#so let's call it canon adjacent and enjoy

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Oh Oh what about 'H-how long have you been standing there?' Canon(-adjacent) Hurt/Comfort and Book? this list is actually so interesting there's so many good combinations

Thank you so much, it's been lots of fun seeing which combinations ppl picked and coming up with different story ideas. Hope you enjoy this one. 💖

True love's kiss

Rated: G

Words: 995

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson; Steve has migraines; Hurt/comfort; Love confessions

Eddie finds out by accident. It's one of the last days of summer, and the air has a sticky heaviness to it. He just wants to pick up some stuff he forgot after last night's campaign. Steve isn’t home, he knows for a fact. So what if he memorized his shift plan? It's perfectly normal, most definitely not a sign of obsession or codependency. 

Anyway, the point is, Steve isn't home, so Eddie doesn't ring, just lets himself in and marches into the living room. And that's where his plans for the afternoon derail. 

Steve is on the sofa in front of the television. Eddie's swoop of surprise is short-lived, however, because he isn't watching a movie or game. 

The tv isn't on at all. The entire house is deadly quiet. The blinds on the windows are drawn and the air conditioning is on, the room dark and cold.

Steve is buried in the pillows. His shoulders are shaking. 

“Stevie?” Eddie blurts. “What happened?” 

“Eddie?” Steve croaks. One eye pokes out from the pillows, bleary and horrified. “I- … H-how long have you been standing there?” 

Eddie doesn’t answer. He has already bridged the distance and is sinking down on the armrest by Steve’s head.

Steve sees the concern on his face and groans. “I'm fine. It's just … fucking headaches, don't worry.” 

But Eddie does worry. Eddie is freaking out, which is only natural given their shared history. He makes a horrified sound, shooting up to grab the walkie from Steve’s room and call a code red. 

“No, wait,” Steve says, holding him back with one shaky hand to his wrist. “‘s not anything supernatural. I mean they’ve gotten worse, after everything, but that's probably ‘cause I took a few hits too many. I've always had ‘em. Ever since I was a kid.” 

Eddie lets that statement trickle in. 

“Oh,” he then breathes, sitting back down and gesturing at the dark room. “You mean migraines?” 

Steve, who has thrown one arm over his face, peers out at him. 

“How d’you …?” 

Eddie shrugs sheepishly. “My mom used to get them, before …” 

He trails off, lost in the memory, fingers grasping to fiddle with something. He only realizes where they've landed when they start scratching at Steve's scalp, and a noise spills from his chest. Eddie flinches, stomach alive with an entire whirlwind of butterfly wings, and makes to pull back his hand. 

“No,” Steve mumbles. He's pale, but some of the tension has bled from his features. His voice is slurred. “Don't stop. Feels good.” 

And who is Eddie to deny him? 

Nodding, he slides off the armrest to sit more comfortably, pulling Steve’s head into his lap to rub soothing circles into his temples. He only notices the book lying on Steve’s stomach when it gets jostled by the motion and almost tumbles to the floor. 

“Hey, what’s this?” Eddie mutters, flipping it over to inspect the cover. “Fairytales?” 

Steve takes a few moments to reply, and in the low light, Eddie imagines he sees two pink splotches bloom high in his cheekbones. 

“My nanny used to read ‘em to me when I was sick. I was tryna, but … the fuckin’ letters keep moving.” 

“I'll read you one.” 

Another blink of those pretty eyes, pupils fuzzy and unfocused. “Really?” 

“Sure,” Eddie nods, reveling in the smile he gets when he flips the book open. “Let’s see … Once upon a time, there was a king. He was beautiful and kind and brave, and everybody in the realm loved him dearly. But the king was cursed. He-”

“Wait,” Steve mutters. His lids flutter as he struggles to stay awake. “I don’t- … Which one is this?” 

“My favorite,” Eddie replies. “Now hush, you’re supposed to be resting. Where was I? … The king had been befallen by an evil curse. He couldn’t love himself. He slaughtered many a beast, fought countless battles, hoping to prove his own worth to himself, but nothing lifted the shadow looming over him.” 

Eddie turns a page, crinkling his brow in thought. 

Steve stifles a yawn. His head is getting heavier in Eddie’s lap. “Then what happened?” 

“Patience, I was getting to it,” Eddie scolds. “One day, a new jester arrived at the court. He was skeptical, having heard grand tales of the young king’s beauty and good heart, never quite believing them. Yet, the second he beheld the king with his own eyes, he was enraptured, and he vowed to-”  

“En-whatchered?” 

“Enraptured, Stevie,” Eddie sighs, setting the book aside in favor of combing his fingers through Steve’s hair again. “Smitten, enchanted, lovestruck.” 

“Pffff,” Steve makes. “Love at first sight ain't real.” 

Eddie scoffs half-heartedly. “It's a fairytale. It's not supposed to be realistic. And besides, I'm only telling it, not making it up.” 

“Oh yeah,” Steve says. If his eyes were open, he'd be rolling them right now. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Eddie agrees, and losing himself for a moment in the lines and angles of Steve’s face, the feel of his hair between his fingers. 

“How does it end?” 

Eddie blinks. “Huh?” 

“The story, silly,” Steve mutters. “How does the jester save the king?”  

“Who said he does?” 

Steve sighs, satisfied and exhausted. “‘s a fairytale. Gotta have a happy ending.” 

Eddie shrugs. “Fair enough. What d’you think he should do?” 

Steve stays silent for a long moment. Eddie is starting to think he fell asleep when he speaks again, so softly it's nearly lost under the rush of the air conditioning. 

“How ‘bout a kiss?” 

“Ah,” Eddie says around the lump forming in his throat. “Good one. Can't go wrong with true love's kiss.” 

Steve hums in agreement. 

“After the king sleeps, though.” His hand finds Eddie’s, interlacing their fingers. “Waited so long for this. Wanna do it without a headache.” 

Eddie is left in the dark, listening as Steve’s breathing evens out, wondering how much of their conversation he'll recall when he wakes up. 

More celebration ficlets

[accirax]

Analyzing DRDT's Ch2 Motive Diction

The fuck do I think I am, a time traveler? Why am I posting a theory about DRDT's Chapter 2 motive secrets now that Chapter 2 is finally complete? What's even the point in analyzing a motive that's over and done with?

Well, believe it or not, this is actually a theory I wanted to write before Chapter 2 Part 2 came out, I just never got around to it. And now we have more confirmation as to which secrets actually go where! So, really, it's all according to keikaku.

The point of this theory is to look at the language used in presenting the motive secrets, and see what it can tell us about both the secret's owner, and possibly the mastermind/whoever wrote them. What subjectivity did the writer inject into the secrets' phrasing, and could any of the secrets be better or worse than we originally thought? Put on your best scrutinizing glasses, and we'll take a look!

The usual CWs for Chapter 2 motive discussion: death, suicide, eating disorders, self harm, and implied homophobia/transphobia. Oh, and spoilers for DRDT through the end of Chapter 2, naturally.

Also as usual, I'll be assuming that all of the secrets are correctly attributed as they were in canon, other than that Xander and Teruko have swapped such that Xander has survivor's guilt and Teruko has the killing game is all your fault. I'm gonna look like a real fool some chapters down the line if I'm wrong about that, but I feel like most of the fandom has consensus agreed that this is the case.

I'll be dissecting the words of each secret through the lenses of the three Fs-- factual truth, flavored truth, and forced opinion. If those categories aren't as inherently comprehensible as they could have been due to my want for a snappy moniker, let me explain them further.

Factual truth is just that-- a literal statement that must be taken at face value. Under the assumption that all of the secrets are the truth (and it's not that J isn't actually Mariabella's daughter or whatever), there isn't much to be analyzed here. The writer presented the story with no flavor.

"You are reading a DRDT theory."

Flavored truth comes in two main forms. The first refers to emotional truths. Someone's secret describes that they feel a certain way about a certain event. It's likely base-level true, but do they feel that way due to their own opinion, or were they forced to feel that way due to someone else's opinion? And, what exactly does that opinion mean?

"You were happy to read a DRDT theory."

The other option is for when what's written is factual truth, but overlaid with a weird emotional layer. Said layer might make the truth feel overexaggerated, therefore implying a subjective take on the subject. Basically, it's anything that logistically should have been factual truth, but that subjectively I felt had something more to it.

"You prioritized reading DRDT theories over your other responsibilities."

Combined, purple means fact-adjacent, but with a little something injected into it.

Forced Opinion is content injected directly from the writer's perspective, and it's what initially caught my eye and got me thinking about writing this analysis. There are a couple of instances in which the writer speaks directly to the reader without feeling the need to provide any level of verifiable fact. These statements exist only to convey the writer's desired tone.

"Why do you even enjoy DRDT theories?"

Some secrets use only one of these Fs, some use two, and some use all three. On that note, we'll be examining the secrets in reverse spiciness order, with the most straightforward secrets first and the most interesting ones saved for last. So, who has the most sauceless secret?

Charles

"Your older brother died, but you don't remember him at all."

Okay Elliot fans, don't kill me for inadvertently calling your boy sauceless.

It's not that Charles' secret doesn't contain intriguing information, but that the way in which that secret is presented doesn't tell us anything about the person who wrote it. It's not phrased as "how could you have forgotten your dead older brother?" or anything as dramatic as that. Both phrases are presented in a manner devoid of emotion or judgment. They're just two facts!

Rose

"You took on your talent to earn money for your family. But you've since put them in a lifetime of debt."

"Lifetime of debt" feels kind of accusatory, but it is true when the sum total is in the millions of dollars. I think this could have been written a lot more judgmentally than it was, which is why I ultimately left it as factual truth.

Whit

"Your mother is dead. You always omit that truth."

The use of "always" in "always omit that truth" could be called into question, but based on Whit's behavior so far, it seems to be pretty straight up. Honestly, if anything, I think the bluntness of this statement speaks more to the writer's opinions and goals than anything else.

J

"You hide your name and birthright to pretend that you aren't the daughter of Mariabella Rosales."

"Birthright" is defined as "a particular right of possession or privilege one has from birth," if anyone was curious. With the way our society is set up, J should inherit a large amount of money and soft power just by being Mariabella's daughter, so I think this is legit. It has a bit of an emotional tone of superiority to it, but nothing drastic.

Arei

"Blackmail, rumors, lying, stealing, slander. You did everything you could to ruin your sisters' lives."

Ooh, our first instance of flavored truth. We're welcoming it in with a pretty bland example, though-- one that I went back and forth on for a while with whether it should count as factual or flavored.

Ultimately, I decided that, if we hadn't had Arei spell out her backstory and secret for us, I'm sure I would have been speculating about what "ruin your sisters' lives" really meant, and to what degree it was true. I shouldn't disqualify purple text from being purple text just because it was proven true. However, because this really was proven to be Arei's main motivation, we can basically take it as fact.

Levi

"You're a murderer, and you hold no remorse."

A secret which obviously has both a factual and an emotional component, but is also pretty straightforward in how it presents that emotional component.

When I was originally scheming up this theory (before it was revealed to be Levi's), one of my big talking points was going to be about how the divide in this secret opened up the possibility for it to actually be two secrets in one: that the secret's owner was both a murderer, and, separately, held no remorse. That turned out to more or less be true, which was fun!

Eden

"Ever since you kissed her, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships."

Eden's secret has a pretty obvious factual part-- that she kissed a girl (and she liked it)-- and a pretty obvious emotional component-- that she was afraid it would ruin her friendships.

Much like Levi or Arei, the emotional component is very likely accurate. In this case it's not very dramatized: they didn't go as far as to say "ever since you kissed her, you knew it was a matter of time before your friends would leave you" or anything along those lines. Still, as an emotion-based secret, so there's always room for debate.

Ace

"Your body is falling apart, but you'll still refuse to eat."

"Your body is falling apart" is (probably) a fact, but it feels really emotional. That "probably" is what sold me on this needing to be purple, though. It's hard to say how much Ace's body really was falling apart prior to his death. I'm sure the situation wasn't great, but we know that Ace was still capable of overpowering Arei, lifting ~60 pounds, launching a slingshot, and cutely climbing up swingsets on top of the running, swimming, and general obstacle-course-ing featured in his execution. Ace surely wasn't healthy, but "falling apart" seems like a bit of an exaggeration, based on the knowledge we currently have.

If nothing else, the "but" and "still" paint a picture of Ace being aware that his body is malfunctioning but choosing to limit his calorie intake anyways, which is an emotional layer far beyond the likes of a blunt "you have an eating disorder."

Nico

"No one accepted you because of your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your peers, and everybody else."

Does this highlighting make sense to people? Nico being bullied for being nonbinary is (sadly) the truth, but there's a lot of emotional coding to it that isn't necessarily 100% accurate. Like, is it really true that no one Nico met previously ever accepted them? I'm not going to pretend like there aren't deeply transphobic places out there, but "constantly mocks" further makes it sound like not only did everyone hate them, everyone did so physically and/or vocally, as opposed to simply judging in silence.

The weirdest thing about Nico's secret to me is that the writer took what otherwise could have been a factual secret and turned it into a largely emotional one. The only straight up fact we can garner from this is "Nico was mocked by their family and peers because of their identity." What happened to "people threw rocks and laughed at you because of your identity"? That would have been a (more or less) concrete fact that illustrates the exact same idea. But instead, the writer went all in on dramatizing that everyone was against Nico. Is there a reason for that?

Veronika

"You only took on your talent to distract yourself from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun."

Veronika's secret is kinda like Nico's plus Ace's, so it's nice to be able to put it here. Like Nico's, it interweaves factual truth and flavored truth in a way that makes distinguishing between them uncertain. And, like Ace's, it deals with a factual mental illness combined with its subjective motivations.

The core truth of this secret is "you took on your talent to distract yourself from your need to harm yourself," which is what can be seen in blue. However, that has very different implications than "you only," "incessant," and "for fun" add. Of the three, I would rank "incessant" as the most factual, "you only" as the least factual," and "for fun" in the middle.

I do think that Veronika's need to harm herself did feel incessant, but whether it was really for fun is up for debate. It's even more debatable whether distracting herself from self-harm was her ONLY reason for becoming a horror fanatic, as there are many other potential motivators out there, such as a genuine interest in the craft, or even the generalized boredom Veika describes as opposed to just the self-harm angle. In the end, I don't know how helpful making that distinction is for Veronika, but I'll throw it out there.

Arturo

"Your younger sister killed herself because of you. You never should have left."

Our first instance of forced opinion marks where things really start to get juicy. Although, uh, before you interpret my analysis in a way I didn't mean, just because something is marked as opinion doesn't mean it isn't an opinion I agree with. If Arturo sticking around would have saved Felicity's life, then, yeah, he probably shouldn't have left. However, in essence, "you never should have left" isn't a fact, it's an opinion-- one that prioritizes Felicity's life over whatever benefits Arturo gained from running away.

Again! I would also prioritize Felicity's life over whatever motivation Arturo had, assuming that they wouldn't have just, like, both died if he'd stuck around. However, the fact that I hold that opinion tells you something about me and my beliefs. I'm someone who holds the popular opinion of valuing others' lives. And therefore, from the pink text, we can also surmise that the secret writer values others' lives, or at least is willing to leverage that common opinion in order to make others feel guilty.

The only concrete fact present in Arturo's secret is that his younger sister killed herself. The idea that she did so because of Arturo, to some extent, is probably true, but it's based on the emotions of a person that the secret writer probably never even met. Especially when combined with the pink text, the secret gives the vibes of repeating Arturo's dark thoughts back to him to make him feel even worse about the situation. The writer's embellishments of a simple fact were designed to hurt Arturo.

Hu

"You were quite the hopeless child. Dying once wasn't enough, so you attempted suicide three times."

Hu attempted suicide three times: true. Hu's emotional state while doing so was pretty abysmal: yeah, probably. Dying once wouldn't be enough to counteract what she did: ????????

Much like Arturo's, I imagine that the pink text in this case is supposed to mirror an emotional "truth" that Hu holds in her heart. Still, I can't call it anything close to a "fact," given that it's completely based on individual interpretations of penance and morality. And it's an absolutely buckwild thing to say, especially while providing no context as to why anyone would hold that opinion.

It's hard to know what further motives the writer may have had beyond making Hu feel bad when we don't know what Hu did that made her feel as if she needed to die. For instance, if Hu accidentally killed her childhood friend, then we could use that as a data point that the writer was harsher towards murderers. Or, if it was putting her family into financial trouble, we could contrast how the writer treated Rose's secret versus Hu's. However, as we currently have no leads on what Hu's done that she needs to pay for (as her secret quote tells us), there's nothing more to be gained here.

Min

"You always treated the competition with ruthlessness, but poisoning them to win was a bit too far, wasn't it?"

One interesting facet of Min's secret is that it contains one of the most obvious uses of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret. Like, the entire secret isn't even a statement, it's a rhetorical question. You can feel the writer raising their eyebrow at Min challengingly.

Once again, the pink text is being used to judge and/or shame Min for what she did. I really can't see any other purpose for the pink text beyond doing that.

Xander

"You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them."

An even more interesting facet of Xander's text is that this is the only instance in which the pink text is... sort of nice? I mean, not really, as it's still majorly playing to his survivor's guilt in a way that I'm sure would have made him feel awful had he ever read it.

No, what I'm talking about is the "it's not your fault" aspect. I really struggled with which of the Fs to assign to it. From Visiting Graves, it seems like the cause of Xander's family's death was drinking unpotable water, which was likely infected by the Spurlings. Therefore, factually, it isn't his fault, and should be blue.

However, Xander certainly feels like the weight of his family's death was on his shoulders. His secret quote defines his "feelings of guilt for having survived a catastrophe in which others died," and he says in the Bonus Episode itself that "the worst part of it all was that [he] wasn't there." Technically, Xander's family's death being his fault is subjective-- no matter what Unnamed Student says, we can never know for sure that he couldn't have done something if he was there. He is an Ultimate, after all. For those reasons, I felt like maybe the immense emotional connection for Xander should make those words purple.

But then I thought, if the secret was supposed to reflect Xander's beliefs, it would say that the incident was his fault. The writer breaks form in this secret. As opposed to Arturo, Hu, and possibly Min (we don't technically know how she feels about the incident, but I'd imagine that she would agree it went too far), instead of judging the secret's owner in a way that appears to mirror the way that they judge themselves, the writer goes against what Xander would say of himself, injecting their own opinion. That's weird.

Of course, I could definitely be blowing this out of proportion. It could just be that Xander acknowledges that, factually, the incident was not his fault, and therefore he would actually agree with the "it's not your fault." Furthermore, the writer still follows this up with the "just that you didn't go with them," which matches with their usual judgmental attitude. They can't be that soft on Xander when they're still saying it would have been better if he died.

Still. You'd think that the writer would want to play up Xander's insecurities that he was at fault for his family's deaths. If Xander were alive and the motive had been handled properly, Xander would have picked up a paper that told him that his family's deaths were explicitly not his fault. Is that really what MonoTV would have wanted?

David

"You exist to manipulate others. Everyone else exists to be taken advantage of."

You might be surprised to see David's secret all the way down here, given how relatively simple it is. Just like Charles' secret, it's two pretty blunt statements, and it's all written in one color. The difference is that literally nothing in this secret is objective fact.

Disregarding 1) any arguments of determinism ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he has no free will") and 2) the possibility that this is a soft confirmation of DRDT being in-universe fictional characters ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he, as a character, is reading his scripted lines"), there is genuinely no way to historically or scientifically verify anything that's said in these secrets. It's based on emotions and emotions alone.

But, whose emotions are they? David certainly believes this to some extent, given that his admission that he's a "lying, manipulative, scumbaggy piece of shit." The sentence "everyone else exists to be taken advantage of" is really aggressive, and, in combination with his Ch2 heel turn, it's very easy (and potentially correct) to believe that these are David's home-brewed feelings.

However, keep in mind the writer's propensity for intentionally stirring up the secret holder's most hurtful thoughts (like Hu) and things they'd rather forget (like Arturo). There's nothing in the secret itself that tells us that David enjoys being destined to be a manipulator, even if he believes in that idea.

David: You were right. I'm a good for nothing liar. But I call those lies "motivational speeches" and everyone eats it up.

Much like how the secret itself could be David's opinion or someone else's, we don't know which parties hold the opinion that David is a "good for nothing."

Look, I'm not trying to say that David has done nothing wrong in his entire life, even if villain apologism is my side hustle. I just think it's important to ask ourselves what entity is declaring this secret as "fact," considering that nothing about it is actually provable. At the very least, it's sure hard to accurately tell the group the exact contents of your secret when it's not based on anything factual.

Arei: Why did you lie about your secret? David: I'm sorry? I don't quite understand.

(Can you tell I was convinced to finally put this theory to paper whilst working on a David analysis...?)

On that note, though, I'll leave further speculation about David for another post, lest I go too far down the rabbit hole here. I just think there's a lot of room for interpretation when it comes to the manipulator secret.

Teruko

"How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault."

And, surprising no one, Teruko's secret is at the very bottom. I don't even know where to start with this one.

We'll start at the beginning, I suppose-- Min's secret has one of the most obvious examples of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret's text; this is the other. They even both have rhetorical questions! Twinsies :D

The first sentence has legit nothing to do with the "factual" contents of the secret at all. The entire sentence is 100% the writer's opinion. They even refer to themselves with the "I" pronoun!!! And the second sentence isn't much better. What's regarded as "worth killing for" is entirely up to the reader's opinion, and "just about" is incredibly vague. Is what Teruko's done 80% worth killing for? 90%? 100%, with a single exception?

I've also always thought that "killing for" was a weird choice. It should be "killing over," right? Killing for is like, "oh, I'd kill for a sandwich." Generally, it's seen as a positive thing, something you really want. If Teruko's life is worth killing for, that would put Teruko's life in place of the sandwich (lol). AKA, "oh, I'd kill for Teruko's life." Given what we know of Teruko's life-- that she's faced being orphaned, poverty, extreme injuries and more-- it's hard to imagine that anyone would willingly want that for themselves.

However, there are two ways I thought of to explain the word choice that don't involve assuming that the phrasing got messed up. The first is that the writer really covets Teruko's capacity to survive. As Teruko herself told us, she's the Lucky Student, so she can't die. "Kill for" could indicate that, despite all of the hardships Teruko has faced, the writer still believes that Teruko's constitution makes her life enviable and/or desirable.

The other is the more literal interpretation: that whatever Teruko has done has made others want to kill on her behalf. We already saw this once with Min, who felt compelled to attack Xander if it meant potentially saving Teruko's life. There's also our usual throughline from Prologue Hands Guy that ending the killing game and killing Teruko might be linked. Therefore, conversely, if there's anyone out there who's interested in the continuation of the killing game(s)-- XF-Ture Tech?-- it might stand to reason that they would be willing to kill in order to keep Teruko alive.

Both of these interpretations struggle with the lead-in of "just about everything you've done in your life," though. It's because both of them directly relate to Teruko's luck, which to me seems less like what she's done and more like who she is. But, the origins of Teruko's luck are undefined enough that I don't think I can use that to shoot either possibility down.

On to "the killing game is all your fault." I was tempted to make this sentence entirely pink, due to how likely it seems that this sentence is overexaggerated. Teruko is still a totally viable mastermind choice, to be clear. There are a lot of things that become a whole lot more convenient if Teruko is the mastermind, this secret included. However, if Teruko were a self-aware, despair-loving mastermind, why would she put a secret basically accusing her of such into the killing game?

You could argue that, if MonoTV were competent, no one would have seen this secret other than Teruko herself. It's still kinda weird to write that down for herself, though. It would have been a lot safer to just leave the secret off at "How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for." And, I don't think anyone who happened to see the secret would think too much of it. Perhaps Teruko wanted others to know she was the mastermind? If that were the case, why not correctly claim her secret when David asked her in 2-13?

(Once again, I really hope I'm right about this secret being Teruko's.)

In the end, I decided to just flag the "all" as being the writer's opinion, as an endeavor as grand and complicated as the killing game surely has more than one thing behind it. Every canon killing game, despite having a main instigator, had many other individuals aiding in its creation. And, the writer clearly has a vendetta against Teruko in this secret, so I'd be more surprised if they weren't overexaggerating her involvement to some degree.

However, "the killing game is your fault" remains in blue, even though we can't verify it to be true at the moment. If you recall, at the top, I decided to make the assumption that all of the secrets were true to at least some level, and this is where that kicks in for Teruko. Plus, if the writer (who is quite possibly the mastermind) believes that the killing game is at least partially Teruko's fault, then that's likely the case, no?

What Did We Learn?

Now that we're done with all of the secrets, let's turn it back to see if we can figure anything out about the writer. The ways in which secrets were handled can kinda be broken into tiers, like this:

Charles, Rose, Whit, and J all had 100% factual truth.

Arei, Levi, and Eden had some factual truth and some flavored truth, but the emotional truth was pretty easily verified as correct.

Ace, Nico, and Veronika had a mix of factual truth and flavored truth in a way where it was harder to parse what was feeling or fact.

Arturo, Hu, Min, and Xander had some factual truth, some flavored truth, and some forced opinion, all of which had some elements of assigning blame.

David and Teruko were struggling to present anything certifiably factual at all.

Meanwhile, if we try to categorize the secrets themselves:

Levi, Arturo, Min, and David all had secrets regarding harming others.

Ace, Veronika, and Hu all had secrets regarding harming themselves.

Rose, J, Arei, Charles, Whit, Arturo, and Xander all had secrets about their families, with the latter four relating to dead family members. (Levi also technically counts for this, but it's not explicitly mentioned in the secret.)

Eden and Nico have secrets relating to their identities and the crises they face because of them.

Teruko has a secret that's hard to define :/

What does this tell us? Well, honestly, not much. All of the people in the "straight facts" tier have secrets that relate to their families in non-violent ways, but that may just mean that the lower-stakes secrets were harder to dramatize. Everyone who dealt with a negative effect on a large group of people (Min with the competition, Xander with his large family and by extension town, David with... everyone, Teruko with those in a killing game) is near the bottom of the ranking, but it also follows that those with more grave secrets would face further scrutiny for it.

There's nothing as simple as "everyone whose secret referred to a death was harshly judged" or "everyone who harmed themselves was treated more kindly." Therefore, we can't really assign any of those straightforward beliefs to the writer. Alas.

However, assume with me for a moment that 1) the mastermind is the one who personally wrote out the secrets and 2) the mastermind of the killing game is one of its 16 contestants. Nothing too crazy, but those are both (kind of) assumptions.

(I know that, technically, MonoTV said "the real mastermind is one of you" at the end of the Prologue, which would mean that one of the 16 students has been confirmed to be the mastermind. However, I personally don't believe that's necessarily the case. You can read more about that in Mai's section of my (albeit outdated) Mastermind Ranking, if you wish.)

If the secret-writer is a mastermind hidden amongst the cast, that means that they must have written a secret about themselves. Which category would be the most likely category to find our mastermind in?

Well, the obvious answer is in the top tier, as they're the least suspicious. If you want to fly under the radar, give yourself a secret that won't be the talk of the town if it comes out of the bag. Veronika has already primed us to recognize that someone's secret doesn't have to be the worst thing they've ever done, which could be foreshadowing that we'll later learn that the mastermind's secret works the same.

In terms of the mastermind's specific identity, it's also interesting to consider which secrets had the most information packed into them. Most-if-not-all of these students attended Hope's Peak together as friends for a little while, but some were certainly closer than others. All of the secrets are secret, naturally, but to write a secret like David's, you have to know a lot about how his mind works, which implies closeness. The secrets that include something about how their owner thought or felt-- the "why," so to speak-- include Levi's, Eden's, Veronika's, Xander's, and David's. Conversely, you largely don't need to know anything about how Charles, Rose, Whit, J, Arei, Ace, or Nico thought or felt about their various circumstances, just that they happened. Arturo, Hu, Min, and Teruko are in sort of a weird place where the secret seems to reveal how they felt, but could also just be the writer feeling the same way.

In terms of the ones where you don't need to know anything, the results are a toss-up. You could argue that, if Whit were the mastermind, he could have hurt Charles way worse than he theoretically did, but you could also argue that Charles' secret was left more vague on purpose as a form of protection/favoritism.

However, the fact remains that, somehow, the person who wrote the secrets had to at least get into Levi, Eden, Veronika, Xander, and David's brains in order to transcribe how they felt about doing their various deeds. Who knows those five super well? Honestly, my first thought was Teruko, but it's also undeniable that a talent like David's or Whit's would lend itself well to understanding how others' minds work. And, of course, there's Mai, whose main talent thus far seems to be understanding others.

As a final note, I want to list a couple of secrets that I feel have anti-mastermind energy. Secrets you read and ask, "now, why would that person have written and released this information about themselves?" The level to which this is the case varies, but I'm going to include everyone I had the thought for. These people include:

Whit. Why would he tell everyone about a truth he prefers to omit?

J. Same thing: if she doesn't want everyone knowing she's Mariabella's daughter, why would she make that her secret? Why would she even create the opportunity for someone else to read that?

Eden. Less so than others (as, if she's in a supportive crowd, she might want this secret to get out), but if she's afraid of how people will treat her after learning she's a lesbian, why would she say it?

Nico. Same as Eden, basically.

Arturo. He really seems to want to forget this. Unless he's a mascohist-ermind (Ellis, is that you? /j /ref), I don't know why he'd remind himself, especially with such strong wording.

Teruko. Again, assuming she wants to keep this under wraps, why release that secret into the world?

You could also count Charles and/or Levi for this category. However, I decided that just because they seemingly forgot about the contents of their secret wouldn't mean that they would have no motivation to write it, which is really what I was judging.

Sorry if that wasn't as conclusive as you were hoping for! (/gen) If it were more conclusive, I probably would have made the theory earlier, or someone else would have had the same thought. As we learn more about the secrets in future installments like whether the Teruko/Xander swap thing is actually correct, these are the sorts of questions that I want to be keeping in mind.

And, of course, please take this analysis with a grain of salt! I always assume that everything in DRDT is 100% accurate to real-world logic because I really respect DRDTdev's storytelling. However, much like my note content analysis, I understand that going so far as to say "Charles can't be the mastermind because there's no way he'd know about how Veronika felt about her self harm" is quite possibly going too far. The most important facet of the secrets is that they made for an interesting story development, which they did! Any logic about how the in-universe secret-writer found out this information is just a cherry on top. But inspecting those cherries for quality is what we get up to 'round these parts.

Thank you for reading! And hopefully I'll find the time to write more DRDT stuff in the near future :)

[waterfal-ling]

zenin’s shadow - chapter 2 (gojo satoru x reader)

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, CANON-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things and/or characters fate).

a/n: Took me way too long to post this and I had to do it from my phone...I still cannot figure out how people make their posts so pretty (and ngl I am a bit too lazy to figure it out). Enjoy the angst and let me know what you think :)

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

previous < Chapter Two: Breaking the Spirit > next

The Zenin estate felt colder than ever. Its imposing walls, stone cold and towering like silent sentinels, wrapped around her with an almost suffocating grip. The sense of isolation was a constant companion, the echo of her footsteps in the empty halls a painful reminder that she was locked in a cage of her own making. Despite the bruises and scars—both physical and mental—that she had accumulated over the months, the worst punishment had come in the form of silence.

She was not allowed to leave the estate. No missions. No contact with anyone. Only the endless rounds of psychological conditioning designed to break her down further. The Zenin Clan had stripped away her individuality, her autonomy. All she had left was the sharp, unyielding knowledge that she was nothing more than a tool for their use.

Months passed.

She felt like a shadow, moving through the estate with quiet precision, always under the watchful eye of those who had been tasked with ensuring she stayed compliant. There were no longer any training sessions—just endless hours spent in isolation, reflecting on her place in the world. Her cursed energy, once a seething, untamed force, now lay dormant within her, as if it, too, had given up on ever breaking free.

But even in her isolation, the mission call came. It was a brief moment of hope, though it quickly turned to dread when she realized what it meant.

The Zenin daughter was summoned before the Clan’s higher-ups, the familiar stone chamber cold and unwelcoming. The air was thick with incense and a strange tension. She stood rigid, awaiting her orders, the sting of previous failures still fresh in her mind.

"Zenin daughter," the Elder began, his voice as cold and calculating as ever. "You are to accompany Suguru Geto and Gojo Satoru on a mission."

A knot twisted in her stomach. After months of silence, months of training meant to break her, they were sending her out once more. This time, it wasn’t a simple assassination or a task for elimination.

"Your task is clear," the Elder continued, his eyes narrowing. "You will ensure that Riko Amanai is delivered safely to Master Tengen. You will follow Geto and Gojo’s orders. You are not to deviate from the plan. Do you understand?"

The words were laced with authority, but even as they echoed in the cold stone room, something inside her recoiled. She was a tool, a vessel for their power. She was not allowed to make decisions. She was not allowed to think for herself.

"Yes," she responded quietly, bowing her head in deference. She had no choice but to obey. It was always that way. Always.

The Elder dismissed her with a sharp gesture, and without another word, she turned and exited the room, the weight of her obedience heavy on her chest. She was merely an extension of the Zenin Clan’s will, nothing more.

The night before they left, she found herself standing beside Suguru Geto and Gojo Satoru at the designated meeting point. The sun had long since set, and the moon cast its pale light over the desolate landscape. Her heart thudded quietly in her chest, but she made no move to show it.

Geto stood with his arms folded, his usual calm demeanor in place. Beside him, Gojo was leaning lazily against a pillar, his ever-present grin plastered on his face as if nothing in the world could shake him.

"Zenin" Geto acknowledged her with a small nod, but his tone was clinical, almost detached. "You’re early”. He glanced at Gojo, who eyed her with curiosity - was this really the so called “Zenin Shadow”. Her cursed energy wavered slightly, but it was low. All he had heard in clan meetings -not that he paid much attention anyway, was that the Zenin’s had an ace under their sleeve. One that was supposed to tilt the scales on their side.

Gojo remembers a conversation he overheard during one of the clan meetings way before his time at jujitsu tech. One that maybe he was not supposed to overhear - not that he ever cared much for the rules anyways.

“I heard that they are not allowed outside the compound” one whispered to those around them, “that all they do is train and go on missions”

“Already?” A different member of the group asked “do we even know anything about this so called “shadow” or are these all rumors” they asked smartly in a low voice, “either way, that Gojo kid will be the strongest, so as long as we can keep him in check, I am sure that they will be able to deal with that so called asset”

Gojo rolled his eyes, quickly losing interest. They were right. Not only he could beat them quickly, but they would not move against him - he was a Gojo after all. The future clan head. Who cares who they were? They would never compare to him.

Now, she stands in-front of him. Her gaze low and her lands clenched beside her. Gojo quickly lost interest, seeing that those rumors about her being a “cold blooded” individual may be true; but her supposed strength is nowhere close to where either Geto or himself were. He loudly sighed, earning a quick glance from Geto.

Her eyes remained lowered, her posture stiff. "I am ready," she said softly.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I’m sure you are," he teased, clearly unimpressed. "But I still don’t get why you’re here. It’s not like you’re much of an asset, right? All the Zenin Clan sees is some weapon with a bit of power."

Her chest tightened, but she remained silent. Gojo’s words were sharp, but they weren’t wrong. Weapon was all she had ever been to the Zenin Clan. And it seemed that was all she would ever be.

Geto’s gaze shifted from Gojo to the Zenin girl his face unreadable. “That is not up to us, Satoru. Let’s just focus on the mission.”

Gojo chuckled lightly, but there was something dismissive in his voice. “Sure. Whatever. But this mission would be a lot smoother without the baggage.”

Geto didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened slightly, betraying his irritation. He didn’t want this anymore than Gojo did; but rules were meant to be followed.

As they walked away first, starting their normal bantering, the Zenin girl couldn’t help but bring her gaze up slightly. They were pushing each other, Gojo laughing loudly as Geto chuckled. They reminded them of those two sorcerers she had seen in her last mission prior to her punishment. She smiled slightly under her masks. Although she was a weapon meant to follow orders, she had for once done something that she was sure was good: protecting someone who was cared for.

As the trio made their way to the meeting place, a sudden chill filled the air. A low hum of cursed energy rippled through the area, signaling the approach of someone important. A figure appeared from the shadows—Yaga, the headmaster of Jujutsu High.

"Geto. Gojo. Zenin." Yaga’s voice was deep, a low rumble that carried weight.

The three turned to face him, but Yaga’s gaze shifted to the Zenin daughter, scrutinizing her for a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though sizing her up.

"You’re the Zenin Clan’s prized weapon, aren’t you?" he said, his tone neither kind nor harsh. "I’ve heard little about you, other than that you’re strong. No name, no cursed technique, nothing"

The Zenin girl kept her gaze down, her heart racing. She had heard of Yaga’s reputation—a skilled sorcerer, capable of commanding the greatest threats. The fact that he was even acknowledging her strength felt unsettling.

"Yaga," Geto greeted him with a nod, though his expression was neutral. “You know the situation. We’re just here to deliver Riko. What’s the deal with her tagging along?”

Yaga’s eyes lingered on the Zenin girl before meeting Geto’s gaze. "It’s not about you. It’s an order from the higher-ups. They've specifically instructed that she accompany you, no exceptions."

Gojo, leaning against the stone wall beside them, chuckled. "Yeah? But why? What’s the point of bringing along a deadweight like her? She can’t even use her cursed energy properly without them hovering over her every move."

Yaga’s eyes flashed with a warning, but he didn’t let the tension rise. “Don’t underestimate her, Satoru. The higher-ups seem to think she’ll be needed in some capacity. I’ve heard… things.”

“Things?” Gojo raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Like what?"

Yaga crossed his arms, his gaze turning more serious. "I don’t know the full details. But I’ve been told that she is stronger than she appears. The higher-ups trust her… and I trust that they have their reasons. Don’t make the mistake of assuming she’s nothing more than a tool."

Geto’s eyes flicked to the Zenin girl for a moment, his face impassive. He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he turned to Gojo. "We’re going to have to keep an eye on her, Satoru. Don’t take any unnecessary risks with her."

Gojo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Baby-sitting a supposed “super strong weapon”, keeping her out of trouble while we do all the heavy lifting.”

Yaga sighed one more time “Gojo, just do as told. Now, it’s late, go back to your dorms and show her an empty room near - the mission is scheduled to start at sunrise”

The Zenin girls chest tightened once again as she overheard their conversation. The same frases going through her head: “Stronger than she appeared.” “A tool.”

That was the only truth she knew. And yet, hearing them discuss her as a “liability”—a “weakness”—did something to her. It solidified the very thing she had been told her entire life: she was a tool, a weapon. Nothing more. Nothing more would ever be allowed. She wasn’t a person. She wasn’t anything other than a means to an end.

And now, even though her body was being forced back into the mission, she knew that her purpose was set in stone. She was to serve, to obey. Nothing would change that.

As the group continued on their walk towards the dorms, Geto and Gojo kept their distance from the girl with the the tension only growing among them. It was clear that they didn’t trust her.

The mission was important, and while the Zenin girl remained silent, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the judgment that followed her. To them, she was a burden—a liability.

“Here you go” Geto said with a tight smile “you can sleep here tonight, we will come collect you in the morning”

“And just be ready. I know how long you girls take to get ready” Gojo said, his voice slightly irritated as he typed away on his phone, clearly disinterested in the conversation already as he started walking away.

Geto quickly raised his hand, waving good bye as he caught up to Gojo, rapidly falling into a conversation. She took the chance to once again stqre at their relationship, he chest tight and heavy as she could almost feel the ache in her hands from how tightly she was closing her fists.

She knew that could not be her. But as she stared, she wondered what her life could have been had she not been cursed cursed energy.

Could she have a purpose?

As she entered the dorm room, she looked around. She felt on edge and uncertain of her new surroundings. But her eyes quickly caught onto the item in the left wall: a bed. She had never properly slept on one since being with the Zenin clan. They always believed that using a tatami that she would move out of the way would always be easier.

Her hands quickly caught onto the sheets, feeling the softness in them. She knew that even if it was for one night, this was probably about to be the best sleep she had in a while - and she would cherish it based on the fact that she did not know when that was to occur again.

As her body started to ask for rest, she moved towards the small bag she had - taking out a pair of pants and a shirt. She walked towards the sink and placed her items down. She took her hair out and removed her mask, forcing herself to not look at her face on the mirror. As she took off her clothing, her mind grew curious. Despite her heart begging her to not look, she glanced up towards the mirror. There, she saw a girl with scars littering across her body, some deeper, some larger, some tinier. As her eyes continued to wander, they landed on her face. The large scar that went horizontally across her face and the vertical one that went down her cheek were a reminder of the one time in her life where she felt alive: at the hands of a too strong of a curse for her inexperienced self - one that brought her to the closets she was felt to dying and to her freedom.

The first time the clan had realized the power of her reversed cursed technique, it was an accident. Her trainer had brought her to a curse as some clan elders stood at a distance; they wanted to see the supposed improvement she had with this new trainer - one known for their harsh but effective techniques. As she activated her cursed technique, she noticed that the fire touching her finger tips was burning her, causing her to instinctively stop her technique. The curse took her hesitation to their advantage, clawing themselves towards her, hashing her face and her body: Blood ran to her head as adrenaline cursed her body along her curser technique. Blood was covering her eyes, but her training forced her to use her senses to find a weakness. Her mind raced, how could she be so careless? Are they going to be mad? What will my punishment be? As her mind spiraled, her mind asked a last one, “wouldn’t death mean freedom?”.

She stuck in that last question - maybe in her next life she would be lucky? As tiredness hit her body, she allowed herself to open her eyes to look at the sky. She decided to give up, smiling. She could hear her trainer yelling at her in the distance, words muffled, the curse being gone, and the calmness of nothingness as she started closing her eyes. She felt herself smiling.

“Maybe in my next life” she thought, “I will learn to be happy”

Her body was taken to a medic in the main estate, hoping to not lose their asset so fast. However, the medic, perplexed, mentioned that her body was already healing. Slowly, but she could do it by herself.

When she finally woke, back in her closed quarters, she was confused. Was the afterlife going to look just like her previous life? Her head snapped when her door opened - her trainer storming up to her angrily as he pushed her off the bed and forced her head to the ground.

“You made me look like a fool” he sneered, pushing her head harder onto the floor, “you made my trainings look useless, when the only one that is useless here is you”

Her gaze stayed static - she had survived? Her eyes quickly watered, realizing she was in the same position in life as she was before - if not worst.

“How am I still here?” Her hoarse voice asked in no more than a whisper.

“That was the same thing I was wondering myself after that unsatisfactory performance you gave” he said, anger lacing his voice, “but your cursed technique saved you. I was hoping that was it for you so I would be freed, but I can never get what I want” he finished, grasping her hair as he pulled her to meet his face, her knees still on the ground.

“I will make you the perfect weapon” he whispered with a sly smile, “we will see if you can actually die - and then I’ll bring you back and do it again…you will never embarrass me again” he said one more time , his smile never leaving her face as she looked as forced on her feet, pushed towards the training grounds even as h was legs trembled from the lack of usage of them, her arms weak, and her head still disoriented.

As she finally laid in that bed at jujutsu tech, her mind continued to run. She felt jealousy towards what Gojo and Geto had - each other. Could she ever find someone that would stand by her side? Maybe she could try to befriend Geto? He did not seem very fond of her, and she did not have good interpersonal skills (if any)…but he seemed cordial. Maybe she could learn with him what a friendship is.

Her hands clenched as her body filled with anxiousness. The Zenin Clan had pushed her so roughly towards a life of isolation that she felt that she couldn’t possibly be unable to have normal relationships with someone. Never speaking out of turn, always keeping her gaze down, always alert.

Her mind reeled back to her encounter with the two young sorcerers, and then to the punishment that followed.

Her heart felt heavy, and for the first time in a long time, she felt her eyes welled with tears. Frustration and pain filling her body. She could never befriend anybody, she thought that with resolute. Nobody would ever know who she was, because she was nobody, all but a shadow who will continue to live behind the greatness of others.

The Zenin Clan had left their mark on her forever: she was nothing more than a weapon to be used. And, for the first time, she understood that more than ever.

[anima-nostrae]

Why shipping is so intensely hated in older fandoms?

Because of my person being entrenched in both the Rings of Power and Star Wars (sequel trilogy and the Acolyte specifically) fandoms and conversations online, I have noticed a curious thing happening. Now of course, I am aware all of it has been taking place for a long time before that, but recently a pattern has been developing.

Notably, the hate “shipping” or “shippers” had been receiving in online spaces.

Using both fandoms I already mentioned as a sort of trial group, let me illustrate what I mean by a “pattern” - but first, let’s try to define the whole shipping thing.

The basic thing to understand about it is that not everyone would explain it the same way. I would assume the most universal understanding of it would mean “shipping” to be simply wishing for two characters to become a couple at one point or another in the story. In that understanding, this might also manifest in some people’s minds as “I want these two to kiss” as well as “I want these two to have sex.” Which is true.

Which is also a very flattening description of the phenomena.

People are shipping characters that canonically hate each other, that don’t know each other, that come from two different media altogether. People are shipping characters that have minimal interactions, but these in themselves have that specific element about them, that little umph that normal people would call “chemistry”, so they want to see more from them. Most of the time, and I do mean most of them, not all, these opinions and jokes on the internet are just that.

There was a post about it, one which I cannot find anywhere but in the recesses of my mind, but it made a point to say shipping wasn’t this overly sexual thing where the fans partook in the practice simply to see their favourite characters engage physically before their eyes, but because there was something about the both of them, some strange, mirroring quality that made their interactions simply irresistible to witness, be them anything. A fight scene, a conversation, a mention.

Ones that come to mind are, more recently, Haladriel, *Rings of Power’*s Galadriel and Halbrand-version-of-Sauron, Oshamir, The Acolyte’s main characters, and Reylo.

Of course, Reylo.

We have noticed this, yes? How, most of the time, people that enjoy dynamics between various characters are called “insane”, “stupid”, “child-like”, and how they are blamed for writers partaking in generally controversial choices because “they are just caving-in” and “pandering to shippers”?

This is a feminism - adjacent piece, and quite a short read actually!

[rollercoasterwords]

heyy, you said some time ago on an ask you hc Lily would give harry tons of mommy issues if alive, and I'm obsessed with this idea, please tell us more?

hi!!!! i did indeed say that….getting back to this a few days late but love this question 🌝🌝

to answer the first thing i have to explain is that in my mind lily is a bit of a cunt. she’s intelligent & ambitious—we know she was in slug club & made top marks despite not growing up in the wizarding world, which in my mind means she was likely competitive & had this sort of “i’m going to prove i’m better than these assholes” mentality & was also a perfectionist. she was used to being the favorite child/special one, bc we know her parents were excited abt her being a witch which is part of why petunia resented her; but then she had her sister & purebloods in the wizarding world putting her down, so i imagine that like…she’d have a strong sense of self worth and a need to prove herself, but also a bit of a martyr complex. at the same time, she had blinders on when it came to her own friend; we know she didn’t actually cut things off w severus despite him getting involved in nasty shit until he publicly called her a slur. this is actually one thing that i think is very similar about lily & james; though they both ostensibly had a very strong sense of justice, their blind spot was their close friends, which i imagine could make them both a bit hypocritical in that they’d say people who do x are bad but then forgive their friends who do x, etc.

ANYWAY. in a canon compliant setting if i am imagining lily & james relationship. well i’ll be honest i don’t think it was the perfect true love story etc that we’re sold in the books like. they were kids. i think that once they did get together it was v passionate & intense, made moreso by the fact that they were both fighting in a war & had the pressure of knowing they could die any day, etc.; if they hadn’t been fighting in a war, i think they would have broken up shortly after leaving school as they both followed different life paths & matured more as people & realized their first serious teenage relationship likely wasn’t going to be forever. BUT in a canon-adjacent/compliant universe war is on, their relationship is tumultuous but the dire circumstances make them cling to each other even tighter, & in my beautiful mind palace what happens is lily gets pregnant accidentally & they have a shotgun wedding. i’ve written an accidental pregnancy storyline w them in a few of my fics now so i can imagine it playing out in a couple ways, but no matter what in my mind lily was NOT planning to have a baby and has very mixed feelings about it—maybe she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant until it’s too late to do anything about it, maybe she considers aborting but decides against it, maybe she tries to abort but for some reason it doesn’t work or falls through…whatever happens, she ends up having the baby. now she’s a mother yayyyy except she’s a mum in like the most stressful circumstances ever & probably not having a joyous experience w her newborn. maybe some post-partum depression etc.

anyway. imagining canon breaking here and her becoming a mum…feel like this could go a few ways, and the exact mommy issues she’d give her kid would depend on which way it went. let’s say james dies on halloween but lily & harry both make it out; i definitely think part of her would sort of resent harry bc suddenly she’s 20 and she has to spend the rest of her life being a mum and she doesn’t get to enjoy her youth and have a normal life, and also she’s expected to raise the chosen one and also he’s kinda the reason her husband got killed. i think there’d be this sort of distance between them & i imagine her at times making an effort to be the loving mum she’s meant to be but ultimately it’s unsustainable, and harry grows up trying everything he can to make his mum really love him and develops a complex over feeling like there’s something fundamentally wrong with him bc that love & parental warmth just doesn’t come naturally to lily. & if this is a universe where voldemort’s still out to get harry then i imagine them moving around a lot, maybe living in hiding, her raising harry to one day take down voldemort…sorry but i do think she would turn him into the priest’s favorite sacrificial lamb. i think she would raise him to be a soldier/human sacrifice who is constantly feeling like he has to earn love, and neither of them would ever fully be able to give the other what they need or want, even though i do think lily would love harry…i just don’t think she’d always do a very good or consistent job of it!

[saintsenara]

Call for asks: I’ve noticed you’ve avoided saying anything about Jegulus for the last few asks so…. Jegulus 😈

anon please, i’m not avoiding saying anything about jegulus, i genuinely don’t know her.

but, fine, let’s imagine i do.

i don’t enjoy it as a pairing, not because i think it’s unfeasible [in my view, the joy of fanfiction is taking a completely implausible premise and making it work], but because i don’t like the way that the fandom which has built up around jegulus expects certain tropes and characterisations which turn the characters into just profoundly uninteresting people.

and this is the case for all the marauders and marauders-adjacent characters [i’m looking at you, fanon barty crouch jr.!], undoubtedly because the era has so little actual canon material that fanon becomes canon and authors run from there. and that’s great - anyone writing stories in a world hostile to hobbies and creativity is a triumph - but the standard way of writing jegulus which has coalesced around this fanon doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

there are many jegulus tropes i don’t love: how it always becomes a parallel wolfstar [james and peter would be the cultured choice if we have to do that]; how it’s just drarry but in the seventies [when the cultured choice for that is lucius malfoy/arthur weasley]; how james becomes a tediously good person when the evidence of canon is that he’s a bit of a dick; how it relies on an exaggerated portrayal of orion and walburga’s abusive parenting which misses the fact that regulus evidently colluded with them against sirius; how it assumes the marauders aren’t intensely codependent [sirius mentions-lily-once black is definitely going to let his brother hang around with them, sure]; how snape is sometimes there and always a knob. james and regulus are also so similar in terms of background, social position at school etc. that there’s no juicy spark [as in snack, for example]. and, of course, prongsfoot is canon.

and so on… 

but the biggest reason i can’t get into it? 

regulus is a death eater, and not by mistake.

now, we all love a fluffy no-voldemort au, but unless that is a jegulus author’s stated setting, they are going to have to deal with the fact that regulus fucking loves the dark lord. this is a teenage boy who has press clippings about voldemort’s terrorism taped above his bed. he knows exactly what he’s getting into and he likes it.

indeed, my reading of deathly hallows is that regulus’ decision to go and get the locket has absolutely nothing to do with a damascene conversion that conducting a campaign of sectarian violence against muggles and muggleborns is bad, but that learning of the existence of the horcrux - and also voldemort’s lack of respect towards his property, kreacher [after all, we see an attitude expressed canonically by wizards that other people have no right to interfere in how you treat your slaves] - makes clear to him that the dark lord’s aims are not oligarchy, with those from pureblood families ruling in happy condescension over a ministry which is fundamentally unchanged, but ruling in majesty as an immortal absolute monarch. his death is a repudiation of his beliefs, yes, but it is a repudiation of the fact that he believed voldemort was his champion, rather than that he believed voldemort was wrong.

and, actually, i don’t think this in and of itself makes jegulus insurmountable. james is a pureblood, and while there is absolutely no evidence in his few canon appearances that he harboured blood-supremacist views, the very fact of his background would allow a complacency which might let him overlook some of regulus’ opinions [think, for example, about ron’s attitude towards house elves]. equally, we have no evidence that regulus couldn’t completely disavow his former beliefs.

but, it requires the fact that regulus isn’t just a tiny baby who aspires to join a terror group by mistake to actually be dealt with, and i have never seen a single piece of jegulus which does so.

[velvet-games]

in the process of of designing a new oc :] (that started as an alastor redesign because of course)

her name is thérèse and she’s my ultimate tumblr sexyman except she’s a woman kind of

will make a part two with some spicier stuff because I can’t post more than 10 images on mobile at once anyway

it all started w this sketch bc I wanted to change my style a bit; the old one was giving me art block lmao

I thought the shapes here were satisfying + I haven't drawn closed eyes (as in the outline going all the way around instead of having separate top and bottom lid lines) in a hot sec so I wanted to try it out again

also something about this style finally made straight hair not feel super weird to draw

starting to enjoy this new way of drawing her face

also realized the vibe of this character was very different:

a lot more ... slouchy? like she'd rather make people let their guard down than intimidate them

also everything is trongle :]

she might still have naturally curly hair idk yet

I'm gonna be honest I have always had to fight the urge to think that canon alastor is a fox

he's red he has fluffy ears and he's a trickster. coincidence? I think the fuck not. I can't even see his antlers 95% of the time.

so therese is actually a fox :]

she's the "unserious but oddly helpful + is actually very competent" one

also vox is here! maybe. idk I just wanted them to be a square

shapes

idk who the girl is I just needed a round one

oh shit they're smooching!!

I think vox is a chronically overworked overthinker who needs the whimsical energy of therese in their life

I'm gonna call vox theo actually cause they're a very different character too

they're also probably not in hell anymore; maybe something wonderland-adjacent?

anyway part 2 coming soon if I don't go into another depressive episode

[littlejuicebox]

Give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away

-----

Chapter number: Seven Word count: 3.6K Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, canon adjacent behavior, angst, anxiety, trauma, fluff aka smut with a plot, Astarion has a foot fetish? Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Say Yes to Heaven" - Lana Del Rey Notes: This got steamy. First time writing a full-on sexy scene so hope it was okay. Rating: Mature 18+ / smut

-----

When Astarion and Wren stumbled through the opening of the ranger’s tent, they were both a mess of stifled laughter and raging lust. The vampire practically pounced on the half-elf woman from behind, his hands gripping at her breasts before quickly wandering downward, suddenly in predator mode and quite eager to explore other parts of her body. The little bird giggled and spun to face the rogue before she grabbed his wrists and extracted herself from his aggressive embrace, planting a soft kiss on his cold lips in the process. “Hold on… let’s get comfortable.”

The woman dropped to her knees, followed by the rogue, and took a few minutes to build her nest. The pillows Wren had scattered around her tent were rearranged, a few quilts were spread around to serve as ground cover, and her prized fur blanket, which she’d proudly pulled out of a dropped shipping crate along the Risen Road, served as the top layer to the bed she’d made for them. Both the rogue and the ranger had advanced dark vision, though only shades of gray... not good enough for the archer.

Wren found an amber jar and whispered a cleric spell, infusing the item with light that cast a warm, soft glow around them. Astarion found himself absently wondering if her mother had taught her that as he watched her readjust the tent with a mixture of confusion and fascination. She draped a handkerchief over the jar to dim it and placed the makeshift light in the corner of the tent. Then, the little bird smiled at the rogue, eyes still hooded, and pupils blown from the inhalants they’d consumed minutes ago. “Now… where were we.”

Astarion was, once again, entirely thrown. Wren approached this much differently than he or his past marks ever did; she seemed determined to romanticize and soften everything. He was used to unbridled lust and aggressive sexual encounters; setting and timing didn’t ever matter. Quick romps in an alleyway, in the dungeon, or in a bed that had seen the same lines and moves used on many of his marks… that was his area of expertise. The softness she’d just shown in readying a literal love nest suddenly made him quite nervous and flooded him with so many emotions that he couldn’t sort through fast enough.

Anxiety, guilt, fear, frustration... it all hit him at once. This was different territory and the rogue realized with a sinking feeling in his chest that his scripts, crafted over decades, didn’t apply here. They wouldn’t work; she’d see right through them. His confident, predatory nature slipped from his grasp and left behind a nervous, unsure elven man. The little bird pulled him towards her, moving forward to close to gap between them, her brows lifting and scrunching together as she watched his eyes.

The anxiety must have shown on his face — damn his eyes that Wren said “portrayed all manner of emotion" just moments ago. Astarion had spent several decades crafting a mask that seemed to fall from his face anytime she stared at him. In any other situation, with any other person, he would’ve simply shoved his feelings aside and performed. He’d been actually enjoying himself, until now, when things took a drastic plunge toward vulnerability. Suddenly everything felt much less like the games he'd grown accustomed to playing and too… real.

“Is everything okay, Star?” Wren whispered, the new nickname falling out of her mouth as if it was the only name she’d ever called him.

Astarion’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He’d only ever been referred to by his first name or “spawn” for as long as he could remember. The rogue, of course, had called many lovers any number of nicknames, mostly because he didn’t want to remember their actual monikers, but no one had ever bestowed one upon him until this moment. Another pang of anxiety and guilt. Was he still just toying with her? Or was she toying with him, in a way he could not see? Should he back out now, before it was too late?

“I… well, darling, frankly I’m not quite sure how to do things this way.” He admitted, with no small amount of shame; the damn Druidic herbs had him acting way too honestly for his liking. “Wren… I don’t know what it is that you want from me or what role it is I'm meant to play here."

“I want to make love to you.” Wren responded softly, as if the answer were quite simple and clear to her. “I want to learn your body... and I’d like for you to learn mine. I don’t want you to play any role; I just want you to be you.”

Astarion still wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but something about the earnestness of her voice and the softness of her gaze mixed with the inhibition-limiting druidic herbs pulled him closer to her. He was used to being dominant and in control during all his previous encounters; everything was quick, rote, and to the point… almost surgical. He’d always been the one approaching his victims, luring them to their demise, leading the encounter the entire time and preventing it from ever going off-script. The vampire knew sex and he knew it very well. But making love? Well, that was simply a concept he hadn’t deigned to consider.

“Do you trust me?” Wren asked, as she grabbed the vampire’s hand, lifting it to her lips and kissing the knuckle, echoing something he’d done on impulse the night prior.

The silver haired elf's heart fluttered at the tender touch. He felt the strange sensation that was standing on some sort of precipice; part of him wanted to jump while the other part begged he stay back. The vampire swallowed. “No…” He whispered, once again entirely too truthful. 'Damn these herbs.' He watched Wren’s face fall for a moment, the disappointment in her eyes almost too much for him to withstand. “But… I want to.”

At this clumsy confession, Wren beamed and -- 'gods above and below' --- she looked beautiful. The light from the jar cast her in a warm, near-angelic glow. The edges of her hair displayed their highlights, a beautiful burgundy halo around her. Astarion was entranced, positively engulfed in a spell of emotion. He took in a deep, shuttering breath, trying to steady his nerves; his eyes slammed shut. “I… Darling, I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Wren was still smiling a soft, drug-hazed smile. She took hold of his other hand, which had been in his lap, anxiously toying with the leather of his trousers. “We can go slow. You can keep your eyes closed if you want.”

The vampire could barely bring himself to nod. And then Wren’s lips were on his in a soft, tender kiss. She brought his hands to either side of her face as she moved herself closer. A gentle press of Astarion's legs on either side signaled him to shift them slightly so that the ranger could position herself between him, her knees bent and straddled over his thighs. Her hands came to the sides of his face, mirroring his own, as she pressed berry-stained lips into his pale ones. Wren was so close to him in that tent, so focused on only him; he could feel her energy radiating towards him in comforting waves, easing his mind, if only slightly.

“What would you like for me to do?” Her voice was soft and almost sounded far-away, the medicinals slowly climbing towards their peak effect. Astarion swallowed again. He wasn’t used to being asked such questions and asking for what he wanted seemed to require great effort. His request came out in a shaking, nearly breathless whisper. “M-my ears… I do quite like when you touch them.”

The female ranger obliged, lithe fingers tracing their way to the vampire’s ears, toying with the lobes at first before drawing up to trace the pointed pinnas. The soft sounds Wren’s movements pulled from Astarion lit her desire aflame and she felt her own arousal bursting at the seams while witnessing his response.

The half-elf felt she could sit and do this forever just to listen the beautiful noises he made and watch the way his face lit up in pleasure. His lips parted slightly to purr in response to her ministrations and Wren felt her heart glow. Her lips moved to the left side of the rogue’s face and trailed kisses along his jaw, before her tongue found its way to his sensitive lobe. The silver-haired elf bucked his hips and let out a soft, strangle moan as her tongue brushed against his ear, his growing arousal was straining against his trousers and just brushing against Wren’s still-clothed pelvis as she wrapped her legs around him.

Astarion began to move now, eyes still closed, basking in the sensations that sent ripples of enjoyment through him. He gained just enough confidence to flutter his eyes open and let his pale hands drift slowly down to the neckline of Wren’s chemise, long fingers grazing against the silken fabric. The little bird pulled away from Astarion’s ear and locked eyes with him for a moment, enveloping his lips in another soft kiss before granting the rogue what he’d silently been asking for and shrugging her arms out of the chemise, baring her breasts.

The elf’s eyes moved to take in the pale globes of skin presented before him. Wren’s freckles fell in constellations along her collar bone and dense patches down her chest, but sparse few could be found on her breasts; the contrast was striking. Her nipples were little buds on teardrop-shaped breasts, practically begging for his tongue to engulf them. Astarion answered their desperate plea and pressed forward, wrapping the nub in his mouth, sucking gently, almost experimentally. One hand came to her other breast while its twin found its way to her back, pressing her body into him. Wren let out a soft gasp and bucked her hips, rubbing her arousal into the vampire’s. Astarion pressed his hips forward again to greet hers, and soon they were caught in a pleasurable grind, both parties still inhibited by the layers of fabric that covered their loins.

They stayed like this for several minutes, stimulating one another with timed, rhythmic movements. Wren’s hands found their way to silver curls and took hold, still brushing her hands occasionally against his ears, as the vampire slowly teased his tongue from first one nipple, then the other. She was keening in delight, her chest heaving as she continued to grind her pelvis towards Astarion’s, desperate for more contact.

The hem of Wren’s chemise had now ridden up and pooled itself around her waist, exposing barren legs and a glimpse of damp undergarment to the pale elf. Astarion traced his hands over the soft skin of her thighs and Wren moaned as his agile hands found that sensitive bundle of nerves at her groin and gave an exploratory slip against it. The vampire smiled with some semblance of arrogance and pride that he could rip such a pretty noise from the ranger’s mouth. His tongue traced from her nipple up to the crook of her collarbone, where the elf placed feather light kisses before trailing his way up to her neck and grazing his teeth along the sensitive flesh.

“Would you like a drink?” The ranger asked, voice breathless and hushed but laced with eagerness, as she tilted her head to the side in an effort to allow better access.

Astarion didn’t need further coaxing to delve his fangs into her tempting flesh. The warmth of her life force encapsulated his tongue, thick ropes of warm, comforting deliciousness sliding down his throat. He drank deeply as Wren keened beneath him, still grinding into his arousal and almost whimpering in his hands. His eyes fluttered closed as he reveled in her addictive taste of sunshine and warmth, riding the high of the sweet spice of cinnamon tingling his tongue as the intoxicants in her blood flooded into his stomach, adding to his own haze. The straining in his trousers was becoming insufferable, his length practically imploring him for release.

It was obvious Wren was growing quite excited. Her pupils were blown wide, chest heaving in anticipation, and the pink flush along her breasts was flooding up her neck and pouring onto her cheeks. She tentatively placed her hands on either side of Astarion’s shirt and tugged up, hands asking for permission to grasp at the skin underneath.

Astarion froze for a moment. His face pulled back from where it had finished his indulgence on her blood and had begun attentively covering the marks in affectionate tongue laps. Scarlet eyes locked onto hers, studying her, searching for an answer in her eyes. 'What does she want from me, truly?'

Wren could tell he was unsure, that his body was responding to the pleasure, but some part of his mind still had not taken the plunge. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her heaving chest, where the excited beating of her heart thumped beneath the surface.

“Let me show you.” She whispered, before closing her own eyes and opening her mind to the vampire. And there he saw it. Astarion saw her affection for him, how she compared him to a fox in her mind; mischievous and sly but also endearing and loyal. He saw her desire for him, how her body was drawn to his like a moth to a flame and lit up by the slightest of touches. He also saw her trust; how she never doubted he would have her back in every battle and had faith the rogue would never overindulge on her neck. He saw her gratitude for her restored vision, and all the little things he’d done for her like repairing her pack and gifting her the nightdress that was now barely covering her beautiful body.

But, somehow shockingly yet perhaps most of all, Astarion saw her protective instinct. He watched how she reacted to the Gur without second thought when he threatened to take the vampire away from her, how she kept eyes on him from the periphery of every fight to make sure he would be okay, all the expertly placed arrows that downed foes he hadn’t even realized were at his back, and all the moments she’d defended him to the other campmates when they’d brought their concerns about his vampirism to her. It was all so excitingly raw and vulnerable. It stoked the flames inside him, igniting the fire within his body and his groin to an even greater degree than he thought possible and suddenly his need for Wren outweighed his trepidation.

Astarion was spurned forward by intense emotion and lunged to kiss the woman, tongue plunging into parted lips. He broke away for just a moment, ripping his shirt up and over his head. Wren’s hands were on his chest and back in an instant, grazing over rippled muscle as they dragged their way down to his trousers, tugging desperately at the waistband. Her fingers had traced down the scars on his back, sending tingles through his spine; he was shocked to find that he didn’t rip away from her touch.

The rogue pulled himself from their entangled web of limbs before tugging at the leather of his bottoms, releasing his arousal from the confines of clothing and tossing his pants into the corner of the tent. His eyes locked on hers and he grasped at her hips with a soft, "up," motioning her to stand on her knees. The little ranger obeyed his command, and Astarion grabbed the silken hem of her chemise, dragging it along her body and over her head. He tugged at her arousal-slicked briefs, dropping them down to pool at the base of her thighs before placing a hand on her chest and pressing her backward into the nest of pillows and blankets, quickly removing her underwear and tossing them aside.

She was panting beneath him, her hair splayed in pools of brown and burgundy, eyes alight with excitement. He stared down at his little treat, drinking in the view of her body, utterly exposed before him. It was clear, even in her armor, that Wren was pear-shaped… but the barren view was quite a sight to behold. His eyes greedily traced the contours of her hips and the plush but firm shape of her thighs. He grabbed one of her legs and lifted it to him, one hand sliding along her slit to tease the nub at the apex of her sex. Then, the vampire slowly trailed kisses along her calf and down the arch of her foot before taking two tiny toes into his mouth and sucking.

Wren began wriggling beneath him, soft moans of excitement from the new dual stimulation causing arousal to drip from her. The ranger bucked her hips up towards his fingers, her eyes glued to the attention he was paying to her dainty feet. Astarion withdrew his tongue from her foot, a drugged, contented smile crossing his lips. “You are quite the surprise, you know. And you surprise me again and again.” He whispered before lowering Wren’s leg and then grabbing her arm, a gentle tug beckoning her to sit up. He was aching with need at this point, desperate to sheath himself within the ranger.

Astarion sat back and brought Wren to him. They were face to face; her legs straddled over his once more. Her thighs were slick with desire and the heat of her sex was pressed against his member, practically begging to bury him inside. The ranger lifted herself slightly and with a small roll of her hips, positioned Astarion at her entrance. Then she began the slow, torturous descent around his cock, her eyes widening, and head thrown back as she took him to the hilt. It was all Astarion could do not to buck forward and instead simply allow the half-elf to take him in at her own pace; the tight grip around his arousal had nearly been enough to shoot him over the edge as she dropped to engulf him completely. A frantic, strangled moan escaped his lips as she took the last few inches, and he was finally enveloped in her tightness.

Wren took a deep breath in and then moved to place her forehead against Astarion’s. Her eyes were locked onto the vampire’s as she began to ride him with slow and precise rolls of her hips. It was nearly maddening, the leisurely, determined pace she set. He felt every ripple of her insides against his cock and nearly lost himself every time she slowly unsheathed his length from her, just to begin the torturous decent once more. The pale elf took hold of her ample bottom, his hands supporting her movements and gripping into the sumptuous flesh. Wren was moaning in pleasure now, her hands on either of Astarion’s shoulders, using him for leverage as she sawed her body back and forth along his length. They were caught in the spell of one another’s gaze, a bubble of pleasure building around them, desperate to burst.

Soon enough, Wren picked up the pace, and Astarion could feel her urgency building, the greedy tightness gripping at his member. One of his hands came to the ranger's hardened nipple and pinched it, earning him a delicious groan. He lowered his hand to her groin and found that sensitive little nub of nerves. “Sing for me, little bird.”

And she did. Deft fingers caught her clit between them and applied friction as she continued to frantically roll her hips on top of him. One of her hands came to Astarion’s and re-positioned it just slightly, the new angle she desired causing her to rear her head back and go wild. She grabbed onto the back of his neck, fingers gripping into silver curls as her eyes moved back to the rogue's. Astarion was entranced in the raw vulnerability she lay before him, his cock aching at the site of the pouty desperation splayed across her face. She was emitting a near-constant smattering of praises, keening, and moans as the bubble of pressure and pleasure climbed towards its breaking point, imploring for release. “Yes, Star, yes. Oh gods.”

Wren's pace became more and more panicked, her body tensing itself into an arch, like a bow pulled taut. The couple were both panting heavily from exertion, and Astarion watched as the ranger practically fell apart in his lap, a beautiful writhing bundle of sweaty, freckled sinew. The bubble burst and Wren found her release with a delighted squeal, her body shuddering around him. The wild, uninhibited sounds of the woman's climax tipped Astarion over the edge and he pushed his hips forward, groaning into her shoulder as his body ebbed with glorious pleasure and warm seed spilled itself into her depths.

“Mm… that was quite a delicious site.” Astarion murmured as both of them rode the aftershocks of their pleasure and the final influences of the Druidic herbs.

Wren murmured her agreement, still straddling the rogue but paused to catch her breath. Finally, she pulled away and lay down, motioning the rogue to lay beside her. The ranger covered them both in her prized fur blanket, now coated with the slickness of their lovemaking in some spots. Her lips found his shoulder, where she pressed a warm kiss. “Goodnight, Star.”

“Good night, little bird.” Astarion responded, his hand moving to brush stands of hair from her face before he closed his own eyes. The herbs and exertion beckoned the vampire into a trance quite quickly after Wren, the two of them still a tangle of limbs and nakedness as the bog sang them a lullaby.

Dawn would break, and in turn, so would the spell they'd covered one another in that evening. But, if just for the night, Astarion felt something he’d never known in over 200 years… peace.

[shineforthee]

Seeing that I have accumulated a variety of fandoms, it feels like a convenient time to make a pinned masterlist of my fics for easy reference. Currently, I am actively writing fics for Interview With the Vampire & Supernatural.

Here is a direct link to my ao3 profile.

Interview With the Vampire

in the deafening polar province called You

Pairing: Armand/Daniel Molloy

Length: 150k

Rating: E

Summary:Daniel is sprawled out across the bed, loose-limbed and lazy, somehow filling all the open space it has to offer and leaving Armand to nestle into the gaps. His cheeks are flushed, blood pooling like it knows what comes next. Maybe it does. Armand was reading about classical conditioning the other day. About dogs who become accustomed to getting food when their handler rings a bell.

Perhaps Daniel is the dog, Armand’s teeth sharp bells reverberating in his veins. Or perhaps Armand is the dog, Daniel’s blood a song rattling in his ears. He has been a dog before. He runs his tongue along the bow of Daniel’s collarbone, gathers the salt-sweat there and imagines what it tastes like because Daniel does.

Armand remembers he loved Daniel, once, and that Daniel loved him. Or a version of them did, at least. It isn't his intention to go back to that, but it's not not his intention, either. Such is the prerogative of an immortal: to hold two contradicting desires simultaneously. If nothing else, it passes the time while he waits for this miserable interview to end.

You might like this fic if: You're looking for a vague mixture of book canon and show speculation, You like Armand POV, You enjoy flashbacks and memory fuckery, You're looking for a longfic and willing to follow along while I write it.

Supernatural (Destiel)

how we're stuck in entropy

Length: 211,563 (complete)

Rating: E (Major Character Death, not Dean or Cas)

Summary:

Sam makes one last deal.

Cas comes back. And Dean gets him back. And together they get something.

Something about humanity, about living even when it hurts, especially because it hurts. About building a home for loss inside your chest, and making your heart a place where the dead live when they die. About being selfish, about belonging, about deserving both. About choice, and a life lived, and learning to lay down arms so that your hands might hold something softer.

You might like this fic if: You want a post-canon fic that doesn't quite fix it but does give them their love story, you want a story that's about grief and joy and all the ways they coexist, you like a character driven story

virga(e)

Length: 71,924 (complete)

Rating: E

Summary:First, before anything, there was want.

In one version of this story, Dean Winchester hasn't stopped moving since the day his father died. He hunts across the country but always comes back to California with the half-hearted hope of visiting Sam at Stanford, and an endless, restless, ceaseless pull to the desert.

In one version of this story, Dean Winchester finds himself in the scorched heat of a Death Valley summer, on a hunt for a ghost. Or a purpose. Or an answer to the question that’s been tugging at his tendons for as long as he’s lived.

In one version of this story, all Dean Winchester has ever done is want, and all Castiel has ever done is wait.

You might like this fic if: You love AU's and/or Stanford Era!Dean, fics about the desert, nature as a metaphor for choice, mystery-adjacent plots, or bite-sized longfics.

whatever dust is left (WIP)

Length: 26k+

Rating: E

Summary:It’s natural to think in terms of checks and balances. He’s been taught – created even – to think in terms of the greater good. The problem, of course, is that Castiel can no longer think of any good greater than Dean Winchester.

He goads Zachariah into sending him to the future, and it’s worth the cost.

He lets that future burn and drags Dean home, and it’s worth the cost.

If all he ever does is stay at Dean’s side, then he thinks that will be worth the cost, too.

Dean and Cas both wind up five years in the future, and the conversations they have there have ramifications that no version of them is prepared to comprehend. Dean doesn’t agree with Sam’s approach to stopping the apocalypse and can’t trust him, Cas has nowhere else to be, and all Dean and Cas know is that at the end, they had each other.

You might like this fic if: You also have endverse brainrot and have thought "what if Cas met his future self, too?", you like explorations of Dean's trauma, Cas' early experiences with humanity, and Sam struggling with darkness, toxic and codependent destiel

Oneshots

scared of the crack where the light comes through | E | 6k | AU |

I'll linger at your body like a silent beggar | E | 10k | Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait |

Daisy Jones & The Six (inactive)

she is benediction & I fell so ceaselessly

Pairing: Daisy Jones/Billy Dunne

Length: 11,453 & 96,006 (Complete)

Rating: M

Summary:

Part 1: Canon-compliant, Billy pov gap-filler of the show.

Part 2: Canon-Divergent post Chicago, Daisy and Billy pov. A journey of recovery, healing, and trust.

You might like this fic if: You want something to heal the open wound that is the finale, you like fics with tiny mountain cabins, you like fics with road trips in vans, you like characters who are allowed to mess up and learn from their mistakes.

call it fate, call it karma

Pairing: Daisy Jones/Billy Dunne

Length: 145,886 (complete)

Rating: E

Summary:

Billy meets Daisy at the diner the day they rename the band.

Or: these messy humans are even messier before they get a chance to grow up some.

Or: Daisy and Billy are in love in every universe, but in this one it's a bumpy ride.

You might like this fic if: You want to ask "what if the whole story were different?", you like found-family dynamics, you like invisible strings, you like characters that take forever to do what's best for themselves, you like your happy ending with a heaping side of angst and mess.

all of me an offering

Pairing: Daisy Jones/Billy Dunne

Length: 108,906 (complete)

Rating: E

Summary:

Teddy dies in '83. Daisy and Billy are brought back together because it was never an option not to be. Billy and Camila's marriage has spent six years collapsing. Angst and mess ensue.

You might like this fic if: a fic colloquially referred to as the "affair fic" during the writing process, characters who really really suck but also are learning, a narrative that doesn't make anyone the good guy, angst, grief

Oneshots

the night explodes the sun is gone | E | 3k | smut | daisy/billy |

life ain't ever what it seems (these dreams are more than paper things) | T | 1.5k | Tiny canon "what-if?" | daisy/billy |

first light | E | 4k | from the Hozier song| daisy/billy |

I'll come too | T | 2k | simone/bernie |

and it feels good to be known so well | T | 2.5k | daisy/karen | platonic kissing|

[the-gateway-to-madness]

Pitch Black Headcanons/Analysis/Ramble/Nonsense?

Never ask someone who made a Pitch Black kid rotg oc for their Pitch headcanons.

(Jkjk party time)

This one's gonna be less of a list like the Jack posts and more of a ramble so let's gO

Alright, so first of all, there's two different origins for Pitch- one in book canon and one established for the movie canon in Johanne Matte's (one of the movie artists) unofficial comics. The book one is the one most people use, where Pitch was once a man named Kozmotis Pitchiner and was possessed by fearlings or shadows or the like.

Very neat, but I actually am much more intrigued by the characterization found in Matte's comics. These indicate that Pitch is a somewhat cryptid or eldritch sort of monster, pure primal fear, and existed before humanity; it also establishes that Pitch and some other primal, pre-humanity spirits became fascinated by and drawn to humans' imaginations.

If you want to create or justify a Pitch kid oc, both this backstory and this weakness for storytellers could do it without trying to weave in book canon to make Pitch a character that would have children. Just say he met a particularly enchanting storyteller, and bam, you have a basis for your Pitch kid oc. That's what I did. (You're welcome- lol jk)

Now, you could argue this is semi-canon, or canon-adjacent, and not a headcanon of mine. HOWEVER, this and one other comic Matte did (wherein Jack meets an ancient, wild spirit called Old Hills) DO lead to a headcanon of mine, which is this:

There are two types of spirit. The first kind are deeply tied into the essence of the wild and the world, like fear, forces of nature, and death. Pitch is a Primal spirit. The second kind are Chosen spirits, given power by the Man in the Moon, who coexist with humanity and represent their legends, their stories that make them so unique and powerful, and the ways that humans perceive the world and natural phenomena. Mythological figures that explain weather, or folk tales like the Guardians, are Chosen spirits.

Oh hey look I do actually have a list for y'all-

If a spirit and a human have children, those children are mortal until they earn their own powers.

Primal spirits and half-Primals have scent glands for marking their territory all over their bodies. I.e., Pitch is actually a cat.

Pitch's teeth grow back in rows, like a shark's. The back rows are very small.

Pitch likes to enjoy a cup of warm apple cider and a good book now and then. During spooky season, especially, he gets to relax a bit because humans are doing a chunk of his work for him.

Pitch likes mystery novels.

Pitch's greatest worry, if not fear, is people who become so numb that they no longer have any solid, deep fears themselves.

Pitch finds human psychology genuinely fascinating.

Pitch is a good artist.

Pitch is a dog person.

Pitch really likes seafood.

Citing my sources here:

[forerussake]

Twenty questions for fic writers

I was tagged by the wonderful @elenothar! Thankssss❤️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

45

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

456.761

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for a bunch of fandoms over the years. Currently I'm most active in Guardian and adjacent fandoms, but I think I could and would still write for pretty much everything I've written for in the past. So the full list would be Guardian, the Silmarillion, QZGS, MDZS/CQL, YYM, the Rebel, DMBJ, and some RPF :D

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Counting the promises as yet unbroken (165)

A ballad of burning lungs and bated breath (125)

A hand within a hand (holding light) (120)

Kaleidoscope (114)

Crowded full of parting's feeling (99)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to always respond to comments, bc i myself really like it when an author responds to my comments, so I would be a hypocrite not to do it myself. But also I kind of enjoy that interaction. Especially if ppl have commented on specific lines or on the themes. Sometimes commenters have insights about my fics that even I didn't have myself while writing, and I like to let them know their thoughts were appreciated :)

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I am an angst writer, but I often try to make the endings of my fics at least a bit hopeful :/// I think the angstiest ending to a finished fic would have to go to either Crowded full of parting's feeling, which ends with LXC being (for the first time in his life) truly and utterly alone. Kind of a bummer. Or perhaps the easy part, which ends with ZYL crying himself to sleep on the kitchen floor.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

As I said, I try to make my endings hopeful, if not truly happy, but there are a few true happy endings to my fics! I think my RPF pieces tend to be the happiest bc I am slightly less likely to put these guys through the wringer the way I do with my truly fictional blorbos. I think the happiest however is homecoming, which ends with WJX finally coming out as trans and being her best and truest self.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet??? Hopefully it stays that way! I do write RPF though, so I'm very ready for one of the crazy antis to one day drop into my inbox calling me all sorts of nasty things for *looks at writing scribbled on hand* having the audacity to put characters in fictional situations that don't hurt the real ppl that inspired these characters in any way??? yeah :PPP

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Occasionally, when the muse strikes! But my ace brain finds it quite difficult. My mind tends to trail off and scatter all over the place when I get to the actual smut, and I have a hard time reeling it back in. As a result my smutty fics often get needlessly long xD and they also get a little kinky bc my brain tries to come up with ways to stay engaged in its own writing xD I like testing the limits of how poetic I can be about smut scenes.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Almost never. I rarely enjoy reading them unless they are very well done, so I don't generally think of writing them. The only consistent exception to this rule is all the weilan derivative fics! I love those very much, even if I don't always know the characters. So i've written one of those myself: no shame in having loved, a crossover between the Rebel and Detective L, which takes Luo Fei's perspective at snapshots in the Rebel canon, reflecting on everything that Lin Nansheng learns, loses, and cannot seem to stop giving away. It's a sad one, but with a slightly hopeful ending :)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? I don't think I'm big enough in any fandom for anyone to consider stealing my work.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but I have had one podficced :D

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. On the one hand I think I'd love to try one day, but I'm also very particular about certain things and I fear I might get antsy. I love brainstorming about fic though! Some of my best ideas have come from talking to people.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Uhm Weilan I think? I'm not really in fandom for the shipping.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

ohh hard one. I have three, if I may:

And miles to go (before I sleep): it's a story that's still very dear to me, but it's been so long since I started it that I think I'd need to rewrite the whole thing, bc I've gotten better at writing in the meantime and the style of any new chapter wouldn't match the first ones.

First gradually, and then all at once: I wrote all of this in a single week, and then uni got in the way, and then my hyperfixation on YYM ended and since then the fic's been stuck in unfortunate limbo :(((( I really want to finish it but I need the muse to guide me

Tryptich: not yet posted, but fully planned. It's one of the toughest, angstiest, most cathartic fic plots I have ever come up with, and I really want to write it because it is such a meaningful story about mental health and loss and recovery, but it's also YYM fandom, and as established above I need to regain that hyperfixation for this to move anywhere :(((( or just have a lot of free time on my hands where I can write both the guardian fic stuck in my brain and this.

16. What are your writing strengths?

uuhm, I think atmosphere/scene setting, structure, and character study/reflection.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue tags (bane of my existence). I also think my work can sometimes drag on, I use too many words sometimes. Also I feel like I can be kind of a one trick pony xD I repeat a lot of similar lines and dramatic build-up between stories.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Can be great when other ppl do it. If it's a language I can read a little bit that's nice , otherwise including a translation at the bottom helps. I'd definitely never write dialogue in a language I'm not fluent in. That being said, I do pay a lot of attention to what language my characters are 'actually' speaking, even if I present their dialogue to my readers in English. For example if would write a phrase like "he pauses to breathe between all three syllables" (which sucks as a line, but bear with me), in an English-language fic where the characters would canonically be speaking Mandarin Chinese, then I would make sure the line that character said would actually contain 3 syllables in both English and Chinese. I do a lot of that kind of reasoning in my head. "If this line, reflecting on dialogue spoken in Y language, was transposed directly into language X that the characters are really supposed to be speaking, would the line still work like this?" if the answer there is no, then I will either change the line, or change the English dialogue until I have something that reflects what I imagine the characters would say in their native language in the way I need!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Tolkien!

20. Favorite fic you've written?

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE??? it's probably either a hand within a hand (holding light) or kaleidoscope.

Thanks again, this was fun!!!

tagging: @pangzi @programmedradly @lunarriviera @lucientelrunya @mjsakurea @lynne-monstr @dual-domination @aredhel-of-doylkien @thedaughterofshadows if you want to :)

[science-lings]

okay I’ve been inspired, time to list all my versions of botw/totk/aoc link lets go

Wild (He/They): Nonbinary, LU Wild adjacent, generally who I write whenever I write for LU, kind of his own thing bc I feel as though I tend to stray when it comes to lu characterization to fit my own wants. Has the most trouble with memories and their past, has the least control over his emotions. Things like sorrow and anger hit really hard for them and they have more trouble regulating it. Still silly and GNC though, just not as confident about their gender presentation yet.  

Sage (They/She): Genderfluid, HSFR botw/totk Link, really leaning into the whole death/rebirth/reincarnation thing with this one, accidentally picks up a spooky vibe because they have a skeleton horse and a big comfort cloak and is extremely good at making potions. This whole vibe what I’m leaning into for Another Second Chance, even though in that one the botw Link is still called Wild lol. 

Guardian (He/Him): Too anxious to think about gender rn but is a aroace queen. HSFR AoC Link, half sheikah and it is important to his story. His life is kinda dictated by his dedication to the throne by being descended from a long line of royal knights and sheikah who have vowed to serve the blood of the goddess. Also he’s betrothed to his Zelda and on his way to becoming King/Prince Consort.  

Aryll (She/Her): Cis woman (but with complicated gender feelings as she was discouraged from being feminine for a long time and has trouble feeling valued while enjoying typically feminine things, you know the vibe) My Fem!Wild/ Link AU, is the most likely to commit regicide. Had an easier time recovering memories during botw bc of her large amount of shared moments with Zelda. 

Linkle (She/Her): Trans woman Link au, has a bit of an egg cracking moment when she was getting into gerudo town, don’t have much for this one, it might be where I put all my Link being close to the Gerudo hcs. Like, after sealing the calamity, she and Zelda go to live in Gerudo Town instead of Hateno and they’re real close buddies with Riju and Linkle goes to the nearby great fairy to get her gender magically transed. idk i love the gerudo and think they deserve better. (also her name could be changed i kinda made this one on a whim...) 

Spirit Sage (They/Them): Fem leaning enby, totk role swap au where Link gets sent back with the spirit stone instead of Zelda, they lost their arm but the stone lets them summon a ghost version that they have to learn how to control (a feature also seen with HSFR Sage), trained under Mineru and tries to assasinate Ganondorf a few times. 

Time Sage (They/He): Masc leaning enby, pre-calamity was a trans man but then their gender got pickled for a century and their ideas on gender changed a little. They lose their arm but don’t get a replacement. The secret stone they had with them amplifies their time manipulation abilities (bullet time/ sitting by the fire, that kind of thing) They have to learn to fight just as will with their left side and not wield any sort of shield. The story is closer to the canon version than the Sage of Spirit version of the au. 

Gladiator (He/Him): trans man, ssbu Link, pulled from his quest pretty soon after botw. Older brother/babysitter to Young Link (MM) and Toon Link (WW), Eyes have been opened to the multiverse and he’s kinda just vibing with being kind of immortal and meeting the strangest people. ssb lore is wacky so he’s at least allies with all of the other characters, including ganondorf at in the end. Has the least amount of fashion sense and cooking ability but at least he has little brothers and is buds with Kirby. 

[elizabethshaw]

thoughts on "echoes"!! under the cut bc of spoilers:

this boxset absolutely came out at one of the worst possible times for me (my busiest day of the week, at a time when i have 6 different exams, a presentation and also assessments for my home uni to prepare for), and i fear it may have regnited my 8das fixation somewhat which is. not something i have time for rn lmao. we'll see how it goes i guess! anyway personal stuff over now-

i definitely enjoyed it overall! i'm still not entirely sure where i'd rank it in comparison with the other post-stranded boxsets but it was a lot of fun, and it was (as expected) a joy to hear this tardis team together again :)

i will say however that i did have one major qualm with it, which is that i felt a bit let down with how little it followed through with the emotional plotlines set up in the preceding two sets. i got the feeling when listening to "what lies inside?" and "connections" that they were very much going somewhere with this team's (particularly helen's) emotional arc, and while i won't deny there were some nice scenes with them in this set, the fact that these threads were otherwise left to one side most of the time was a disappointment. there was potential to do some really interesting character work in continuation from the events of those previous episodes and it just. didn't happen. i don't want to sound too down about it because i did still really enjoy these stories, but i think this side of things was missing a little bit for me. hm.

anyway, episode-by-episode thoughts:

birdsong

i think this was my favourite of the set. i really love audio drama that leans into more horror-adjacent aspects (even though i'm not a massive horror fan otherwise tbh), and also love it when audio drama just gets kinda fucked up with it. this story hit on both counts for me :)

love that this continued the running trend from the previous boxsets of the episode starting with eight, liv and helen just getting to be silly for a bit before the Horrors inevitably happen :D

lowkey actually love the concept of barcodes as a written language! part of me wants to try and work out how that could work now

scots pine trees... it never rains... bracken... sand... they're literally in breckland lmao

saying that it does also have the Suffocating Quietness going on so i think i'm onto something here...

when the vortex previews for this set mentioned a family member of helen's first mentioned in doom coalition being relevant to this story, i wasn't expecting it to be the grandmother she mentioned in "ship in a bottle". however it was actually really nice to have helen's relationship with her developed further, and it was woven into the story well i thought

being Normal about the scene between liv and helen at the fireside. i am being so normal about it

"i'm not sure i could do this with anyone else, you know? everything from exploring strange new worlds... to talking about my family." i'm fine. i'm fine!!!

[putting on my clown shoes] this is how liv/helen can still be canon in some form before helen inevitably dies! :))

i love how vivid this story felt to me. i always end up getting visuals in my head as i listen with any audio drama but some stories end up, for storytelling or sound design reasons, or both, creating really clear and vivid pictures in my mind and this was definitely one of those

i hope to god that when i visit home over the summer and listen to these with my mum (who loves these audios but refuses to listen to them without me, which is kind of sweet of her), my dad is not in the same room. i love him but he absolutely would be asking me to pause it every few minutes so he could identify the bird calls and then also getting really frustrated when i inevitably end up being unable to guess any of them correctly myself lol. the pains of being related to an ornithologist

big fan of the way things got increasingly more disturbing towards the end. i do think the eight-liv-helen era has been lacking in terms of properly creepy stories (this is just my personal taste tbf), so it was cool having them properly lean into that for once. i have to say though the mental image of the scout's body with all the roots forcing their way into her eyes is not going to be leaving me for a long time

also thought the sound design was really well done on this one!! you could really feel the discomfort of the silence i think

got slightly choked up at helen and liv singing to bex as she died. i might have just been in a weird mood while i was listening to it but. yeah. it did something to me

anyway had a lot of fun with this episode! it had a lot of elements that appealed to me personally, and the character work it did was nice. i look forward to listening to it again one day :)

lost hearts

m.r. james episode!! i've only ever read two of his stories (both of which are products of me knowing this episode was coming haha), but was quite excited for this one regardless because a) ghost stories! and b) he's actually got connections to a village in the area i grew up in, and as i've never actually seen/heard any stories set where i come from in my life, it was neat to have a story in my favourite show, featuring some of my favourite characters, star someone more or less from where i'm from :')

have to say though i am disappointed to have lost the unofficial "will they namedrop great livermere" bet i had going on with my mum and brother. it's such a middle-of-nowhere village (it's not on the way to anywhere, has 3 streets (one of which is named "the street" and another of which is actually a dirt track), and you invariably see more chickens there than actual people), it would have been deeply amusing to me for it to have canonically existed in the dwu

loved all the direct (and indirect) callbacks to "the red lady" in this story! it felt fitting seeing as on some levels they do share certain elements in terms of plot/setting, and was also just fun for me as that is one of my favourite stories :)

was also a big fan of how active the story felt (not sure if that's quite the right word?) - each of the characters had a clear role to play and all the main cast got something to do, it never felt hugely like any of them were being sidelined, which does happen on occasion with 3+ person tardis teams

if helen had punched someone at some point in this story i honestly wouldn't have blamed her

"he's like the museum of cairo, stuffed inside a... well, a-" "a rude, ungracious little twerp?" oh my god askdfjdsfjkds

(let her swear!!!)

i like how the story was riffing off some of the plot/vibes of m.r. james' actual short story "lost hearts" (helpfully one of the two i've read)! it gave it that nice kind of connection, without feeling overly derivative and like it was straight-out copying it

my only main issue with this episode was that robert felt kinda underdeveloped. they started off well in his opening scene with liv, but i don't think we got enough of a chance to get to know him as a person after that point and i think the story suffered for it a little. i don't think it helped either that he's not a family member helen had ever mentioned prior to this episode, so they were essentially having to start from scratch and with everything else going on in the narrative, didn't quite find the time to give him sufficient detail

loved the emotional moments that were brought out when helen got erased... "helen, she's my- she's everything i have left" ough

and the salzburg parallels?? liv attempting to fly the tardis in a desperate attempt to rescue her friends, much like helen did? this is so... it's a lot

i won't lie, it did feel a bit odd to me that they would go to such lengths to avoid actually naming the uni in this episode as cambridge. i suppose it may have been to avoid spoiling the "it's m.r. james!!!" reveal at the end, but given that i think anyone who would have guessed it was him from the setting being cambridge probably would have guessed it anyway beforehand either from the episode blurb or the fact that the episode literally starts with him reciting one of his most famous short stories, it feels a little pointless. i mean i clocked it as an m.r. james episode when the set was announced and i had never read any of his work at that point lmao. not a glaring issue or anything, but felt like a weird choice

anyway loved helen getting to geek out a bit at the end... i love her :')

i think i'm going to have to relisten to this at some point so i can fully get my head around it but i did enjoy it!

slow beasts

this was a solid ep. not my favourite story this tardis team has ever had, but i did absolutely enjoy listening to it, and thought there were a lot of really good ideas in it!

the colonialism plotline especially worked really well for me, it felt pertinent in just the right sort of way. it's not necessarily something new for dr who, but i think it was definitely a good example of how to do it well.

i think "simple, but effective" is the way i'd sum this one up tbh. not exceptional, but it knew what it was setting out to do, did it, and did it well, and i think that worked. it did admittedly feel a bit strange after two more complex/experimental sort of stories, but i don't think that's any reflection on its actual quality

"here is the psychic paper. be confident. it only works if you're confident." "but... i- i'm not confident?" me if i got asked to use the psychic paper tbh

enjoyed the use of the translation circuit in this one :) i have a lot of thoughts on it as a general thing so i always like seeing the ways it gets utilized in different stories

so! had fun with these! a couple of things that maybe could have gone better, but overall a set of three stories i had good fun with and i suspect will enjoy listening to again. fingers crossed the december boxset is with these guys again and they do a bit more with helen's emotional plotlines next time :)

[konig-is-bbygrl]

Look for me In the Moon (SoapGhost fic) TW: suicidal thoughts, thoughts of alcoholism, major character death, depressive thoughts, descriptions of injury, canon typical violence

WC: 2.5k

A/N: This is a very sad, dark, gritty fic. This borders on Dead Dove content. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THE TW MENTIONED. The advice given by the therapist in this fic is NOT REAL ADVICE. If you are having a mental health crisis, please call the hotline in your country.

The mission nearly killed him. No, no it did kill him. But not in the traditional sense. Not in the death of the body, but in the death of the soul. Death of the spirit. The mission had gone sideways quickly. 

One missed sniper, hidden in the moonlit evening. The glint of an M13’s barrel was the only indication of anyone on the roof adjacent to them. It was all his fault. It truly was. He was supposed to clear the rooftops and he had missed one. 

He had gotten distracted by Ghost. By Simon. By those deep, chocolate-brown eyes. Those eyes, framed by blonde lashes and contrasted by the black balaclava he always wore. His mind was elsewhere, focused on a conversation they had had nearly a year ago. 

“Ya know, LT, they say when you die, you come back in the sunsets. I like to think my gran is in the purple ones,” Johnny said to his Lieutenant. 

The pair were dressed in nice clothing, watching a sunset together and sharing a beer. Johnny had just received word that his grandmother had passed after a long, painful with cancer. Due to the current mission, there was no way for him to get home for her funeral. In a bid to comfort his comrade, Ghost, or rather, Simon at this moment, had snuck two beers from Price’s stash for them to enjoy while the sunset.

“When I die,” Simon began slowly, pausing to take a long drink of his beer, “don’t look for me in the sunsets. Look for me in the moon. In the way, the moonlight turns everything white. And in the way the moon lights up the sky at night,”

The alcohol had loosened Simon’s lips just enough to let him speak his mind freely.

Johnny smiled fondly at his Lieutenant, finally taking a moment to truly appreciate how beautiful he was. The way the light of the dying sun turned his eyes the color of melted chocolate in a candy shop window, his eyelashes glowing like snow under December sunlight, and the delicate curve of his Cupid’s bow. 

“Simon,” Johnny spoke softly.

Simon’s head turned and a light smile played along his lips. It made Johnny’s heart soar. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he thought it would burst forth from him, right into Simon’s lap. Before he could stop himself, his hand drifted to the nape of Simon’s neck, up under the balaclava, slowly slipping it from his head. 

Simon. Simon. Oh gods, Simon. Johnny could now admire him in all his glory. Not just his eyes, not just the gentle curve of his smile and the flash of white teeth behind his lips. No, all of him. Johnny’s hand remained on the nape of Simon’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. The other man’s hand covered his own.

Slowly, as if connected by an invisible string, the pair leaned in. Their lips and it felt like an atomic bomb had gone off between the pair. It wasn’t just sparks. It was a flame that anyone within a five-mile radius could feel. Pulling away, Johnny got another glimpse of that beautiful smile that rarely graced Simon’s face. 

A gun report broke the delicate silence that had blanketed the sticky night. The gunshot itself wasn’t scary. Those were normal. The silence that had followed, true silence, no birds or bugs calling to each other in the night. Most importantly– no shots fired back. 

“LT, how copy?” Johnny said on the radio.

Silence. Not even a crackle of a radio turning on.

“LT. How copy?” The Scot demanded firmly.

Jumping on the main channel, he called to the others, telling them he was going to investigate Ghost’s position on the edge of the thicket that surrounded the town. After an affirmative from their captain, he moved silently through the city streets to the position. He saw a mass laying on the ground.

“Jaysus, LT, when someone calls for you over the radio, answer ‘em,” Johnny scolded in a hushed tone.

Once again, silence. His heart was in his throat, why hadn’t he answered? He always answered. Coming within three steps of the mass on the ground, the realization slammed into Johnny like a Humvee. 

A black balaclava with a skull design, half slipped from the face of the dead soldier now laying on the ground. The light eyelashes of the deceased seemed to glow in the light of the full moon. The most horrifying detail? The one that would stay with Johnny until he too joined the sunsets? The hole in the side of the soldier’s head, viscera turning the blonde hair a sticky, dark red shade.

Johnny felt vomit rise in his throat as he approached even closer, leaning to inspect the dog tags, now laying in the pool of blood slowly engulfing the body. The words embossed into the metal washed over the Scotsman like a bucket of ice water.

“Riley, Simon, BT: O-, NKA”

The next few hours of Johnny’s life were a blur of radio calls and gunfire. Calling out to his team to tell them that Ghost had been KIA. Finding and killing the sniper. Evac’ing out with the body. When he finally came back to reality, he found himself showering on base, scrubbing the blood from under his fingernails. Oh, how did he wish the blood that crusted over his fingertips was his own. 

Retreating from the porcelain sanctuary that was the shower, he donned his regs and exited. He numbly walked to his room and sat on his bed. The time passed, unconscious to him. A knock rang out in the small room, startling Johnny nearly out of his skin. 

“Come in,” he called out, his own voice sounding foreign to him.

The door creaked open and in walked his captain, the hat that usually sat upon his head now absent. It had been since the heli landed back on base. 

“How’re you holding up, son?” The elder man asked, taking a seat next to him on the bed. 

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real. I can’t believe it,” Johnny sighed, hanging his head.

Price’s hand rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a glinting piece of metal. The dog tags that had previously adorned the neck of Johnny’s lover. They had been buffed and shined to perfection, with all the blood from that night scrubbed away. While the blood and viscera were gone, the memories that were contained in the raised lettering on the tags still remained. The image of Simon’s body was still burned on the inside of Johnny’s eyelids. 

“He uh, didn’t have any surviving family we could find so they gave them to me to do with as I pleased. I think you could use them,” he placed them in Johnny’s hand, “for closure,”

His hand wound itself tightly around the dog tags, feeling the cool metal against his palm. In the back of his mind, he knew Simon was dead. He knew it was the end. But his heart wouldn’t believe it. The hope in his heart that the blond would walk through the door at any minute and speak to him in that Manchester accent just wouldn’t die. 

That hope didn’t die until the funeral. It wouldn’t die until he watched the casket be lowered into the ground. Then, as the dirt was shoveled on top of the ornately decorated casket, the hope of Simon returning to his arms would finally die. The reality set in. Simon was dead. Johnny finally cried that day.

It was like the tears wouldn’t stop after the funeral. They hadn’t stopped for three days. Johnny hid himself away in his room, sobbing into his pillow, begging whatever god might be listening to either give him Simon back or take him too.

The sadness of the loss was choking him. Clogging his lungs and suffocating him. He cried and cried. He cried until he had run out of tears to cry. The ever-consuming sadness soon replaced itself with anger. Burning anger. Anger that threatened to burn up Johnny and everyone else around him. 

Hours were spent in the gym, training, sparring, getting better. He needed to be better. He had already lost Simon, he wouldn’t lose anyone else. He spent time on the range as well, sighting every gun he could, tweaking them, making them perfect. His skills got better and better, his cleanliness on missions getting better and better. The anger fueled his need for revenge. When the rage had quelled, the fire had been put out, he moved to praying.

He prayed every night, for hours. His knees ached in the morning from kneeling on concrete and his hands cramped from squeezing the dog tags between them as he murmured wishes to any god who would hear him. Through tears, he would stare at the ceiling, hoping for answers. Hoping for a divine hand to reach down and soothe the pain that resided in his heart. He was lucky he couldn’t drink while on base, or alcohol would have become his god. Anything to soothe the pain. When anger had subsided, and prayers went unanswered, the dark veil of a depressive state had settled over Johnny’s mind.

Suddenly, nothing was worth it. No mission gave him a thrill. No conversation could spark a smile or joy within his chest. No friendly touch could move away the dark cloud that hung over his head. There were nights when the thought of walking into the armory under the cover of night had crossed his mind and stayed there. A plan. Walking there, finding what he needed, going to the rooftop where he and Simon had watched the sunset together, and ending it. Ending the pain he faced in his heart.

It was as if Price had read his mind and seen every dark, twisted, demented thought of revenge and suicide. He approached him one evening with an order.

“Johnny, you’re being put on indefinite leave. And you aren’t coming back until a psychiatrist has cleared you. I’m sorry, son, but you need help. More help than you can get on base.”

He packed his things that night, leaving without a word to his team. He was sent back to his home in Scotland where he had weekly meetings with a lovely woman named Cheyanne. In their sessions, they talked about how he was dealing with the loss. He was told to get a hobby. Something to distract him while he was home alone. He was given a list of ways to deal with the grief when it crept up on him like a prowling beast at night. 

“Okay, Mr. MacTavish, how have we been?” Cheyanne asked, sitting back in a plush leather chair in her office.

“I uh, had a bad week this week. It wasn’t good. Nothing I could do, no amount of painting or sketching could get the image out of my head. I’ll admit, I wanted a drink. God, did I want a drink. But I didn’t. I did what you said. I processed it. I worked through it all. I sat with the thoughts for a while.”

A smile danced across Cheyanne’s lips. “That’s good, Johnny, that is really good. You’ve made big strides. I think you’re almost ready to go back. That is if you’d like to go back.”

Did he want to go back? If he did, would he be the black sheep of the team? Would they judge him for needing help? After thanking Cheyanne and leaving the office, Johnny’s mind continued to race. He loved and missed his team dearly, every one of them. However, would they accept him back into the fold after a stint away?

Lying in his bed, staring at his ceiling, he made his decision. He would return for the rest of his deployment, and when reenlistment time came, he would make his final decision. Whether his stint in the military is done or not. If he left his 141 family. After the appointment with Cheyanne, she put the order through that he was ready to return to base.

The next Monday, Johnny drove himself back to the base, anxiety settling in his chest. Worry about the opinions of his found family. Before entering the base, he took a moment to steady his breathing and lower his heart rate. 

“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” 

This became his mantra, repeated over and over again in his head. Entering the barracks, he found his room and put his stuff down. His room at the barracks was much more familiar than his pay-by-month apartment. He had spent much more time in the barracks room than he had in that dull apartment with off-white walls and cream carpeting. While he put his belongings away, a knock on the door echoed through the small room.

“Come in,” Johnny called, his back to the door as he unpacked his duffle bag. 

Footsteps followed by the door shutting perked Johnny’s ears. “Good to have you back,” Gaz’s voice rumbled.

Johnny turned to his friend and smiled. “Good to be back, it was dull without you guys.”

The man before him chuckled. “You left a Soap shaped hole in the team. Should’ve seen us in training. We were a mess!”

Gaz filled Johnny in on everything he had missed, every stupid joke, every bar night, every good sparring match. The friendly conversation between them helped ease the anxiety that bubbled in Johnny’s stomach. It was like he had never left. The team treated him no differently than before he’d left.

There were no changes until the next mission. Johnny would be lying if he said he felt no anxiety going into the next mission. His mind was flooded with a thousand different thoughts. What if he missed another sniper? What if the comms went down? What exit points would exist if it goes sideways?

Price seemed to have noticed this, once again seeming to hear the thoughts in Johnny’s head. “You’ll be alright, lad. You’ve got a team behind you,”

The baritone voice of the captain comforted Johnny’s overworking mind. It slowed his thoughts and brought him back to the mission at hand. Get a USB drive out of a building and get out. Quick. Simple. Easy. The ease of the mission filled Johnny’s chest with pride. He could do this.

Upon entering the battle zone, Johnny’s mind went blank. His focus remained only on the mission. Any joke that came through the comms from Gaz or Price was swiftly ignored. He remained silent over the comms unless calling out positions or getting input from his teammates. It was different than before. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh when facing the gunfire of the enemy. With the lives of his teammates in his hands. This was the most glaring difference after Simon’s death.

Not only did Simon “Ghost” Riley die that night, but so did Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

Tags: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @sinclairbrosbathmat​

[mittensmorgul]

2022 in Mittens Fic

It’s time again for the annual accounting of things I wrote this year! I’m pleased that while still a disappointingly low total for me, I still beat my total word count from 2021, so progress is being made, which I’ll always gladly take! Honestly anything is better than that 2020 total at this point lolol! I long since abandoned my goal of ever surpassing the 250k i posted in 2015, but that’s okay! I still wrote a decent bit!

For reference, past year end summaries can be found here:

2021 | 2020 | 2019 | 2018 | 2017 | 2016 | the closest thing I have to a 2015 wrap up post is the lil bit of text at the bottom of 2016′s post… even though my two most popular fics were from 2015 lololol

I managed a Pinefest fic, a DCRB fic, AND a DCBB fic this year, which is the first time I’ve ever managed all three, so go me I guess? And maybe I enjoy working to deadlines more than I ever assumed before? Or maybe I would’ve written even more if I hadn’t been pushing at deadlines (and letting myself slack off, even if rest is important and beneficial to writer brain, when I was far ahead of schedule...). But I’m overall pretty pleased with this year’s works.

I tied last year’s fic total, with six, but beat last year’s word count with 117,486, so go me! Not even counting the ~63k fic i’m working on for pinefest this year...even if it’s already written it’s not posting until February. Love rolling over a big fic into the new year every year like this. it feels weirdly like cheating somehow, yet I do it every year :’D

Also slightly cheating, but since I mentioned it last year, I still haven’t missed a week of my eternal rewatch podcast, @spngeorg which is still going strong! Uploading episode 91, 5.09 The Real Ghostbusters tonight! If my millions of words of written meta aren’t enough for you, you can now hear me being grumpy about this show out loud! (new episodes drop every Thursday night at or around midnight eastern time, if you’re interested you can start from the beginning on AnchorFM or wherever you enjoy podcasts!)

Let’s get to the fic! Presented in the order they posted:

Mr. Fix It (54,383 words, rated M) written for the Pinefest. It started with a photo of the shopping center sign that Mel sent me several years back, and the instruction “this is a writing prompt.” Amazingly, it was a great writing prompt! and a great art prompt, thanks to @lotrspnfangirl! Dean runs a repair shop called Mr. Fix It with Charlie, and Cas runs the bar at the other end of the strip mall, Steve’s. There’s shady real estate dealings, secret identities, and found family taking care of each other through it all.

lectio in equis (13,016 words, rated T) my first ever DCRB, and I screamed delightedly when I claimed @scarlettmichkat ’s artwork! Actually still kinda lowkey screaming about it. I LOVE this artwork. Like, wanna frame it and hang it in my living room love. Canon case fic, sort of, as Dean and Cas get to play cowboy for a day looking for a lost MoL chapter storage facility out in the New Mexico desert. Plus, Jesse and Cesar being the best retired hunters.

Baby X-File (2,698 words, rated T) Written for the final GISH hunt, a crossover scene between SPN and the X Files, canon-adjacent to both, to a prompt from my team captain who isn’t on tumblr... thank you Sammy!

honey wine  (764 words, rated T) annual deancasversary fic! They go to the rennfest, and medieval hilarity and fluff ensues

Heart Shaped Box  (43,504 words, rated M) my DCBB this year, canon case fic wherein Dean and Cas are the case. beautifully illustrated by @marvfortytwo​ and a cathartic walk through a series of memories. I mostly wanted to revisit . Set within days of Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty, because that’s exactly what happened in canon as we all know (I SAID, AS WE ALL KNOW).

The Ghost of Christmas Present(s) (3,121 words, rated T) annual holiday fic, Dean and Cas attempt holiday shopping together. hilarity and shmoop ensue.

And that’s my year in fic. Like I said at the top, I’ve already got more than half this total written to post in 2023, so it looks like I’m still not slowing down. Since I posted my To Be Written file’s stats last year, I figured I should do the same again...

lol... a year later, two pages and 1400 more words added... i swear at this rate i will never finish writing it all, which I find weirdly comforting.

Thanks to everyone who’s read, kudos’ed, commented, reblogged, rec’ed, and enjoyed anything I’ve written in the last year. I love you all. <3 See you in 2023!

[sequencefairy]

Hello Jess it's time for fun fic authors self rec! Kindly tell us your favorite five fics you've written, then pass this on to spread the self-love ❤️

Oh! Thank you beloved.

♦ 'Cause This is Devotion - Ten/Rose, Bad Wolf!Rose, 4.6k, M

“You do not get to die on me now, you daft alien, not after I’ve been through so goddamn much to get back to you.” Rose sits up to pound her fist into his chest. “Fucking breathe, damn you,” she swears, and when no one says anything to stop her, she pounds the Doctor’s chest again. She wonders if she can break his ribs the way she could break a man’s. There’s no one left to ask now, not with him so still, so silent; splayed across the asphalt like a puppet with his strings cut. His face is slack, eyes closed and mouth parted. OR: The Doctor dies in the road, and Rose Tyler tells the universe no.

One night, @zjofierose and I were spelunking through our WIP folders and I found the skeleton of this and it sparked something inside of me and I immediately desired to finish it. I love Bad Wolf!Rose, I love creating actions that have far-reaching consequences we do not explore on the page, I love writing Doctor/Rose angst.

♦ Rush Light - Jaskier/Yennefer, canon-adjacent, post-s2, 22k, E

He’d been headed back from the taverns down by the wharf, having done a tour of the establishments to see if one would take him on for the weekend, when he’d seen it: a flash of purple in the light of a street lamp, swiftly followed by several large men in dark clothes. Something had turned over in the bottom of his stomach at the sight. Even if it wasn’t who he thought it might be, this wasn’t a neighbourhood for someone with the kind of coin to afford a cloak that colour to be wandering around in. So, against his mostly better judgement, Jaskier had let himself turn down the selfsame alley, steps slowing so as not to arrive as a too hasty surprise. He creeps forward, glad of the rushing rain as it muffles his footsteps. Some people also forget that he is quite capable of being quiet when needs must. Very good that he did go to this trouble after all; he hears her before he gets close enough to see them. “Get the fuck off me!” she snarls, and oh, Jaskier would know that voice anywhere. In which a sorceress gets herself into a spot of bother, and Jaskier happens to be in the area. It's all rather more serious than he expects.

I finished s2 of The Witcher and immediately descended into my google drive with forty ideas and this was the one that floated to the top. I love this fic. I had so much fun writing it. It gave me back my fantasy voice, it reminded me that I can write things that are fully for my own self and that other people will also enjoy them, and it was fun as hell to do a bunch of silly research for this.

♦ Signal Fire - Prodigal Son gen!fic, Malcolm Bright-centric, post-series finale, 2.8k, M

Dani’s footsteps crunch over brittle and drying grass as she approaches. Her weapon is still up. Sunlight glints off the barrel. “Bright?” she asks. Malcolm doesn't look down.

I got into Prodigal Son before realising that it didn't have an ending and when I got through to the end of what we got, I was left with so many questions. None of them are answered in this fic, but I did reaffirm the love I have for whumping the pretty boy.

♦ For Your Eyes Only - Shyan, 007 AU, 6.2k, E

The door to the elevator opens and Shane's stomach sinks. He’d know the breadth of those shoulders anywhere. “Moneypenny!” Ryan crows, as he sweeps towards Shane’s desk. Shane thinks wistfully of the long rice noodles and sweet-spicy sauce he has been dreaming about all week. Mr Daeng’s Tom Yum would also have been such a nice addition to Shane’s fridge for the weekend. “Don’t call me that,” Shane says, and regrets it immediately. OR: It's Bergara. Ryan Bergara, and he'll have his martini shaken, not stirred. Shane, on the other hand, manages M's calendar with an iron fist and has no time for nonsense. Or does he?

This fic is so sexy, if I do say so myself. It's got spies, it's got a little violence, it's got the author's kink discovery in the middle of it. What's not to love?

This Tornado Loves You - Shyan, Storm Chasers AU, 22k, E

“Thing’s a fuckin’ monster,” TJ says into the phone, “you should be able to see it now.” Shane turns to look out the truck window. The sky is black, and around him, the corn tops are still. Nothing moves. The air feels terrifyingly full. Shane looks under the storm. It takes him a moment, but then he sees it, backlit by a flash of lightning. All the hair stands up on the back of Shane’s neck. Or: Shane Madej is a serious scientist, not just some yahoo with a camera and a death wish. Ryan, on the other hand, has a camera and a plan.

When they said write what you know, I took them at their word and wrote 22k about storms and chasing them and filled it full of weather and romance and the kind of proposal I might even say yes to, if it ever happened to me in the future.