Love The Solid Impact And The Feeling Of Weight

"I have something of yours."

"I know. You can keep it."

Chips🥔

CW: Death

but this advice lives in my mind rent-free

some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.

it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:

doing it wrong:

She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.

doing it right:

Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.

Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.

This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.

Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:

She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.

Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:

She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.

Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.

Gorgeous. I could stare at these all day.

This year has been quite trying, but I'm happy that I discovered a love of making these horse animations in 2023.

"He's been claimed by a Fae Lord, a Witch, a Demon Queen-- we made deals with one too many entities," the Queen explained with a heavy sigh. "Now, he's gone and got himself possessed by a couple ghosts, and apparently has some kind of arrangement with a Siren and a Dragon. I'm a little lost on his social life at the moment."

The Queen plucked out the sacrificial dagger protruding from her son's chest and tossed it aside with a hanky. The wound instantly healed.

"He's immune to just about anything," she continued. "Lightning, arrows, knives, cannonballs, being frozen or burned and... What was it? Oh yes, poison."

The Prince reached for the knife that lay discarded and began giggling and stabbing himself. The wounds gave off little sparks as they zipped the skin back together.

"Oh, my poor son," the Queen lamented. "In any case, is this God of yours powerful? They might need to be in order to claim him."

The Order exchanged glances. "We changed our mind," they said.

The Prince hopped up on the sacrificial altar and grabbed the leader by his robes. "No no NO you can't stop NOW!!" He giggled, "Beyooooond the time it took for set up, how RUDE it is to call a God only halfway, right when it's getting GOOD?!"

The Order grimaced. "The prince speaks the truth. Complete the spell in the honor of God. Only he can determine if this vessel is worthy."

The Prince flopped back with a smarmy grin.

The Order sunk the knife into the Prince once again and commenced with the summoning. The Prince began to float, and he hit the clergy with spitballs from where he was suspended.

The God appeared and looked over the clergy. "You must know this vessel is... Inadequate," he said, gesturing to the giggling prince. "I have never been summoned to a less suitable vessel."

"Suit yourself! You clearly don't know how to PARTY!" The Prince said, dancing around the floating apparition. "Like I want some boring old god taking up space in MYY flesh prison!"

"Dear, that dance is a bit unseemly," the Queen said. "Stop at once."

"YOU stop, MOM." The Prince pointed at the Queen. "Is she? Is she suitable? She's been offering me up this whole time!"

The Queen shook her head. "That's not necessary, Dear."

"Very well. It is done," the God said, and his spirit flowed into the Queen's mouth. The Queen shook briefly, then closed her jaw audibly.

"Goodness. I expected more," the Queen said, dabbing her lips with a hanky. "Truly a boring God. Let's go home, son."

"Wait, what happened?!" The Order cried.

"Oh, we are also a family of God eaters," the Queen said. "I must have forgotten to mention that. Did I? It's how we keep getting all these contracts."

The prince pointed to the sacrificial dagger in his chest. "Hey, can I keep this?"

When the eldest of the royal children was kidnapped and brought to the ritual table to be the new vessel for the cult's god, they seem oddly fine with it. It was in the middle of the ritual that the eldest royal revealed…

Villain could feel her mind go blank. God, she really said that out loud.

Hero was close, much too close, and her strong arms gripped her shoulders so, so tightly. She smelled a little like strawberries and musk, and her hair tickled her face a little. No one had ever gotten this close before. Villain twisted her wrists in the cuffs behind her back and tried to ignore the warm feeling in her gut.

"I… Um…" Villain tried, flustered. Her eyes flicked to Hero's lips. They looked soft.

Hero cleared her throat and put an arm's length between them. "Nice try, but you're still going to prison."

Villain's stomach did little somersaults. "You're, uh, going to take me there yourself?"

Hero blinked and seemed to avoid her eyes. "Well, um. Yes."

"And, um, keep a close eye on me?"

Hero flicked a glance at her and grabbed a walkie-talkie with one hand. "Hey, Superhero," Hero squeaked, voice cracking, "When's your ETA?"

Villain could see a little pink in her ears.

Static. Hero muttered a curse. Superhero always took his time answering.

Villain knew she should take the opportunity to try to run. Hero only had one hand on her shoulder. One warm, strong hand.

She pulled her shoulder back and barreled into the Hero. Hero, caught off guard, dropped the walkie-talkie and fell back. Villain made a run for it, jumping off the rooftop onto a fire escape.

"Hey! No, get back here!" Hero roared. She leapt onto the fire escape below Villain, cutting off where she was headed. Villain jumped off the fire escape to the ground, and Hero launched after her.

The full impact hit Villain square in the back, and the resulting fall knocked the wind out of her. Hero straddled her from the back and roughly grabbed her arms.

"Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're cute," Hero grunted.

Villain's heart fluttered. She turned her head as much as she was able. "You think I'm cute?"

Hero reached for her walkie-talkie and came up empty.

"It's on the rooftop," Villain helpfully reminded her. "Does he normally take this long to respond?"

Hero seemed conflicted in whether to answer. "…Yeah," She conceded.

"With just you, or--"

"I really, really don't want to talk about it," Hero sighed tiredly. "Just… Please."

Villain hummed. "You deserve better," She said.

"So do your victims," Hero said, voice hard.

Villain opened her mouth. Shut it. "This seems personal," she said.

"It is," Hero said. "Superhero saved me from Villains like you. So now, I work for him and pay it forward."

"Funny," Villain said, voice lowering an octave. "Superhero is the reason I'm like this."

Hero was going to ask what she meant, but Superhero came flying from above. A short while later, a prisoner transfer vehicle arrived.

"Thanks for your help as always, Hero," Superhero said. He flashed a wide, toothy grin for the paparazzi as he secured Villain into the back of the vehicle.

"I have something important to take care of, so I'll see you back at the base, Sport," Superhero said, patting Hero's back. Hero slid into the passenger's seat quietly, knuckles white. She watched him laughing with the press as the car rolled away.

"Wow, he can't even help escort me back?" Villain said, smile sardonic. "Also, what was that just now? Is he stealing the credit from you?"

"I don't want the attention," Hero said. She looked down. "Justice is its own reward."

Villain snorted. "Oh, honey... You keep telling yourself that."

The driver flicked his eyes towards the backseat, and pushed a button to lock the car doors.

"Just ignore her," Hero said to the driver, flashing a smile. "Have we met? You don't look familiar."

"He didn't get in the car," The driver gruffed.

Villain sighed. "I know, I know, but proceed with the plan anyways."

"Yes, boss," said the driver.

Hero whirled around. "Hey, wait, what plan--"

There was a sudden sting in her arm as the driver injected her with an unknown substance.

"What th--" Hero ripped the tranquilizer from her arm and tried to grab the wheel.

The car veered and the driver wrenched her arm back. She elbowed him in the eye and grappled for the wheel. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at her.

"Hey, now," Villain said, reaching her arms through the bars. "I like her, so be gentle."

"Yes, boss," The driver said. He kept the gun ready, and glowered at Hero with his good eye. They were speeding down a gravel path. Hero tried the door but her hands felt weak.

"Child lock," Villain said.

Hero bit her tongue to stave off the unnatural woozy feeling in her head. "You'll... Be... S-sorry," she said.

"Don't worry, shh, I'll take care of you," Villain shushed, petting her hair gently. "I just can't let you interfere with my plans. Okay? Okay? Sleep."

Hero's eyes went heavy. She leaned into the soothing hand despite herself. Her vision went black.

Prompt (440)

The hero clicked the handcuffs over the villain’s wrists. “You’re done terrorizing the city. Any last words?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” the villain said.

The hero turned the villain around. “What?”

Fun Story to Share.

I got my (now 18-year-old) daughter into Ao3 back in 2021. I taught her she should always comment - even if the fic looks old or abandoned or whatever. She did.

Well - she got this email this morning:

The fic was written in 2014 and essentially abandoned.

Bethy read and reviewed in 2021 (and was actually the only person who had commented at all).

Today in 2025 - the final chapter was posted by the author and this was her reply to Bethy’s comment.

———

Never question whether a fic is too old to comment on.

Potential

"It's so much faster," they said. "It cuts out the grunt work."

"That's not the point," you seethed. "That was never the point. You're exploiting others for your own convenience."

"I'm just ahead of the curve."

"No, you're avoiding the messiness of self expression. You can't be bothered to live."

"I'm so sick of your personal attacks," they snap. "Everyone does this. EVERYONE. You're just living in the past."

"No, I want to live in the future. I want life to be worth living in the future. Where does the need for growth and efficiency stop?"

"So you want to live without modern conveniences?"

"No. No. I just want the growth and efficiency to translate to rest, play, and creativity. It isn't. We've lost so, so much. And for what? An endless stream of banality drowning out the passion that made it possible?"

"You're not being realistic. That's not the world we live in."

"I have to be unrealistic. I can't forget the potential of the world. I know what the world could be and I'm so tired of settling for less."

Beautiful arc and a good sense of weight

jumping fishboy :3

also quality is bad as before womp womp :c

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.