-quite drabble. I was just in this pretty weird, awesome mood you sometimes get into when it is in the middle of the night and you don't know what the time is even if you check the clock and you feel like you are the only alive thing in this world and it is just somewhat... tranquil? I tend to not be in the mood for music in this state of mind.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organized?

With the length of my fics, there's no other choice but balls to the wall XD. I think this is also a big reason why I prefer extremely short formats - you don't have to plan. Sometimes, I picture the entire situation in my head and collect a few phrases I could use beforehand so that most of it is already in my head, in case that counts as being organized.

I used to have a list in my mind of situations that I wanted to collect in a longer fic, but I think by now, I forgot it all. Damn. Why did I not write it down? But then, the fic would never get written because I am still not creative enough for a some overarching plot to my collection of situations.

Overall, I feel like I am not enough of a writer to answer these questions, actually, but for that, I wrote a lot I guess XD

Of course, I am curious about @deneb-al-giedi's answers. And about everyone else's that wants to talk about their fic writing process.

[grison-in-space]

I'm genuinely sorry, I was really tired and couldn't think of the word that mad pride movements use. I'm new to all of this. I thought you would be more open to it because you've reblogged from radical leftists (anarchists and communists both) within the past couple of weeks and they're all for Veganism afaik. The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different. I'm not spamming people with it, but I was inspired by an ask by a nonvegan and started asking popular bloggers why they weren't vegan to open up conversation and potentially change people's views on animals. If I've made you uncomfortable I'm sorry, though I admit I'm really confused by your standpoint. You do know that the only reason communism hasn't succeeded is because of America? Anyway, sorry again, I'm also autistic and I didn't mean to dismiss your legitimate dietary needs. Can I recommend acti-vegan's posts? While I understand that you can't go vegan, perhaps their blog will at least help you understand our points, they're much more well-written than my asks and they have plenty of legitimate science resources at hand. Thanks for listening, I'll take your advice into account. I'm not trying to not listen, it's just frustrating because so many people say they get it but they don't change, and if they truly got it they would, you know?

Okay, I get that you didn't mean to be offensive, and fuck knows I shouldn't throw stones when it comes to forgetting specific words. (This happens to me fairly frequently; it's a thing.)

The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different.

So yesterday I actually wrote out and then deleted a whole paragraph to the effect of "part of my deep, deep frustration with animal rights activism hooks into my commitment to the phrase 'nothing about us without us,' because I frequently see the same kinds of emotional projection without making the effort to listen to animals on their own terms from animal rights activism groups."

The first thing I need to make clear to you is that this--veganism and animal rights activism (ARA) more generally--is not new to me. I am in my mid-thirties and I have never had a job of any kind that did not revolve around animals in some way, I've spent time in rescue spaces and vets and universities, I'm queer and I have spent most of my life in leftish progressive circles, so it's kind of hard to miss.

Essentially, you are proselytizing to me as if you were a newly baptized evangelical convinced I had never heard of Jesus, because if only I had heard and understood his holy word, I would be converted instantly to his light! It's not any less irritating when the belief system isn't explicitly a religion.

More under the cut, because this one is long.

Disclaimer one: Veganism isn't synonymous with ARA ideology, but it's deeply entangled with it, and ARA ideology drives the movement of veganism as a (theoretically non-religious) ethical decision. And I object very strongly to the framework imposed by ARA activists. When I say I am not vegan, I am saying that I have considered the ethical framework that underpins veganism as an ethics movement and I have deliberately rejected it.

The second piece of context you should know that when I talk about being a behavioral ecologist, I mean that I'm a researcher who works on animals and that my framework is rooted in trying to understand animals in their own natural ecological context, without necessarily comparing them to humans. There's a lot of ways to study animal behavior you might run into, including attempts to understand universal principles of behavior that transcend species (animal cognition) and attempts to understand how to better treat animals in human care (animal welfare). You know Temple Grandin? Temple Grandin is an ethologist (the field that gave rise to behavioral ecology, also focused on animals within their species context) who worked on animal welfare (finding ways to make slaughterhouses less stressful to livestock, among other things).

Third point: my profession also means is that I work directly with animals--in my case, currently mice--and that I do not think research with animal subjects is wrong as long as all efforts are made to ensure maximal welfare and enrichment for the animals involved. This is another major bone of contention politically between my entire field and ARA groups, and you should know that I have also spent my entire professional career under the shadow of, well, people who care strongly enough about those ideas to invade my workspace and potentially seize my animals and "free" them into a world they do not have the tools to survive in.

So there's where I am coming from. Let's get back to what you're saying. Here, I'll quote again in case you have the same crappy short-term memory I do.

The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different.

Point the first: Even within humans, I don't think that all brains should be treated the exact same. Especially in a disability context! After all, what is an accommodation if not an agreement to treat someone differently because they need certain things to access a space? Accommodations by definition fly in the face of this "treating everyone the same" understanding of fairness. I think all (human) brains are equally valuable, and I think all brains are worthy of respect, but I do not think that it's wise or kind of me to assert that everyone should be treated in the same way. For one thing, I teach students. If there's one thing teaching has taught me, it's that a good teacher is constantly assessing and adjusting their instruction to meet students where they're at, identify failures of understanding, and keep the attention of the classroom.

Point the second: animals do have different brains from humans. That does not mean that animals are inferior, but it does mean that they are alien. There's a philosophy paper, Nagel, What Does It Mean to Be a Bat, that you might find illuminating on this front. Essentially, the point of the paper is that animals have their own experiences and sensory umwelts that differ profoundly enough from humans' that we cannot know what it is like to be a different species without experiencing life as one, and therefore we must be terribly careful not to project our own realities onto theirs. That is, our imagination cannot tell us what a bat values and what it experiences. That is why we have to use careful evidence to understand what an animal is thinking, without relying on our ability to identify with and comprehend that animal. I have watched ARA groups deliberately encourage people to shut their reasoning brains off and emotionally identify themselves with animals without considering within-species context for twenty years. This is a mainstream tactic. It is not an isolated event and for that reason alone I would be opposed to them.

Point the third: there is a definite tendency in lots of people to care deeply and intensely about both animals and people who are seen as "lesser" in status--children, poor people, disabled people, etc--just as long as those groups never contradict the good feelings that come from the helper's own assessment of themselves and their actions. In humans, when the "needy" point out that some forms of help are actually harmful, the backlash is often swift and vicious. This is why animals are such an appealing target of support and intervention. They can't speak back and say "in fact, you are projecting my love of this frilly pink tutu onto me, and I think it's uncomfortable and prevents me from walking." They can't say "I kind of like it better when I don't have to worry about getting hit by a car, actually?"

(By the way: this is also why it's offensive to compare disabled people to animals, because this is generally done at least in part to silence the voices of disabled people speaking for our selves and our communities. We have access to language, and we use it, thank you.)

All forms of animal welfare intervention going right back to the founding of the first RSPCA have been incredibly prone to being hijacked by classist, racist, and otherwise bigoted impulses. This is because animals offer an innocent face for defense that conveniently cannot criticize the actions taken by their champions, and they therefore provide a great excuse for actions taken against marginalized members of human society. Think about the very first campaign the RSPCA ever did, which was banning using dogs as draft animals: a use that is not inherently harmful to dogs, which many dogs actively enjoy, but also one that was specifically used by poor Londoners and which in fact immediately resulted in a great butchery of the dogs that Londoners could no longer afford to feed rather than allowing poor people and their dogs to continue working together. No one was, of course, challenging the particular uses of dogs or any other animal favored by the wealthy. This kind of thing is so, so, so common. Obviously it doesn't mean that all interventions to prioritize animal welfare are inherently bigoted, but it does mean that we have to be critical about our choice of challenges.

On top of everything, the animal rights activist movement's obsession with "exploitation" is a function of the idea that humans are sinful or otherwise Bad in how we interact with animals by definition. For example, take the chicken rescue near me that is so obsessed with the possibility that some human somewhere might benefit from an animal in their care that they implant every hen they adopt out with hormonal implants such that the hens no longer lay eggs--a function that is normally a natural byproduct of a chicken's reproductive system, fertilized or not. A mutualistic relationship involves both parties benefiting, and that is the case for an awful lot of human relationships with animals. In general, the idea that associating with animals is a thing that can only harm animals rather than being a trade between two species to enrich one another is all over these groups. It's just so myopically focused on human shame that it prevents practical interventions that might benefit everyone, and often promotes interventions that don't directly benefit animals but sure do make humans miserable. For example, this kind of thinking is why groups like PETA are absolutely awful at effectively rescuing unwanted dogs and cats: they think pets living in "bondage" with humans are an essentially sad outcome, rather than one that might be mutually enjoyed by all parties.

I'm tired and my meds haven't kicked in, so I'm not currently going to handle the communism thing except to point out that while the US absolutely did destabilize a number of leftist regimes in South America and Africa, Russia and China between them have certainly not treated their own people kindly, either (and more so their own client-nations, as with the former members of the USSR). Please do some reading about the Holodomor and Lysenko in Russia (and frankly all of the details of Stalin's regime) and the Cultural Revolution in China in particular. Khmer Rouge might be worth looking into, too. I am not saying the US's hands are clean, you understand, because they are not; they're as steeped in red as anyone else's. What I am saying is that for people living on the ground, communist revolutions have this nasty habit of turning into bloodbaths and arbitrary slaughters. Do not let your distaste for the US's bloodsoaked imperialism (which, yes, is and was bad) let you fall into the trap of becoming a tankie.

And if you don't know what a tankie is, you really, really should take some time to learn.

[seelestars]

☆ the emortia flower. (jiyan angst)

a/n : i tried looking for a flower similar to the emortia, hopefully this white hyacinth is close enough hehe (*´∇｀*) i haven’t written in a while so sorry if this isn’t that good

“that’s such a silly idea! we’re both dying together of old age in the future, so there would be no need for me to plant a flower here for you!”

oh how it felt like yesterday when you were innocently naive and optimistic.

regret and sorrow seeps into every bone of your body. why would you say that? there was so much more you wanted—no, needed—to say to him. even if they were as little and mundane as where you should go for your next date, or something as big and important as your future together. you should’ve told him everything on your mind. there was never a need to wait.

because now, you don’t even have the chance to wait to tell him anything.

as you were planting the seed into the soil, you felt your tears you were previously unaware of fall into the ground and soak the earth. you could feel your lips and fingers trembling as you covered the seed with soil, kneeling there with puffy eyes. you were sure you’ve been crying for a long time, as you could feel your eyes and face burn painfully. yet… nothing was more painful than losing him.

“…of course. how silly of me.” jiyan had given you a slight nod, his brows slightly furrowed as he smiles fondly at you. though at that time, it was clear he had wanted to say more.

perhaps you both were the same when it came to that. always trying to wait for the perfect opportunity to speak your mind.

you wished both of you were braver, more confident when it came to voicing your thoughts.

maybe then, him slipping through your fingers would’ve hurt less.

you remembered it as if it had just happened a minute ago.

his limp body in your arms as you sobbed, hugging him tightly. “why would you take the hit for me?! you’re so stupid!” you cried, sadness and frustration filling your voice as you look at him. you couldn’t understand how he was still smiling gently at you, even though he was in so much pain.

“i’m sorry for being so stupid, then. i’m afraid… i won’t be able to make it up to you.” jiyan coughs, the blood from his open wound dripping onto your hands. he weakly puts his hand over yours, softly caressing your knuckles as he looks at you with tired eyes.

“no! you can’t die here! just… just wait! i’ll bring you to a medic!” your eyes widen at his implications, panic feeling your voice. …but unfortunately for the both of you, you were currently both on a mission where it just the two of you. the city was quite far from here. you knew it was likely you wouldn’t make it back in time, but you still naively held onto that hope.

with that, the life began draining from his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. “…i… love you. may we… meet.. again… in the.. after life.” immediately, you felt even more tears flow down your cheeks as you sobbed into his lifeless body.

life was cruel.

you should’ve seen it coming. after all, he was a general. positions like that usually came with a hefty price. you wished you had spent more time with him. you wished you had never lashed out at him over things you now viewed as insignificant. you wished you helped him more. you wished you had told him “i love you” more.

you could only smile sadly at the seed. he had told you of its name and meaning once, and you couldn’t forget about it since.

emortia, the flower he bred himself. the word meant both departure and return. it was a resilient flower, similar to how he was. but of course, all flowers wither in the end. all you could do now is make sure to take good care of this flower you planted in his honor.

[melancholic-and-delusional]

hi hi !! i would like to take part in your event ! but first of all congrats for reaching 150 followers !!!

can i request a fyodor x fem!reader with fluff prompt #4, nsfw prompt #2 and kink #7? thank you !!

Thank you so much for requesting! <3 I hope you enjoy what I've written!

Soft and Gentle Fyodor <3

Fem!Reader

Word Cound: 1.4k

Fluff Prompt: "I wish nothing more than to hold you close right now."

NSFW Prompt: "You look so beautiful, darling. I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself any longer. "

Kinks: soft and gentle sex

It was the middle of the night, and Fyodor was still awake. He was in his office, standing in front of a few computer screens. The purple shine they were producing was the only light source in the room. His eyes looked tired as he moved them to look from screen to screen. The clicking of a mouse could be heard, as well as the occasional typing on the keyboard. You can't say the man was especially happy to be doing this. He could be right next to you right now, cuddling you, receiving your praise for his hard work, but no. He had to do it. He needed to.

But how could he do it in peace when his mind was preoccupied with the thought of you? He can't focus, so, therefore, he can't do his job properly. That was his excuse. He turned off all of the screens, standing up from his chair, which creaked as he did so, and made his way out of the dark room. He walked down the hallway, heading towards the light he saw coming from the kitchen.

Upon entering the room, he squinted his eyes in an attempt to block the direct light that was coming from the switched on lamp on the ceiling. Once his eyes had finally adjusted, however, he noticed you were standing right there in front of him. You didn't realize he was behind you because you were wearing your headphones and were completely engrossed in whatever you were doing.

He stepped towards your figure, peeking at what you had in your hands. You had come to drink your vitamin pill. You placed it inside of your mouth, grabbed a glass of water, and quickly chugged it down. You gulped and turned around, only to see Fyodor's tall frame was behind you all along. He chuckled as you jumped from surprise and took off your headphones.

"Did I scare you?" he questioned as a smirk graced his face.

"Yes!" you replied, still clearly annoyed.

He smiled and went in to cup your cheeks, kissing your forehead gently.

"Have you finished your work yet?"

"Not yet... I'm just taking a little break," the man was too prideful to admit that he simply missed you. He was thinking of a subtle way to convince you to dedicate your whole attention to him for the entire night. He wasn't the type to beg, and he much preferred getting what he wanted in less needy ways. He reached towards your hand, bringing it close to his mouth and laying a soft kiss upon it. You were in no way an idiot, however, and you managed to see right through his confident facade.

"Did you miss me that much?"

Fyodor chuckled once more.

"You know me too well, my dear," he said and placed his hand on your back. Then, he started leading you toward your shared bedroom. "Why don't you come entertain me for a while, hm? I'd love to spend some quality time with my dearest"

"Of course," you nodded as you let him take you away from the kitchen, switching off the lights on the way out.

The two of you walked down the dimmed hallway and entered your bedroom.

"My darling," Fyodor began, hoping that you'd be up to for what he was about to offer you, "I think that we hadn't had the chance to be intimate recently and I would love to give us this opportunity," he continued, trying his best not to sound too desperate.

"If you want to have sex, you can just say so. It's no use trying to hide your intentions, Fedya"

Chucking, Fyodor replied:

"Very well then... perhaps I should attempt a more direct approach?"

You looked at him, but before you could make eye contact, he grabbed you by the waist and slowly began to move you towards the bed. He pushed you onto the soft mattress, climbing on top of you. He hovered over you, smirking at your expression. To say you were taken by surprise was an understatement.

Your partner leaned down to plant a passionate kiss on your lips. You kissed him back and ran your hands through his dark hair. Pulling away, he took his shirt off in a swift move. Slowly, he began pulling your own blouse over your head and then threw it onto the floor. Pulling back once again, he pecked your lips and slowly started trailing towards your cheeks, ears, jawline, neck, and eventually collarbones. From time to time, he would stop on one spot to suck a hickey onto your skin and then continue again.

Eventually, he reached your bra. He looked up at you as if he needed your permission. You nodded, and he unhooked your bra in an instant, revealing your naked chest to him. He returned to kissing you, grazing over your nipples ever so often to tease you. As he reached your belly and finally the waistband of your sweatpants, he pulled away to slowly take them off together with your underwear.

As you stood completely revealed before him, you squeezed your thighs together, feeling somewhat shy despite having done this before with him. He was watching you while he was taking off his own pants and also boxers.

"You're so beautiful, darling. I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself any longer."

Now that the both of you were naked, he leaned down again, smiling at you. Yet another kiss was shared between you before he grabbed a hold of his hard dick, slowly placing it inside of you.

"Is that okay?" he asked to make sure you were comfortable.

You smiled and replied with a quick "yes" before wrapping your arms around his neck, lightly tugging at his stray strands of hair. He began to pound into you, setting a slow and sensual pace. His hands moved towards your hips, and he held onto them. You let out a brief gasp as he did so, and he chuckled in satisfaction. One of his hands trailed down to your clit and he started rubbing gentle circles around it.

A few minutes had passed, and the room was filled with soft moans and gasps from both parties. Fyodor was still towering above you, just this time his hand was squeezing the fat of your breast, and his other one was gripping your waist. You were below him and were receiving each of his passionate thrusts. The both of you were looking into each other's eyes, and you felt your highs nearing.

A few moments later, Fyodor pulled out from you and jerked himself off a little before spilling his load on your stomach. He placed his tip on your clit and began moving it to help you reach your climax as well. Not much time later, you came and he leaned down to kiss your neck as you calmed down from the orgasm.

He lay down next to you and pulled you closer to him. Burying your head in his chest, he sighed in contentment and began playing with your hair. He felt so comfortable with you. He was so vulnerable right then and there that there was no point in holding back his affection towards you any longer. Softly, he mumbled the words:

"I wish nothing more than to hold you close right now"

You couldn't fight back the grin that crept upon your blushing face.

As Fyodor's heavy eyelids began to close and his breathing became even slower and calmer, he whispered, "I love you," and you felt his hands slowly conclude their movements along your scalp. He drifted into sleep surprisingly quickly. You said it back to him but got only a light snore in reply. It was strange, really. Usually, Fyodor would wait for you to fall asleep first, and then he would finally rest, but today, he felt too tired. It wasn't so often that he would let himself be this soft and lovey-dovey, so seeing him in this light was definitely one of the greatest pleasures for you. In fact, you were the only person he'd let his guard down around like this. Indeed, you were special.

[szlez]

Stay - destiel fanfic by ani_ona and me with my fanart Feverish

Written for https://sicktember.tumblr.com prompt. Dean & Cas

Stay

It was Sam, who noticed first. Knowing every muscle of his brother's face and years of studying every one of his tiniest expressions helped, but at the end of the day it was due to that unexplainable connection between the two of them. The strange force that made his time at Stanford less enjoyable and more sleepless. So now he just knows that something is wrong with his brother. And when Dean orders his beloved chili fries and doesn't suck in every last bit in a matter of minutes, Sam and Cas exchange worried looks.

Their case is solved, dinner finished, and they are in for a 9-hour drive home. Another cue that something is not just as it should be is when Dean decides to let Sam drive after an hour and doesn't take a shotgun seat but joins Castiel in the back instead. When Sam glances in the rear mirror, he sees his brother's head resting on the angel's shoulder and the intense stare of the blue eyes.

Dean doesn't wake up the whole ride home. Cas somehow manages to arrange him into a more lying position, with his head on the angel's lap. Sam would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't focused on keeping his eyes open and on the road.

They reach the bunker at dawn, and Dean lets Castiel maneuver him out of the car and down the stairs.

“Get him to his room,” Sam says, his voice hoarse from not using and tiredness. “And I’ll bring some supplies.” Cas just nods and adjusts his grip around Dean's waist. He is taking off the hunter's shoes, when Sam comes in with water and some pills.

“Looks like he is going down with something…” Cas murmurs, letting the back of his palm touch Dean's cheek. He frowns and crouches beside the bed to lightly press his lips to Dean's forehead. “Definitely. His fever is high.” He whispers, now real concern lacing his voice.

The gesture looks a lot like a kiss. Dean would undoubtedly freak out if he was awake. But now Sam is too tired to analyze it further.

“Make sure he drinks a lot. And takes these once he is conscious enough.” he points to the meds. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No, Sam, I got this, you drove the whole night, go get some sleep.”

Sam nods and leaves, though he feels strange. He's never left his brother's side during an illness. Even as a child, he used to cling to his brother when any of them was unwell. Perhaps it had something to do with losing the only source of safety and care. Now Dean has his angel, Sam tells himself, lowering his pounding head onto the pillow. He is out in a few minutes.

In the meantime, Castiel frees Dean of most of his clothing, careful with every movement, expecting the hunter to shove him away and yell. But he doesn't react more than with a quiet sigh, and feeling his skin radiating unnatural heat makes Castiel worry even more. He tries to wake Dean up, but only succeeds in making him swallow some pills without choking. When the fever is still high, regardless of the meds, Castiel's anxiety reaches a dangerous level bordering panic. What if he is doing something wrong? Or not doing enough? He stares at the pale face of his friend, thinking. Dean would know what to do. He always does. Dean dealt with countless of Sam's childhood illnesses, even more wounds requiring various types of stitches, his father's drunken fits and hangovers. But now it's Dean who needs help, and Cas feels uncertain and incompetent. Afraid that he could make things worse. What is he supposed to do? Should he go get Sam?

Dean stirs in his sleep, and Castiel's train of thoughts is interrupted. He focuses on his friend, whose brow frowns, and his whole body tenses under the covers. Hands grip the sheets tightly and suddenly he opens his eyes wide, staring terrified and unseeing through the ceiling, breathing shallow, quick breaths. What is he seeing, Cas can only guess, but he is afraid he can guess correctly.

“Hey… Easy…” Cas reaches for Dean's hand and feels fingers clutching his wrist like a lifeline. “Whatever you see, it's not real. You are safe here, with me. It's just a dream. It's not real.” Cas whispers over and over again until Dean rests his head on the pillow and falls asleep, not letting go of his angel’s hand.

So until he loosens his grip, Castiel has no other option but to sit down on the floor by the bed and try to make himself comfortable. He feels Dean’s quick pulse under his fingertips and watches an unhealthy blush coloring hunter's cheeks. After what feels like hours the idea pops into Cas’ mind, and he makes a quick run to the sink with a handful of handkerchiefs. As soon as the wet cloth touches hot skin, Dean shudders violently and makes a little sound close to whimper. Cas's heart tightens. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek to calm him down, and the hunter leans into the touch as if trying to find some relief. The angel sits on the bed and cradles Dean's head, wanting to absorb the heat, illness, and pain.

“You are going to be ok, I'll take care of you.” He whispers to the unconscious man and feels Dean's chaotic fear and suffering flooding him, leaving him breathless. He has to do something, anything, to help, and fast. The echo of Dean's headache pounding in his own skull.

Dean is drifting in and out of consciousness, never lucid enough to hold a real conversation, just searching the space with glassy eyes that close with relief once he makes sure Castiel is with him.

“You are not alone,” Castiel tells him, knowing very well that Dean won't remember anything. “You won't be anymore.”

Hours go by and Castiel fills his time with wiping Dean's face, trying to get some water into him, changing cold compresses, and constantly checking the temperature. With zero improvement so far. Why is nothing working?

Finally, Cas knows he can't delay it anymore and a decision has to be made now. It's been hours and they haven't made any progress. Dean is exhausted and completely out of it from pain and fever, and Cas can't look at his dry lips and glistering, unseeing eyes any longer. It's time to take serious steps.

Dean is heavy. The dead weight of his nearly unconscious body is hard to carry. But not for the angel, who lifts him with ease, just like all these years before when they were leaving Hell. Castiel carefully lowers his trembling burden into the tube, and Dean immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. Cas starts the lukewarm water and strokes Dean’s chest and back,

“Easy… try to relax” he murmurs, enfolding the hunter's arms. “This is going to help, you will feel better soon, just relax.” And finally, Dean does. Once the tube is filled, he straightens his legs and seems to be drifting off again. He slides a little and would go under if it weren't for Castiel’s grip.

“I’ve got you,” the angel sighs softly. “Don't worry, just relax and rest” he whispers, gently rubbing his chest and stomach in a slow circular motion.

This could be so much fun in different circumstances, Castiel thinks to himself, taking in his lover’s slim, muscular figure under the clear surface… What is he thinking about?!, he scolds himself immediately. It's definitely not a good time for such things. He has to admit to himself that he appreciates the sight before his eyes, though. 

Returning to the bedroom is surprisingly difficult because Dean, now somewhat conscious and wrapped tightly in the biggest towel the bunker can offer, insists on going on his own. This proves to be not the best idea when after a few steps his legs fail to support him, and he is forced to accept Castiel's outstretched arm reluctantly. 

The angel doesn't speak much now when Dean is able to comprehend what is being said to him. Helping Dean change into fresh clothes, and passing him pills and a glass of water, Cas carefully observes his patient, not daring to think that the worst is over now. Once Dean dozes off again, his fever rises a few degrees but only to break after a few hours, leaving the hunter drenched in sweat, weak and tired but finally fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Seeing Dean putting on his T-shirt without help convinces Cas that his job is finished. He stands up slowly, mutters some “I’d be going” and turns to leave. That's when his hand is gripped one more time this night.

Cas catches Dean’s gaze lucid at last and though the man doesn’t utter a sound, the angel can hear one word, clear as a bell: Stay.

[currebunz]

Ch 10: Fun in Friday

AO3 link

After a shower and much needed restocking, it was time to head out. Roberto had the wheel while you were stuck in the back with Vash and Nicholas. It was usually cramped, the two larger men taking up most of the room. However, this time it felt stuffy. A weird sense of awkwardness hung only in the backseat. You glanced at Nicholas, he did appear any different. If anything, he was more relaxed considering what happened before you left. When you turned to Vash, he was just looking out the window. 

He wouldn’t budge, less the truck bounced a little too hard and caused everyone to shift. You would have lost interest if not for the fact you caught him slipping. You saw Vash turn and try to peek at you, he was really bad at hiding it with the way he jumped. Perhaps he hadn’t expected to see you staring at him. Either way, you were a bit annoyed that he was purposely avoiding eye contact. But that would have to wait for when you could get him alone.

“Where are we going? I don’t see anything” Meryl complained.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Roberto said gruffly.

“What do you mean ‘you’ll see? We should know now” she argued.

“It’s not some place you kids would know” he continued.

Nicholas grumbled when he heard that, ready to join in the argument.

“Well, what about the less traveled? I want to know” you jumped in.

Roberto glanced at you through the rear view mirror and rolled his eyes slowly. He let out a tired sigh, knowing that he was outnumbered in this situation. His grip shifted on the driver’s wheel as he relaxed in the driver’s seat.

“Our destination is Friday, the city of lights,” he finally confessed.

“Friday? I never heard of it” Meryl pouted.

“I haven’t heard of it either” you said as you turned to Nicholas.

“It’s a big gambling hub, neutral territory amongst gangs and vagabonds. The safest place if you are willing to sell your life away to work for some big wig” he explained in his own way.

“No thanks, and no gambling for you,” you said with a narrowed gaze.

“Fine then, I’ll splurge on the women and alcohol” Nicholas sneered.

“Good luck paying with the lint in your pockets” you spat back.

“Alcohol and women?” Vash perked up.

“No, no. Not you too” you pointed at him.

He laughed nervously and held his hands up in defense.

“It also has a water plant, which makes it an exceptional target. That is, if your crazy brother decides to appear” Roberto said to Vash.

“Well, there is always a chance he might…” Vash agreed.

“Then it is for business and pleasure, no need to get so ruffled about it” Roberto said.

“Ugh, it still reeks of ulterior motive…” Meryl groaned.

With the plan finalized, the truck was headed for Friday. Even though the sun was about to set, Roberto continued to drive. In the distance, lights were the first thing you could see. Then large buildings of varying sizes. Then you could hear the music. As the truck drove in, the city was alive with various vagabonds and people. It was much different from the other cities or even the ships.

“Now this is my kind of scene” Nicholas chuckled as he looked out the window.

“It’s a bit loud here…” you sighed.

Meryl was awestruck, looking out the window at the many buildings that passed by. Most of them began to blur together but the bright signs were all you needed to know what kind of business that was in this town.

“Let’s go ahead and get to an inn before they run out of rooms” Roberto laughed.

The hotel was a normal one thankfully, lacking any kind of services outside of lofty beds. This time around, everyone got their own room for some reason.

“I thought we were strapped for cash?” you asked.

“Roberto said this can be written off as ‘work expenses’ but I doubt it” Meryl rolled her eyes.

As odd it felt to take another ‘break’, you had a feeling rest was far from what you would be doing. Everyone met in the lobby for their ‘instructions’.

“Alright, our goal is to find the plant and ask around for any suspicious figures. I’ll head to the lounges to get information” Roberto began.

“For real? It sounds like you are just going to slack off” Meryl narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re too young to go in anyways so you can stick to the streets” Roberto waved her off.

“I’ll ask around at the gambling dens, maybe I’ll make a killing while there” Nicholas chuckled.

“Yeah, lady killing maybe” you rolled your eyes at him.

“It shouldn’t be hard for me to make it big…” Nicholas trailed off as an idea occurred.

He nudged you toward Vash and smirked.

“Why don’t you go spend time with Needle-noggin? You’ve been glued to my side since we met back up. You two can go on a little date or something?” he chuckled.

“Nick…” you gave him a serious side eye.

“Hm? Me?” Vash pointed at himself.

Nicholas laughed, walking away as he left you alone with Vash. Roberto and Meryl had already left too, leaving you alone with the strange blonde. The awkward air was still there and you had no idea what was going through his head at the moment. Not that he would tell you outright to begin with.

“Wow, I guess it’s just us for now then” Vash said as he rubbed the back of his head and looked up at the neon lights above.

There wasn’t anything that came to mind, leaving you in an awkward position. How were you going to break the ice with him?

“I need a drink…” you sighed and began walking.

“W-Wait, I’m coming too!” Vash followed behind you quickly.

With him being much taller and having longer legs, it didn’t take him more than a second to catch up. He fell into step next to you, looking everywhere but at you. It was a contrast to how he seemed to always have his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. You both stopped by a bar, ordering a drink of your choice. Vash had a tall beer in his hand, raising the glass to you.

“Shall we?” he grinned.

“Yeah” you clicked your glass with his.

It seemed like he wasn’t so nervous around you anymore. After taking your first sip, you looked at Vash.

“Looks like you finally relaxed, I thought you might have had a problem with me” you confessed.

Vash nearly spit out his beer, forcing himself to swallow and hit his chest.

“W-Why would I have a problem?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“Well, you’ve been kind of shy as of late. Did I forget something?” you asked.

Vash felt his cheeks warm up, there was no way he could get around it now.

“I may have…. Heard you in the shower…” he said without looking you in the eye.

“Oh….” you took a sip of your drink and looked at the bar counter.

‘I’m gonna kill Nico’

You clutched your drink and tried to imagine kicking Nicholas in the shins until he fell over. Vash could feel the intense irritation coming from you and laughed nervously.

“I-I don’t mind, we’re all adults after all” he tried to say.

But his chest tightened, he knew why he did mind. He knew how selfish he would be by trying to convince you to not do that…. Or to do it with him.

“That’s not the point, it’s rude to just not warn you or anything” you sighed.

“So, you two are like that?” he asked.

“Not necessarily, it’s just… we trust each other I guess? It’s not like I have any reasons not to and Nico isn’t taking advantage of me. I guess it’s more like a casual exchange” you tried.

You didn’t want to put it into words, you both were supposed to be partners in crime, not lovers. Nicholas made that clear and you were painfully aware that he would be in danger around you after this job.

“Huh, I think I can understand that. As long as you are happy” he sighed.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you felt a bit confident about this feeling welling up inside you. A sly smirk curled up on your lips and you leaned on the counter a bit. Your finger traced the rim of your drink as you looked at him.

“Do you want in on it?” you asked.

“Yes?! I-I mean what?” Vash stammered as he hit his knee on the counter.   Both drinks shook as he groaned in pain. Your eyes went wide briefly and a small laugh left you.

“I didn’t think you would actually respond, I thought you would have understood it was a joke” you said.

“Ah…”

Now both of you were staring at the counter, red in the face and stiff in the shoulders. You wondered why you said it, it just felt right and you knew Nicholas would have done that in the moment. But it made you feel warm that Vash just agreed wholeheartedly like that. You had no idea he was beating himself up for taking the invite seriously, of course it was a joke! You had only met him like a week ago!

“S-Sorry, that was a joke made in poor taste…” you began.

“N-No! I just… ah…” Vashs struggled to think of a way to salvage the moment.

As the two of you sat there, some gunmen were laughing loudly and approached you both from behind. They threw their arms around you both and raised their drinks.

“Come on! Join in on the fun!” one guy said.

“Yeah, you two are missing out on the best part about Friday!” the other man cheered.

Both you and Vash shared a strange look, wondering if they were trying to mug you or kidnap you.

“What is the best part?” Vash asked.

The two men tugged you both toward the door and onto the street.

“The Don’s parade! All his best girls come out and pick luck bastards for a night of pleasure. Doesn’t matter who you are or what you are, everyone has a chance!” the men cheered.

‘Oh of course it is something like that’ you thought dryly.

“Anyone? Um, I think we’re good” Vash glanced at you worriedly.

“Aw, don’t be modest big bro! Newbies are really popular and lucky! You might even get the don’s best girl!” a man nudged Vash.

“Yeah, Monica likes fresh meat after all,” another man sighed.

“Thanks but no thanks, I’m not really interested” you began.

There was loud music as a parade began, well something like that. There was a large float with various women on it. They all waved and blew kisses as the float drove slowly by. Their eyes scanned the crowd and only a few picked people from the mob. You began to slide back into the bar but the men blocked your way back in.

“Don’t be a sourpuss, at least try!” one man stated.

“I’m not interested so won’t that better your chances?” you said as you tried to push past them.

But the men wouldn’t budge, the float was drawing closer and some women began walking alongside it to get a better look at the crowd. You were getting annoyed and felt a slight panic at the possibility of being chosen. You glanced at Vash and saw that a woman was approaching him. She had a sultry smile on her face as she traced a manicured finger along his jaw. You couldn’t hear them but it made your stomach drop.

His eyes met yours and he stared into your eyes. They went wide and he wasn’t paying the woman attention anymore. He wasn’t even paying attention to anything around either of you. He leaned toward you and grabbed your hand, taking it firmly in his before taking off running. You were stumbling behind him, finding your footing as you kept up with him. Vash pulled you into an alley, the walls were so narrow you both were standing chest to chest. With Vash being taller it was more like your face was in his chest.

“Haah…. Hah…ah…” Vash’s heaving breathing filled your ears.

Your own breathing echoed in your ears as you both heard the two men run by looking for you both. You were glad to be away from it all but the parade was still nearby, it was too early for you to let your guard down. You looked up at Vash, regretting it quickly. You both were close enough that your noses were touching. You could see his blue eyes reflect the colorful neon lights that illuminated the entrance of the alley. His shades slid down slightly on his nose and cheeks were slightly red.

“U-Um…” his lips trembled as he realized his hands were on either side of your head.

From the outside, this looked like something entirely different than what he had intended to do. But he couldn't find it in him to move away. He swallowed, drawing attention to his throat. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and throat for a second before going back upward.

“Vash…” your question was more of a call of his name.

It was enough to pull him from his shock and he laughed nervously.

“Haha, I guess I just made my own joke huh? I wasn’t intending to do anything…” he said as he tried to shimmy past you to stand in front of the alley entrance.

You released a breath you had no idea you were holding. You felt your shoulders drop as you saw him look out to see if the coast was clear. While he was busy looking, he missed the way you put a hand over your beating heart. Maybe you had drunk too much after all….

A hand wrapped around your mouth and you felt yourself being pulled into the dark alley. It was too quickly to react as you were soon engulfed in darkness. When you felt the hands leave you for a moment, you swung your arm in their direction. It nearly connected, but it wasn’t a direct hit. You heard the sound of something clicking and soon a wave of shock rushed over you.

“A t-taser?!” you exclaimed.

You gritted your teeth, following the direction of the hooks to see some kind of guard using it. You started walking toward him, ignoring the pain and the shock running through your body. He turned the dial up, panicking at how it wasn’t stopping you.

“What’s this bitch made of?” he exclaimed.

You punched the man, feeling the taser stop. Your body felt like it was made of rubber and you began to lose feeling in your legs.

“Ah, shit…” you said before falling to the ground.

You heard someone approaching you and a gruff voice echoed out.

“You dumbass, don’t tase ‘em! I said to bring ‘em to me not kill ‘em!” the voice growled.

------------------------- Your mind felt heavy, actually, your entire body felt heavy. The last thing you remembered was being tased. You opened your eyes, feeling yourself bound to wood. Your eyes made out the legs of a chair and a wooden floor. As you raised your head, you smelled smoke.

Burning tobacco

“Nico? “ you groaned.

“Who the hell is that? Around here, they call me don Grappa. Forgive my idiot underlings, that’s no way to treat a guest in Friday” a gruff voice said.

Your head was pounding so you just glared at the man. Unsure of what to do in this case.

“I bet you are wondering why I wanted to talk with you, well I would like to explain it over dinner to compensate for the rude trip you were forced into. That is, if you agree to not kick my ass or anythin’” Grappa chuckled.

“I’ll consider it” you grumbled.

“I don’t blame you but I’m bein’ honest, I have some info you will want and I got some questions in exchange. I’ll even invite your friends to come save you” Grappa promised.

Your mouth was in a thin line, so he knew who you came with? Was Vash taken too?

“Why would I do that? I’m not about to play some silly game for your entertainment” you said plainly.

“Aw, it will be fun to tease your friends a bit right? I’ll even pay you, just play along with the kidnapping for a bit just to make things exciting…. Let’s say 1k double dollars?” Grappa said.

“Huh?” you grunted.

“Higher?” Grappa said.

“....Make it 10k” you said bitterly.

“Hahaha! I knew I’d like you!” Grappa’s boisterous laugh echoed off the walls.

[sapphic-agent]

I know this probably sounds egotistical and arrogant and perhaps hypocritical because I am a believer that fans shouldn’t dictate how a story should be made, it should be up to the writer and author of the story how it is written.

But after the hurricane of shit that we’ve gotten to where Bakugou is just now being forced down our throats and the story and focused being ripped Izuku and instead bequeathed to this overrated dick, I don’t care anymore.

I say we should petition that, after MHA has initially died down in popularity, we get new writers to reboot the show to where the main focus is on IZUKU, he gets treated the respect he deserves, and Bakugou isn’t the glorified asshole that gets shoved in our faces and told again and again he went through significant “ChArAcTeR dEvElOpMeNt”. Because I am so goddamn sick and disappointed in Horikoshi right now.

Absolutely! When Isayama was getting all the hate when he ended the AOT manga, I was one of his firm defenders. Even though Gege has broken my heart quite a few times in JJK, I still respect their decisions. I absolutely loved how Shirai ended The Promised Neverland manga even though a lot of people didn't. I'm all for writers making doing what they want for their own stories because usually I can understand why they made the decision. Even if it's one I disagree with, I can comprehend why they took that particular course because it usually makes sense in one way or another.

But what Horikoshi did to MHA is appalling.

He reworked an entire series to focus around one character (who was not the main character and wasn't even originally set up to be the deuteragonist). It was bad enough that Bakugou's development wasn't that good anyway, but why did all the other characters have to suffer? Why did Izuku's character have to suffer in his own series?

Not to mention the plot. There were so many aspects to the world Horikoshi created that could have been explored. This was a story about people not being born equal and had so many facets of this society it could have expanded on: quirkless people, mutation quirks, weak quirks, villainous quirks, exploitation of young female students (Kendo and Yaoyorozu), quirk marriages, child assassins (Hawks and Lady Nagant), corrupt government, etc. But nah, let's focus on and pander to the rich privileged brat who was born at the top of society with a powerful quirk and was literally quirkist.

Not to mention, the story literally forgot Izuku was quirkless. All that time he spent miserable and everything he went through (even outside of Bakugou) just down the drain. He never mentions it and hardly even thinks about it. It just... Doesn't matter. A vital aspect to his character gone just like that. Because if we acknowledged it that would just make Bakugou look bad.

Izuku deserved better as a main character. Izuku's real friends deserved to be the ones at his side, not Bakugou who only just started to not be a dick. I'm sick. And when I'm not sick, I'm tired.

I vote that a ton of fanfiction writers work on rewriting MHA together. Because if they release an official manga that treat their precious Kacchan (barf) as anything less than a martyr, there will be riots

[ohnocreativity]

Not a love story. 

Dystopias aren’t a dating ground for the main characters, unlike what Hollywood thinks.

Dystopian environments should make the main character and reader question everything and everyone. Would they tell me to the government? Would they leave me behind as we run away from infected people? Should I trust them? 

Hollywood focuses too much on love to notice that the economy is collapsing and trust is a difficult and complicated thing while living in a dystopia.

In this essay I will be comparing The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner and between the books and the movies.

In the Hunger Games Trilogy, the books written by Suzanne Collins), there are plenty of instances when the main character, Katniss Everdeen makes it plainly clear that she doesn’t want to have a relationship with either Gale (her childhood best friend) and Peeta (the boy who saved her life when they were young.)

She only wants to save her younger sister, Primrose, and their mother. Anyone else is just a bonus. However, playing the star-crossed-lovers is what managed to save her and Peeta from the first games, because the Capitol (like America and Hollywood) wants to see a love story. After 74 years of having every other type of victory story, romance is perfect for them. “Haymitch is right. Star crossed lovers, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol.”

Katniss Everdeen fully believes in the “eye for an eye” motive. She cannot let go of the fact that Peeta saved her life when they were young, which proves to be a good motivation to destroy the Capital and its ideals of using child slaughter as entertainment. 

Even though everyone in the Capital, as well as real life fans who only watch the movies, believe that Katniss and Peeta’s love for each other is what sparked the rebellion that led to the revolution, that is incorrect.

It was the murder of a 12 year old girl in the first games and Katniss’s grief that made the other Districts realise that they are done watching their children be placed in the awful situation where humans are pitted against each other and are forced to fight for the entertainment of others.

If Peeta wasn’t in the Hunger Games, it would still have a powerful message and Katniss Everdeen would still not be with Gale.

Although, in the prequel of the Hunger Games, we learn that before the 11th Game the Capital people didn’t enjoy watching the Hunger Games, not while contrasting their reactions in the 74th. For them it was as much punishment as it was for the District people.

In the end of the books, it is even shown that Katniss left Peeta. She left both of her love options so she can just live by herself and do what she wanted back in District 12. 

Peeta, like always, came to her. 

Survival takes precedence over romance within the books of The Maze Runner. We see it numerous times. 

In the Scorch Trials, when Teresa betrayed Thomas and still believed that W.I.C.K.E.D was good, that was the answer.

In the movies of The Death Cure, Teressa choses W.I.C.K.E.D again and decides to stay, even so. The romance still clouded Thomas’ decision, he was hesitant to trust Teresa but less so than the others.

In the movies Teresa betrays Thomas on an almost daily basis, it was starting to get very tiring. She kept getting into contact with W.I.C.K.E.D (Although it is spelled WCKD for some reason), ignoring the fact that they have failed so many times at so many things. They were meant to keep the Gladers(or subjects as they referred to them) under control, and failed. They were meant to find a cure for the Flare, but failed. They were meant to save humanity and yet again they failed.

In the movies, Teresa’s faith in WCKD was conflicting with her love for Thomas, but near the end of the books Teresa thought she was saving Thomas.

In both The Maze Runner and The Hunger Games (the movies), people’s main focus is romance. As such the screenwriters must have decided to use that to their advantage and focus on it as well. Perhaps because the real meaning of the books were too dark for Americans to take seriously and probably because when someone goes to see a movie they want to be entertained, they want to be moved by something that is seen in regular life. Cranks and murdered children are often evasive from the day-to-day life of people.

So, what is the real meaning of the books?

With The Hunger Games, I believe its main focus is how easily humans can be distracted by positive media, sparkly dresses and good food. As long as things are disguised by something pretty and something that releases endorphins, it’s ok.  The Capital uses bureaucracy, politicians, social, culture and  media control, that is what makes it dystopian.

With The Maze Runner, the main focus is how easily humans betray one another for “the greater good.” It is easy to be lied to, especially when they want to be lied to.

W.I.C.K.E.D lied to themselves. They believed they could play God with children. There were alternatives that they could have taken, but they were less entertaining to do. W.I.C.K.E.D used bureaucracy control like the Capital, but there wasn’t much media to control over, so they got creative. They used psychology to confuse the main characters, making them doubt everything. Their names, their whereabouts. The Gladers were physically confined into the Glade.

Bureaucracy, psychology, resources, physical and information control. 

Dystopian is described as an unfair society… Like ours.

[theintrovertbean]

Summary: A tale of a Countess who lost her memories, and a magician who remembers more than their heart can bear.

-

My OC, Dara, is trans and non-binary. They use they/them pronouns. They were AFAB, but now they have a pp and a more masculine appearance. It's not relevant yet, but later it will be because I love smut.

Unlike in the original Arcana storyline, Dara didn't die of the plague. They are alive and (more or less) well. You will find out everything else from the story itself.

It's gonna be angsty. I'm coming for your hearts.

My fanfiction writing skills are a bit rusty because I haven't written any in years, so bear with me and forgive me if it's shit. It's gonna be a full series. Enjoy!

Word count: ~1400

Wounds of Magic, Scars of Love (Nadia x Dara)

Asra was gone.

Well, at least for the time being. It was usual for him to leave at the darkest hour of the night, but regardless of when and how he left, it always left a slight ache in Dara’s heart. The plague brought them closer, but even after over a decade of knowing each other, one of them always had to leave.

But they came back. Every single time, they would find themselves in the same old magic shop in Vesuvia, dwelling over the past and their mistakes.

And of mistakes, Dara certainly had a lot. But there was one, one that would haunt the magician to their grave. 

Dara has lived and Dara has loved, but never as freely as they wished, for their life had always been bound by what they were allowed and what they were not allowed to do. 

And loving Nadia Satrinava was definitely something they never should have done.

The mysteriousness of the dark, foggy night stirred up a melancholic feeling in Dara’s heart. They always drank red wine because white reminded them of Nadia and whenever they thought of Nadia, which was almost all the time, they felt pain that words could not describe.

And yet, in the haze of that bitter ache, there was also a feeling that shined bright like the last visible star among the clouds of the Vesuvian night. 

Maybe if I had spoken the truth…

But they did not. They kept it to themselves like a lying snake and the guilt of what they did will always be in the back of their mind, reminding them of their sin like a curse. 

So Dara raised their glass. A bit of wine never hurt anyone and after tending to the shop all they, they could indulge themselves in a few sips of alcohol, desperately hoping that it might ease the pain.

And as Dara brewed the last potions for tomorrow, they heard a knock on their door. It was not the most unusual of things as people often seek them out at night to ask for their help. Dara wondered what it was going to be this time. Maybe someone cut off their leg again? Perhaps someone’s grandmother died and they were hoping that a talented magician might be able to bring her back. The endless possibilities. Nothing would surprise Dara anymore.

Except one thing.

With a deep sigh, they rose from their seat and made their way toward the door. The stranger knocked again, more urgently this time and much to the magician’s annoyance. 

Why can’t you just wait a moment? 

Surely, it was not that difficult to spare some patience for the tired and overworked magician. Especially at this hour.

But the stranger persisted, sharply knocking again just as Dara reached out to open it. 

And without wasting even a moment, the person stepped in, storming past the magician as soon as there was enough space for her to enter. She said nothing, she just stood in the middle of the room, her eyes searching for something as if she was seeing the shop for the first time.

She had her back to them, but Dara could recognize her anywhere. “Nadia?” Her name unwillingly slipped past their lips and Dara almost cursed at themselves for allowing it. The Countess turned to face them with a look of surprise on her face. “Why are you here?” Dara asked in a voice barely more audible than a whisper. There was pain in their words, years of hurt and desperation. 

“You must read the cards for me.” She was panting slightly, the magician could hear it. She must have come here in a hurry.

Then the door slammed. “No,” Dara said firmly, causing Nadia’s shoulders to jump and then she turned around. There was fear in her eyes, although Dara did not mean to cause it on purpose. But they would not allow this behavior. Not even to her. “I won’t just let you act like nothing happened. Won’t you say anything? You can’t pretend that we were nothing.” 

Vesuvia whispered. It always has, that was just how the nature of the city was. She whispered that during the plague when even the air smelled of ashes and death, a Countess and her magician hid their affair under the black cloak of the night. 

But there was no affair. Dara often wished there was because maybe then they would have fewer regrets. The people said that Nadia and Dara were lovers, but that was not true. If it was, then Dara would have had one less accusation to feel bad about.

It was, however not baseless. 

The Countess looked away in embarrassment. “I would rather discuss this later. I am here regarding another matter.” She told them, avoiding the subject.

“But if it wasn’t for the other matter, we would never talk about what happened in the first place.” The Countess opened her mouth to say something then she closed it, remaining silent. “So?” Followed by her gaze, Dara asked while walking back to the counter, clearly angered and hurt by the Countess’ presence. “What do you want?” 

“Forgive me for the hour, but I will not suffer another sleepless night.” She unwinded her shawl, a rather poor attempt at disguising herself, and despite every fiber of their being screaming at them not to, Dara still found her just as beautiful as on the tragic night of the last Masquerade. “Please, you must read the cards for me.”

Dara reached for their glass and raised it for the second time that night. They swallowed and then spoke to her. “I heard you the first time and I will not do such thing. If you want a reading, you have to find someone more willing.”

“Then hear my proposal. That is all I ask. I require very little of you.” It’s not little if it requires being in your presence. And being in Nadia Satrinava’s presence felt like a thousand knives were turning in their soul. “Come to the palace and be my guest for a while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course, and I will pay you quite handsomely. I only ask…”

“Keep the money.” Dara interrupted her, making Nadia stare at them with her mouth slightly open for a moment. “It’s not money that I’m after.” 

“Then what is it you want? Surely, you would expect some kind of payment for your troubles.”

“You should invest the money in fixing the damage your husband did. I require nothing.”

Nadia only looked at them and then she nodded. “Then I suppose I shall find another way to reward you.”

“I see you don’t understand. I want nothing from Your Excellency.” But that was not true, not in the slightest. From the corner of their eye, the magician glanced at the Countess. If she asked, would they still do anything for her? Would they leave everything behind for even a moment of blissfulness with her?

Yes. Yes, I would.

But Nadia did not protest. She should and in the past, she would have, so why not now? Maybe things were not the same anymore. “Thank you for not turning me away. I understand you have some…grievances. You pique my interest.” Her last sentence makes the magician raise an eyebrow in curiosity. 

But tonight, there was nothing else left for them to say. Or at least Dara was not sure if their heart would be able to take it.

Nadia cleared her throat and her attention shifted toward the door and then back. 

Oh? She was expecting Dara to open the door for her, but after tonight she should know better. Dara took one long sip from their glass before settling it down on the glass top of the counter. And with probably more bravery than all of Vesuvia had, Dara stared directly into Nadia’s eyes, their gaze cold and determined, but also lost and still grieving the loss of something they never had. 

The Countess sighed, disappointed in the treatment Dara was giving her. She could easily order them to behave and Dara would not have been surprised if she said that their services were not needed anymore. But no. Nadia did not take it back. Nadia still wanted to have them. “I will see you tomorrow, then, at the palace. Rest well.” And with that, she walked out of the magic shop, leaving only the ghost of her presence and a reopened scar behind.

[brionbroadway]

Gerard received his last birthday card when he was ten years old.

In one of the servant’s calligraphy, it read: Welcome to double digits: you’re all grown now. Happy Birthday! It wasn’t signed, nor it was addressed to him.

At least it could serve a purpose now. Elody would turn eighteen tomorrow, and Gerard wrote to her in his own clumsy script.

My dearest Elody,

I am sorry I do not have a present for you. I will admit, I have enjoyed our birthday celebrations at the pond so much that I did not think about what they would look like in a castle. More fitting of a princess than what I’ve offered you before, I’m sure. I look forward to it, but not to the judgement of the men who danced with you before I was able to.

Forgive me, Elody, for this is not about me. Though, you can probably tell this card was first intended to for me. You have been grown for longer than you should have needed to be, though some will only acknowledge that once you’re eighteen. I would tell you to forgive them as well, but I do not believe you should.

Elody, I have not written in a long time, but I enjoy writing your name. There is something about marking it on parchment that feels like defining our story. Elody, Elody, Elody, we will fill many pages with our happiness. I am sure of that.

I love you. Even if you were not my true love, and I was still a frog, I would still love you, and I would still choose you. I believe you know that, but it feels important to write it into the truth of our story.

Soon, we will marry, and that is the time to build traditions. Perhaps this could be one, where I write to you every year that I am granted your company. I am sure I will not run out of things to say. I am sure that I will not grow tired of writing your name.

I am sure of us, Elody.

Love, Gerard

When Elody finished reading the card, she looked at Gerard the way she did before she first kissed him. It was a look he saw less and less as the years went on, and so he wrote to her more and more, until he wasn’t sure if Elody even read some of the letters he wrote her.

As Gerard flees the Snow Queen’s castle, he looks for Elody, and finds her weeping on the ramparts.

She cannot look at him at all.

[vickyvicarious]

Ignore me if I got the wrong person to pester, but I thought you were the one or one of the people talking about Mina following a routine and paying a lot of attention to time and clocks and schedules. Anyway I was catching up and saw. August 10 11 o’clock p. m.—Oh, but I am tired! If it were not that I had made my diary a duty I should not open it to-night. And I thought she thinks that her a diary each day is a duty? And also, then some of the dates she wrote are not included.

I think I have mentioned it a little, but I believe @thegoatsongs has talked about it more!

But yeah, I agree that Mina definitely seems to do this. And her diary specifically is a self-assigned duty for the summer. She talked about it in her letter to Lucy on 9 May, when she said she was going to write more substantially than "one of those two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries [...] it is really an exercise book. I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations." That doesn't specify daily entries but it does seem like she wanted to have them. Otherwise lines like you quoted above, or her 17 August "No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to write." lose a lot of weight. And I do think they're important.

Mina will try and squeak in an entry at the last minute to make sure she gets one for the day. She feels guilty or perhaps disappointed in herself when she's too beaten down to write for two days in a row. What began as a fun challenge to herself has in some ways become another burden, another responsibility. Just because it's self-imposed doesn't make that less true I think. Of course, it's hardly only a burden and I don't think it's overall or even mostly negative for her, only incidentally. She is able to track Lucy's health which is useful, she is able to express her emotions and talk about the secrets surrounding her. It gives her a place to vent, even just a little, and that's huge. But I do think Mina does have a tendency to blame herself and that shows up a little in that line about missing days.

And speaking of missing days... obviously all I've said assumes she has been writing every day, which would mean we haven't gotten all her entries. I think we are only seeing Mina's Dracula-relevant entries. So she has been writing every day... it's just, some days only talk about the play they went to see, or someone she interviewed in town, etc. Those aren't relevant to the story. Lucy's health and sleepwalking is, her fears about Jonathan are, the Demeter is, Mr. Swales is, that bat definitely is... every single one of her entries includes at least one of those topics. Usually multiple.

And this is the case throughout everything. We get an establishing letter or two to explain where/who people are/what their relationships are to one another, but then everything else must be relevant to Dracula or it doesn't appear. Hence Arthur and Quincey vanishing from the narrative, despite us knowing Arthur at least has written to Lucy. We knew Mina and Lucy exchanged other letters in the beginning as well, which we didn't get to see. Seward presumably might have phonograph records discussing other patients too, but we don't get those, just the ones about Renfield (and also his feelings for Lucy).

I think the only person who we've seen everything from is Jonathan, and that for the simple reason that everything he wrote was relevant. He didn't have any opportunities to write anything totally separate from the topic of Dracula since arriving at the castle. And mileage varies on whether he wrote Dracula-relevant things that have been censored out (or chose not to write them in order to self-censor), such as getting bitten, but I personally look at the timing I think it happened and also Lucy being unable to fully remember being drunk from, and I don't think he left anything out of his diary on purpose. But Jonathan was in a pretty unique position with no freedom to write otherwise. Everyone else can and probably does - maybe they don't all keep diaries (we can pretty firmly say Lucy at least doesn't currently because that would absolutely be relevant) but they must be writing letters at the least. And we don't get those.

Of course, there's a reason for this: [spoilers!]. But also, it just makes sense not to clutter up the novel with tons of irrelevant letters and is kind of just a staple of the epistolary genre to only present the reader with plot-relevant documents.

[darklove9314-blog]

Anti feysand prompt- I've always kind of wanted Feyre to find out how Cassian treated Nesta during that God awful hike and absolutely lose her shit at both Cassian and Rhys about it...or really just one where she actually cares about the fact that her sister was punished for telling her the truth...

Like make it as a part two to the it is not a choice fic?Where Feyre finds out where Nesta has been taken,shows up there and sees the condition she's in and absolutely loses it?

Idk I just want one where feyre cared about nesta being supposedly punished for doing the right thing and actually doing something about it (And if you could add in some sister bonding without the IC's involvement too then it would be amazing-they honestly would have worked things out faster if the IC didn't get involved tbh)

I hope this isn't too long!!Tysm for taking the prompt :)

"What do you mean you exiled my sister?" Feyre growled out, turning cold eyes towards Rhys, she had already been fumming and upset at the fact that he had lied about her and their child, but now-now she was downright furious.

Rhys ran a hand over his raven black hair in exasperation, turning towards her, annoyance and rage written on his face.

“I had just found out that Nesta told you about our child in anger, what was I supposed to do?” He growled out as Feyre’s fury flamed up, how dare he act like a victim in this.

“Act like a fucking adult and own up to your mistakes,” Feyre spat at him.

Rhys’s eyes guttered as Feyre took a deep breath.

“Why are you defending her? She chose to hurt you once again. I’m tired of tolerating it.” Rhys growled as something inside Feyre snapped.

“Nesta and I might not have the best relationship, and yes she may have told me this because she wanted to hurt me. A lot of people hurt people when they’re hurt. You of all people should know this. But that’s not an excuse to hide behind your own part in this. Nesta wouldn’t have had anything to tell me if you had been honest about what was happening from the start, you can hate my sister all you want for telling me the truth , but at the end of the day, you blaming her is a way to evade your own guilt and that is something that I won’t tolerate.”

“Feyre-” He started, but she would allow it no longer. 

“Where is my sister Rhysand?” She inquired, hoping that she could reach Nesta from wherever she had been taken., Feyre so desperately wanted to talk to her sister, wanted to help her in the ways she knew she needed help. 

“She’s with Cassian.” Rhys told her making Feyre’s eyes snap to him. 

“Where has Cassian taken her?” She inquired, 

“Feyre, all this stress is not good for the baby perhaps we should wait a couple days for-” 

“Where, is. she?” Feyre inquired again, as Rhys slumped in response,  

“The truth is I have no idea where she is.” Rhys admitted, as Feyre crossed her arms in response.

“Then I suggest you use those daemati powers of yours, get in contact with him, and use your powers as a High Lord to get him to bring her back and to me.” Feyre commanded as Rhys’s brows lifted, 

“And if he doesn’t?” Rhys inquired, her temper flaring at the thought, 

“Mating bond or not, I am his High Lady and he has my sister, tell him that I’m saying so and to bring her to the townhouse when he has the chance.” 

“The townhouse?” He inquired as she turned cold eyes on him, 

“Yes. I need time away from you and a place where I can talk to my sister privately without your interference. I also don’t want you anywhere near my sister after you threatened her life.” Feyre answered her eyes narrowed,

“I was angry, Feyre. I was furious at her for telling you.” 

“So you told Cassian to take her out of here before you killed her as if you thought threatening my sister or even making an attempt on her life would do anything except make you feel better so you can punish someone else for your own transgressions. I could give less of a fuck if my sister told me, Rhys, but I can not look at you because you were the one who determined I was not strong enough to handle it. You were the one who told everyone, my sisters included, to keep it away from me as if that was your right to do so. The only person I see who has truly hurt me here Rhys, is you.” 

For once Rhys had nothing to say to that as he averted his eyes from her, a troubled look passing over his face as he said, 

“I’ll have Azriel escort you over to the town house.”“ He told her, sounding defeated. 

“And-” She pressed, 

“And I’ll get in contact with Cassian to bring Nesta back and bring her to you.” He said as their eyes met. Fury still overtaking her senses, she couldn’t even bare to look at him right now as their son sent a swift kick to her stomach, making her hand fly up to it. 

“Feyre-” 

“Make sure when he drops her off, he leaves as well, I need time with my sister. Alone.” 

Rhys gulped in response, but nodded not willing to say another word. She glanced at him not feeling anything except anger and betrayal. 

“Will you return in the morning?” Rhys asked her, she didn’t know where he got the nerve as her blue grey eyes tilted up to his, now understanding why her sister wore a mask, because pain like this was too much to bare. 

“No. I think-I think we need time away from each other, and I need time with my sister, I can’t help her when I’m with you. and I don’t want you anywhere near her or me right now. I just want both you and Cassian to leave us alone. Maybe send Elain in the morning if you get a chance. I think it’s time that I fix things with my sisters on my own terms and not anyone else’s like I should have done before..” 

“And if she ends up hurting you again?” 

“Then it is a hurt that I’m willing to bare, because at least that means I tried.” Feyre answered, the shadows of her winnowing power swirling around her as Rhys took a step forward, 

“Feyre-” 

“Goodbye Rhys.” She said, not bothering to look at his face as she winnowed away to go to the person who needed her the most. 

[leafkingofbirds]

Little preview of Boundless Chapter 3.

~~~~~~

“The Midnight Market is not easily found. Give me a single reason why I should trust you.”

Opal holds out the shimmering ticket for Kieran’s approval. 

He scans it quickly. “Assuming this isn’t counterfeit, this grants you entry as a merchant. It says nothing about bringing guests.”

“Guests? No, no. Employees,” Opal corrects with a grin. “Carry some wares with you and I won’t even have to find my way around a lie. And I’ll ignore that impugnation of my honor. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me either. However…” Opal takes the ticket back and tucks it away. “Ask yourself what I, courtless and with but a scrap of magic at my disposal, would gain by luring the Ruler of All Fae and his all-powerful, un-killable consort into a trap.”

“You could stand to gain quite a lot,” Ella says coldly. “If you were clever enough.”

“Then put me under a geas,” Opal says, throwing up her hands, finally growing tired of the game. “If I betray you, strike me down. But I swear on my rightfully-dead cousin: I have no hidden motives.”

“She’s mad,” Jack scoffs. “We can wait and find the Cham-seller somewhere else, at a market far more accessible and less dangerous.”

Opal taps her chin. “Hmm, yes, you could…But who knows how long that may take?” She clicks her tongue like a clock. “Are you willing to wait for a chance at maybe catching her at some festival six months from now? Ten years from now? You have my guarantee that she is always at the Midnight Market on the Autumn Equinox. It’s the biggest day of the year for the dark underbelly of the Fae world.” She stares at him. “Well?”

Kieran doesn't know how Opal knows he doesn't have much time to waste. Almost certainly, she knows more than she's saying - but perhaps his desperation is simply written all over his face.

Everyone’s eyes are on him. He must decide quickly if she’s worth trusting, or if there is some secret plan that will destroy him lurking behind those blue-green eyes. 

Kieran sets his jaw and steps toward Opal. She is like a muted version of her cousin. With less magic to glamour herself with, some small imperfections become apparent up close. A slight twist of her nose. Some frizzled hair out of place. Marks of the sun on her forehead, eyes set slightly too wide. The imperfections make her almost look human, and somehow, more trustworthy. If she cannot even glamour herself properly, she couldn't possibly be a threat.

Kieran taps into the deep, cold well of the Moon Source, now freely and entirely his to command. The candles flicker in an icy breeze that comes from nowhere in the small, windowless room, and silver magic twinkles like ice crystals between them. “I bind you with the power of the Moon Source,” Kieran intones coldly. “Should any harm befall me or my companions in the course of this quest, the same harm shall befall you.”

Opal blinks rapidly in the swirl of magic that coalesces into a shimmering storm, flying around her torso and limbs like a swarm of insects before sinking into her skin and exploding in a cascade of sparks. The candle flames come back to full strength and the warmth of the room slowly returns to normal.

Opal takes a only a moment to look stunned, examining the front and back of one hand, as if she could see the magic that was now inlaid within her body. “Well!” She claps her hands with an almost childlike glee. “That should do it, then. I assume you have a room to spare where I can freshen up before the journey? No worries, I’ll find it myself. I’m well used to finding my own way.”

With a laugh, she brushes past Kieran and Ella. She throws a look back at Jack, Kieran, Ella, and Oleander, who are frozen with matching confounded expressions. “Better hurry!” She taps her bare wrist. “Only a few hours until midnight. Must get there before the door closes again for another year!”

“Wait - we must be there at midnight? Exactly?” Ella asks. “How can we possibly make it in time?”

“It’s not so far a journey when you know the way,” Opal says.

“Are we truly doing this?” Oleander asks. 

“I’m going,” Kieran says. “I won’t ask anyone in this room to accompany me, but I must do this.”

Oleander pinches the bridge of their nose and sighs. “You say that while knowing none of us will let you do this alone.”

“No weapons allowed. And make sure you leave those silly crowns at home,” Opal advises as she leaves. “You won’t need them where we’re going!”

[bubble-popping]

day seven is gonna be a tumblr-exclusive since it's not quite long enough to put on ao3 imo and it's part of a longer au i've written

enjoy some hurt/comfort and dorks in love (they don't know it yet)

This was his fault. He should've been quicker. He shouldn't have let Dream out of his sight. If only he wasn't such an idiot.

Dream was dying and it was all his fault.

Techno sighed heavily as he rested his head against his clasped hands, posture slumped forward in his seat. His leg bounced involuntarily, gaze fixed on the old wood floor but not seeing a thing. That moment just kept replaying in his mind. Teeth sinking into Dream's shoulder, the bellow of pain, raw fear in his eyes that Techno couldn't take away. He failed at the one thing he promised to always do. The pact they'd formed together, to protect and watch out for each other, and he failed.

That whole run was a mistake, a waste of ammo, a waste of energy. It had been his idea, and fate decided his punishment would be losing the only person he had left.

It should've been him. It should've fucking been him.

He wasn't sure how long he waited, much less what exactly he waited for. Perhaps the awful groaning of an Infected, or the familiar scent of a rotting corpse. But, it wasn't either of those that had him jumping to his feet.

"Techno...?" A raspy, muffled voice came from within the room. He knew Dream told him to wait at least an hour, just to be sure, but he was tired of sitting around doing nothing.

Techno opened the door just enough to peer inside. Dream still laid in the same position on the bed Techno had put him in, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Dream? Ya good, man?"

"Can you... can you get me some water?" He asked, sounding out of breath.

"Yeah, of course, man." Techno left to retrieve one of their canteens from the reserves they'd built up since, obviously, their most recent food run hadn't been successful.

When he returned, Dream had managed to pull himself up into a sit, leaning against the headboard. His skin was flushed and sweaty, eyes glazed over, and hair mussed. He took the offered container and, after a small thanks, promptly downed it all.

Techno sat at the edge of the bed, placing the canteen on the nightstand when Dream handed it back to him. "How ya feelin'?"

With a cringe, Dream croaked, "Like shit... but, not dead. Yet, anyway."

"Every person that we've seen so far, Dream, turned almost instantly."

"We can't be sure... What if it's just... really slow for me?"

"And what if you're immune? I'm tryna be optimistic here, man."

"Immune? You really did... watch too many movies..."

"I'm serious. Think about it, Dream. People who get bit turn in literal seconds. It's been almost an hour later and you're still you."

"Yeah, me with the worst fever I've ever had..."

"It's better that turnin', man. Anythin' is better than that." Techno slipped his hand in Dream's, rubbing soothingly over his knuckles.

Dream simply hummed in response, eyes slipping closed. "Hey, Tech?"

"Yeah?"

"What if we're the only ones left?" Dream reopened his eyes, seemingly more aware now as he looked to his companion.

"Don't talk like that, man. We're gonna find your family and they'll be okay."

"But what if they aren't? What if it's just you and me?"

Techno exhaled softly, contemplating how to phrase his response. "If that's true, then... honestly, Dream, there's no one else I'd rather spend the apocalypse with."

Dream gave a small smile and huffed a laugh. "I knew you were a sap..."

"Only because of you, nerd." He watched Dream's eyelids flutter again, clearly struggling to remain open. "You should get some rest, Dream."

"I know... Will you, could you stay? Just until I fall asleep..."

"Yeah, man. I'll be right here, long as ya need me to." Techno smiled and Dream reciprocated.

Even if Dream was immune, it still was too close a call. Techno couldn't let something like this happen again. He would never make the same mistake twice.

[froizetta]

20 Questions for fic writers!

Tagged by @ginbenci! Thank you! :)

How many works do you have on AO3?

12! All since last August

What’s your total A03 word count? 134,798

What fandoms do you write for?

So far just DCU, but I like a lot of things! I will branch out one day, when the brainrot loosens its grip.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Padam Padam - superbat, E (7.5k)

Batman's heartbeat keeps speeding up whenever Clark is around. For instance: when Clark greets him, half-naked, on a Gotham rooftop. Or when he uses his superstrength to save a busload of schoolchildren. Or sometimes even just when he smiles. Clearly the poor man is terrified of him.

By far my most popular fic! Probably because it found it's way to tiktok (this still feels wild to me). Despite the fact that borderline crack and I wrote it in about 3 days, it has twice the number of kudos as the fic below in this list. Or perhaps it's because I took the idea from a tumblr post rather than coming up with it myself? Hmmmmm.

2. An Honest Conversation - superbat, E (60k)

“So Bruce’s longtime best friend had suddenly decided to start eye-fucking him at random. So what? Bruce was used to being the object of this kind of attention. It didn’t bother him. It was—should have been fine. The issue was that it was Clark, and Bruce had enough trouble remaining rational about him at the best of times.” or Bruce and Clark go from friends to lovers the long, long, long way round. Featuring a number of revelations, a well-meaning but nosy son (Dick) and, most prominently, two adult men being completely and utterly useless.

My first fic, and the closest one I have right now to a magnum opus! It started off as a silly oneshot and then got surprisingly angsty towards the end (although no less silly tbh, that's apparently just my whole vibe as a writer).

3. Hiding In Plain Sight - superbat, T (3.5k)

Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, is clearly just Superman wearing glasses. For some reason, no-one but Bruce can see that. There is a distinct possibility that Bruce has lost his mind.

Written for Bruce Wayne Week 2023, as are the rest on this list! Written because...well. He totally is just wearing glasses. I'll happily suspend my disbelief, but I'm still not letting it go, damn it.

4. Holding Onto A Hero - superbat, T (2.5k)

Clark squinted sleep-tired eyes and frowned. “B? Everything okay?” And then Bruce shivered. In a fraction of a second he was beside the bed, and in another he was settling a knee onto the mattress and wrapping his arms around Clark’s waist, cowled face pressed into Clark’s chest. “So,” Clark said conversationally. “I’m gonna go ahead and take that as a no.”

The prompt was cuddle pollen, and it really is just a short-n-sweet, soft, cuddly, getting together fic. Also, I got to insert a little vague allusion to neuroscience, which is always nice (although oxytocin doesn't actually work like that, the effect is sex-specific and increasing it can actually promote aggression in some- okay, okay, I'll shut up).

5. More Fun Than Counting Sheep - superbat, E (5.5k)

When Bruce can't sleep, Clark proposes an unconventional solution. (The solution is sex.)

The prompt I took was sleep-deprived Bruce. Nothing about that suggested it should be smut, and yet here we are. I wrote this because I thought it would be funny to have Clark try to seduce Bruce into sleeping (and for it to work), and honestly? I stand by that.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm none of them really. Maybe A Stitch In Spacetime (Gen, 4.5k - in which Batman meets a version of himself whose parents never died so he became a surgeon like his dad). But only because the ending is more hopeful than actively happy. Batman has still lost Jason, but he's finally trying to heal; Doctor Bruce still wants kids he doesn't have, but maybe after this that will change. (Also, unrelated but I'm really proud of the title for this one lol. I love a pun, what can I say.)

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, they're most all happy, but probably An Honest Conversation? Just because the finale was INCREDIBLY sappy, and there was a lot bullshit preceding it that they had to get through, which certainly made the ending cathartic to write!

Do you get hate on your fic?

Not yet! Apart from a couple of slightly iffy comments, everyone has been lovely. But then, I'm not writing anything particularly controversial lol. Hopefully the trend continues outside of genfic and superbat.

Do you write smut?

Yes, a lot lol, nearly half of my fics are E-rated. Look, if I write a romance in which the pairing solves some kind of relationship issue and grow closer as a result, some part of my brain is always gonna be thinking, "Hm. What if they banged about it?" Also, I love a sex comedy, so there's that too.

Do you write crossovers?

No. I don't think I'm into any fandoms right now that I would WANT to cross over tbh. I've read my fair share, though!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of!

Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but I'd theoretically be open to it! I think it would be tricky in practise though, unless you an your co-writer are really on the same wavelength. Even writers I really like don't necessarily write in the same style as me, so that could create difficulties.

What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

I mean. Superbat right now for sure. I'm usually a multishipper, but for whatever reason they have a death grip on me. I'm still basically an omnivore though!

What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hmm, this feels like a very defeatist question since I do plan to finish everything I start. Probably the fic I started writing for a friend's birthday based on a premise we discussed nearly a decade ago. It's a wholesome romance between two of the sidest side characters in Haikyuu!! (Tanaka Saeko and Tsukiyama Akiteru, for the curious; they do interact, but barely), because my friend was there with her Charlie Kelly conspiracy board saying, "They're both in uni! They're in the same prefecture! They knew each other in high school! They're both older siblings of main characters on the same team, so they can go watch the matches together! There's so much to work with!!!" This has apparently been her lowkey white whale ever since, but she's never managed to write it, so I offered to have a go. Tragically, them being SUCH side characters means I have to all but invent a personality for one of them, which makes figuring out their dynamic a lot harder lol. But I still want to finish it one day, for her sake!

What’s your writing strengths?

Comedy I think, specifically deriving humour from awkward situations (that I have made up) - and often it's the quiet chuckle kind rather than the knee-slapping kind. But YMMV on whether anything I write is actually funny! I can only hope :')

What’s your writing weakness?

Well, I have lots of things I don't feel good enough to write (e.g. long, dramatic epics that I can't fill with jokes), but I mostly haven't wanted to try so I wouldn't say that's a weakness per se. And I have plenty of little things I feel like I need to work on, but none are an easy-to-identify kryptonite-style Weakness. Probably flow and pacing, as it's something I'm very particular about (especially for comedy, where imo it needs to be correct for it to work) but it doesn't always come naturally to me. I do a lot of rounds of editing trying to tweak things so they flow right. Hopefully that will come easier with experience! I'd be fascinated to know what other people thought my weakness was, though; it's often hard to judge yourself, since you're the audience you're writing for.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

In what sense? As in, for example, writing a French-speaking character in French in an otherwise English-language fic? I think that's appropriate when the POV character doesn't speak French, but perhaps can be avoided if they do, as then the average reader is understanding as much as the POV character is.

As to whether I personally would do it, I only really speak one non-English language at a decent level, and even then it's hard to convey nuance in any language you're not fully fluent in. So only sparsely, only if necessary, probably only if I could get a native speaker to check it.

First fandom you wrote for?

I think it was Free!, the anime about the swimmer boys. Back when I was a teenager in school, probably ~16, I anonymously posted a gen crackfic on the LJ kink meme based on an experience I had with some schoolfriends, where a few of us tried to give a less birds-and-the-bees version of The Talk to a sadly uneducated member of the group during a camping trip. (Our school did actually give proper sex education, with the putting expired condoms on dildos and everything, but didn't go into the specifics of, say, doggy style). ANYWAY, that was the only thing I'd ever posted until this year, but apparently my proclivity for writing sex-related comedy has remained unchanged lol.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Man I don't know. I just did a similar tag thingy that asked this, and I wasn't sure then, and it feels boring to put the same answer twice? So I'll pick another that's my favourite for a different reason: Master of All Trades (Bruce & Hal, T, 4.5k). I think of all my fics, it has the highest ratio of good to not-that-deep, if that makes sense? Writing Hal's POV was incredibly fun, and I think it turned out really well! And it's definitely one of the few I can reread without cringing lol (reading your own writing after posting it is just embarrassing somehow).

Tagging: I nominate @burins and @unbreakabledawn, but literally 0 pressure at all!

[a-girl-called-bob]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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