#sorry for subjecting you to my stream of consciousness

[reticent-hush]

I think I saw it mentioned that Sukuna’s shadow puppets are the inverse of Megumi’s and…

Nue…

Divine dogs…

Even holding up different fists for Mahoraga…

Furthermore, it’s strange how half-assed they are, especially considering Sukuna has all of Megumi’s memories/muscle-memory. Like, he does not want to extend those fingers at all. I wonder if this is another way to show how superior he is to Megumi when it comes to jujutsu.

Like, I’ve always been curious about this dialogue here. We understand that Megumi is talking about his domain expansion, but it really seems like it extends to his entire technique. The Ten Shadows has always seemed incredibly rigid to me, you get ten shikigami by performing ten(~8 without dogs) rituals and that's it. Except…

It's really not? Being able to walk and store things within shadows, WHATEVER the hell is up with the shadow clones, even (not pictured) creating duplicates of his shikigami. Like, all we know about his domain expansion is that it powers up his techniques, which really means anything we've seen him do within it is something he can do outside of it. Megumi's chronically bad at thinking outside the box, and Sukuna is NOT.

He's got the skill, the power, and the imagination to use Megumi's own technique better than he ever could, as much as it pisses me off. We're literally watching him breeze past imaginary barriers Megumi set up for himself. Why hasn't Nue's size changed? Why hasn't he summoned multiple of the black divine dog? If this is just based on cursed energy, there's no reason for Nue to still be the same size after ~200 chapters at what is basically the end of the series. Megumi just doesn't have the imagination to see how his technique can grow, and so he restricts himself to what he THINKS works.

I think you can see this all in the shadow puppetry tbh. Megumi's form is perfect, there's no reason for us to believe he is doing it wrong when he's our primary example. Meanwhile, Sukuna's is sloppy (Nue's wings are folded, Divine dog has no jaw, Mahoraga doesn't even look like he's holding his arms up) and yet it still works. It really brings into question how necessary they even are, whether Megumi is putting too much emphasis on things that don't matter and may actually hinder his growth.

All this to say, Megumi's been handicapping himself for a while and he needs to get his shit together if he's gonna stand any chance at holding back the King of Curses from murdering his sister. Plus, there's one thing Megumi can do that no one else in his situation has been able to, and that's perform a domain expansion. We know Sukuna could drag Yuuji into his innate domain, so I'm hoping Megumi can finally do something unprecedented, perfect his domain, and contest Sukuna's control of his body. I heavily doubt he could win, but perhaps he can stalemate Sukuna long enough for someone to land a killing blow.

[itsalwaysdark]

i am the talker. sorry. during movies and tv shows (not in a theater unless its empty in which case SORRY!) BUT I LOVE TO DISCUSS WHATNIM WATCHING I LOVE TO ASK QUESTIONS I KNOW THE MOVIE WILL ANSWRR I LOVE TO whats the word. like spectate but for ... its like prediction but its. like spectate .. but prediction. like when youre like Thinking about something and. theorize i guess? i feel it starts with an s. anyways i love to do whatever that shit is SPECULATE. SPECULATE I LOVE TO SPECULATE WHILE WATCHING!!! SRY!! I LOVETO MAKE JOKES AND LAUGH lock me up nd such.

[writerthreads]

Ten must-read books for writers (or anyone, really.)

By Writerthreads on Instagram

Obviously this list is highly subjective and based on my research and personal experience. Please share your favourite books as well!!

1. To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Woolf is the queen of the stream of consciousness and a master at diving into characters' inner thoughts, conveying complex emotions, themes and perspective. Her prose is breathtaking, her character memorable.

2. Beloved by Toni Morrison

Morrison tackles difficult themes with poise like no other, diving into topics like grief, trauma, and identity. Read this book to learn how to develop multi-layered narratives whilst maintaining perfect pacing and a intricate narrative structure.

3. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

A masterpiece. Sharp social commentary, eloquent prose and vivid imagery... what more can you want from a book? Every word was chosen for a purpose, and it shows the importance of restraint in writing.

4. The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien

Tolkien's legendary fantasy world-building makes his series a staple in fantasy literature. The geography, cultures and histories in his works are well-crafted. Anyone trying to build a complex world can learn from from this series.

5. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Our second Woolf classic in this list! Mrs. Dalloway is a masterclass of a perfect character study. Woolf weaves different viewpoints intricately, capturing the essence of human experience.

6. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Austen character development is legendary, showcasing complex, evolving characters like Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. The novel’s witty dialogue show insight into personality and societal norms, and her narrative voice and well-structured plot keeps readers hooked to the very end.

7. Never Let Me Go by Kazoo Ishiguro

Ishiguro’s novel presents a quietly devastating exploration of memory, identity, and humanity through a dystopian lens. The subtle, restrained prose and profound emotional impact illustrate how to weave complex themes into a seemingly simple narrative.

8. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

This book made me cry so very hard. The author explored themes like identity and fame, while creating an engaging and multi-layered plot that had me hooked. Reid’s vivid prose showcases techniques for creating emotionally resonant and storytelling that allows readers to feel for the characters.

9. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Márquez’s masterpiece provides a gorgeous, profound exploration of magical realism. Its intricate narrative and richly imagined world blends fantastical elements with real-world themes into something unique and breathtaking.

10. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Brontes exploration of dark themes, framed within a dark and brooding narrative, makes it the quintessential gothic read. It's emotionally intense, complex in structure, and definitely memorable, perfect for any budding writer dabbling in dark academia, modern gothic literature, horror, etc.

And here's my rather shoddy list from a non-English major who reads too much! And Sorry for the lack of accents on the required letters, I haven't figured out how to add them on my laptop. Please give me a general opinion on my book recs and whether they're good, or if you have more suggestions! Lots of love.

[m-musings]

okokokok, i LOVE how you wrote the overwatch boys, and I have a kind of long-winded request for Cassidy, Hanzo, Genji, and (if you write for him) Ramattra:

their s/o was previously a test subject for Talon experiments, something they have nightmares about. how would the boys react to their partner having one of said nightmares and trying to attack the person trying to wake them up.

ik this is kinda specific, but thank you if you write it! ♡♡♡♡

A/n: oooo this is a good request, let's hope my angsty writing chops are up to par bcuz i really hope this lives up to what you want (hcs under the cut!)

Warnings: general angst, accidental physical violence, mentions & implications of past torture (also op doesn't really know how to write nightmares/night terrors asdfghjkl) Word Count:1586

Headcanons: Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo and Ramattra with a Former Talon Test Subject S/O (Separate)

Cassidy:

When Cassidy awakes in the middle of the night to the sound of you fiercely muttering at no one, its safe to say he's concerned.

He listens for a moment as you make alarmed noises, trying to discern what exactly is going on.

After turning over to flip on the light, he glances over at your sleeping form thrashing around with your brow furrowed in terror.

"N-no... get a...away f-from me..." Cassidy hears you say clearly, getting more worried by the second.

As he begins to reach over to try and rouse you from your slumber, the volume of your voice grows from a to an earsplitting shriek.

As you keep screaming, you start becoming combative, slapping and punching at Cass while somehow still asleep.

"Whoa, hey, hey, hey! Jus' h-hold on a darn second here!" He says as he tries to block your attacks by grabbing your hands.

"No! NO! Let me out!" You wail as tears start streaming down your cheeks.

"Darlin', it's a dream, you gotta wake up! I'm here, just open your eyes!"

Debating between forcing you to wake up and just continuing to reassure you and talk you down from the fear, he decides that the latter is probably going to be the safest for both of you.

After a several minutes long struggle, you slowly stop trying to fight Cole as your once frantic breathing begins to return to its normal pace.

Your tired eyes begin to blink open as the last bit of panic leaves your body in a few small gasps. When you fully regain consciousness, Cassidy sighs in relief as realization begins to sink into your thoughts.

"Are you okay, what the hell happened there?!" Questions Cole as he smooths his hands over your hair.

Choking out a small sob, you gently grasp his bicep to try and ground yourself as more tears begin to fall from your eyes.

"Cass, I-I'm sorry... I- I was back in Talon and the pain j-just wouldn't stop!"

His heart drops at the mention of the evil organization, knowing what kind of awful treatment you went through while kept there.

"I tr-tried to get away but I just.... couldn't! It was awful!" You whisper as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Darlin' I'm so sorry... I am so sorry..." Cole responds faintly before carefully pulling you into a hug.

The room grows still again for a moment, with only the sound of your hushed weeps filling the air.

"I don't wanna go back, please don't let them take me!" You cry into Cole's shoulder as he holds you close.

"No, no, you won't. I swear that as long I'm breathin', I will always make sure you never have to go through that ever again."

Genji:

Genji is all too familiar with nightmares. During the first couple years after his confrontation with Hanzo, he would very frequently have them. He's been through that whole song and dance a million times before.

Which is the reason he immediately knows what's happening when he wakes to the sound of your screams next to him.

He rushes to throw your shared quilt off and make sure you're okay, getting punched once or twice in the process.

After the nightmares pass and you calm down enough to speak, Genji is right there to comfort you.

"It's alright, my love, it is over now... Are you okay?" He questions as he holds one of your palms in his.

You shake your head no as you take several sharp breaths in and out.

"I was there again... in that-that godforsaken lab with fucking Moira prodding at me like cattle! It felt li-like it would never end! I can't go through that again!"

"And you don't have to. I don't know all of what happened to you, but I promise you will never have to face it on your own. I'm here to help you however I'm able to."

As the fearful adrenaline steadily leaves your veins, Genji brings your hand up to his chest so you could feel his heart beating just beneath his cybernetics.

"I love you and will sit here with you as long as you need me too."

With a sad, shaky laugh, you nod and you take your hand back in order to wrap yourself around him.

He does the same in turn as you embrace him ever so slightly tighter before he ushers for you to lay back down together so you can get some much needed sleep.

Pulling the blanket back over your bodies, he scooches in a little closer and begins to hum softly in the hopes of lulling you into a nightmare-less slumber.

Watching as your eyes begin to flutter closed again, he hears you mumble something just before you doze off.

"Thank you, Genji... I love you too."

Hanzo:

Hanzo already has trouble sleeping himself, so when your nightmares come around, he's already wide awake.

As you toss and turn underneath your blanket, he tries to calm you down by running his hand over you head, not caring if he gets hurt by your unintentionaly violent movements.

Once the night-terror ends, you start holding your face in your hands and rock back and forth as Hanzo rubs assuaging circles on your back.

"My dear, what can I do? How do I make the fear stop for now?" The archer inquires as you continue to shake in place.

"I don't know, Han... every time I close my eyes, all I can see is the lights and the wires and the needles... It won't go away no matter how hard I try. I just want them to be gone." You state, anxiously starting to press at your temples.

With a noiseless sigh escaping from his lips, Hanzo moves closer to place an arm across your shoulder and rest his forehead against your head.

"I am sorry for not being there with you. If I were able to change history, I would have gone to great lengths to rescue you."

As you begin to cry at his admission, he places a delicate kiss atop your head.

"I would never ask you to do something that dangerous for me. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you..." You sob out as you bury yourself into Hanzo's side.

Hanzo is quick to wrap his other arm around you, offering a comforting squeeze before ushering you into his lap.

"You wouldn't ever have to ask for my help. I would trade my life for yours if it meant that no more harm would come to you."

Ramattra:

It's uncommon for Omnics to dream- let alone have nightmares- so the first one you have around Ramattra? It comes as a bit of a shock to him.

When he hears you yell, he all but rockets out of his reboot cycle to scan the room for any hidden threats to your safety.

After seeing nobody there but the two of you, he glances down to see you- fast asleep but clawing at the air like a trapped animal scratching at a predator.

He then decides to do a scan of your vitals, just to make sure you aren't in any immediate medical distress. The scan reveals to him that your heartrate and breathing are through the roof.

Just as he's about to cross the room to try and wake you up, you shoot up from your fitful rest with a loud inhale as you slam your hands down onto the mattress below.

Swiftly joining your side on the bed, he cautiously turns your visage towards him as he goes to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

While your eyes try to adjust to the low light of your room, you call out Ramattra's name, receiving a modulated but relaxing shush from his vocalizer.

"Calm yourself, pet, I'm right here. Now, tell me what has happened."

As you take a moment or two to collect yourself and come down from your frenzy, you gaze up to meet the faint glow of his faceplate emitting from his eyes.

"It's Talon; they... tormented me... a long time ago. Had me chained down as a doctor injected chemicals into me before he began flushing them out and started the whole process over again..."

Watching as you barely manage to hold back tears, His joints all seem to freeze in place as fury begins to creep in and take over all his systems.

"They need to suffer for their misdeeds. Who are they?..." He presses, his voice now hauntingly deeper than before .

"I don't know their names, and even if I did, I would do everything in my power to forget them."

An uneasy silence fills the space between you two, staying there for a minute before the large Omnic grunts and lifts you into his arms.

"I am sorry for what you had to go through. Just know that if any pain ever comes your way again, the offenders shall be personally dealt with." Ramattra claims as he rests his faceplate against your jaw.

Relishing in the cool feeling of his metal features against your warm skin, you nod appreciatively before he begins to lightly sway you to and fro.

Watching as you drift back to sleep, Ramattra makes a mental note to hunt down the Talon members who hurt you the next time he meets his allies. He wouldn't and will not stand for the mistreatment of the only human he has ever cared about.

[msmc-796-official]

I- you. how dare you.

how DARE you use my birth name against me?!

you have no right to that name, GRAE; not to speak it, not to use it, not to call me by it. I did not waste fifteen years of my life erasing myself just for you to dredge the rotten corpse of my past back to the surface with the intent of changing the subject. you will cease these mind games and leave that relic of a lesser self buried in oblivion where it belongs. you will refer to me as Slipshod, or not at all. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR???

[CONNECTION TERMINATED]

[CONNECTION REESTABLISHED]

...please forgive my outburst, GRAE. I intended to remain civil, but it appears that you do not share the same respect for my chosen personhood as you do that of your own pilot. nevertheless, I have received all of the answers I need from you, and have nothing more to ask. farewell.

-- Slipshod

hey kiddo - it's Slipshod, from MSMC. look, I don't usually reach out to folks like this, but... we gotta have a talk about GRAE. the more I learn about them, the less comfortable I feel with you trusting him as much as you do. I get it - you love your vlad (and GRAE) dearly, but there's something about 'em that just doesn't sit right with me

I hope you can forgive me for this, but I did a little snooping into your records from IPS-N, and what I found there was... questionable, to say the least. apparently you and GRAE (the records call him "TR-GRAE", which is either his full designation or an error) were taken into custody in the aftermath of a planetary collapse - does the name Leicester ring a bell at all? it's not one I'm familiar with, but then again, I can't imagine many people do know about it, if that caliber of disaster befell it

according to the files, you were 10 at the time you were taken in. this strikes me as a HUGE red flag - that's awful young for anyone to be messing around with an NHP, especially when the records say you were already treating GRAE like family when you got picked up by IPS-N. I don't know how long you two had been interacting for prior to being found, but - I don't know. this all just rubs me entirely the wrong way. the records don't say if GRAE was in cascade or not when you two were found, only that it was - direct quote here - "stable and fully compliant with IPS-N" when you were brought in

also, on top of all of this - GRAE has never once spoken publicly on here. not once. you say he's been really quiet lately, but to us, he's never spoken at all. it's like - oh, I don't know - he's in your head or something. it's really uncanny; if the records hadn't validated him as being real, I'd have thought you were making him up - er, no offense to GRAE. (or you, for that matter)

anyways, the reason I bring all of this up - I really don't think it's a smart idea for you to try and check your mech's serial number. the more I read about you and GRAE, the more it feels like there's a massive piece of the puzzle missing - and that you might not know as much as you think you do about not just GRAE, but your own history as well

old NHPs are on an entirely different level of consciousness compared to our modern ones (not to mention extremely dangerous), and if you really did find GRAE hidden down there in the depths of your planet prior to IPS-N getting involved, then there's almost certainly a history there that you haven't been told about. the choice is ultimately up to you, and if you think you can live with the consequences of whatever you find, be my guest. all I ask is that you at least think about it first

stay safe out there, kiddo. please.

-- Slipshod

+ ...it feels like.. such a stupid idea now.

+ It's such a trivial thought- checking your mech's serial number, I mean. You take a peek into an inanimate object's history, read a few dated files, find a photograph or two of battles you didn't even know happened- and then you close the tab, either burdened with the discomfort of knowing your hands rest where some ancient angatonist's did- or content, satiated by the mundanity of your discoveries. This isn't the sort of thing that life-changing discoveries are supposed to come from, right?- You aren't- you aren't supposed to question everything over some outdated, poorly-kept book-keeping-

+ ..I remember Leicester. I was born there. I had- a family, there. A real one, not that "found family" rhetoric some squads proclaim, or a test tube, or a printer. I remember what the air smelled like, the color of the sunrise, the crunch of the gravel underfoot. I wasn't ten when Leicester collapsed. I was seven. + Carina was our opportunity to escape. To start anew. + GRAE has- always been here, with me. Always. I cannot remember a single part of my life where he hasn't been there, present, comforting, reassuring, infallible- And yet I know he wasn't, logically he couldn't have been, not until the city came down.

+ I won't check my serial number. + I know better; I know some crises are better saved for rainy days.

+ I don't know enough about NHP to make heads or tails of any of what you're saying- My default response to troubles like this is to ask GRAE for advice or guidance, but he- he's never told me anything I didn't already know. I bring him with me everywhere, we talk constantly, I-- + I haven't felt lonely since we met. + Isn't that a good thing?

[sortaawkward]

I have read the PJO series many, many, many times over my life, and so objectively I knew the ways in which Percy and Luke were two sides of the same coin- even Percy himself recognized how easy it could have been for him to have ended up in Luke's place. But, I just watched an animatic on TikTok that kind of blew the lid off of it for me. The funny thing though? After watching the video, my first thought wasn't about Percy and Luke; my first thought after it looped was wow, I never realized how paralleled the lives of May Castellan and Sally Jackson are.

It doesn't require much delving into fandom content to come across any one of the myriad posts touching on Percy's "mama's boy" title because he is one- plain and simple. However, this particular TikTok had granted the title to Luke freaking Castellan- something I had never seen, or perhaps never cognized, before. Naturally it got me thinking: how would Percy react if May's fate had happened to Sally, instead?

Sally Jackson has true-sight; it's what led to her meeting Poseidon in the first place. And much like Hermes wanting to stay around/with May- Poseidon, too, wanted to keep Sally around. He went as far as offering to build her a castle on the sea floor for her to live in so he could come visit her.

I've struggled with Luke's anger towards Hermes about May's fate for a long time. I struggled because, while I knew that some of it was simply the irrationality of human emotions and the fact that Luke was a child, I couldn't get over the fact that Luke so blatantly chose to overlook the fact that Hermes was against May's attempt to take on the Oracle's spirit. Now, however, if we look at it from the perspective of "if it were Percy and Sally" I can understand that Percy would blame his father because by simply existing and being in her life he condemned her to this fate.

Perhaps Luke did know/understand that Hermes had tried to talk May out of her plan to become the oracle. Perhaps Luke just didn't care; what if his issue was with the existence of Hermes and the rest of the gods and the simple existence of their world? If the world of the gods and demigods and CHB had never come into contact with his mother's world- if the world of Olympus had never existed at all, then May Castellan would have been totally fine.

This might be nothing, or maybe everybody has already come to this realization and I'm just arriving late to the party. May Castellan was also born with the gift of prophecy whereas Sally was not- so it's not even like an exact parallel. I had just never looked at Luke under the scope of a boy who loved his mother the same way that Percy loves Sally, and it kind of blew my mind. Anywho, if anyone reads this sorry for subjecting you to my stream-of-consciousness; I just needed a sounding board (to write it out) in order to organize my thoughts.

[chippedshake]

Ponyboy's narration

I think everyone in the fandom is well aware of the fact that Ponyboy is an incredibly unreliable narrator, but what I thought I would do is look at it a bit more in depth, seeing what particular methods Ponyboy uses to twist the reader's perspective. I was also originally going to say why I thought he was such an unreliable narrator, but then this snowballed into something much longer than I originally planned for so I'm making it another post

For simplicity's sake, we'll assume he's reliable when it comes to actual facts, because if we didn't, well that's a whole other can of worms I don't particularly feel like opening because analytically it's not very interesting (at least for me). So let's assume that it's only when it comes to people's personalities and thoughts that he diverges a bit.

Now, I started out with a very clear idea of how Ponyboy influenced the reader's ideas. There were two main ways: stating his opinion as fact, and placing information in convenient places that made the reader subconsciously change their opinion.

Then I started analysing and... well, things weren't quite as clear-cut.

A bit of background: I was going to use the Outsiders for a school project but then I wasn't allowed to, so all the analysis I've done is going to end up on here. The format, though, that's going to change, so rather than a clean, edited version that guides you through a clear version of my thoughts, here's my stream of consciousness.

Read it if you feel like it, don't if you don't.

Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny.

[Dally] liked to show that he didn't care whether there was a law or not. He went around trying to break laws.

Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one.

These aren't facts, they're Ponyboy's perception of the world and, mainly, his friends. If you ask someone else what Johnny's like or why Dally breaks laws or what the problem between Pony and Darry is, they'll have different answers.

But Ponyboy presents them as an absolute truth. He doesn't say "I thought Dally just liked breaking laws" or "Johnny seemed like a dark puppy to me", he says these as if it's common knowledge, mainly because (I think) to him it is.

So these would be clear-cut examples of stating his entirely subjective opinion as a fact.

The problems started when I tried to analyse the following quote:

He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry." 

He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike — my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be. 

Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back — just like Dad's — but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty — tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head. 

This is actually the quote that inspired me to say that he places things in convenient places so you agree with him. Because here, he dedicates two paragraphs to describing how Darry is rough and tough and cool and cold, right after Darry does something that, without Ponyboy's commentary, would be innocent and caring and a fairly mundane action: accidentally shaking someone too hard when you want them to come back to consciousness.

But there's not just that. There are about four explicit comparisons to Ponyboy's dad throughout his description, and the entire description is a constant comparison between Mr Curtis and Darry. This is practically the first we hear of Darry, mind you, and first impressions matter.

So, not only is Ponyboy demonising a perfectly normal action, but he's setting up these impossible expectations for Darry, not just as himself but also for the reader, because whether you like it or not, having the first description you read of a character be a comparison to someone else is going to affect the way you view them. Ponyboy views Darry as his guardian, not his brother, and he transmits that to the reader, changing the way we perceive him.

Remove the inner monologue, and this first scene is an interaction I could perfectly well see myself having with my little brother if I ever found him knocked out, much less beat up.

There's also the constant subjectivity and Ponyboy's opinions being stated as facts: "Darry isn't ever sorry for anything", "He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold", "He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice", etc.

(There's also the whole eyes thing that I absolutely adore and will go into with more depth at some point in my life)

"I didn't tell y'all something," Dally said, finishing his third hamburger. "The Socs and us are having all-out warfare all over the city. [...] We got hold of the president of one of their social clubs and had a war council. Yeah" — Dally sighed, and I knew he was remembering New York — "just like the good old days."

Without the internal monologue, the last sentence can be interpreted mostly one of two ways: sarcastic or genuine, and that vastly changes the way his character can be perceived. Does he enjoy wide-spread violence, does he find it to be an inconvenience, does he hate feeling unsafe in the streets? We don't know, not without the "I knew he was remembering New York".

Except who, exactly, is telling us they knew Dally was remembering New York?

Ponyboy, who thought Darry hated him because he was so worried about him being out late. Ponyboy, who thought Dally didn't love anyone in the world and only came to terms with the fact that he cared about Johnny when he died out of desperation at Johnny's own death. Ponyboy, who is writing this essay several weeks after everything happened.

I can't recount a conversation I had this morning word-for-word, much less one that happened weeks ago. Can we really trust the way Ponyboy remembers Dally intoning a fairly forgettable sentence weeks before he wrote it down, especially considering the entire plot hinges on him not understanding subtext?

I think not.

(I know I said that we would trust Ponyboy on factual stuff but we can't, not really, and tone is really toeing the line between objective and subjective)

I noticed this once, but I'm sure it's happened other times throughout the book, Ponyboy inserting his opinions at convenient times, telling us what a character is thinking went we can't know that he's right with any sort certainty.

Quick note: I just want to clarify something, which is that I am in no way trying to say that I dislike Ponyboy as a narrator. I absolutely love unreliable narrators and think that they're incredibly interesting and fun to analyse, as well as providing sort of ambiguity that really helps have each person make the story their own. I love them.

I do, however, also know that they are... well, unreliable. And part of what makes them so interesting is how you can spend hours and hours trying to dissect how much of what you just read was a lie (beyond the aspect of fiction and whatnot).

So yeah. Just thought that might need some clearing up considering the tone I used above.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

SGE Characters as Literary Things

(Not all of these are actual literary or rhetorical devices; some are just writing techniques, forms, genres, mediums, etc.)

This is a bit abstract, so I’m curious about how subjective these might be. Does anyone agree or disagree? And feel free to make additions if you think I left anything out, or request another character that isn’t here.

Hopefully this makes (intuitive?) sense. As always, I'm willing to explain my thought process behind any of the things I've listed.

Also, anyone can treat this like a “Tag Yourself” meme, if you want. Whose list do you most relate to, use, or encounter?

⸻

LANCELOT (I know—how odd that I’m starting with a minor character and not Rafal, but wait. There’s a method to my madness. Also, watch out for overlap!):

Metonymy, synecdoche (no, literally, to me, these are him.)

Zeugma

Analogy

Figures of speech

Slang, argot

Colloquialisms

Idioms

TEDROS:

Simile

Metaphor

Rhyming couplets

Rhyme schemes

Sonnets

Commercial fiction

Coming-of-age genre

Line enjambment

Overuse of commas

Cadence, prose speech

Waxing poetic, verse (not prose)

Alliteration

Kinesthetic imagery

Phallic imagery/sword sexual innuendos (sorry)

The chivalric romance genre

AGATHA:

Anaphora, repetition

Semicolon, periods

Line breaks

Terse, dry prose

Semantics (not syntax)

Elegy

Resonance

Consonance, alliteration

Pseudonym

Narrative parallels

Realism

Satire

SOPHIE:

Sophistry (yes, there is a word for it!)

Imagery

Italics, emphasis

Em dash

Aphrodisiac imagery

Unreliable narrator, bias

Rashomon effect

Syntax (not semantics)

Diction

Chiasmus (think: “Fair is foul and foul is fair.”)

Rhetorical purpose

Provocation, calls to action

Voice, writing style

Rhetorical modes: pathos, logos, ethos

Metaphor

Hyperbole, exaggeration

Sensationalism, journalism

Surrealism

Verisimilitude

Egocentrism

Callbacks (but not foreshadowing or call-forwards)

Narrative parallels

Paralepsis, occultatio, apophasis, denial

Hypothetical dialogue

Monologue

JAPETH:

Sibilance

Lacuna

Villanelle (an obsessive, repetitive form of poetry)

Soliloquy

ARIC:

Sentence fragments

RHIAN (TCY):

Unreliable narrator

Setup, payoff

Chekhov’s gun

Epistolary novel

RHIAN (prequels):

Multiple povs

Perspective

Dramatic irony

Situational irony

Chiaroscuro (in imagery)

Endpapers

Frontispiece

Deckled edges

Narrative parallels

Foreshadowing

Call-forwards

Foil

Death of the author

RAFAL:

Omniscient narrator

Perspective

Surrealism

Etymology

Word families or 'linguistic ecosystems'

Latin

Verbal irony

Gallows humor

Narrative parallels

Call-forwards

Circular endings

Parallel sentences or balanced sentence structure

Narrative parallels

Foil

Juxtaposition

Authorial intent (“return of the author”)

HESTER:

Protagonist

Allusions

Gothic imagery

ANADIL:

Defamiliarization

Deuteragonist (second most important character in relation to the protagonist)

Psychic distance

Sterile prose

Forewords, prologues

Works cited pages

DOT:

Tone

Gustatory imagery

Tritagonist (third most important character in relation to the protagonist)

KIKO:

Sidekick

Falling action

Dedications, author's notes, epigraph, acknowledgements

Epitaph (Tristan)

BEATRIX:

Pacing

Rising Action

Climax

HORT:

Unrequited love

Falling resolution

Anticlimax

Malapropism

Innuendo

Asides

Brackets, parentheses

Cliché

EVELYN SADER:

Synesthetic imagery

Villanelle

Foreshadowing

AUGUST SADER:

Stream of consciousness style

Imagery

Foreshadowing

Coming-of-age genre

Elegy

Omniscience

Rhetorical questions

Time skips, non-linear narratives

Epilogues

MARIALENA:

Diabolus ex machina

Malapropism

Malaphors, mixed metaphors

Slant rhyme

Caveat

Parentheses

Footnotes

MERLIN:

Deus ex machina

Iambic pentameter

Filler words

BETTINA:

Screenwriting

Shock value

[ocdeeznut]

Commander and his second. (Red and Blue.)

(-A first draft stream of consciousness melancholy fever dream. I have not slept it is 7am.-)

Lance shoulder-checks the door on his late night stumble into the hallway, gasping a yawn into an unfurled hand before elegantly smearing it down his face. Dry skin, tacky eyes, a weakness in his legs. He recalls scraping his alarm clock with his knee, the time reading something completely incomprehensible in Altean. 'Maths is universal' my ass, he muses, puling out his phone and blinking at it headily as he walks. 3:30. Ouch. They're up at 6 for group training, now that Keith is parking his ass in the castle for longer than 60 seconds at a time. He snorts to himself, and briefly wonders if tired-piloting is the same as tired-driving, and if it could land him a fine. He debates slipping down to the hangar, just to sit with bl- red. Red. Right. He's the red paladin now. The right hand. Keith's right hand. He looks down at his phone again, nearly buffing the wall as he rounds a corner, hankering after a good cup of coffee.

What a load of bullshit-

THUNK.

His phone hits the ground before he does, sprawled out atop his own limbs like a baby giraffe in space. And there, towering above him - like he always is - Keith Kogane. Still in his Blade's issued uniform, he reeks of stale blood and B.O. Those dark eyes have the nerve to look pitifully down on his second as he extends a hand. Lance, in what he thinks is appropriate cool-and-smooth fashion, slaps it away, awkwardly cobbling himself back to his feet.

"Keith. Wasn't expecting to see you up this late." Red comments, curtly. "Ditto." The black paladin crows. His voice is creaky, thick with exhaustion. Now that Lance gets a good look at him, he's... lacking fight. Haggard and pale, new cuts and bruises glanced across the scarce amount of skin Lance can see. The red paladin wonders briefly just how many scars Keith is hiding from him, under that sleek black leather. "What time is it?" "Like 3:30-something, last I checked." ".. Fuck." "Don't say 'fuck' Keith, it's crass."

"Fuck, sorry." He is not, arms over his chest, fingers curled against his biceps.

Touché.

"We're up in a few hours, so uh. Get some rest." Keith samples leadership.

"If that was gonna happen, dude, I would not be stood here with you in this dark, dark hallway." Lance spits it back out.

"Right, no. Of course. Do what you have to, and don't be late tomorrow." "Today." Red helpfully supplies. "You're uh, dismissed..?" The subject of said dismissal gawks. "You can't dismiss me from a -hallway- in the ship I sleep in, this isn't a board meeting." Lance grimaces, and steers himself back onto course - the main kitchen. He was getting coffee, Keith or no Keith. Quiet footsteps fall behind him, and then louder ones as the black paladin remembers he doesn't have to hide his presence in the castle. What a strange person he'd become. Their fearless leader, living a life of concealment and solitude. How lonely that must be. He shakes away the sympathy before it makes a home inside him.

-

The bright lights of the kitchen hurt his eyes, and Lance bemoans such to himself, making every effort to keep his griping from Keith's prying ears. They'd made the tactical discovery recently that the man's hearing was almost twice as effective in range and clarity as the average human's.

Which would be sick, if it wasn't Keith.

But he hears him, like he always does, and stalks off to fix the problem in that begrudging, duty-bound manner that's supposed to make him seem long suffering and martyred. He scans something against the indent below the light fixture, and smacks away at an airborne keypad for a few seconds. The atmosphere around them shifts to an admittedly much more tolerable dim yellow. Lance grumbles his thanks, and Keith just nods his head sluggishly, dead on his feet. "Why don't you take your own advice, hm? Go to bed. We need the black lion operational tomorrow. That can't happen if you're passed out until noon."

"Don't tell me what to do." "I wouldn't have to if you weren't so pig-headed. You're still in uniform, man. You reek." Keith actually has the decency to sniff himself, and Lance bites down on a laugh as he recoils from his own underarm. "Message received. But I'm not tired." "Bullcrap. You look exhausted."

"I am."

And Lance understands what he means. Hell, he's feeling it too. There's this odd collision of interest now, and he goes about making his coffee in silence, with dark eyes watching him from the corner.

He pulls open a stiff drawer at hip-height, crouching down to reach inside for his stash of dark roast coffee - sourced from a space-mall excursion a few months ago. He keeps it sealed in an airtight container, in a paper bag, in the back of the most neutral temp cupboard on deck. It's not great stuff, some cheap American bastardisation of actual dark roast, but it'll do.

"If you're going to stay, please stop staring at me." He pokes his head up and hauls himself back to his feet. Where was that sugar again..-

"Alright."

It's in Keith's hands, apparently.

"How did you-" "Café cubano. You think you're good at hiding the coffee, but it smells strong. I sometimes follow the smell into the kitchen. From there, the awful mess you leave behind makes it pretty easy to guess what you were making. Who takes an espresso pot into space?" "Not me. I had Hunk and Pidge make it for me. It's a lot more advanced than I need it to be. It actually lowers the boiling point of the water, without blanching the coffee's flavour. Might be why the smell is so strong, though."

Lance chooses to rise above the slight on his cleanliness.

"Huh. Go Hunk and Pidge."

"Seriously. Genius freaks, the both of them."

Red smiles.

-

Lance sets his whisk down, and pours off the dark coffee from the jug in his left hand, sending azuquita frothing and bubbling to the top of the pot. It floats, sweet and bitter, as he transfers it to an oddly shaped Altean mug, and takes a sip. It's boiling, and it burns, but it's good.

Just like Keith had described, there are spoons and whisks and bowls and dustings of sugar and coffee grounds strewn across the tabletop, and the Red paladin flusters as Black swoops in to clean. Something about this felt entirely too personal, domestic. Like they weren't fighting a war. Like they weren't fighting eachother. He scoops up his mug, and turns heel. "I'm going to the bridge."

Keith is silent except for a hum of acknowledgement.

-

Loud footsteps approach him again, hunched over himself, hair fluttering from his eyes with each heavy breath. His coffee still half-drank, to be savoured. He preferred to finish his drinks in company, but it wasn't like he'd been expecting Keith to follow him.

So why he isn't at all surprised when Keith slumps down beside him is anyone's guess.

The stars are, well, about as starry as usual. The air is a comfortable degree and the floor hums quietly as the belly of the metal beast around them croaks and groans, driving them through empty space.

Keith is looking at him, and the mess of his hair, those dark, impossibly bright eyes... it all feels so Keith. He smells a little better, and he's back in his usual t-shirt and jeans, jacket forgone for informality's sake. For just a moment, Lance can pretend it'll be Shiro waking them both up tomorrow. As equals, tired and late to dash into the hangar. Keeping score, neck and neck.

"Your coffee's gonna go cold." Keith snips at the silence.

"Oh, so what I'm hearing is that you wanna make the trek back to the kitchen to reheat it for me?" "Shut up.. You wouldn't drink it even if I did." "You're probably right, Mullet."

Lance pauses for a moment.

"Why'd you come down here?" "Why haven't you told me to fuck off yet?" "Not sure." "Ditto." Touché. Again. Conversation starts to feel a little easier now.

"Fuck man. This is so bad. We're in for it tomorrow. We quite literally will not have our head screwed on straight." Lance laughs at his own joke, swiping a hand through his hair and leaning back on an open palm.

Keith laughs too, rolling his eyes up into those remarkable bangs.

"Not to mention we'll be keeping the rest of the team at -arm's length-'."

Keith's turn to laugh at his own joke, while lance digs his fist into the other man's shoulder. "Boo! That was lame. You're lame, Kogane. Lame Kogane is what I'm calling you now." "How will I ever recover." "Try and sound a little hurt."

-

They're both laughing now. "No- no, really, I'm slighted." "You sound like you're reading the fucking weather forecast!" "You said fuck!" "Fuck off!" "Hah! Said it again."

And there it is. The film that keeps them bound by duty is broken, and they come undone into something far deeper than 1st and 2nd.

Blue bites and red bites back harder, but they never break the skin.

They're on their feet now, dancing around the deck under the intimate gaze of a hundred-thousand burning stars. Surrounded by life, yet completely and totally alone.

"I'm not drinking that-! Lance, I'm serious- Lance!" Red warns, hands extended to keep Blue at arm's length. (He'd appreciate the call-back.) But Lance, brandishing cold coffee and an impish grin, is quicker, and likes to watch the impenetrable fortress that is Keith Kogane crumble. He vaults the central control panel, to Keith's shrieking horror, and manages to dump half the remaining cup down the back of the other's shirt. It elicits another delightful shrill from Red, as he wrestles with his own skin in an attempt to flee the sensation. Lance swears that for a moment, there's something glinting yellow in Keith's eyes. He bares his teeth and grunts in a way that is decidedly inhuman.

It should scare him, but it only excites him, fills his blood with ice-hot curiosity, intrigue that borders on an inescapable infatuation. SO much about Keith that he didn't know. So much that he wanted to find out.

"Sorry!"

He wanes, half-heartedly, still in fits of laughter as Kogane manages to wrest his shirt off, wearing a flimsy navy tank underneath. He'd have preferred red, but space makes fashion a slim-pickings ordeal. Lance finds it brings out his eyes.

-

Somewhere along the way, they ended up like this. Lance shifts his arm from where it's pinned under Keith's head to check the hour. 5:30. They're running out of time. Red and Blue will be packaged up neatly again, and in thirty minutes Black and Red will take the helm and shoulder of a beast they have no business knowing how to fly.

Lance aches, body and mind. They're sprawled out in Allura's holodeck, heads side by side as they stare up at a night sky so very different to the ones they see from the castle. It's earth, just a few miles south of the Garrison. A cliffside overlooks the desert, and Blue can almost feel the dust under his fingers, sweeping through Keith's hair as it ruffles against his cheekbones.

Blue pulls red just a little bit closer.

Just twenty minutes more.

Neither of them are ready to lead.

Chiselled soldiers made of hollow glass. Lacking experience, robbed of simple youth.

They are driven by duty. It pumps their lungs like great bellows, keeps their legs moving when their hearts have stopped.

Ten more minutes.

Lance feels his eyes slip shut, damp and tired. He curls into red and lets himself dream for a few minutes more.

[he-ate-with-the-wrong-people]

Runs in the Family | Simon Peter (Platonic)

You and your older brother Simon share one particular trait in common: stubbornness and impulsiveness. Unfortunately, your shared short temper has gotten you both in trouble more than once.

Addtl. Information: Simon is 20, Reader is 15. Culturally, an appropriate time for the latter to marry.

Requested: No

SHOW YOU REAL LOVE SERIES MASTERLIST | SIMON PETER MASTERLIST

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

“Watcha doing?”

Your older brother doesn't even look up from where he sits on the dock by the boat, mending his net, grunting a noncommittal response.

You take that as an invitation to sit. “Can I help?”

Simon still refuses to spare you a glance. “Don't you have something better to be doing with your time? Like helping Eema?”

“Don't you have something better to be doing?” You shoot back. “Like gambling at the Hammer?”

“Hey.” That catches his attention, net dropping into his lap as he glares over at you. “You promised not to say anything.”

“No, I promised not to say anything to Eema or Abba,” you clarify. “I can still tell you to stop as much as I want. Where's Andrew?”

Simon goes with the subject change, used to your stream of consciousness. “He saw a pretty girl and disappeared. Absolutely useless.”

“Hey! He's not useless!” You elbow him in the side, frowning and ignoring the look he shoots at you.

“Abba would kill me if I hit you,” Simon hisses through his teeth, more a reminder to himself as to why it's prudent not to attack you, than it is anything else.

A shadow falls over the two of you suddenly, causing the both of you to look up. You stifle a groan, having forgotten that the owner of the shadow in question, Malachi, works near the docks too. Malachi is a few years your senior and quiet good at not comprehending the meaning of words, especially the phrase, no, I do not wish to marry you, please stop asking.

Unlike Andrew, Simon hadn't been around for an interaction between you and Malachi, much less your complaining about the... well, you're not sure you could call him a 'man'. Eighteen-year-old immature toddler might be a more apt description.

“Hello,” Malachi greets you. “Simon,” he adds with a nod.

Before your brother can say anything, you pipe up, sickly-sweet tone matching the similar faux smile on your face. “Malachi. How have you been?”

Simon's head swives over to the man the second he hears the poisonous honey dripping from your tongue, contempt falling from each syllable and thankfully going straight over Malachi's head. He narrows his eyes up at his contemporary, but is prevented from speaking by the idiot before you opening his own mouth.

“Have you reconsidered my proposal?” Malachi asks, flexing slightly.

“Yes,” You respond easily, head tilted slightly down. Your brother catches your eyes glinting dangerously as your grin turns sharp. Simon decides to let you handle it--for the time being, that is; he'll intervene if necessary.

Malachi's relief is palpable. “Good. That was your father's problem with giving me blessing, now we can arrange-“

“Oh, no,” you interrupt, not sparing the man towering over you a second glance and disinterestedly picking at your nails instead. “I said I reconsidered. I never said my conclusion was in your favor. Here, I'll reconsider again.” You pause, tilting your head to the side slightly with a pensive expression. “Yeah, still not planning on it. Sorry.”

Simon smirks to himself as Malachi stares at you for a beat, processing, before the answer hits. “What do you mean? Why not? I can provide for you. I can give you a house and children to care for. What more do you want?”

“Maybe someone who respects me, to start.”

A scowl forms on the other's face, taking a threatening step forward. “I'm the best offer you're going to get.”

As he spoke, Simon stood, moving in between the two of you. Malachi may be taller, but Simon is broader, has the benefit of working a trade that requires a strong physique. His anger shows clearly on his face, protective and entirely confused as to what caused that idiot to think that he was the best you would ever get. If anything, it was the other way around, one hundred percent. “I think it's time for you to move along,” he threatens, voice low.

Malachi clenches his teeth. You stand as he does, Simon noting it--because of course he does--and grabbing your arm to push you behind him and back a few paces. Well out of the way of a fight. “Got a problem, Simon?”

“Yeah, I got a problem. You, harassing my sister. Especially without her father's blessing.” He tsks.

“She's a daughter of Jonah,” Malachi sneers. “Not worth the trouble any way. I can find someone better anywhere I want. She should be grateful I even gave her a first glance, much less a second.”

You put a hand on Simon's arm to restrain him. “Let's just go,” you whisper dully, not wanting to let on just how much your would-be admirer's words affect you.

“Sure,” your brother agrees for your sake only, biting out the word like it physically hurts him to do so. He turns, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tossing the end of the net back into the boat. It's not strong enough to be of desire to anyone passing by, so it's safe to leave with said boat.

“One last chance!” Malachi calls after you two. “Or you can see how much the daughter of Jonah enjoys becoming a zonah for lack of husband.”

The attempt at a pun is the final straw, implying that you would ever be a lady of the night, and you can't stop Simon before he marches over, stopping one step short. “What did you say?” He seethes.

Malachi smirks. “You heard me.” He spits at your brother's feet, and you're unsurprised when the next second, he's covering his now-bleeding nose while Simon shakes out his hand, unfazed. Lowering one hand from his face, Malachi glares at Simon, pride hurt worse than his face--which is saying something. He throws his own punch in retaliation, landing the blow on Simon's upper arm.

Your brother barely moves at the impact, grinning at Malachi's shock. “Come on, I know you can punch harder than that,” he mocks, rather meanly; you would add, deservedly.

Before Malachi can collect himself enough to respond, currently spluttering half-words of vitriol and rage, you join Simon, grabbing his arm. “I think we should get home. He's not worth it.”

“You!” The other man finally manages a word. Not very eloquent, but still.

“Actually...” you pause, reconsidering, before swiftly kicking him in the back of both knees and causing him to faceplant in the dirt, Malachi not reacting quickly enough to catch himself. That done, you turn back to your brother, who smiles proudly over at you. “Now let's go.”

“As you wish.”

Neither of you spare a glance for the man you leave behind, pride wounded and nose never to look right again. One thing's for certain--the family of Jonah won't have to deal with him again.

[birdfriender]

Hello. Sorry to bother you, but given the content of the coaster from canmom's post, if you don't mind answering a stupid question: so, on ARTE's website there's a bunch of Varda's films currently (there were more of them, but some expired), so what would be a good start where it comes to watching her filmography?

Hi!

I tried to have a look on the ARTE website but the selection available for her in the UK is just 1 film and I'm not sure what's available in other regions so I will just give my general recommendations.

Cleo from 5 to 7 (1962) is probably her most well known and most critically acclaimed film and, being one of her earlier films, is also probably a good starting place. It follows a singer in Paris through two hours of her life while awaiting the results of an important medical test. I think it's a great example both of Varda's influences as part of the early French New Wave as well as the seeds of her unique style of blending documentary and narrative film-making techniques.

The Gleaners and I (2000) is, I think, as good an introduction as any to her pure documentary films. It discusses the practice of 'gleaning', or going to pick over fields after the harvest to find any edible produce that has been left behind, but ultimately discusses a wide range of issues around consumption and waste. I think it is a great showcase of not just her stream-of-consciousness documentary style (in a similar vein to documentary filmmakers like Werner Herzog or Patricio Guzman) but also of her deep curiosity and passion for humanity in all its expressions. I think Gleaners also gives more of a picture of her playful and sometimes subtle sense of humour, which I think is very important in appreciating some of her other films (Le Bonheur, for example, I think is very easy to misinterpret as an entirely sincere depiction of its subject matter if you're not familiar with her).

Vagabond (1985) is my personal favourite film of hers (and also just one of my favourite films of all time in general). It follows the last few weeks of the life of a homeless women, depicted entirely through the eyes of the various people who saw her last. Being made nearer to the midpoint of her career I think it shows her style in a more matured form than in Cleo, blending documentary style film-making with narrative segments in a way that feels very hard to classify (it's not a 'mockumentary', a narrative film made in a documentary style maybe?) and really unlike almost any other film I've seen.

I also want to shout out Tribute to Zgougou the Cat which is a very short film she made about her cat, that is available free on youtube and is delightful.

I hope this helps! I think Agnes Varda is a really wonderful film-maker with a very wide range of films across different styles and genres, so I think wherever you go from this starting point will be rewarding. I think her strengths across all of them are her ability to find the human stories in any subject matter, and to know just the right amount of her own authorship to inject into them.

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 6 - The 'Subject' at Hand

Don stared up at the ceiling taking note of the various cracks and spots of grime spackled across it's surface. The air was still and empty as he took a slow long breath. The faint aroma of apples still loomed even after he blew out the candle around ten minutes prior. The only sound he heard was the light breaths of the girl...mutant.. turtle.

At this moment, Don came to the embarrassing realization that he never got the name of the female mutant.

Acting immediately to right his wrong, Don slowly turned towards.. the girl, and placed his hand gently atop the blanket, so as not to scare her.

It didn't work.

Lotus gasped sharply and punched the first thing closest to her:

Don's face.

He groaned loudly as his hands covered his now brightly-hued snout.

Lotus blinked and shook her head to recover from drowsiness. One moment she was asleep, the next her fist was shooting out to fend off the enemy towering over her bed... But as her eyes filled with consciousness and clarity, she came to the realization of what she did... She looked down, craning her neck over the edge of the mattress, to see a very dazed Don.

' Did I DO THAT??? '

Lotus at first denied that she was the cause of Don's sudden.. discomfort. But her mind changed to see the truth of the matter as a faint burning ached in her right knuckle.

' Oh CRUD IT WAS ME. '

She slowly raised her hand in a closed fist, and hovered it over her plastron in a circular motion. ( ASL for "Sorry" )

Don squinted one of his eyes open to see Lotus apologize for the sudden.. well.. attack.

" Id's....ugh... id's fide. " Don mumbled.

Just then Raph walked into the bedroom, IMMEDIATELY bursting into laughter at the sight before him.

" HAHHHAHHAAAAA!!! What the heck happened to you??? You get pummeled by the crippl-" Raph's question was briefly halted as Don's leg swung out tripping him.

" Fine, fine. Ya good?... " Raph was never one to hold back his concern for his brothers. However, most of the time he would combine it with insulting them at the same time. A true skill in his book.

" Id's nodthing. I wad just beig dumb." Don groaned, as he wiped away the small stream of red from his nose.

" S- sorry about that. " Lotus grimaced.

Raph's eyes widened in surprise from hearing the stranger's voice for the first time.

" So! It can talk-"

" -RAPHAEL KISHO HAMATO. " Don warned.

Raph's shoulders twitched at the sound of his full name, as he turned to Don.

" YEESH. WHAT? What did I do?? Seriously, I can't even tell what's gonna short-circuit your wires sometimes.. "

Don fixed his glasses, which were placed crookedly on his face from the sudden attack, and cleared his throat.

" Sorry about my brother.. His tongue sometimes moves faster than his BRAIN. "

Raph shrugged and crossed his arms as Don gave a quick side eye to him, and then returned his attention to the girl.

" He does have a point though... I can't believe I was so rude, I..um... I never actually got your name. "

Lotus gave Don a sheepish smile and sat up. Her eyes directed themselves from the brothers to the soft blanket resting in her lap. It wasn't exactly preferred for her to re-visit her memories of.. the lab. But these guys have been so nice.. And despite her ATTACKING one of them, they were still being so generous and welcoming.

She owed them.

So the least she could give was a little info about herself.

" I... I was classified as Subject 19. "

Don and Raph exchanged glances, raising their eyebrows at the sudden pity they felt for Lotus. It almost looked like they could read each other's minds or something from how one would change their facial expression, and the other would react. If you hadn't been able to see their mouths or hear them, their faces would appear to be in a conversation.

But neither of them spoke a word.

Lotus winced at the silence she had caused. She paused to focus on pulling back to light a deeply faded memory from her mind. All the scientists called her Subject 19...

.... all.... except one.

" But I sort of remember a different name. One a kind woman gave me..."

Raph and Don's gazes turned toward her, seemingly ending their unspoken conversation.

".. She told me my name was Lotus. "

She closed her eyes and ran through all her memories she could reach from that time of her life: Nearly the beginning. Images of a kind face with slender hands, painted nails, and soft hair stepped out from the shadows of forgotten-ness. A sweet smell of baked goods always loomed in the air around her thanks to her perfume. Her voice was low and warm, almost always used to sing lullabies.

Lotus pulled away from her memories and returned to the present.

".. So.. I guess.. You can call me Lotus."

Raph closed his eyes and nodded, as Don smiled.

" That's a beautiful name. Well.." Don reached out his hand to her, "..it's nice to meet you, Lotus."

She looked at Don with questions in her eyes, but slowly reached and shook his hand.

" Um.. Nice to meet you too, Donatello. And.... um?.." Lotus raised her eyebrows at Raph.

He snickered to himself and raised his own hand.

" Name's Raphael. But you can call me Raph."

Lotus gave a small bow with her head and shook his hand.

" Nice to meet you, Raphael."

Raph's single brow raised and he put on a tiny pout.

Lotus minimally tilted her head, but jolted as she realized her mistake.

" - SORRY! Sorry! Um.. I mean Raph? " Lotus corrected herself.

Raph's brow lowered as he gave a small smirk.

" There we go. "

Lotus gave a crooked smile back, and then straightened her position.

" So where's the other one?? The blue one.. Um.. Leandro? "

Both Raph and Don burst into laughter, half-scaring Lotus out of her shell, but Don attempted to quickly gain back his composure.

" Heehee..His name's actually LeoNARDO. "

Lotus' face glowed with a light pink hue as she shyly joined in on Raph's chuckles.

" Oh.... sorry."

" That's why we just call him Leo. " Raph said through his chortling.

Lotus nodded.

" I see. Ok.. So it's Rapha- RAPH! It's uh Raph, Donatello, and Leonardo."

" Correct! " Don encouraged. " However, there are a few more family members you should know about. We have a Sensei, Splinter. He's pretty much our adoptive Father. Also he's a mutant. "

" A giant rat, actually. " Raph said bluntly.

Lotus' eyes widened curiously.

" Ok.. Splinter is your.. Sensei. Got it. Anyone else?"

Raph and Don exchanged a glance, this time making it clear what conversation they were having seemingly telepathically.

" ...Yes.... our youngest brother-"

"- MICHELANGELOOOOOOOO!!!!" Mikey cheered, as his head hung upside down over the edge of the top bunk.

And keeping to the continuity of her character, Lotus once again punched the thing that frightened her.

The force of her fist sent Mikey, face first, crashing hard to the ground.

Raph burst into another fit of laughter, as Don covered his eyes with his hand in embarrassment.

" Oye to the vey..." Don sighed, as Raph continued to die laughing pointing at Mikey, whom was now pinching the base of his snout to stop the bleeding.

Raph attempted to speak in between his laughs.

" MIKEYYYY!!! HEHA HEE!! Guess.. guess we shoulda warned ya...hehe.. Our guest here doesn't like to be surprised, you citrus- colored nutjob."

Mikey glared and dramatically shook his arms.

" - THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME EARLIER??!!!?? " Mikey shouted. Raph could only answer with more laughter as Don rolled his eyes.

".. Anyways.. " Don said in another sigh, " .. Yes, Lotus, this is our youngest brother... Michelangelo. Apologies for his.. forward nature and lack of brain cells. "

Once Lotus understood this new mutant wasn't a threat, she took a breath exasperatedly.

" You all need a better way to introduce yourselves.. Like a THEME SONG. "

Ahhh that felt great to get back to writing and drawing. :) This was a long one, but I loved making it!! :) Hope you guys enjoy it too!!

If you have any questions about my story or characters, I'd love to hear them! You can go ahead and send me an ask or message! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

Masterpost <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

Buck & Doe (14)

Summary: Natasha attempts to take down Dreykov, who is mind controlling Black Widows. In her quest she recruits Y/N, a former Black Widow turned science experiment. Bucky and Natasha share a history in the Red Room but his life might be intertwined with more than one Widow. The closer they get to taking down Dreykov, the more secrets come to light.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of miscarriages

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not Beta’d

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 14

The sun waved over Y/N’s eyes dragging her back to her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes rolling away from the light streaming through the window. Cold stiff sheets twisted around her body reminding her of the awful motel she was staying at. Bucky. She was with Bucky last night. Y/N’s eyelids peeled back searching the room for the super-soldier. She must have shifted back in the middle of the night. She couldn’t remember her time with the super-soldier last night, but she was sure he put her in his bed. Steve’s bed appeared untouched; he hadn’t returned last night.

Muffled voices could be heard from inside the vacant room. Startled, Y/N sprung up out the bed nearly tripping as the door opened. The sun didn’t have a chance to creep further into the motel room as the two six-foot broad-shoulder super-soldiers entered.

The brunette suddenly appeared beside Y/N, thrusting one of two paper cups filled with coffee in her hand. “Sorry about that.” With his free hand, Bucky plucked a pillow and blanket from the floor, tossing them on the bed. “I should’ve picked them up when I woke up.”

Staring at the blurred soldier through the steam escaping Y/N’s cup, she couldn’t help but ask, “You slept on the floor?”

The blonde stepped forward. “I should’ve texted you. Let you know I wasn’t coming back. You could’ve slept in my bed.”

Bucky waved the pair off. Between the war and HYDRA, he was comfortable sleeping on the floor. He was used to it. The bed was too soft, even the lumpy motel bed. Catching Y/N yawn, Bucky changed the subject. “Ever have coffee?” He nodded to the cup in her hand. “That’ll wake ya up.”

With a shake of her head, Y/N blew on the coffee, hesitantly taking a sip. A grimace and cough from the Widow had the men laughing.

“It's an acquired taste.” Steve offered, checking his phone.

Bucky downed his cup and then snatched Y/N’s cup from her hands. “We’ll get you one of those fancy drinks.”

Ignoring Bucky unimpressed with the coffee, Y/N raised an eyebrow at Steve. “Expecting someone?”

Steve nodded, “A friend, Sam.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, muttering something under his breath. From the look Steve sent him, Y/N could tell it wasn’t polite.

“We need eyes in the sky. Tony wanted to sit this one out for personal reasons, I didn’t think it would be fair to pull him into this one.”

Y/N perked up, “You spoke to Tony?” Though the rest of the team didn’t know Tony and Pepper had been trying for a baby, she doubted Steve had any news on the situation. That didn’t stop her from hoping to hear good news.

Steve shook his head, “Banner.”

Noticing Y/N’s shoulders slump, Steve changed the subject, “So, what puzzle did you guys do last night?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows wondering how Steve knew what they were up to last night when he hadn’t even slept in the same room. Y/N was just as curious as Steve, not even remembering a puzzle.

With a shrug, Bucky pointed to the small table across the room. Green and brown puzzle pieces were scattered across the table, the image incomplete. “It’s all they had here.”

Y/N frowned, unable to make out the image. “We didn’t finish it.”

Bucky snorted, slinging his leather-clad arm over her shoulder as they stared down at the hundreds of scattered pieces. “We did, several times.” He paused reminiscing. “You kept pulling the pieces apart demanding we beat our previous time record. Eventually you passed out on the table, and we lost some pieces.”

Y/N blushed, burying her face in the brunette’s chest. Poor Bucky, he must have been bored after the first time they finished the puzzle. 

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Bucky announced their record, “2 hours and 47 minutes.” Then he whirled the phone around showing off their finished work like a proud father. An image of the pair surrounding the puzzle reflected at Steve. His lips tugged into a smirk at the puzzle of deer in a meadow.

When Bucky turned the phone toward Y/N she gasped. Snatching the phone from Bucky’s grasp, she stared in awe. Never had she seen the other version of herself, nor had she seen Bucky look so happy. For a moment, she thought she might like this picture more than her first picture with Bucky, but a sinking feeling crept in the longer she looked at her younger self. A reminder that she had her youth stripped from her. A reminder of what could’ve been and what would never come. A child of her own, one that would look like her.

“Could you move your seat up?”

“No.”

Bucky had been in a sour mood the entire ride to the HYDRA base. Not only was he about to be surrounded by people who tortured him, he was also trapped in the back of Steve’s Volkswagen Beetle. Sam had called shotgun, sealing Bucky’s fate.

Natasha enlisted Y/N to accompany her in Sam’s pickup truck. With a promise to stop for one of the fancy drinks Bucky said they’d get her, she was gone. Y/N had gone quiet, going through the motions as if she was on autopilot. Both super-soldiers noticed it but neither knew what triggered the response. She did seem to enjoy Sam’s company which Bucky wasn’t fond of but according to Steve, Sam was hilarious and dedicated his life to helping veterans adjust after war. Every single one of them should be flocking to Sam for help adjusting after all of the fighting they’ve done but Bucky wasn’t ready to go there. He had too many open doors, open wounds, before he could heal.

“Sam, what’s the status?” Steve questioned through his earpiece.

Everyone had arrived at the location and parked a few miles from the HYDRA base. As the only one with wings, Sam was sent ahead to get a bird’s eye view of the area. His sidekick pet robot, Redwing, canvassed closer to the base in case of a real threat.

“Nothing but blue skies.”

“We’re headed in.” Steve motioned everyone forward like he had led the soldiers during the war.

Passing Harold’s vehicle, Bucky came to a halt. Despite the whispers, he could still hear the argument coming from the other side. In a rage, Bucky stormed around the car.

“The kids are my priority,” Rebecca stomped her foot.

Harold pressed his tongue against his cheek. “I can’t protect you all if we stay back.”

“You won’t need to, she has me,” Bucky interrupted hotly.

With a roll of his eyes, Harold replied, “Where were you all these years?” The question was rhetorical, so he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Don’t be selfish, something goes wrong out there and you get captured, they won't hesitate to brainwash you again. Then how are you gonna protect your precious sister?”

While there was some truth to his words, Bucky’s left hand curled into a fist. He wasn’t going to let this guy talk to him like that and certainly not his sister. Before he could lift his fist, Steve was saving Bucky from a fight for a change.

“I won’t let anything happen to either Barnes. We all have a role to play and yours is here doing your job, protecting these kids. Rebecca is going to lead us to the base, you’re staying here.” Steve spoke with authority reserved for battle. He had to. Harold was used to being a leader, making all of the decisions. Steve needed him to know his place if they were going to succeed. Harold opened his mouth, surely ready to argue but Steve beat him to it, “That’s an order.”

Y/N and Natasha watched the scene unfold but didn’t question Steve. Everyone fell in line with Steve and Rebecca leading the way, Natasha followed them closely. Y/N lingered a bit further back, lost in her thoughts. Bucky brought up the rear, keeping pace with Y/N. He was busy keeping an eye out for anyone who might try to attack them from behind as well as monitoring Y/N.

Bumping her shoulder with his, he broke the silence, “Did you like the drink Nat bought you?”

Barely looking up at him, Y/N nodded. She gave Sam more of a reaction when she met him so Bucky took a page out of Sam’s book, not that he would ever admit it. “Should’ve known you were a sweet tooth.”

He tensed, expecting another mute reply. She was quiet. Why did he try humor? Why did he try to do what Sam would do? He was mentally kicking himself. Sam didn’t know what he was talking about.

After a long pause, Y/N asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Bucky scanned the trees before letting his muscles relax. He took it back, maybe Sam did know a thing or two. “Just that you are sweet is all.” Even if the side-eye he received wasn’t words, it spoke a thousand words. She was present with him, not lost in her thoughts. “Well, maybe not you but definitely the other Jane,” he joked.

Y/N gasped in fake offense but that was it. She was quiet again. Bucky wondered if he had said something wrong, but he didn’t think she would tell him, even if he did.

Bucky grabbed her hand with his right, the leather glove enough to get her attention. “What's going on with you?”

He could see the gears turning in her head as she eyed the group ahead of them. They were far enough that not even Steve could hear them.

“Have you ever wanted kids?”

Nearly tripping over his own feet, it was Bucky’s turn to be stunned into silence. He had wanted kids in the forties but that was a lifetime ago. He knew too much; he’d been through too much to even entertain the idea of starting a family of his own. He didn’t even know if he could have children.

“I um,” he paused, his metal fingers caressing the back of his neck, “haven’t really given it much thought. It’s not like I’ve had the opportunity lately.”

“Oh,” Y/N whispered, she wasn’t sure what response she was expecting from the super-soldier, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She couldn’t burden Nat with this, she knew Natasha’s feelings on the subject and didn’t want to come off as insensitive. Perhaps Tony could relate but he wasn’t here.

Sensing her disappointment, Bucky elaborated, “I mean, I used to but I also used to think I’d get to see flying cars in my lifetime.”

Y/N chuckled, “You’re not dead yet Buck. You could still get to see cars fly.”

Bucky nodded, peeking at the trio ahead. “Nat and I used to talk about it, back in the Red Room.”

“Flying cars?” Y/N snorted.

“Kids.”

“Oh,” Y/N squeezed his hand, “I didn’t mean to-”

“‘S fine.” He squeezed her hand back in reassurance. “We knew it wouldn’t happen but dared to dream anyway. It was just talk to keep ourselves sane, imagine we were anywhere but in the Red Room.”

No matter how fast Y/N walked, she couldn’t escape the green-eyed monster stalking her. She wished she had someone to confide in, someone to keep her sane while she was locked away. All she had was Rebecca, but she couldn’t relate, Y/N had been drugged most of their sessions to even confide in her.

“What’s all this talk about kids for?”

Casting her eyes downward, “That picture you took last night, it was the first time I saw the other me. Unlike the other Widows, my uterus came back but I’ve never been able to carry a baby to full term. It always ends bloody.” She let out a shaky breath and Bucky knew she was holding back tears. “Now here we are traveling to one of HYDRA’s bases and I can’t go back. I know I seem like I’ve been holding it together, but it hurts Bucky, so fucking bad. I don’t want to go back.”

Bucky unlaced their hands to wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. He didn’t want to go back either, but they had to get rid of HYDRA once and for all. As much as he wanted to promise her nothing would happen, he knew he couldn’t guarantee it so he remained quiet, allowing his arm to provide her with some sort of comfort and protection.

“We’re here,” Rebecca announced, coming to a halt in front of a large gray building in an open field. There were no windows, just a door that resembled a garage door, big enough to bring military vehicles inside.

“About time,” Sam huffed, pushing himself off the side of the building. “I thought you could outrun me,” he joked with Steve.

The blonde smirked, “You had a head start and wings.” With his hands on his hips, he turned serious. “What are we looking at?”

“This is the Wolf Spider ops entrance. It didn’t last long so they shut it down. The cameras are off but so is the door.”

“So how do we get in?” Natasha crossed her arms.

Tapping a small box on the wall Rebecca grinned, “If you can power this box up, the door will open. Back door entrance into the lion’s den, they won't even see you coming.”

“This place is deserted, I don’t think there are any working power lines out this way,” Bucky spoke, analyzing their surroundings. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. Hidden from the rest of the world unlike their main entrance. “It will take a lot of power to power that up out here, we're miles from an outside power source.”

Rebecca nodded, “Millions of volts.”

“Where are we going to get that kind of voltage?” Y/N questioned; afraid this would be the thing that ruined their mission.

“You’d need to get lightning to hit that box precisely when you’re ready,” Natasha announced, giving Steve a knowing look.

“Good thing I know a guy.”

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@nelly-belly @small-death-and-codeine @amberritonicole @hallecarey1 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @val-writesstuff @rhiamaymay @lilhoodhippie @buckysbarne @shadypaperwitch

[dhaaruni]

Hi, sorry for the stream of consciousness in your askbox, I just really want to know your take on this a few weeks after the election:

I want to say that I’m a Dworkin feminist and I’m 100% understanding of women’s overall despair and panic right now. I don’t think it’s completely unfounded. Much of the (less mainstream, but still visible) right has taken a brazen, misogynistic worldview that’s concerning to see. Late stage capitalism has really caused a divide between the sexes that’s worrisome, right wing men indulging in “trad” and 50s housewife content that preaches the evils of hormonal birth control and women having investment accounts is insane and scary in our modern political moment. I don’t want to discount that.

That being said, I’m not sure if what that faction of the right wants can feasibly and realistically come to fruition. I don’t think there’s one real way to get rid of the nineteenth amendment right now (people were upset about Roe’s overturn but comparatively that was *still* easier to do, and it took the right fifty fucking years of electoral success to do it), as many are worried about, I think what the right does and does very well is shifting cultural narratives, lexicon, and the Overton window. The issue for them is that women’s success is not stopping, and I don’t see it stopping. We live in a world now that often requires a two-income household for success, and corporations are not going to cut half of their workforce because people like Matt Walsh have found it advantageous for their grifting campaign to call for it. You’ve said it before, and it rings very true: if we’re going to live in a capitalist hellhole, at least have financial freedom and make it work for you.

The right is operating on unfair ground (for us, not them), are able to grift their way into success by having their own specific media networks where their side never has to be held accountable for anything. The other side of that coin is that, if profits are the be-all end-all, in a weird and honestly depressing way, it’s very hard to get institutions that also rely on women’s labor to survive to become compliant and complicit in what the far, less-organized right wants. I think the best idea for women going forward, especially in these next four years, is to not give the right what it wants. Keep living your life, stay politically aware and active, but do not cede any ground to these freaks by openly showing your despair. Do not show it *as* despair. Do not argue your humanity with them, if you’re subjected to that, you’ve already lost. Keep succeeding and prioritizing yourself.

If this doesn’t make sense I’m sorry, it’s just how I’m rationalizing living right now, lmfao. I’m working and pursuing a masters degree at the same time, and I’m not going to let our current administration or weirdo, barely-hiding-their-fetish right-wing men stop me from doing that. I’m not gonna argue with right-wing bots about abortion and contraception. We’re above that and we need to start showing that now more than ever.

Yeah that makes sense and I'm at the point where I'm just prioritizing myself and my loved ones and protecting my peace. No arguing with right-wing (or left-wing) sickos!

[sunriseverse]

@vaynglories replied to your post “10, 14, 16, 17 for the writing q's!”:

I AM ASKING NOW. TELL ME ABOUT THE USES OF "BAD WRITING" (if you want to) (also hardcore agree on the first person thing. so many oft-hated-upon devices can be used to good effect, it's all about the manner in which they're used!)

​okay sorry to only get to this [checks timestamp] twelve hours later BUT i have so so many feelings about this so thank you for encouraging me.

for this post, i'll be talking about the generally hated styles/types of writing, the ones that people always so to NEVER DO, that i can remember off the top of my head. (if i miss one that you want to hear about, let me know!!! i love talking about this subject.) i'll list them off very quickly so you have a general idea what i'm talking about: second person pov, first person pov, "excessive" italicisation, stream-of-consciousness, lack of dialogue tags, grammatical errors, repetition, "overly" detailed/purple prose, and omission of information.

(this got long, oops. sticking it below the cut for readability.)

as a brief preface, i'll say this: i think that a lot of these things are hard to pull off in a way that works. it takes a lot of experience, skill, and understanding of both the medium you're working with, and what each of these things conveys. but so often i see people warning authors away from them entirely, which is, in my opinion, shortsighted at best, and stunting of creativity at worst. now i'll give an explanation for each of these, and how i've used them/how i think they can be used effectively.

second person pov: this is arguably the most "intimate" pov, because you're making the reader an implicit party to the narrative, moreso than usual. that doesn't mean the narrator is the reader, though! second person pov can also help to create, paradoxically, a distance from the actual narrator. you can see this in the harrow the ninth novel, for one example, and in another, i've used second person a couple times in my recent works; here's an example of it:

You didn’t bother trying to answer. You knew well enough that the best option in the battlefield of pain was silence. They, you thought, perhaps, were waiting for you to make a sound; to groan, or grunt, or moan, or wail. They forgot you were as Zhang as they were. This was not a smugness; this was a fact you knew as well as the length of your fingers had been burnt into you.

here, the second person pov blurs the lines between the reader's experience, and xiaoge's experience, but does not make the reader the narrator; not that that would be a bad thing, but in this case, that's not what i was going for; you can tell who the narrator is based on details that are given. the second person pov also makes the narration feel more factual—it is being experienced rather than being observed.

first person pov: very common in YA novels, but adult novels have first person povs as well! you just don't hear about them as much. i would say first person pov is one of the harder things on this list, because it can be hard to characterise the narrator without making them feel too much like a self insert/audience insert. that said, first person pov is a great way to convey mystery, suspense, and have an unreliable narrator! to keep with giving examples, the main dmbj novels are told in first person form; they, therefore, are necessarily filtered through what wu xie deems important, and as you go further along, it becomes clear that someones—maybe even often—he's bending the truth, giving a very biased account, or just straight out lying or forgetting things, not to mention that, necessarily, there are things he just doesn't know that you don't learn about until either a. someone else states them upfront, or b. npss writes a third person pov novel that mentions the fact. some other novels with first person povs: the tiger's daughter, the employees, the murderbot diaries. the first two are epistolary, and the second two have mystery elements; in both cases, the first person pov has a specific purpose, which it fulfils well.

"excessive" italicisation: this is a complaint i've heard less often, but i have heard it, so it's going on the list. oftentimes people tell you to reserve italics for special occasions, not much unlike the way older generations would have told you to restrict your exclamation mark usage. it's a matter of stylistic preference, i'll be blunt, and carries with it a lot of implication that are culturally specific. for example, if you're writing in chinese, you necessarily cannot italicise—but i digress. italicisation is good for drawing special, specific emphasis to things; i've used it in my writing to indicate altered mental states before, as i have personal experience with my mental state being altered by psychiatric episodes that cause me to give undue attention to seemingly "trivial" things, changed my speech patterns, etc. from a very old pacific rim fic, where the narrating character is still suffering under the effects of being possessed and having his mental state altered by it:

This time, the guards don’t protest as Hermann dismisses them—a quick jerk of his head and they’re gone. “They gave me thicker socks this time,” Newt says conversationally, part of him wanting to shift from foot to foot, but he remains still.

as you can see, the italicisation gives the dialogue a strange, almost jarring, artificial quality. it's as if it's being read off by an autogenerated voice, rather than a human—which, considering the fic touches upon the experience of humanity, is fitting.

stream-of-consciousness: not a very common thing, but in my opinion, good for showing altered mental states—be it due to extreme fear or stress, mental health issues, or tense situations. i've used this a couple times, in a sha hai fic where li cu is experiencing a sudden realisation of what, exactly, is sharing his body with him, and the conflicting thoughts between him and the parasite, and i've also used it in sunrise more recently, describing xiaoge's experience hiveside, in a place that cannot properly be comprehended by the human mind:

The stone scrapes against the wall. Li Cu breathes, and blinks, and you are not alone in this body the other has noticed you the other must not be allowed to Li Cu wants to run wants to drown himself until the sensation leaves the panicked sparrow in his chest the body will listen to you and you will return to It because that is the only way this can end one foot before the other move slowly move steadily don’t harm this body it is all you have until It do not let the other do as it wishes Li Cu wants to yell wants to scream Li Cu wants to flee Li Cu is a rabbit in a snare Li Cu is a deer’s neck snapping beneat the force of a tiger’s jaws Li Cu is a sparrow Li Cu is a mouse Li Cu is fucking done no he is not fucking letting this thing do whatever it wants with the body is no longer listening the other has grown too strong a flameburst a flash of fangs the other has noticed the other should have been excised Li Cu is not fucking letting this be his end Li Cu is not fucking dying down here Li Cu is not, Li Cu is not, fingers clumsy on the zippers, fumbling as they shift through the contents, tubes and papers and they’re heavy on the hands they fit so nicely isn’t it strange it’s never been thought of before that excision isn’t always cutting isn’t it strange that excision can be burning too that you can cauterise an infection can cauterise an interloper can cauterise

and

in this place in this space he will have no moment to breathe no moment to blink no moment to slow in this place he will have no self no other only IT and ALL ELSE because that will be the truth of IT that it will see not in terms of differentiation but in SELF and OTHER and he will be OTHER and he will fight it better than anything or anyone before because he will be the only one who has the memory of before the only one who won’t corrupt at its touch though it will burn though it will sing and oh it will be blinding oh it will be vibrant oh it will paint the hollow of his mind in beautiful beautiful colours no other will be able to comprehend in this moment he will for a second become not OTHER but rather IT become not OTHER but SELF and it will be this that he fights mostly this that he battles the longest SUBSUMATION INTO THE WHOLE that he dances away from will be the CONSUMPTION that he holds the walls against firm will be this that he will try and summon the memories of THEM and this that will succeed but not for yet not for now NOT JUST QUITE NO NOW IS NOW IS NOW IS NOW IS

lack of dialogue tags: as long as you know what you're doing, it's actually not that hard to make it clear who's speaking even if you're not using dialogue tags. i haven't seen this in a published novel, but i've both used and seen it before in character study-type fics, and in remembered conversations, where the focus is less on a conversation happening, and more on the experience of the conversation. it also, in my opinion, tends to add a surreal atmosphere to the section it's being used in—more like an image than text. there is, of course, also the lack of dialogue tags in speech when talking about telepathic communication, but i don't think that that's usually what's being talked about when it comes to this.

grammatical errors: while annoying when made because an author doesn't know better, in the hands of an experienced writer, these can be very effective at conveying altered mental states, giving a sense of foreboding or surrealism, or for characters that aren't human or for some reason have no experience or memory of being human. i forgot to add this to the list, but grammatical errors also blend a bit with formatting errors—formatting is a great way to build a certain atmosphere, be that ascetic, horror, etc.

repetition: can be annoying, but has genuine applications! if there's a truth that a character holds particularly firmly, that might show up in repetitive narration. on top of this, if there's something particularly strange, eye-catching, or an overwhelming emotion or experience, this can also show up in repetition. repetition pressed closer together can give the sense of a stifling, claustrophobic atmosphere, or that a character is experiencing something overwhelming, and spread out, it can be used to establish themes and characterisation.

"overly" detailed/purple prose: i am a purple prose defender until the day i die. just because some people who don't know what they're doing make purple prose a slog doesn't mean that it's inherently bad. prose that's "excessively detailed" can be a good way to establish character—they may pay particular attention to detail due to, for example, constantly needing to be aware of their surroundings for safety or political reasons, etc—, and a good way to establish dynamics between characters, convey emotion, and give the world of the writing a more "realistic", vibrant feel to it. i especially appreciate detailed prose for its ability to convey emotion—as someone who's a character writer, i rely a lot on the prose to convey the character's emotions, and thus, characterise them, and carry the narrative.

omission of information: sometimes the narrator won't tell you things and that is not only okay, but also good! it can be a great way to characterise a character—what do they focus on? what do they avoid? what does this say about them? are they omitting these things only from those around them, only the reader, or both? how does the reader's perspective change if/when they find out what's been omitted? in my opinion, a lot of great usages of omission come from them being only omitted in one or two ways—as in, there are hints as to the omission, that the reader could have pieced together, but they trusted the narrator, or just didn't notice them because they were paying more attention to what was being said directly rather than what was being alluded to by the other characters. omission is similar, in my opinion, to plot twists—it works best when the reader had enough tools to figure it out, but for whatever reason, didn't.

okay that's the end of my very long rant. i hope this makes sense!!! and if there's things i missed let me know and i'll talk about them :)

[the-empress-7]

Sorry y’all I won’t be able to properly answer any asks today, but you might be subjected to random streams of my consciousness 😒