#for one thing i think my bad art now is much more legible than my bad art 10 years ago

[icyday]

Look, I'm not saying that doing art daily hasn't improved my art. I'm just saying all that daily practice alone hasn't made it good.

[webslingingslasher]

hi j! what are cherry and peter doing right now??

comfortable silence.

peter's studying for an upcoming test and you're honed in on your current romance read. the main lead is cute, but nothing can top your peter parker fantasies.

'cherry?'

you finish your paragraph before looking at him, he's smiling a little too hard. 'you're so pretty.' you softly grin, feeling your lips curve up. 'and so is your handwriting.'

your eyebrows furrow at the odd compliment, you'll still accept it. 'thank you, lover.' peter clicks his pen a few times before finally coming clean. 'can you do me a favor? a really giant favor?'

you look down at your book and count the pages until the next chapter, you inwardly sigh and mentally commit before you bargain with him. peter's taught you there's give and take with love.

'can it wait three pages?' peter nods once, 'it can wait.' you give him a thumbs up and read a little faster for him, shutting the book with a satisfied smile once you reach chapter sixteen.

'what's the favor?'

peter turns back around, he looks guilty. he feels bad for asking. he holds up a blank piece of paper, you look at him for more context. 'we're allowed to use a cheat sheet for the test, one page only, front and back. i was wondering if you could do it for me?'

you pull a face, 'i don't know anything about what you're studying.' peter smiles and scrambles to pick up his notebook. 'no, no, i have it all highlighted. i just want you to copy it, i can't write that small and have it be legible.'

the task seems much more daunting than you expected. 'how much is there?' peter flips through the pages and lets out a deep breath, 'um, not much. just... basically everything?'

'oh boy.' peter took your boyfriend virginity and your real virginity, you can make a cheat sheet for him. it seems equal. 'pass it over, let me look at it.' once you have it in your hands you skim the highlighted areas, it would take some time and a dedication to splitting the sections to make it easier to read. you're already thinking of layouts.

'can i use my glitter pens?'

'absolutely.' the job just got easier. you nod confidently and agree to the ask. 'i can do that for you, petey. can i take it with me or do you need your book?'

peter rubs his lips together, he's staring at the holy grail that is super advanced something chemistry. he doesn't want you to take it but he's asking you for a favor so he's not sure how or if he can form the word no.

you do it for him. you're winning all the girlfriend awards today.

'nevermind, we'll keep it here.' peter visibly relaxes. 'but i need some markers, we're about to get real arts and crafty up in this bitch.' peter starts digging in his desk drawers, a box of markers tossed on the bed and a random textbook to follow as a makeshift table.

'i bet no one else's girlfriend is making their boyfriend's cheat sheet.' you start at the beginning and ask for more supplies. 'i need a ruler and a pencil. and the same color highlighters you used. oh, and that pen i like.'

peter's already collecting the tools, looking around his room for your bag. 'are your glitter pens in your bag?' you forgot you had them with you, the entire pencil case would be a savor right now. 'yes, but i left it downstairs.'

to peter, you're doing the biggest favor he's ever asked. he's willing to hunt and gather the supplies you need to make his life easier. 'on it. stay here and look pretty.' he's moving quick, you call out to him as he passes through the door. 'can you bring the whole thing, please?'

he doesn't respond but he comes right back up, pink bag in hand. 'where they at?' you point at the big pocket, your cherry printed pencil bag is handed over. (a gift from peter.)

'anything else? you want a coke, or a snack, or something?' you shake your head and start a header title for the first section, you're locked in. 'i'm okay.'

you highlight the title, there's another want brewing in your mind. 'actually...' peter perks right up, 'yes?' you pucker and tap your lips, your boyfriend is at your side and leaning down in seconds. three soft pecks, each one feels like an 'i love you.'

'you're sure there's nothing else you need?' he feels bad, it's a big ask. you've caught on and you're pushing him away gently. 'do you want me to do this or not?' peter nods quick and takes a large step back. 'i do, i just feel bad.'

'well, don't. and while i'm working on this you better keep revising, because you're going to bed at a decent time tonight, mister. and because you know how much i love the sound of your keyboard when you type.'

it's true, you've fallen asleep to the quiet clicking more than a few times.

peter bites back a smile. 'yes, ma'am.' you blow a kiss, 'good boy.'

peter revised, went to bed on time, and smugly showed off your work the following tuesday in class. 'see how organized this is, isn't my girl the best?'

peter passed with flying colors, he swears it's because of your cheat sheet and color coding. you tell him not to discredit his brain, he tells you not to discredit your work.

you compromise and accept the passing score with him because he swears it was built on teamwork. you think it's so you'll make him another the next time he asks.

and next time you'll be prepared with glitter glue. 

[phantomarine]

Hey what were you trying to say in your “it gets good at page 1001” post

Was it more of a comment directed at yourself ( self degradation), is it satire about perfectionism,

Is it supposed to be inspirational for Beginners webcomic creators, or we’re you just in a bad mood?

More of a warning against self-sabotage, because I see it so much. Sometimes it's tied to perfectionism, sometimes it's the opposite - people surrendering to imperfection when they don't really have to.

Creator chat incoming. I'll put it under the deelybob for anyone who wants to read it 👇

I've been in the webcomic sphere for several years now and I've seen so many people introduce their comic with 'I know it's very long and not easy to read, and I won't be going back and changing anything about what I've already made - but please critique it so I can make the rest of the pages better and attract a bigger audience from now on.'

And that's a hard thing to respond to. If a reader can't get through all those existing pages without being confused or bored, then how can they get to the good stuff that lies past them?

So much of gaining an audience is about actively making it easy to 'fall into' a work. Without that easy entry point, it's always going to be an uphill battle to build an audience, no matter how good the later chapters get. There are outliers, but most webcomics won't be those outliers, especially with thousands of them available nowadays. Some people love the grind, but most people will jump to a new tab and try to find something less frustrating.

And webcomic creation is particularly cursed by its very nature. Creators are hesitant to go back and edit pages, even once they've figured out more details about their craft or story structure. It's mostly because of the seeming permanence of it all - the art takes ages and the words feel unchangeable if even one other person has read them. To go back and edit is to publicly admit your failings, right? That's how it feels. What do you MEAN you didn't get it right the first time? You were supposed to do it live, and do it PERFECTLY!

But ideally it shouldn't be any different than prose writing, which is ALL ABOUT finding the story in those edits. And because your story is digital, you can go back and change things whenever you feel like it. A webcomic is fluid.

And if you're thinking 'I should just redraw my whole first chapter' - NO! Hell no, old art can be a part of the appeal! It's far more about finding little tricks to convey your story/characters more clearly. I have read some first chapters with janky art that made me fall completely in love with the story and cast. It's not about the art - as with all things comic-related, it's about conveyance.

Examples I've seen and some I've used myself: A single extra page with a meaningful interaction can solidify the theme of a character's arc. One additional 5-to-10-page scene can help add visual context for an offscreen event where there was none before. Adding a map can tell people where the characters currently are. Changing a character design can help if they get often confused with another character. Redoing your lettering to make it more legible is a huge one too.

In the end, I just don't want people to be afraid of small edits. When I got feedback about the bad clarity of my own work, I knew it would take some time to fix those problems. It wasn't fun to think about or to do, but I'm glad I did it in the end - because it would have limited my audience tremendously. With just a bit of extra effort, I opened a door that wasn't there before, and it now leads more people even more easily to 'the good stuff.'

tl;dr You started your webcomic for a reason, and you're learning more things about its characters, story, and craft every day. Don't be afraid to go back to old pages and inject some of that wisdom through editing. Even a little can go a long way.

***Caveat: If your goal is to just create chaotically, with no goal of gaining an audience, you are a wild and free little thing, and I am in awe of you. This whole rant doesn't apply to you, and you are stronger than me.

[ferronickel]

Lettering Tips for Comics Artists!

Lettering is an easy to overlook aspect of comics creation, partially because good lettering is designed to be invisible, but bad lettering can ruin an otherwise well crafted project.

Now, I'm not a letterer by trade, I'm a colorist who thinks too much about comics craft, but I've picked up on a few common mistakes I've seen new webcomic artists making, and I thought I'd share my tricks.

#1: Get a Dialog font

Sorry, despite Comic Sans having the word comic in the name, it's not actually good for lettering comics. Comic book letterers usually use specially designed fonts when they're lettering comics, and they often have websites where you can get these typefaces for a reasonable fee (or sometimes even free!)

What makes dialog typefaces special?

The barred-I! (and other contextual options)

This one is subtle, but generally, you want to only use the barred-I for the personal pronoun "I" or for roman numerals. It helps clarify that what you're looking at is an I and not an L, but it takes up more space in the word, and we're trying to reserve as much space as possible for the art on the page.

Specially made comic book fonts will also be custom designed to be legible at a distance, have multiple bold/italics options, and might even include special versions of individual letters for when you type multiple of the same character in a row! It'll give your lettering a personal touch that you won't get from typefaces designed for other things.

Blambot is a great resource for all your lettering needs. Here I'm using Backissues and Nightmark

#2: Dialog Stacking

Dialog should always be stacked such that your longest line of text is in the middle. The block of text itself should have a sort of diamond shape <>. Sometimes this is difficult to do, especially if you have any long words at the beginning or end of a sentence. You can't always get it to work (and if you're unwilling to rewrite your dialog so it fits), so sometimes it might not be perfect, but if your text block is more hourglass shaped >< that's a good indication that you should try putting your line breaks somewhere else. Basically try to make your text as round as possible if it's in a balloon.

#3: Balloon Shape

One of the more common mistakes I see webcomic artists making is using perfectly elliptical balloons. It's actually kind of difficult to fit text into balloons that are perfectly elliptical; there ends up being a lot of uneven space around the text, and it looks kind of cheap. Making your balloons slightly more rectangular is going to give you more bang for you buck, they'll fit the text block a little better. I like a hand drawn balloon, I tend to think they add variety.

One thing you definitely shouldn't do is this:

This might be a personal preference thing more than any kind of hard and fast rule, but these lettering styles give me the impression that the text is pasted on top of the art, and that no real thought was put into arranging it thoughtfully with the art. These are probably more appropriate for captions, not so much for dialog

Lettering is a part of the medium we're working with, the dialog should be approached as a part of the artwork, and treated as such.

#4: Balloon Placement

The number one, most important rule of lettering, is that the placement of your balloons should never confuse your reader. The goal of balloon placement is to guide your reader around the page, each one should naturally lead your reader towards the next thing they should read. Here's an example of something I see a lot:

While yes, it is true that on a comics page, people read left-to-right top-to-bottom, if two balloons are connected with a line, I am going to read them one after another. Readers are not going to intuitively assume they should jump to the other side of the page just because the #2 balloon is slightly above #3. In this situation the balloons should be interwoven.

It should not be possible to look from one balloon to another and skip over intermediate dialog. If your reader misses a part of the conversation and has to double back to figure out what they missed, you've broken the flow and immersion of the page.

Like I said, lettering is all about guiding your reader around the page, it should be a part of your composition from the beginning, don't forget to incorporate lettering into your work when you're first laying out your page. Put yourself in the place of your reader and see how your eyes track across the page.

Hope these help! Like I said, I'm no expert; it took me a while to learn a lot of this. I would have found these tips super useful when I was first starting out. If you're interested in the technical side of lettering, I highly recommend The Essential Guide to Comic Book Lettering by Nate Piekos. It's one of the most useful reference books I own, and I learned most of this from that book.

[woolying]

!!! 2024 art summaries yayy !!!

is my handwriting legible ??? it doesnt matter this is moreso just for me lol

also i really struggled finding things to put on the timeline bc the beginning of the year i was sooo Artblocked i didnt draw at all and the end of the year all i have are wips and sketches... the struggler

regardless this was a good art year for me i think!!! lots of highlights yay see yall next year <333

(past art summaries and more yapping below if u care...)

reminiscing and revisiting:

2023

i miss u kirizono........lowk i peaked here

goal: better composition -> tbh no i havent done anything too compositionally difficult... character(s) on colored background galore

goal: let ocs be seen -> i posted One(1) Once...barely... but im working on them more than i was before so i need them to be more fleshed out before i let people see them. But i am so obsessed with them now so i think its a win regardless

goal: do more studies, stop struggling!! -> i havent done many more studies but i havent been struggling that much?? do i have a better understanding of things or have i not left my comfort zone... actually that will be another goal

2022

the last time a variety of colors were seen in my art 😔💔 may they rest in peace

"lineless/rendering! ended up being not for me lol" -> i love rendering now never give up !!

goal: artstyle consistency -> not rlly lol but its fine im exploring <3

goal: better landscapes/backgrounds -> this is once again the goal for next year we'll get it this time for sure 🙏

goal: be cringe publicly! have fun! -> i am having sooo much fun but im not cringe i am so based actually... also the move from twt to here has done wonders for me. I used to be so scared and miserable all of the time about art but its chill here

reflecting:

lowkey i feel like i regressed this year in terms of skill which is kinda sad,,,, i havent drawn a background in ages, my anatomy is still kinda bad and inconsistent, idk how clothing works, etc what ever

but maybe im just being critical bc of the skill/knowledge curve thing!! at least thats what im telling myself <3

however also im trying new things that are like not related just to just illustrations (which i used to be the only thing i drew ever). like im getting back into designing ocs and coming up with aus/stories (ive always been such a bad uncreative writer its not even funny but im trying anyway!!) and im using my sketchbook again and ive tried animation ?!? which i used to say i would never do bc it seemed so hard (it still is) so maybe im just like expanding outward instead of deeper idk if thats a good thing or not ...master of none maybe

but tbh its all good honestly im just yapping bc i really am just enjoying art!! i love drawing and i love sharing my art and i love drawing other peoples ideas and !!!! yippppeeee

soon i hope i get more confident and share more of my own ideas, i feel like the art i draw is ??? not that deep or exciting just characters Who Are There or just like mildly pretty. I wanna be able to tell stories and show emotions and such in my art ykno?? but thats so hard

i wanna share ideas more but i feel like i cant unless i have art attached to it?? (part of why i wanna practice comics, bc some of them are easier to share that way) and also im just scared i guess lol. But maybe i just need to get over myself and just do it!!!!

Any Way, i love being a drawer next year we will Grow🌱🌱🆙

[gothprentiss]

blah blah media

i've known a good many men who love to announce (as if they had discovered something!) that alien is about capitalism. and like, okay, every time i see it it goes in the data bank. it happens with notable frequency, less so now that i'm not on social media with academics or People Who Comment On Things (critics, self-styled or otherwise). i don't like having the "men don't get this" opinion about media, particularly when it comes to men in the media-getting business. the ways that that can be true largely boil down to how we think with our experiential realities, and how much we are limited to that. this will be important* later. (for a certain value of important.) (also if you are reading this there's a lot here that's following and thinking with a traditional n thus cisnormative model of gender & the body.)

so it's like, alien is about capitalism! (in this performance i am a mid-career professor at a small liberal arts college with liberal-to-left beliefs which i espouse frequently to a cohort of like-minded peers, and also i own one really outrageously expensive cooking implement, such as an ooni or one of those green egg smokers, which i keep in the backyard and post pictures of on a bi-weekly basis.) even the first conversation is about money. it is a timeless parable about profit, thru which we see an uncaring company court untold harms, bringing risk heavy down on the shoulders of its "expendable" laborers, all for the sake of possessing this dangerous cargo. and perhaps-- if i think a bit longer-- i will go so far as to note that it is also, in this regard, about war.

(i am now playing a guy of similar status but i have a different backyard cooking appliance) this is such a keen and incisive observation-- action blockbusters of the 80s were all lowkey about capitalism! global capitalism, really-- note the multicultural cast.

and-- sure? this seems like a claim which exclusively impresses people who know the movie solely through its wikipedia section on legacy & franchise. alien is about capitalism, but precisely to the extent that it appears to be about capitalism. the workers are explicitly labeled expendable by their employer; they talk about money and, you know, class-specific concerns, etc. it is about class in the way that any movie is about class: class is legible in it, and has force in the way that class does. in this way these claims suggest one of two things about the claimants: 1) having never been of the working class, the fact that fictional workers are less-than-allegorical representations of real workers feels like more intellectual work than it is; 2) this is the lot of working class people in Opining Spaces (para-academic / journalistic, etc.), this idea that class is a secret to which you and perhaps you alone are privy.

it's also not clear to me what this aboutness is being asserted against-- is it that alien isn't a monster movie, or that its horror is actually derived from the sort of capitalist realism of it all (In Space, No One Can implement an alternative system of economics)? when i saw this claim more often, it seemed with some frequency to be lodged against the idea that alien is about gender.

that's what i mean about the whole men don't get it thing. on one hand, i don't think any particular critical faculties are ontologically gendered. on the other hand, either despite or because of the notion that horror by and about women is often horror of the body (despite:by::because of:for), it's interesting how often men of opining are really quite bad readers of gender in the abstract.

part of this is the fact that gender has that lens-quality-- it is not the thing itself but it is explanatory, and is applied over things (e.g. mother) without being seen as literally true of them. my old reading of alien is that it's a forced feminization fantasy stripped of eros-- and a good part of that stripping is a matter of alienated labor (ha! rimshot! alien more like alienation of labor am i RIGHT my dudes!), or maybe more precisely profit itself. you are very literally watching capitalism in action; it is practically its limit case. the xenomorph is the workplace accident of the future etc. etc. capitalism is the negligent mother who looses you into the universe, parasitical in your helplessness, and cares about you only insofar as she must protect her brood. you individually are expendable, but what you represent is not. the corporation and the alien one and the same. and so on. the individual & material body, the body politic that said body is a part of.

but at the same time, alien is more about gender than it is about capitalism in a couple of ways. most notably it is about gender in a different way than it is about capitalism. this way is more abstract, more about theme, figure, and implication; in the hierarchy of aboutnesses, this way typically is given precedence (particularly if you're an Opinions Guy tweeting about a movie from the 70s. you are going theme over plot 100%); it also subsumes content in a way that content doesn't quite subsume theme.

you might say that franchising shouldn't shape your interpretation of the flagship work, and that's probably true-- but it is notable that the alien franchise really is this sort of dendritic thing that sprouts from the idea of-- not gendered body horror per se. the horror of the gendered body, maybe. i really should read more about horror (i kind of hate scholarship on it but once more maybe eugenie brinkema is going to save everything for me); i'm inventing as i think about this a sort of three-gender model, pace carol clover, called men women & chainsaw wounds. the extensible and extensibly penetrable body of (body) horror, which loses currency as a gendered body in a way that mimics but lacks the diegetic politics of the reduction of actual gendered bodies to mere flesh and bare life.

like if you say that the expendable workers of alien are sort of scrabbling for bare life (to be more than mere alienated labor, more than just the stuff of a human workforce), then part of the horror of alien is that there is actually barer life to be had, which is as an incubator. there's a pretty obvious metaphor of rape there, and more obviously a horror of pregnancy and its deprivation of bodily autonomy. there are layers or facets to it too-- that man isn't the dominant species; that exploration and discovery are, quietly, death drives; that there is always a position which is more alienated and subjected; that the body is vulnerable to sudden and unexpected violences both from without & within; literally just the nature of war; etc. the simple & trad & so on gender reading is that the body which is gendered female is more vulnerable to penetration and inhabitation, and any horror which imagines this as a cross-gendered phenomenon is effectively imagining what it is like to be a woman. this is probably not an unrealistic reading of how alien works, though, again, see above-- i think horror that is thinking about the extensibility and penetrability of the body is doing so outside of an easy sexed schema.

anyway the thing i was going to say before this post got very long was that, like, sure alien is kind of about capitalism but everyone who proudly announces this observation is being very smug about having noticed something which is extremely evident and also only partial. i think there is some general desire to refuse to take cosmic or cosmic-ish (by cosmic-ish i'm going space -> cosmos -> cosmic but not merely with an etymological handwave; like i'd love to see anything set in space that posits space as knowable in any meaningful capacity) horror as such, and to extend our various schemata outwards with the insistence that they can contain it. like, yes, so much of space horror trades on the inherently freaky nature of labor under these conditions-- what if you were sent somewhere very far away where bad things were happening and you were there only as pulp to fertilize the fields of someone else's intentions (which, again, is also about war. like fundamentally the movie's idea about what space capitalism will look like is a state of constant warfare). but it also is literally like, and then what if it turned out there was something way worse out there all along?

[lattewithatwistoflemon]

Making Comics compared to Writing Novels:

Transitioning from making manga all my life to writing a novel has taught me something. Making comics is a hundred times harder than writing novels. And I am by no means saying this to belittle novelists. I’m saying that I’ve made things much too hard on myself and gave myself way more work than necessary by trying to draw all of my stories as manga instead of writing them out as novels.

Imagine you thought out your whole story, spent many days, weeks, or months brainstorming ideas and writing piles of papers full of notes on your story and characters. You have enough information for a whole novel. Heck, you might even have a novel’s worth of words written down. But instead of this being the final step, all of those words are just the beginning. They’re just your outline.

The next step is to layout your story. The one benefit is that you don’t have to worry about writing all of that grammatically pleasant narration. Instead, you have to plan page layouts of panels in an aesthetically pleasing way, making sure that the layout draws the reader’s eye through the events on the page the correct way and creates the illusion of time and action through panel pacing and images. You have to direct a movie on your page. You must make sure the angles are perfect and beautiful and pull the reader into the characters’ actions. You must make sure your story is perfectly legible from the layout. But hey, your characters are barely a step above stick figures at this point. You only drew them detailed enough to get the general gist of what’s going on in each panel.

So next, you get a bigger, better piece of paper, and you redraw every single one of those panels. Is this just the first chapter of your comic/manga? Than that might be about 20 pages, 5 panels per page. So that’s 100 drawings. And this time, they have to be highly rendered in a gorgeous art style. They might take about 30 minutes each. Every picture has to capture your style and be consistent. And make sure all of your character’s freckles are in the same place in every picture. Once that’s done, you have beautifully pencilled pages.

But oh, it’s not done. You have to go back and ink every single one of those pictures. That’s right, you’re drawing it for a third time. This time, you have to be extra careful to make sure that everything is perfect, because it’s permanent. This is the final draft that everyone will see. Almost.

Did you think you were done? Now, you have to scan it into your computer, if it isn’t already digital. You have to adjust the contrast and make it all super clean and pretty. Then you have to add text and screen tones or colors. This will take a couple hours per page. Oh, there we go, now it looks done!

But wait. You have to shrink it down to the right size, so that you can upload it onto a website. Oh, the quality got messed up? Too bad. Oh well. At least people can read it, after the innumerable hours you put into it. And that was just a single chapter.

Yeah, writing novels sounds a lot easier for me.

[deeva-arud]

So… I think it’s time for me to show my oc 👉👈 Meet Deeva! Here’s the first reference sheet I did months ago trying to imitate the art style of the game + some annotations on her design I hope my handwriting is legible. I didn’t include her gym uniform there, but I did a quick sketch of it. And now, some basic info about her! Name: Deeva Årud* Other Name:         -Flying fish (Tobiou-chan) (Floyd)         -Mademoiselle ailée (Rook)         -Bird (Leona) Age: 18 Birthday: February 18 Starsign: Aquarius Height: 140 cm Eye colour: Aquamarine Hair colour: White Homeland: Veturea Dorm: Octavinelle School Year: Third Class: 3-B, Student no. 2 Occupation: Student Club: Gardening club (1styear) / Light Music Club ( 2nd and 3rd year) Unique Magic: Reverse rain Best subject: Ancient curses Dominant Hand: Right Favourite Food: Salmon tartare, dark chocolate Least Favourite Food: Kiwifruit, Pineapple Dislikes: Crowded and noisy places Hobby: Ice skating Talents: Violin, singing VA: Hibiku Yamamura Singing voice: Younha (some songs that I think suit her: Dark cloud, Rainy night, Lonely, Forsight dream) Personality: Deeva always has a poker face and doesn’t talk much, but when she does, she is pretty direct and honest. Though she may seem distant or indifferent to others, those who are close to her know that’s not the case. She may have a serious look on her face and be a bit shy when showing affection, but she is really attentive to those she considers they deserve it. However, Deeva doesn’t want to get too attached to people, fearing that one day they will suddenly disappear from her life.  She’s calm and doesn’t like being in the spotlight, so she tries to stay away from trouble as much as possible. Species: Deeva belongs to a species I created a few years ago, called vetureyík (or vetureyík’shen, in plural). They are basically winged creatures with little pointy ears and shorter than humans. They can change the size of their wings to keep them out of the way when they aren’t flying. Although people nowadays think they are only a legend, actually there are roughly 90 of them in total, and not all of them can do magic. In fact, there are so few magicians among the vetureyík’shen, that Deeva is the first one to attend NRC in almost 50 years. There used to be more of them, but their population was reduced due to a conflict with the humans. Since then, they made sure no human could ever get to them, by completely enchanting a forest that surrounds the mountain where Veturea is located. If you’re curious about the vetureyík’shen, you can read more here. Background: Deeva doesn’t remember his father, the only thing she knows about him is that he was the previous guardian of the forest surrounding Veturea and that one day he mysteriously disappeared without a trace. The only thing they found were some belongings he kept at a cottage in the forest. This happened when she was 2 years old, and since she has no memory of him, she doesn't miss him. However, she had to grow up seeing her mother, Freydis, affected by this loss while struggling with her delicate health, which meant that Deeva also had to take care of her. From the age of 12, a vetureyík can be chosen as an apprentice by the guardian of the forest for a whole year, in order to instruct them about the tasks they’d have to assume in case they had to take over the position in the future. Deeva was chosen at the age of 13. This didn’t sit well with Freydis, who feared that her daughter would suffer the same fate as her father. Eventually she ended up accepting it and letting her go after Deeva convinced her that nothing bad would happen to her and that she’d be accompanied. Moreover, before leaving, Deeva made sure to contact a neighbor close to her mother to keep an eye on her during the months she wouldn’t be there. Upon her return, Freydis seemed to be in a stable condition; however, the situation began to change months later. She became sick more frequently and, though there were periods when she recovered, she always relapsed. On one occasion, one of these periods of stability lasted longer than the others, but Deeva already knew she shouldn't let her guard down. She had a feeling that everything was going too well, as if it was the calm before the storm... and indeed it was. One day Deeva left home early in the morning to go to the market to help out and buy some food, but on her way back she noticed that her house was quieter than usual. She opened the door quickly and entered only to find Freydis lying on the living room floor. Deeva immediately dropped what was in her hands and rushed over to her. It would have been a relief to see that she was still breathing...at least if it weren't for the fact that she felt cold to the touch. Knowing that standing there wouldn’t solve anything, Deeva swiftly went outside to find someone to help her. Within a few minutes she got someone to take Freydis to a hospital, but all her efforts were in vain. After 3 hours her heart stopped beating. Deeva herself was not an expressive person, but that event made her withdraw even more into herself; and since she didn't see many people, usually there were several days when she went to sleep without uttering a single word. However, from that day on, Eir, the same neighbor who took care of her mother while she was away, offered to help her with whatever she needed so that she wouldn’t feel as if she was completely alone. Trivia: -The vetureyík’shen can’t use their wings in flying class, since that would give them a great advantage over the rest of the students. -Deeva usually keeps her wings at a minimum size, so that they stand out as less as possible. -After many attempts, Azul and the twins convinced her to play the violin at Mostro Lounge. Fortunately for her, they haven’t heard her singing.

-Besides violin, she also plays tagelharpa and a little bit of cello. -Vetureyík’shen who are born with powers are prone to develop a certain type of magic, in Deeva’s case is water magic. She can manipulate water at will, change its state or even create it out of nowhere. In contrast to Kalim’s Oasis Maker, the water she summons is not potable. The magic traces mixed with the water could produce an excess of magic in someone’s body, which eventually could damage their health. -Her unique magic allows her to extract water from any living being, as long as she touches it with the palm of her hand. She can’t control it that well, so she always wears gloves to avoid any accidents. -She’s bad at taking hints. -She has a slight accent due to the language spoken in Veturea. -She makes no sound when she’s walking, something that usually ends up with someone almost having a heart attack when they see her standing next to them. It doesn’t help at all the fact that she can also turn her body into water and reappear in another place. At least that way they can hear her a bit more, though maybe it’s kinda unsettling hearing water running behind you for no reason (?). -Deeva doesn’t know how to style her hair, the only things she can do more decently are ponytails and braids. Because of this, she usually wears her hair down. -Her necklace once belonged to her mother.  -She used to wear symmetrical earrings until her first year in NRC, when a student casted the wrong spell in one of her classes and completely disintegrated her right earring. -She’s ace. -Spends the winter holidays at NRC. She trusts Eir, but she has her own family and doesn't want to be a bother in their family gatherings. -Her mother used to have nightmares, so she used to sing her songs to calm her down. Since her death, Deeva has never sung in front of anyone again. -Her father was also a luthier and, alongside her mother, had an instrument store next to their house. After his disappearance, Freydis continued to make instruments, but for obvious reasons the store eventually closed before Deeva went to NRC. -Since Deeva's mother liked to grow plants, there was a room in their house that served as a greenhouse. Currently the room is empty as Deeva took all the plants she could to NRC. She enchanted her suitcase with a spell to increase its capacity (kinda like Doraemon's pocket) and put them all inside. She couldn't let those plants that her mother had cared for so lovingly die. Because of this, her room at NRC is full of potted plants. -She’s a terrible cook. Please don't leave her alone in a kitchen. -She loves to learn new languages, even if she might never use them to talk to another person. -She’s usually indifferent to insects, but if there’s something that repulses her, that’d be spiders and cockroaches. -Due to her albinism, she prefers to be in dimmer places where the light doesn’t bother her eyes. -Since she doesn't have many opportunities to train her wings during the day, she has permission from the headmaster to use the sports field to fly at night so that she doesn't disturb anyone. -Even when wearing gloves, her hands are almost always cold. *Pronunciation Note: Her name doesn’t sound like “diva”. The e’s are pronounced like the “e” in “end”, but double.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

What’s in a Name?

A/N: This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written in my entire life. But it’s soft. Because Marcus Pike is soft and deserves all the love. Granted, I’ve only watched The Mentalist all the way through once, so...do with that what you will. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? I just want to be on the safe side. Idiots in love. Falling in love with someone and not knowing their name. Cliche use of a Quote from Romeo + Juliet.

Word Count: 3.3k 

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to learn your name and the one time he actually does.

Pike was unlucky in love. He knew it. He had started to accept it when things fell apart with Lisbon. His friends and fellow agents, the assholes, actually took pity on him and said he’d find the right person eventually. He just didn’t anticipate having to meet her over and over again.

... that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet... (Romeo + Juliet)

Sometimes, every once in a while, he actually hated his job. Sure, he got to go undercover, stop criminals, right some wrongs, and be called ‘agent’ on top of it. But, right now, listening to some sycophant rant and rave about the “superiority of Cubism over Dadaism,” he wanted to switch careers. There was supposed to be a sale of a stolen Cézanne happening at this gallery in Los Angeles and Pike had suspected the guy with the too-tight three piece suit and bad transatlantic accent was the ring-leader of the whole theft and re-sale. He just needed to not spork his eyes out until he saw money pass hands from the agent he’d sent in to pose as the buyer and the thief-turned-art-asshole. He thought it would only take an hour or two, busts like this usually did—but this guy loved the sound of his own voice so much that he had been going on a tangent about 20th century art movements for nearly four hours now and had somehow gathered a bit of an audience, too, debating with others, and the like. It was exhausting just listening to him.

“If you give me ten dollars, I’ll spill some red wine on his shirt and he’ll be forced to leave.”

Marcus looked to the left at the sudden voice and found a woman pretending to look at the piece in front of him, just like he had been doing. She was pretty, dressed in a high-end dress and sky-high, red-bottom heels, and looked every bit the part of an old money socialite. “Ten dollars?”

“I’d do it for free, but I need to receive some sort of incentive so I’m not just doing it out of spite. I heard that’s bad karma.” She hid her smirk behind the lip of her champagne flute.

“I’ve heard spite is a fantastic motivator.”

She hummed and squinted at the painting as if she cared. Maybe she did. “This is an awful piece of work. Truly, one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

The man behind them continued to talk just as a waiter passed by with a platter full of red wine and she skillfully plucked one from him without missing a beat. She finished her champagne and handed Pike her empty flute. His eyebrows raised as she smiled at him.

“I’m Marcus.” He held out a hand for her to take. She shook it with a smile but didn’t give her name in return. She winked and walked away—right toward the mark.

And yes, she dumped red wine all over him.

There was a collective gasp and he watched the scene with a muted sort of fascination as she then managed to make the art thief smile with some joke she must have said and then he walked away to clean up. The crowd dispersed. The other agent was able to snag the thief and make the exchange and handcuffs were placed on his wrists all within a couple of minutes.  

Maybe he should have actually paid her the ten dollars. She really did just speed everything up.

But, when he looked around to find her, she was gone. 

                                                            **

The second time he met her was at an art auction in D.C. There was no sting. No operation. The Art Squad had recently helped the auction’s sponsor recover a priceless Van Gogh piece and they had insisted the entire Squad come to the black tie dinner and auction, foregoing the 1000-dollar-charge-per-plate the ticket usually cost. The food was good. The wine and champagne was obviously expensive and Pike was sure he’d see some of the art that was being auctioned off in his case files in the next few years. That was just the way of the world. He looked around at the displays and glanced at the sheets where people had written down their bids. Some people were being generous—most others were being cheap. 

He slowed to a stop in front of a small Dalí and then down at the auction sheet. It was currently up to only a few hundred dollars. He wouldn’t win, he was sure, but he could pretend to participate in this ridiculous auction.

“I didn’t take you for a Dalí fan.” Her voice was still smooth and he knew, instinctively, that she was smiling before he even turned to look at her. She was draped in sky blue silk and pearls, reminding him of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

“I think he’s iconic, to be sure.”

She sidled up to him and looked at the small painting. “Thinking about bidding? It looks like everyone else is besotted with that original Warhol.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to reference the crowd steadily growing on the other side of the ballroom.

But all he could focus on was the smell was her perfume. Expensive and floral, it seemed to fit her perfectly.

Manicured fingers handed him a Mont Blanc pen from the depths of her designer bag. “Best of luck, Agent Pike.”

As she walked away, he realized she knew his last name now—somehow—and he still didn’t know hers.

Pike tried to find her again in the mess of rich people, to ask her name and how she knew of his ‘agent’ status and last name. But all he managed to do was catch a glimpse of blue silk as she exited the venue.

“Do you know her?” A tired-looking man asked as he walked to Pike’s side. “She left a large donation and my boss will kill me if we don’t have a name to write in our next list of donors.”

“I…I don’t actually. Did she bid on anything? Maybe we could get her name that way.”

And for the next fifteen minutes or so, he filtered through the crowd, trying to ask inconspicuously about his Venus and if she had bid on anything. And, when he finally learned that she had bid on an Alphonse Mucha sketch. And he almost felt lucky. Almost!

Because, as he made his way over to where everyone was pointing, he saw only two scribbles on the sheet. Surely he could discern which one of the names was hers. 

One was Richard…

And the other one was just a scribble of blue ink, smudged beyond legibility.

                                                         **

(A few weeks later, he was delivered a package at his office. Inside was the Dalí he had bid on. On a slip of paper was a smudged smiley face and the word: Enjoy!)

                                                        **

The third time he met her was decidedly less glamorous. The Art Squad had been trailing a group of thieves across the East Coast when they finally caught up to them in Boston. Pike had hoped they’d be able to catch them in the act and be done with it.

Instead, what they found when they stormed into the art museum, was the thieves holding several hostages. And, of course with his luck, she was among them.

Her hands were behind her head and she was on her knees as one of the thieves pointed a gun to the back of her head. Boredom was, surprisingly, coloring her face but she smiled when she caught sight of Pike. “Hi, Marcus.”

“Hi,” he said in return, fighting a smile of his own.

The whole thing was over in just over an hour and the hostages were released and the thieves were carted off in the back of a police van.

And maybe now he’d finally learn her name.

He was the lead agent on the case so he had to answer a million and one questions from other agents, from outside law enforcement, from the press. And, belatedly, he watched his least favorite agent, Rhett Brown, approach his unnamed Venus. The agent was fine when given a gun and told to shoot—but how he’d managed to wind up on the Art Squad was a mystery. He’d lost or misfiled more paperwork than anyone else Pike had encountered put together.

Pike knew he needed to finish all of this nonsense—and really, he shouldn’t call it nonsense, this was important—if he wanted to even have a chance to get her name. But the local police asked a lot of questions (they were doing their job, he couldn’t blame them) and then the press conference dragged on (again, they were just doing their jobs). And by the time he finished, he jogged back to where the former hostages had been held as they were being questioned.

And, of course, she was gone.

Pike pulled Rhett aside and asked for his notes.

Rhett nodded and stuck his hand into his suit pocket and then froze. “Oh no.” He quickly patted down his other pockets and shouted at another agent, “have you seen my notepad, man?”

                                                            **

Pike was tired when he met her for the fourth time. 

The deposition had lasted longer than he anticipated, stretching long into the night. The case was a strange one, involving inheritances, forged wills, and a “disappeared” Jackson Pollock that “reappeared” across the country. The hotel was nice, however, and he slumped into a stool at the hotel’s upscale bar and ordered a pale ale.

It was set in front of him quickly and he drained half of it without much fanfare.

“I always thought you looked more like a whiskey kind of guy.” 

He nearly spat out his drink. 

She slid into the stool next to him and ordered a top shelf cognac. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of red and left a mark against the glass as she took a sip of the amber liquid. “Long day?”

“You could say that. You?”

She nodded with a small smile. “What’re you doing in New York? More FBI business?”

“Something like that.” He took another drink of his beer and she watched him over the edge of her own glass. “How’d you know I was in the FBI?”

“We have friends in common. I know Charlie—you helped him get back his precious Van Gogh.”

“Ah, Charlie.” He nodded in understanding.

“Yes, he went on and on about the FBI agent who saved his marriage—imagine that, an entire marriage hanging on the edge of one painting.” Despite cognac being meant for sipping, she had already nearly drained her glass. “Imagine my surprise when it was you—the man from the gallery opening who basically gave me full permission to dump wine on a pompous asshole.” She watched him laugh as she took another sip of the dark amber liquid. “Charlie pointed you out when you came to the auction. The man can hardly remember his children’s names but he remembers yours.” She smiled and he could have sworn he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. “But I like the um…” she gestured at his chin and then placed her finger beneath her nose in a childish imitation of a mustache. “It’s a good look.”

He laughed—she was good at making him laugh. “I was undercover.”

“Oh?” It came out with another laugh. “Aren’t you mysterious?”

“I’m mysterious? You know my name and my job—and that I think Dalí is iconic. I know nothing about you.”

“What is there to know? I procure art for people who have too much money. I spend more time on planes or in hotels than I do in my little apartment in New Orleans. I like Humphrey Bogart movies and a good blanket.” She smiled before polishing off the last dredges of her drink. “See? Now you know more about me than I do about you. And it is all far less interesting.”

His heart had lodged itself higher and higher into his throat as each word passed her lips. “No…I-I think you’re really interesting and beautiful and I…I would love to know more.”

She was embarrassed, he could tell, but she still smiled. Her mouth opened to say something else and-

-a bellhop stepped to her side. “Your bags have been loaded into the car, ma’am.”

She turned and thanked him, pressing a few bills into his hand before she stood and grabbed her purse. She put a few more bills—far more than her drink could have possibly cost—onto the bar top and signaled to the bartender that she was paying for both their drinks before he could even think to stop her. “Thanks for the company.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He was in a bit of a daze as she leaned down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The familiar scent of her expensive perfume touched his nose as she pulled back.

“I’ll see you around, Agent Pike. But really,” she once again mimed the mustache, “it’s a good look.”

He murmured his goodbye, head still pleasantly swimming, and watched her walk away.

It took him a full five minutes to realize he still didn’t know her name.

                                                     **

The fifth time he met her, he’d been stuck at O’Hare International Airport for five hours. Five hours in the worst airport known to mankind. His flight back to DC had been delayed and then delayed some more and then delayed some more. He’d only been in Chicago for a few days to help lead some training to the local arm of the Bureau. Nothing exciting. And now he was stuck waffling between two equally awful airport restaurants for dinner while he continued to wait.

“Hey stranger.”

He turned to see her walking toward him, a designer carryon being wheeled behind her scuffed sneakers. Her hair was up in a lop-sided bun and she had traded her dress for a pair of jeans and an oversized band t-shirt. And why was his mouth filling with saliva? She threw her arms around him in a hug that he quickly reciprocated, squeezing her around the middle as she laughed lightly in his ear. “It’s good to see you. I see you kept the facial hair.”

He laughed and scrubbed a hand over his patchy beard and mustache. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Pike cleared his throat, trying to not sound so smitten. “Where’re you heading now?”

“Home, thankfully. I’ve been go-go-go since I saw you last. It seems everyone wants to give works of art as presents this year. I’m kind of scared what Christmas is going to mean.”

He smiled, liking to know about her life, how she felt. “Been anywhere exciting?”

“Paris and Milan lose their charm after a while. But I finally got to go to Casablanca.” There was a near twinkle in her eye now. “I felt like I should’ve been running around in a trench and fedora, chain-smoking. God knows how many times I muttered ‘here’s lookin’ at you kid’ to myself like a loon.” She shook her head as she bit her lip. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m jetlagged.”

“It’s okay, really. I…I like it.”

She shoved at his shoulder with another laugh. “Careful. You’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“Would that be so bad?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them—something he usually did when he let his stupid, romantic heart take the lead.

She tilted her head as she looked at him with an almost shy smile playing on her lips. “No. No, I don’t think that’d be bad at all.” They looked at each other, each fighting a smile and stupid fluttering of their hearts for the near-stranger in front of them. She broke the little daydream by clearing her throat and glancing away for a moment. “And you? Been anywhere exciting?”

“Just Chicago. Had to lead some training. My flight’s been delayed for a couple hours. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here before midnight.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a good place to eat in this hellscape, I’d recommend the restaurant near C26. I’ve yet to get food poisoning from them—and the food’s pretty good, too.”

“You want to join me?” He asked, something optimistic blooming in his chest.

But her smile fell. “I wish I could. But my flight starts boarding soon.”

As if on cue, there was an announcement over the intercom. “Hello passengers and welcome to Flight 306 to New Orleans. Right now, we will start boarding with our group one passengers and active duty military in uniform.” 

“That’s me,” she said with a sigh. “But it was good to see you, Marcus.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed her hand for a moment, keeping her still. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

She paused and then laughed, a full-belly laugh that quickly had him laughing, too. “It’s-”

A passenger cart beeped as it zoomed by, carrying a few elderly women.

“Group one, you’re free to board. Group one,” the announcement seemed to echo in the terminal, overly loud on the old speakers.

He swore he saw her lips move. He did!

But then she was squeezing his fingers again and walking away.

                                                     **

The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Aside from the terrible crowds they brought and the overall mugginess that came with the season, it was one of the things he liked about living in DC. He was sitting on a bench and watching the wind blow through the trees, rustling the pink and white petals gently. His lunchbreak was ending soon and he’d have to get back to the office. The other agents had caught on about his “mysterious lady friend” when he’d finally arrived back from Chicago and had been ribbing him about it ever since. (“How did you not get her name already, Pike?!” A question for the ages.) He crumpled the wrapper from his sandwich and tossed it in the nearest bin, preparing to leave the park.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

But when he opened them, she was standing in front of him like something out of his daydreams. She smiled at him before helping herself to the space beside him on the bench. “I was told you like this bench when the blossoms are in bloom.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Your fellow agents are very chatty, you know.”

“You came looking for me?”

“’Course. I was in town. The auction I need to attend isn’t until tonight and…yeah,” she trailed off, embarrassment coloring her tone as she looked away from him for a moment. “Yeah, I thought I’d see you.”

His smile was so big he was sure it was going to break his face. “I’m glad you did.” He reached out and curled his fingers around hers as they rested on the bench beside her legs.

Her smile was shy but she squeezed his fingers in return as she kept looking out over the cherry blossom trees. “It’s pretty here. I’d love to wake up and just see this.” She waved her free hand toward the blossoms.

“Well, it happens every year. You can come back.” Or you could stay, his traitorous, lovesick heart whispered. But no, he wouldn’t say that. No yet, at least. He could take this slow.

But then she kissed him, quick and soft—he nearly missed it. And she was quickly leaning back against the bench, trying to school her features into indifference.

“What is your name?” He asked, question bursting forward.

She guffawed and pulled her hand back with an exaggerated flourish, fighting another smile. “I told you at the airport!”

“There-there was a transport honking and-and an intercom and then you left-!”

She cupped his cheek in her hand and the words died in his throat. She smiled again, fighting a laugh, and whispered her name.

He whispered it back, rolling the letters across his tongue carefully, pressing it into his mind to keep and hold.

He liked her name.

Part Two

[fishmongeringstudies]

twelve: put your best foot forward

limbo is, first and foremost, a state of mind. after all, if one exists between places then you are fundamentally undefinable by any known parameters and speak no language that can be parsed by those on either side of the ravine. consider the space between two fingers. it is just enough to suggest distance. but not enough for one more.

for example: it is extremely hard to bring yourself to buy eggs at target when you know that in six days you will have to drag your two suitcases and mirror and 5 x 3ft carpet and seven bottles of nail polish and 25 extra articles of clothing purchased across various retail therapy sessions and goodwill trips across campus to your summer dorm, your real vacation getaway, and that the eggs, in the event that you buy them, will be part of this equation. what i mean to say is i am stuck in this ten day vacation getaway room and i really fucking want eggs. but i cannot finish a dozen in six days or at least should not try and a kilometer is quite a distance when you are, you know, without car, without assistance, without comrades on the vast battlefields of life who will rush to your rescue, eyes wild and flashing like stop-signs with teeth.

to clarify, i do have friends. i say this in the defensive manner indicative of one who has fewer friends than they would personally prefer to have; i admit this. but the circumstances being what they are one learns to make do with what they have. it is summer, after all, and we are in a pandemic. has anyone mentioned this to you recently? if you live in america perhaps the answer is no. if you live anywhere except for america i imagine the answer is yes.

without my realizing it, june has sneaked past my unlocked door, swept across the unswept floor, and ate all of my furniture. i am sitting in an empty room now, beneath the ungodly bedframe, laughing at something you just said. who are you? you are whoever you want to be. never apologize for being yourself. never apologize. be unapologetic.

today i had to feed myself. this was a challenge but to be very fair when you are me most things in life are a challenge. when i was younger i thought it was introversion. now i think i am simply very good at gauging worst case scenarios and then living, alone, in all of them for ridiculously long periods of time. i move from one bad dream to another like a balloon cast to the wind, tossed this way and that, my shirt flapping up to reveal a swathe of fur, dark burgundy, velvet eyes- suddenly i am a bear. like a literal one. not the. no. not like that.

happy pride month! this morning i subjected myself to the horrifying experience of being known and approached the grocery store next to campus like one might approach an exceptionally beautiful person at a ball who looks like they might also kill you. after staring at every object in every aisle for approximately three minutes i left with whole wheat bread, peanut butter, a one liter tub of yogurt, and tuna. the tuna was canned, a fact which came to light later on in the afternoon when i remembered that i do not have a can opener. the yogurt is unsweetened. good thing then that i am such a sweet individual. naturally intoxicating. prone to health problems. prone to fear.

i underestimated myself. health may be a social construct but i would very much like to live to see summer's end so that when july comes crawling in through the window with a face full of cuts i may return to singapore, the home that refuses to be a home, and jump all of my old friends. i will hug each one for at least twenty-five seconds. i decided this in the last minute. because i have decided on it it will happen.

happy pride month! my identity is a laundry list of things you cannot buy at your local grocery store no matter how hard you try and that will therefore piss you off until you realize online shopping is always an avenue, but you already know this. i have other thoughts about what it means to articulate yourself to other people, to become legible in a world full of so many languages; i will save them for later. i have thoughts, also, about retrospection and the fear of the unknown. later. i underestimated myself. i should have bought a can opener. one day into masterchef america and i am already suffering from a protein deficiency.

today while walking along the train platform on my way back to my room i passed by an old man who smiled at me so brilliantly i was convinced the sun would burst right through his skin and engulf him in fire. there is a shower stall on every floor of this building whose drain does the opposite of allowing things to pass through it. i am one of those people who must rinse their toothbrush both before and after applying toothpaste. life is art, dear reader. life is a spice garden. and we are drowning in it, see, we are in a perpetual state of gasping. it is not easy to make the lungs clap, after all, no easy feat at all to stand tall when trapped between two much taller buildings, when stuck between a vivid spring hallucination and whatever summer promises to be, but we do it all the same. it's what makes us human, i think.

you want a defining trait for this species? it's the stupidity and the stubbornness. who else is so bullheaded, so unrepenant? who else rages against a system designed to contain rage, to file it away in a cabinet for future consideration by masked ghouls and specters cloaked in skin? who else falls in love with love like this, wants like this, yearns for the soft exterior of a half-boiled egg and the ruined gaze of another?

only us. only we possess such a remarkable capacity for hope. and so we continue to dream.

06.01.21

[femmeharringrove]

#68 on the prompt list!

068: "We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years."

this took me a minute i'm so sorry oof!!

If there's anything Billy's learned, it's that his cooking skill is nothing compared to the culinary prowess of his husband. Stefano Alexander Lorenzo Harrington (a mouthful, Billy knows, he was terrified of messing it up during their vows) is king of the kitchen, and Billy enjoys everything he cooks, but sometimes Steve's menu can be used to give insight to what he's feeling.

It's one of those funny little quirks that the blonde man fell for all those years ago. After Starcourt, after he nearly died, his father cut ties with him completely and Max all but literally dragged him over to Steve's place. Steve didn't like him back then, not that Billy ever gave him a reason to like him, but the moment Max explained everything his doe eyes softened and he offered Billy a room in his house on the spot. Billy spent countless nights after that feasting on baked ziti and lasagna - "with my own pasta, none of that pre-made shit," Steve pronounced proudly as he served Billy the biggest slice of pasta he'd ever seen in his life to that point; he's outdone himself several times in the years since - and at one point realized he couldn't live a day without Steve's cooking.

He couldn't live without that blinding smile either, or without the sight of Steve chasing the Party around like a distressed young mother, or without the feeling of being wrapped up in those slender arms, face tucked into the crook of Steve's neck as the taller boy promised to keep him safe from the monsters of this and any other world. Steve told his parents Billy was just staying at the house until he found his feet, but they ended up living like that for four years before an argument between the Harrington men got ugly enough to make Steve want to leave. And so they did, after helping Steve's hoard of kids move to their respective colleges. They found themselves a little apartment in Malibu and Billy went to college that same year.

It was hard, for a while. Steve was still unsure of what he wanted to do in life and Billy struggled to find a balance between classes, his job at the garage down the street, and time with Steve. They fought, they cried, and Steve always ended up smoothing things over with Billy's favorite soups, no matter how hot it was outside, and slowly things got better.

Billy proposed to his boyfriend two years after that, and a year after that they got married, unofficially, with Hopper officiating and the Party giving Steve away. They were married on the beach on September 6th, Steve cried all through the ceremony and they spent much of that night in absolute bliss, wrapped up in each other's arms. Billy swore that the date would be one he would never forget, how could he forget? Nobody forgot their wedding date.

They've been married nine years now. He's got his engineering degree and owns the garage down the street now. Steve's artistic streak led to him opening a studio and offering art classes on top of selling his own work. They moved out of the apartment after Steve curled up to Billy's chest one night and begged for a baby. They have three of those now, bustling six-year-old Antonia, quiet three-year-old Max, and two-month-old Angelo. All three are with Auntie Max tonight, who's also moved out to the coast with Lucas and El in tow, because tonight is a special night. It's September 6th, and he and Steve are supposed to be celebrating.

Except Steve's making tiramisu and cheesecake. He's making Alfredo with shrimp and chicken and spinach, which Billy loves but knows that his husband hates. In fact, this is Billy's favorite meal, which Steve only pulls out when he's got something important to say or when Billy's feeling down. And Billy's not feeling down.

It takes some work to steal the great Stefano's attention in the kitchen, but Billy's got almost two decades worth of experience here. He hums before he touches the man - years of touch starvation and a few too many bad experiences have left the man rather skittish, especially with unexpected touches, so Billy's careful to give him warning. He presses right up against Steve's back and wraps his arms around him, fingers of his left hand slipping up under his shirt to stroke over Steve's hip while the fingers of his right hand settle just under the waistband of the brunette's sweatpants, trailing over a sensitive patch of skin. From there it's all about the kisses - little ones to the nape of Steve's neck, lazy ones on the side of his throat, nips and playful bites to the shoulder. He nuzzles at Steve's cheek a few times in between that mix and Steve lasts all of two minutes before he's melting back against Billy and gazing back at him, eyes painfully warm and full with that adoring look he always gives Billy. For a moment, the blonde can't breathe, stunned for the billionth time by Steve's beauty. He presses a soft kiss to his plump lips, slow and full of love, before nosing along his jaw.

"What are you thinking about?" he questions. Steve hums, turns from his current task of slicing his pasta dough to wrap his arms around Billy.

"You," he hums, and Billy has no doubt to the validity of that answer, but he presses anyway.

"What else?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve's eyebrow arches and Billy takes that exact moment to realize that his husband's beginning to grey, his coffee brown waves of hair showing a little speckle of silver. At thirty-five, Steve isn't really old at all, but he's got other little signs of age. He's not a lanky teenage boy anymore. But he's as stunning as ever, and Billy's heart melts as they stare at each other.

"Pretty boy, you told me you think spinach in alfredo is a sin, but you're adding it in and you only do shit like that when you've got something to share with the class. So share." His eyebrow arch as Billy opened his mouth to argue, and he hides a smile as Steve backs down.

"Fine. Sit down, Papa Blue." It's Billy's favorite nickname, received after their son Max stole the nickn baby blue. Max is biologically his, thanks to a donation from Robin. She did the same with Angelo, though their latest baby is Steve's, all big eyes and fluffy hair. Billy sits at his husband's request, and Steve sits across from him looking a little worried. "So, uh, you know how today is our anniversary?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Billy asks. Steve chews on his lip.

"Well, I called Hop this morning because he and Joyce wanna come meet little Jellybean," he begins.

"Angelo is gonna hate that nickname once he gets older," Billy warns. Steve shakes his head in amusement.

"No way, he'll love it. Or he'll at least have to tolerate it, because I'm not letting it go anytime soon. But that's besides the point. Hop and I were talking and he asked me what we did for our anniversary yesterday."

"Yesterday? Our anniversary is today, doesn't he remember?" Billy frowns as Steve runs his fingers through his hair.

"That's exactly what I said," he huffs. "But he was adamant we got married on the fifth, and so I went and checked."

"And?" Billy presses, terrified that he already knows the result. His husband bites his lip.

"And he's right. We misread the number on the date." Steve gives him a sheepish, frustrated look. "We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years."

"You can't be serious," Billy deadpans. Steve blinks at him.

Oh god.

It takes Billy seven seconds before he's snorting with laughter. Then he's flat-out snickering, and it doesn't take Steve long to follow. They laugh in the kitchen together until Billy's sides hurt and Steve starts to struggle for breath between his giggles.

"We've been doing it on the wrong day, what a bunch of idiots we are," Billy chuckles. Steve wipes tears of laughter away.

"Yeah, yeah," he chuckles, before his face morphs into something more apprehensive. "I'm sorry I got it wrong." Billy waves it off with one hand, a soft look settling on his face.

"Don't be. I've been making the same mistake. And I wrote the date down, I should have made my handwriting more legible." Billy's hand reaches over the table for Steve's. "Baby, I don't care that we've got the wrong date. All I care about is celebrating what we've got together, okay? I just want to celebrate the fact that I found someone who loves me more than I could ever deserve, someone who's stuck by my side through good and bad. I don't care what day we do that." He watches as Steve's anxious look melts into something significantly softer.

"Billy Hargrove, you deserve all the love this world has to offer and then some," he corrects gently. Billy's eyes crinkle softly around the edges as he smiles.

"And you've got more love in that mop on your head then the rest of the world could ever have." He stands and leans over to hold the other man's face in his hands, planting three quick kisses to his forehead. "Trust me, honey pie, you give me more love than I deserve. You give the whole world more love than it deserves." Steve's responding smile is bright and adoring, and Billy's heart melts even more.

"I love you, Billabong," he murmurs, stealing his own kiss from Billy's lips.

"And I love you, princess." They stay like that for a time, silent and content, before Steve speaks again.

"We're gonna get it right next year, right?" Billy laughs, nose wrinkling in his amusement.

"Of course. And every year after that. We can make it a two-day event, spend the first day bein' all romantic. I'm keepin' you in bed on day two, though." His smile turns into a familiar smirk. "Make you remember why you love having me around." He revels in the way his husband blushes violently, and Steve swats him away as he jumps up.

"You're a menace, Billy Hargrove. Leave me alone so I can finish cooking." He gets one last kiss before Billy backs out of the kitchen, and if he's got the same dopey grin on his face as he had in his twenties when looking at Steve Harrington, then it's neither here nor there.

[jcogginsawriter]

Hand to Hand: Mark Waid’s Flash

I have been a fan of comic book characters for a long time. I started with the cartoons, and as I got older, I began doing deep dives into wikis, reading fanfiction, and participating in that shallowest of internet past times, the vs debate. I dabbled in writing fanfic for myself, but I spent far more time thinking about writing fanfic instead. I would come up with all these ideas about what I would take from the various different versions of the characters, and don’t get me started on the idea of Crossovers.     The point is, I knew a lot of what happened in the comics, but I never read many comics. I didn’t know where my local comic shop was, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have had the money to spend on them. The comics that I did read were usually fan translations of manga. I did read a few comics, big name stories like Death of Superman or Crisis on Infinite Earths, but they were few and far between.

Recently, I’ve begun to change that. I now follow several comics as they come out, most notably the current X-line. This change sprang in part because I began reading a lot more comics criticism. In particular, I followed the blog of a certain Superman fan, and began to eagerly digest his various takes. I wanted to be able to ask him questions about new comics without looking like an idiot (This is how 90 percent of my interactions on comics twitter go, BTW) and that was a kick in the pants for me.

After getting into a steady habit, I decided to look into reading some of the classic runs I’d read so much about throughout life. To go from knowing them second hand, to knowing them first hand. After a bit of hemming and hawing, I’ve settled on Mark Waid’s legendary run of Flash Comics to start off with.

(Spoiler Warning for some 30 year old comics, by the way)

As of this writing, I have read up to the final issue of his story arc Dead Heat, wherein Wally does battle with the speed cultist Savitar. Before we get into things like plot and characters, I want to discuss the art, because no discussion of comic books is really complete without talking about the art. Unfortunately, the art in this run hasn’t done much for me, but that’s not really it’s fault. I read this comics in manner that they were not created to be read, digitally and zoomed in. These comics were drawn with physical issues in mind, and I don’t doubt that they’re good in that format. It also doesn’t help that I’ve read far more manga than I have American comics. American comics have never clicked with me the way manga does. Even now, I still find the layout of manga more legible than the layout of an American comic. That’s not a value judgment, it’s just my personal experience.

I do distinctly recall thinking that the art was better up to issue #79 (The conclusion to the Return of Barry Allen storyline), than it was after. I prefer the less exaggerated character designs, and lighter inks, though it could very well be a case of me having gotten used to the initial style and not liking the change. One thing that thing I can say about the art is that it helped me grasp how Wally’s costume differed from Barry’s. Before this, I was incapable of separating them in my mind, but seeing them side by side made it clear to me how different Wally’s Costume was colored and shaded.

Now, onto the writing of the run, we’ll start with the lead, Wally West. My previous touchstone for Wally was the Justice League series from the DCAU, which I watched a lot as a kid. The Wally in these comics comes off as more serious that his DCAU incarnation. Not too serious, he still cracks jokes, but he’s more on the ball. He takes his adventures as seriously as any hero would, rather than the more carefree attitude I recall his DCAU version having. This is not unsurprising, Wally here is the lead whereas there he was part of an ensemble cast, and here we get his internal monologue which gives us a much more thorough sense of his headspace. Not to mention, the DCAU version was voiced, so we know with no ambiguity what tone his dialogue’s in. In text, tone is more up to interpretation.

Perhaps the biggest thing that set Comic Wally apart from DCAU Wally is that the Wally in the comic was more consistently angry and frustrated. While his DCAU incarnation had hidden depths, I can’t recall a time when he got seriously angry. This Wally is frequently irritated, usually by things which are enitrely understandable. On occasion, his irritability causes him to be rougher with the bad guys than he could be, and that feels uncomfortable sometimes, though thus far he hasn’t gone too far.

Going into this, I knew that one of the issues that Wally had to overcome was his mental block about surpassing Barry, and to my surprise, it wasn’t as much of a through-line as I expected. I was expecting it to be a reoccurring issue that was solved by the Return of Barry Allen storyline, but in reality there are only one or two times something like it comes up, usually in the context of him not being able to do the vibrating through walls trick. In the Return of Barry Allen, it feels more like an issue introduced in that story than a long running plot line. Granted, it may only feel this way because I’m solely reading Mark Waid’s Flash. I didn’t read the issues prior to his take over, so that storyline could have been more apparent there for all I know.

Moving on, starting with Waid’s run had another knock on effect, that being that the character introductions aren’t introductions. I came into this expecting to see when Wally met Linda, when he met Jay Garrick, when Pied Piper redeemed himself, but all of that happened before Waid took over the book, so they’re already part of the cast from the start. Again, not a flaw of the work, it’s just a result of my personal experiences. Now, let’s take a look at some of these characters.

I’ve heard a lot about Linda and Wally’s romance, and so far it’s not bad. I wouldn’t rate it as one of the best of all time, but I haven’t gotten to most of the major moments yet, so that’s not a huge surprise. One thing that’s very apparent is the Lois Lane DNA in her character. Some of that is to be expected, which the love interest to your superhero is a reporter, but I see a lot of similarities in their personality as well. There’s a lot of the same fire in her. Fortunately, the fact that Wally’s identity is public lends a very different arc to their relationship than what you see with Lois and Clark, so Linda doesn’t come off as a Lois rip-off. Linda’s concerns that there’s no place for her in Wally’s wild superhero life is the kind of relationship hurdle that isn’t present in Lois and Clark’s Relationship.

Next, let’s take a look at the first Flash, Jay Garrick. Within this series, Jay is perfectly pleasant, and by no means unlikable, but he also comes across as...kind of superfluous? There are three elderly male speedsters in this comic, and of all of them Jay is by far the least defined and has the least role. Max Mercury is the Wally’s mentor in the ways of speed, the one with the most knowledge of the Speed Force. He’s basically what I expected Jay Garrick to be going into this. The third of the group is Johnny Quick, a speedster who is the father of another speedster, Jesse Quick. Jesse is also very skeptical of Max Mercury’s teachings, which veer from the scientific into the mystical.

Because Johnny takes the role of skeptic, Jay is left without a role in the narrative because being the nicest of Wally’s friend group. Veering over to Hollywood for a second, whenever a book gets adapted into a movie or TV Show, minor characters get lost in the transition. Either they get composited with other characters, or they get cut entirely. Game of Thrones is the most prominent example in recent memory. I bring this up because, if Waid’s Flash were to go through that process, it’s hard to argue that Jay wouldn’t get the ax. Despite being the most important of them in the context of the universe at large, Jay is the least important Speedster in this narrative. Of course, Jay’s importance in the context of the larger universe means that in this hypothetical adaptation, he probably be composited into either max or Johnny. More likely Max, since mentor is the logical position for the first Flash to take in the Third Flash’s narrative.

I mentioned Jess Quick there, so let’s talk about her. Thus far, her most prominent role in the narrative has been to call Wally out and be his critic, though she does have very good reasons to be angry. In the Terminal Velocity storyline, Wally believes he’ll die soon, and tells the Flash Family that Jesse will be his successor, but it turns out to be a lie in order to motivate Bart Allen to take things more seriously. Jesse has remained angry with Wally since then, though it hasn’t seriously impacted her hero work. That’s good, because her continued competence lends legitimacy to her anger within the narrative. She’s not being punished for being mad at Wally for mistreating her. Hopefully it stays that way going forward.

Now let’s take a look at the character Wally chose over Jesse, Bart Allen AKA Impulse. I’ll say up front that I’m not reading Bart’s solo series during this read through, as I didn’t want the hassle of going back and forth between books. As such, the only issues of it that I’ve looked at are the ones that tie into the Dead Heat arc. I feel it’s important for me to say this, because I’m basing my opinions of Bart primarily on his showings in Wally’s book, not his own. In Wally’s book, Bart’s character flaws are more on display.

Bart is a character deliberately designed to be obnoxious, and such characters are a hard tightrope to walk in fiction. Gotta be annyoing enough to get the point across, but not annoying enough to turn people off from the work. Bart in Wally’s book isn’t perfectly balanced, and tends toward the too much pile. Not to an egregious extent, but a little bit. I found myself echoing Wally’s frustration with Bart more than a few times. In Bart’s defense, Wally does share some of the blame here. He doesn’t do a very good job as a mentor, and handing those duties off to Max is probably for the best.

I find it interesting, that a character like Wally who is so defined by inheriting a legacy is a poor mentor, to both Bart and Jesse. He makes different mistakes with both of them, but he still fails both of them. I’m eager to see how that plays out in the future issues.

Now that we’ve discussed the supporting cast, let’s discuss some of the book’s villains. We’ll start with the one who is most infamous, Eobard Thawne. Thawne’s spends the majority of his time in this book thinking he’s Barry Allen, and if I’m being honest, he’s more effective under that guise that he is as Eobard. The scenes where what appears to be Barry Allen turns evil out of jealousy of his successor are powerful, more so than the more traditional villain Eobard displays after the reveal. Not that it would have been a good idea for it to actually be Barry, of course. Much as I prefer Wally to Barry, having Barry go full supervillain would have been very out of character. In any case, this run had a profound impact on Eobard’s character going forward, solidifying him as an agent of toxic fanboyism, making him a dark mirror of Wally West.

The next major villain of the run is the cult slash terrorist organization Kobra. That might bring thoughts of GI Joe to your mind, and you honestly aren’t far off. So far as this run goes, the biggest differences between DC’s Kobra and Hasbro’s is A) DC’s version prefer green over blue, and B) Hasbro’s version has more in the way of distinct characters. Kobra thus far is more of a plot device than  anything else. They’re generic terrorists with little to make them distictive. Their storyline, Terminal Velocity, is more notable for it’s introduction of the Speed Force, Wally preparing for his upcoming ‘death’, and Linda going on a revenge quest after said ‘death’. All things that Kobra is incidental to, any villainous organization would have sufficed.

The final, as of my current point in the run, major villain is Savitar. Savitar was formerly a soviet test pilot who gained a connection to a the speedforce, gave himself the name of Hindu god, and started a speed worshipping cult. It says a lot about my mind that my immediate thoughts upon reading Savitar’s origin were. “Huh, an AU where Hal Jordan became a Speedster the same way would be neat.”. Savitar is in some ways an improvement on the Kobra Cult from Terminal Velocity. This time the Cult has a more direct connection to the Flash and his mythos. Dead Heat is by no means a retread of Terminal Velocity, but if you wanted to mesh them into one story, it wouldn’t be hard. And it’d improve on both, in some ways.

One of the things I like to do in my fanfic ideas is connect the other speedsters to Thawne’s theme of Toxic Fandom, and it wouldn’t be hard to do that with Savitar. His entire motivation is to deprive those he considers unworthy of their speed, and that can easily by played as a metaphor for gatekeeping.

Over all, while the run is far from perfect, I must say I’m enjoying these comics a good deal, and if you’re like me and have read a lot about comics without actually reading them, I don’t think you’d regret jumping into them.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #311

“somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that i had in february of last year.”

What is something that is so awful it gives you pain in your teeth? Extremely sweet and/or cold treats. What is something you would like to teach someone? I love educating people about meerkats, snakes, tarantulas, opossums... lots of animals. What is something people tend to come to you about? For me to take pictures for them. What is something you would be willing to gamble? I don't mess with that. What's something you're absolutely 100% sure about yourself? Uhhh that I really like creating things and just being artistic. How often do you self-reflect? Probably too much, really. When was the last time you realized that you were the problem, if ever? I feel like a problem now, still living with and financially depending on my mom. If applicable, what's the furthest you've traveled because of a hobby? Ha, Mom and I got lost driving one day looking for roadkill for me to photograph (that will always feel weird saying) and wound up pretty far north from home, kinda close to Virginia. It was a fun afternoon/evening. What are some sights around the world you would like to see some day? I'm honestly not crazy about pursuing ancient architecture, but I'd take the opportunity for some if I could, especially in Egypt. OH! Venice would be cool, and whatever that city is with the umbrella "ceiling" layer outside. Do you have souvenirs from other countries? If so, what and from where? No. Apart from sleeping, name something you enjoy doing in bed: Sit on my laptop or read. Do you believe in ghosts? Yeah, or at least something of the sort. Do you stay friends with your exes? Girt and I are close friends, while the others I don't have contact with. Not because we're on bad terms (I may be w/ Jason, but I think our last meeting was freeing for both of us and distilled any remaining tension), we just don't talk. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight? Pretty sure no, I'd crash. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you? One or two. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for? No. How many pregnant people do you know? Good Lord, a lot. People are bored in quarantine apparently lmao. Who was the last person to play with your hair? Myself, outta boredom, kinda just twirling it. Have you ever seen the inside of a computer? Yeah. ^If yes, can you name any of the components? I could probably identify the motherboard. If you could get a new phone right now, would you/which kind? I would. Idk what kind, though; I'm not very familiar with what's up-to-date. Have you ever cut your own hair? No. If you had the chance, would you start your life entirely over? No. How old is the eldest member of your family? I don't know really, given both pairs of my grandparents are dead. Probably some aunt or uncle on Mom's side. I don't remember their birth order. Do you drink the milk from the bowl after you eat all the cereal? No, it grosses me out for whatever reason. UNLESS it's after a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, then I'll drink it. Do you know anybody who has had an online relationship? Yeah, me, and some others. One thing that your guy best friend doesn't like about you: He's never told me about something he doesn't like, so I can't speak for him. How about your girl best friend? Ummm you'd have to ask her, too. Do you loan your friends money? *recites the usual financial woe story* Are you taller than your siblings? No. Do you have “photoshoots” with your friends/family members? Definitely not regularly by any means. Are you generous? If you ignore monetary generosity for obvious reasons, I think I am in other ways. Are you afraid of lizards? No no no, I love those tiny lil dinosaur boiz and gorls!!!!! :''') Ahhh, I want a tegu especially one day. How legible is your signature? It's perfectly legible, imo. How hot are your neighbors? I don't even know my neighbors. Well, Mom's spoken to the woman to our left more than once if they were both outside, but I know she's an older woman whose appearance I never really noted, but regardless, I know I wasn't attracted to her. Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who's your buddy? Yeah, I can finally play it regularly since they began offering a daily box with a few items in it, like the balls. I'm not checking, but I think I'm like... around 23? My buddy is Charmeleon because I love love loooove that evolution line and absolutely want a Charizard ASAP. :') What's the most daring thing you have ever done? I guess that would be the story about how I challenged my rather intense fear of fair rides that can trouble the stomach by going on whatever the thing's called where you slowly go very high up and then drop down abruptly. Yeah yeah yeah, I was safe the whole time, but it was daring by my standards, haha. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced? It's been pierced twice already; the first time it closed while I was in the psych hospital and had to take it out, and the second one I just gave up with it after I kept losing them in my sleep and they just fell into the fucking void or something because I could never find them come morning. I eventually had none left to replace those I'd lost. And yes, I wore the curved types, they still just came out somehow???? Probably didn't help that I sleep like, ON my face sometimes, but... lol. I've been thinking of doing it one more time, but this time with a hoop ring. Nostril piercings are just really cute to me. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Somehow. Are you friends with your best friend’s boyfriend or girlfriend? She's single. Do you have tan lines? HA. Absolutely not. Not even in the summer. Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip piercing? Yeah, he had snake bites. Has anyone told you they were in love with you? Yeah. Have you ever seen a bald eagle in person? Yes. Have you ever been vomited on? What about in vice versa? Oh my fucking god no, don't even make me imagine it. What is one family member you wish you were closer to? My sisters. When and where did you lose your virginity? Since then, what was the longest time you've ever gone without sex? I dunno, his bed or mine when I was maybe like 16 or 17. Been many years. What is your biggest fear about making a total commitment to someone? That I'll experience heartbreak again. Do you think that your life is exciting enough to be made into a movie? Do you think anybody would actually enjoy it if it were a movie? lol fuuuuck no If you were the opposite sex, would you be attracted to you? I don't know? If I was a different person, I'd obviously have unique tastes, too. Have you ever walked around your house naked? Oh no, I'm way too uncomf for that. Do you prefer profile pictures of you by yourself or with someone else? Me by myself. Did it bother you to find out that Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Toothfairy were not real? Not really, no. I'd been suspicious about it for a long time anyway. Is there a food that you only recently started to like? If so, what is it and when did you start liking it? How often do you try again foods you don't like to see if your tastes have changed? Hm... I'm unsure about "recently." I'm not very adventurous with food at all, so the answer for the last part is not often at all. Who would you NOT want to read the surveys you've posted on here? What would most likely happen if they did read it? Is there anyone you actually wish would read your survey answers but doesn't? Probably my therapist lmaoo. It'd spark some concern, especially regarding my PTSD, for him to be able to see "wow, she is deeply scarred." I don't really "wish" anyone else would read them, other than the occasional answer I wish He Who Shall Not Be Named could hear. Do you watch Glee? If so, which song do you want to hear on there that they have not yet done? If not, which TV show do you think has the best soundtrack? I don't watch it. The answer is obviously Supernatural, like good good shit right thar. Do you think you would be able to pull off a crime perfectly, without being caught? What about other lies? For example, cheating on your partner without getting caught? Would you be able to get away with it? Ha, hell no. I'm way too clumsy in more ways than physical and would overlook so many details. And I wouldn't WANT to get away with cheating on my partner, thanks. Do you know anyone who has divorced and remarried the same person? What do you/would you think of someone who does that? I don't think I do, and it's not really my business, but I'd have silent doubts, probably, depending on why they split. Do you say goodnight to anybody before you go to bed? If so, does it feel weird if you go to bed without saying it to them? I say goodnight to my snake Venus; even if she's in her hide, I say it when I walk past her terrarium. It probably wouldn't feel weird not to, but I want to, even though she can't even hear me lmao. How do you react when you're scared? Do you scream, jump, cover your eyes, etc.? I am VERY jumpy, tend to gasp easily, and sometimes scream if I'm seriously scared. Who is the best storyteller you know? What do you find best about their storytelling? Is there an interesting story of theirs you'd like to share? I don't know. Do you strongly dislike (or even hate) any bands or musical artists? If so, what caused such a strong negative emotion towards them? Not for purely their music, that's just stupid, but I could certainly dislike artists for what they do as people. For example, I haven't looked into it whatsoever, so it could be a load of bull, but I know Manson recently had some sexual misconduct or assault allegations rise against him, and honestly, I'd believe it. He's one of my favorite artists (emphasis on the "art"), but definitely not high on my list of favorite people and keeps doing things that are making me lose more and more respect for him. Then there's Otep... again, one of my favorite musical artists. I agree with a good handful of her values, but she is nevertheless an absolute holier-than-thou, intolerant bitch. I don't like her as a person. Do your parents have any collections? If so, what do you think of those collections? Dad collects Cleveland Browns and Carolina Hurricanes stuff; it's all over his "mancave." I don't have an opinion on them. Do you have a favourite role of Johnny Depp's? If you don't like him, what is your favourite role of an actor you like? I'm not familiar enough with all his acting roles for this, but I know he's incredibly good at what he does. If you were in a competition to win your dream prize, and you were allowed to decide what the competition would be (trivia about your favourite band, a foot race, singing, etc.) , what would you choose and why? Uhhhh maybe facts about meerkats? Reason being it's something I'm honestly very knowledgeable about. What is your least favourite thing about the English language? Are there any other languages you prefer besides English? It breaks its own "rules" ALL the time. If I was fluent in German, then I might actually prefer it. There are many parts to the German language that make it very precise and clear what and whom you are addressing (ex., there are two different "you"s for singular and plural usage); the only real downside I see to German is the sentence structure is odd, but then again, I mean, it does encourage active listening to get all the parts of a sentence you need to understand what is being said. Would you be upset if a long-term partner confessed that they had committed a serious crime before you met? How do you think it would affect your relationship? Hm. I guess it would depend on the crime? I sure wouldn't be happy hearing they committed an as you said serious crime, but I'd have to consider if there were other red flags for danger going on, again, if it wasn't massive in my eyes. Do you enjoy watching the special features found on most DVDs? What do you usually enjoy more: the deleted scenes, the bloopers, the audio commentary, or the behind-the-scenes footage? I have to be seriously into whatever I'm watching to explore these. I do love me some bloopers, though. Was there something you were afraid of as a child that just seems silly to you now? I had that usual "monster (or in my case, skeleton) in the closet" fear. Have you ever had a crush but then found out he’s gay? Almost positive my puppydog-love middle school bf actually is gay. I also had a crush on a closeted gay guy for a little bit that same school year. Nowadays he is so open about his sexuality and even does drag, and he's great at it! It's wonderful seeing how far he's come in his confidence. Would you ever be a porn star? What'd your name be? Oh no, hunny. Does blood make you squeamish? No. What's your favorite Pokemon? Ninetales. <3 I also have a very soft spot for Charmander, though. What was the last event to cause you any sort of heartache? My older sister got in a wreck yesterday because some impatient bitch ran a red light. She's fine but did break her clavicle and is going to be using a sling for probably a few months. It was definitely upsetting to hear about. What do you do when you like someone? I tend to get very shy around them, more than I naturally am, and smile a lot. I try to stay in contact with the person, and it's maybe a 60/40 chance I'll wait for them to make the move versus me, but I've done it. Do you mind if people just show up at your house unannounced? YEAH. Especially as someone who needs to mentally prepare for company, don't do this. Do you enjoy rain? To a degree. If it hangs around too long, it affects my depression. I LOVE going to sleep to rain pattering on the window, though. You love Jesus, yes? I don't believe he was a bad person; quite the opposite, actually, but I don't "love" him. I won't go too deep into why just because I'm not in the mood to offend people today lmao. Who’s your favorite person in the whole world? My mom. She's my rock. How many different beverages have you had in the last 24 hours? Just water and Mountain Lightning (a Mountain Dew ripoff for us poor folk, haha). Oh wait, I did have a meal replacement shake for lunch yesterday, I think? Or that might have been the day before... How many brothers does your father have? None, unless I've seriously forgotten him having one. He only has a sister, to my knowledge. What kind of camera do you use? I have a Canon EOS Rebel T6. If you could change you name, what would you change it to? I wouldn't. 25 years with a name I quite like has worked out fine. What was the last song you listened to in the car? Uhhh it was "Drugs" by Mother Mother, I think. Are you the youngest, oldest, middle, or only child? I'm the middle child between my parents. What's the best thing about the place you currently live? Hm. I would say for practicality's sake that we're very close to pretty much everything, but seeing as I enjoy long car rides... With that in mind, I'd say who our landlord is. She's a very close family friend who is very understanding of our financial position, so pretty forgiving with some things. Do you eat breakfast daily? Yessss, I need breakfast to start my day off. Can you hear anyone talking right now? No, just singing. I'm listening to Motionless In White's cover of "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers. What's your favorite flavor of ramen? I solely enjoy the spicy pork bowl by Yakisoba. I've never had another I've liked. I lived off that shit in the apartment. I guess what they say about college kids is true, haha. Never realized that. When was the last time you had a bowl of soup? What flavor? Back when I got my snake eyes tongue piercing, I tried vegetable soup only to find I didn't like it anymore. Do you have any tinned foods in your cupboard at the moment? Yeah, lots. I couldn't name 'em all, besides like, diced pineapple, corn, and beans. We always have those. What was the last food item that you tried for the first time? On Thanksgiving, I was actually brave with food for once and tried that sweet potato dish that's topped with marshmallow, and it was okay. I never liked sweet potato before, and while I couldn't eat a lot of it, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Does anyone in your family have green eyes? No. What was the name of your first ever pet? I was born into my family with a beautiful collie named Trigger, but I have zero recollection of her because she passed away from old age when I was very young. My first personal pet was either my guinea pig Squeak or Chinese water dragon Shadow (no, I have no idea why I named a green lizard that); I can't remember who came first. I adored them both. I feel so bad looking back though, I was so uninformed on how to properly care for a water dragon that she (or he, we were never sure) was, as far as correct husbandry goes, horribly taken care of and stunted from having a tank too small. I consider myself lucky she seemed to really trust me and loved being held, even sleeping on me, and she did live out her full lifespan. I was lucky; please, please, never adopt a reptile until you are properly educated on their unique care. Where was the last place you went out for lunch? What did you order? Mom bought me McDonald's a few days back because I was really craving it. I had a double cheeseburger and for once large fries, because that's what I was seriously wanting. I usually get small or medium. Where was the last place you went for an evening meal? What did you order? I feel bad and selfish for breaking my own "stay the fuck home but for emergencies" rule, but my mom, one of my sisters, and I went out to the Cheesecake Factory for my birthday. I think I ate a chicken sandwich with Chipotle sauce? I actually don't remember for sure. I do however remember the cheesecake I got: some cinnamon swirl one that was fucking glorious. Oh yeah, and we had an appetizer of these pretzel ball things dipped in fondue. I ate waaaay too much, but it was a special occasion, so whatever. Have you Googled anything today? What? I ensured I spelled "clavicle" correctly. Yaaaay, I did. What do you like to eat for breakfast these days? Special K cereal, a sandwich, sometimes those pancake & sausage on a stick things I mentioned at some point in the last survey I think, or a Jimmy Dean breakfast bowl. Maybe other stuff I'm just not thinking of. Is anyone in your family a nurse? No, but I have family in the medical field. Do you like to wear lipstick? What colors do you think suit you best? Not really, no, but I will sometimes for pictures. It smudges too easily yet is also hard and annoying to get off. I only really wear black. Who was the last person to recommend a book to you? My therapist recommended a book for the whole PHP group, but I can't remember what it was. Something self-care related. Who was the last person to tease or joke around with you, in a friendly way? I wouldn't be surprised if it was Tobey, the "family friend" I mention a lot. She probably said something technically rude that she thought was an appropriate joke. Is there a jar of peanut butter in your house? Yeah, always. Does anyone you know own a tabby cat? How about a cocker spaniel? Tabbies are very common, so yes. I don't think I know anyone with a pure cocker spaniel, but my late dog's mother was one. Do you have blinds or curtains in your bedroom? What colour are they? I have those slanted blinds that you can close by pushing them upwards or downwards with a stick thing. They're white. What was the last beverage you tried for the first time? Some form of juice I wasn't a fan of. Orange and peach, I think? Who was the last person that said you were beautiful? I think a friend on Facebook when I changed my profile picture. Is/are your pet(s) fixed? My cat is neutered, but obviously my ball python isn't. Roman would mark the house like crazy before we got him fixed... but even if he didn't, we still would have done it. Please make spaying/neutering your cats and dogs a financial investment priority. If you do the research, you would marvel over the "damage" especially one fertile cat can cause. Hell, my childhood experience with cats is enough proof of that.

[pathogenic]

Chapter 8: The Swine God

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Necromancer

Chapter 2: The Prophet

Chapter 3: The Hag

Chapter 4: The Brigand Vvulf

Chapter 5: The Brigand’s Cannon

Chapter 6: The Drowned Crew

Chapter 7: The Siren

Chapter 8: The Swine God

Chapter 9: The Formless Flesh

Chapter 10: The Ancestor

Epilogue

Warning for Violent Character Death

Credits to the Darkest Dungeon Wiki page for piecing together the Ancestor’s backstory.

It was an awful idea. I shouldn’t have entered the room I found, and yet I couldn’t pull myself away.

The immediate area was a study. This was were it seemed my ancestor did the rest of his studies into magic and forbidden arcane arts. There was a bloodied table and a bucket of something foul I didn’t wish to investigate any further. There were books on spells, rituals, and herbalism, but most importantly, there were journals. These were different than the ones I had found before. While they had much of the same dates, it was like these journals never aged. The pages were still pristine and perfectly legible.

I sat in his old chair in front of his desk, journal in hand, and I started to read, and oh the things I discovered. I learned of how he met a noblewoman who was far too beautiful and of lavish parties held in the courtyard. I learned of how he realized how cruel this woman was but played into her sport. He killed her and mixed her blood with wine and had the corrupt nobles of the land drink it. He had but a drop himself and it taught him about something ancient and truly powerful. He locked the nobles in the courtyard and let them kill each other in a frenzy as he started upon his work.

It started off simple enough. There was a woman in the Hamlet who already dabbled in magic. She used herbs and mushrooms in order to understand and use her craft. My ancestor described it as a rudimentary introduction to magic, but a good place as any to start. However, his thirst for knowledge caused him to reach overseas and to employ people who dabbled in the more extreme versions of the magic he desired. Around this time, he also started to make dealings with a pirate crew to secure the supplies he would need for his studies. What he needed was best not seen by the public eye, after all. There were also mentions of a woman who started to follow him along the Hamlet. At first, he appreciated the attention, but eventually it began to wear on him.

From there, my ancestor started to change into something inhuman. The witch started to rely more and more upon the mushrooms and the herbs she used for magic to try and understand the power that my ancestor was touched by, which warped her appearance severely. In his disgust, he sent her away and deep into the Wealds. He justified this by saying he had no further use of such a crude practice.

The scholars he called upon bored him, so he killed them and raised them to see if he could. The story from there was one I knew already – the dead started to raise the dead. He found this amusing.

The pirate crew started to grow bold and charged him more and more for the supplies he needed. So one night, after the pirates ran amuck in the Hamlet, drinking and raising hell, he cursed their anchor. He said he gave it every curse he knew so it would drag them to the bottom of the sea and drown them all. It was no wonder it took Alhazred so long to remove the curse, or rather, curses.

At this point, my ancestor went beyond being simply inhuman and started to become only what I can describe as a tyrant and a monster. There is no shortage of bodies in the Hamlet. Even in the more peaceful times, there was plenty of plague and strife to help fill a graveyard. This meant that he had plenty to work with for his forbidden arts. He combined pig flesh and human flesh and raised them, just to see what would happen. He called these twisted creatures the Swinefolk. More often than not, he wasn’t pleased with the results and would dispose of them, though he didn’t detail how.

He continued with this vile craft until funds ran low. At this point he discovered a ritual that he could perform to secure more resources. He tied the woman who followed him to an idol and pushed her into the sea. The next day he found many beautiful jewels that helped fund his monstrous research.

He also detailed how a man approached him, speaking of things he shouldn’t know. He warned my ancestor that his ambitions would destroy him and the Hamlet. My ancestor didn’t wish to hear it, so he tortured the man in broad daylight. The townsfolk turned against him, so he hired brigands to keep them in line. The man then approached him once again, offering his warning a final time. Apparently from there, my ancestor showed him something so awful that the man tore out his own eyes and fled into the dungeon.

There is nothing much beyond that, just further accounts of his experiments with the Swinefolk. At that point I felt far too disgusted to continue. I slammed the journal shut and shoved it away from me. The loud clap caused something on the other side of another set of locked doors to squeal. It did not escape me that it was a very odd pig-like squeal. At that point I realized where he was disposing of those failed experiments. At that point I rushed back to the top floor of the Estate.

By then, the sun was just starting to rise, and the Hamlet was starting to wake up. I was quick to gather my heroes, demanding they prepare for battle. Naturally they were confused, there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, but I insisted, promising them answers later. I told them to gather their gear and then head for my Estate.

Slowly they filtered in, exchanging confused and concerned looks. It seemed that they thought I finally had lost it from the stress of managing the Hamlet and trying to undo what my Ancestor had done, but I knew I was in my right mind. I could not help but pace as we waited for the last of the heroes to arrive, which I’m certain did nothing to disprove of their theories about me.

Once they were all assembled, I explained what I had found within the basement. I lead them down to the locked doors and tapped the door with the pommel of my sword, but nothing squealed this time. There were looks exchanged before they went back to the previous lock to grab the key from it. The key was then placed within this lock and it sprung open.  If the smell was bad before, it was almost unbearable now. We recoiled and prepared for whatever we would find on the other side, but there was nothing that can prepare you for the sight of humans melted together with pig flesh, making malformed creatures that only knew violence.

The first of the Swinefolk we had encountered gave a blood curling scream before charging. Thankfully, these creatures were not particularly strong and fell to our blades within moments. It seemed that not all of them were this brazen, however. The sound of someone gurgling caught our attention as we realized that while we were charged by one group, another had snuck around to ambush us. Audrey didn’t stand a chance with a knife in her throat. It dawned on us that we could be attacked from anywhere if they were capable of such tactics. We stood close as a group, watching each other’s backs as we pushed further and further into the halls beneath my home and beneath the Hamlet.

It was a long and tiresome journey. My ancestor certainly had kept himself busy with this nightmarish craft. I did not want to think about how many people it took to make something of this size, not that I even had a chance to in all honesty. The attacks were enough to keep my mind busy.

At some point we became aware of a scream that drowned the rest out. Whatever made it had to be a creature of immense size. It echoed down the halls and we stopped dead in our tracks to try and figure out where it came from. Then it screamed again, and we strained our ears. We could hear the sound of something scraping and then the sound of something dragging. Whatever it was, it was heading our way.

Cautiously, we moved forward, towards the sound. It wasn’t like we had much of a choice – there was only one way forward after all. We couldn’t just go back. If this was the source of our troubles, then the sooner it was dead, the sooner the Hamlet could recover.

What we found I can barely describe. It was a member of the Swinefolk that nearly scrapped his head on the top of the ceiling. It had no lower half. It was nothing more than a pile of viscera that made up its torso and head. It slowly pulled itself along the floor with one hand, the other clutching a giant blade. Upon its head was a crown formed of iron, so I could call the beast a Swine King, but with its horrible size and impossible form, it seemed more fitting to call it a Swine God.

Beside it was a far smaller member of its species. The smaller one locked its eyes onto us and then emitted a terrible little screech. The Swine God raised its head and looked straight at us and then the giant blade was raised. It came down with a loud crash and I felt fortunate that the attack was so obvious we could easily move out of the way.

The smaller one then squealed again, and the attack fell once more. At this point, Fergus ripped away from William’s grip, lunging straight for the smaller one. He bit down hard on the creature as it gave an earsplitting scream. The Swine God immediately turned as William started to dash towards his hound. The blade moved fast this time. William defended Fergus, and because of this, the blade imbedded itself deep within him. The hound howled for his lost master, but fled the fight, not seeing any reason to risk his life any further without his master. With his tail tucked between his legs, he dashed for the door.

With his little friend now safe, the large, monstrous creature started to aim for us again. We split apart from each other, hoping to make it difficult for the small beast to determine who needed to be attacked. The swing from the Swine God were less accurate and more telegraphed, but that wasn’t always a promise, especially the more we injured the larger beast. He became more panicked and would start to ignore the barks of the smaller one. The Swine God would swing at whatever he thought was near by with no care as to the damage it caused.

With a few more strikes, it fell back into the pile of viscera it likely once was. The small beast, now panicked and alone, started to lash out. He attempted to swing and bite at as he pulled away to try and make an escape. It only took one shot from Missandei to stop his infernal screams.

Thinking that we were victorious, we started to leave. It was at this moment we heard the sounds of something dragging closer to us once more. We realized that our fight with the Swine God and his small friend likely covered up the sound of another enemy approaching, and now here it was, entering the room we were in.

If what we fought was horrific, then I lack to words to describe what entered the room next. What we were met with was a being that had no solid form. It was nothing more than viscera loosely bound together. As it moved, we could see flashes of faces, of bone, of innards, or anything you can possible imagine that was once human or swine. We found ourselves rooted in place with out fear and our disgust, allowing the hideous abomination a chance to fire a tendril with a mouth forward into our group.

[marciacmoon]

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Passing out from Pain- Marichat

⇢ pairing: Marichat⇢ genre: angst, a little fluffy!⇢ word count: 1.8K⇢ theme: passing out from pain⇢ warnings: manipulation, violence, blood. Nothing graphic though! ⇢ summary: Marinette gets injured as Ladybug and bullied by Lila, and Chat Noir comes to the rescue. ⇢ A/N: This is the first time in a long time I’ve written something that wasn’t for a report for work, so please let me know what you think!

Link to Original bingo!

Request a square!

~

“Marinette!”

“I’m fine Tikki, just give me a moment.” Marinette’s breath huffed out of her as she staggered slowly through the back alley beside her school, not wanting to be seen until her body caught back up with her head.

Her kwami huffed and pouted, which Marinette probably would have thought to be cute if she wasn’t acutely aware of the stabbing pain in her stomach. 

To say this morning had been rough would be the least of it. On her way to class, she’d been horrified to find a man brandishing a knife to a woman just outside the corner store. After finding the nearest and most inconspicuous spot behind a bush to transform, Ladybug had swooped in to save the day! The fight had been short and to the point, but not before the attacker landed a hit, slashing straight across her middle. Though the suit protected her from having blood drawn, the force behind the attack knocked the breath out of her.

So here she was, slowly climbing the stairs to class knowing she was fifteen minutes late already, “You need to tell somebody what happened!” Tikki whispered from her purse.

“No way, Tikki,” She sighed, “It’s going to be on the news that Ladybug saved someone today. Someone will be able to connect the dots, or if not, they’re going to think I’m lying to try and save my name at school! I don’t want that getting back to Lila, and her being able to twist it to make everyone hate me even more.”

Tikki huffed again, but Marinette had already opened the door to her classroom, effectively ending the conversation. Mrs. Bustier gave her a soft glare, not saying anything, but jotting something down on her papers as Marinette sat in her desk in the back. 

It was so difficult for Marinette to pay attention now that she was sat in the back of the classroom, coupled with the exhaustion and pain from her fight this morning, she was more or less sleeping during the class. Every now and then, Nathaniel would elbow her to write something down. She didn’t mind it, until his elbow hit her once again, at little too close to her middle. Yelping loudly, Marinette hopped out of her chair, arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

“Oh my gosh!” Lila cried from the front row, “Nathaniel, are you touching Marinette inappropriately?! I saw you!” Of course, Marinette was the only one to see the slick smirk just passed Lila’s oh-so-surprised face.

“What?! No, I-I- “

Mrs. Bustier raised a hand to stop poor Nathaniel’s stuttering, “Marinette is this true?”

Marinette glared in confusion at Lila, eyes narrowing as she tried to work out what her plan was here, “No, Mrs. Bustier. I just… Nathaniel was trying to help me stay awake, and I… thought I saw a spider, that’s why I yelled.” Marinette’s face blazed at the admittance to dozing, her head aching with the lie. 

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng,” Mrs. Bustier started, her voice clipped, “You should do well not to disturb the class so often, coming in class late and yelling. Please see me during lunch break today.”

Marinette nearly snarled at the vindictive look on Lila’s face, but simply sat back in her seat and tried to pay attention during class. Her reprimandation during lunch wasn’t as bad as she had expected, Mrs. Bustier seemed more concerned at the bags under Marinette’s eyes rather than the incidents from today, but she didn’t mention it outright. Marinette trudged through the rest of class, making barely legible notes through the intense pain in her stomach. 

Grateful that the final bell rang, Marinette packed her bag slowly, trying not to irritate her pain anymore. Maybe Tikki’s right, she thought to herself, I think I need to go to the hospital. So focused on building the lie she would tell her parents so they would take her, she didn’t notice that everyone in the class was gone.

“Dupain-Thing.”

Well, almost everyone.

Marinette bit back a groan, “Hello, Lila.”

She smirked, “You’re so noble, I can’t believe you would rat yourself out instead of letting that art brat take the fall for you.” Her footsteps were near silent as she crept towards Marinette’s desk 

“I can handle your lies, Lila,” Marinette said cooly, “But I won’t let you lie about my friends. I don’t care if they start to hate me, I will always be there for them.”

“Aw, how noble!” She cooed, her eyes glazed with fake tears, “How adorable, do you have a crush on him?”

Marinette scoffed at the bait, “I’m not having this conversation, I need to get to the bakery.”

She began to walk past Lila, but tripped over a foot - and this time, it wasn’t her own. Marinette fell face first, the stairs making a sickening thud against her brow bone as she accidentally bit the inside of her cheek, “Oopsie, you’re so clumsy Marinette!” Lila laughed, walking past the girl on the ground. She ‘accidentally’ kicked Marinette’s head, the girl feeling it collide painfully with the leg of a desk.

The door opened and shut, and Marinette finally let out the shaky breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in, “Tikki…” She tried to say, but she couldn’t finish her thought before bursting into tears.

The kwami flitted from her hiding spot in her purse, “Marinette… you need to tell someone about this…”

“I can’t,” Marinette sobbed, “She’s going to lie her way out of it, say it’s my clumsiness, or, or that I– I started it!”

Tikki frowned, “Maybe you should talk to Chat Noir about it.”

Marinette startled, “Are you kidding, Tikki? He’s got bigger things to worry about than me.” 

“That’s not true, Marinette. He cares about you, he’ll want to know about this.”

“O-Okay…” Marinette mumbled through her tears, slowly sitting up. It wasn’t until she staggered to her feet that she realized how dizzy she felt. Steadying herself on a nearby desk, Marinette belatedly noticed how sticky her face felt. Reaching up a hand, her fingers ghosted over the caked blood on her forehead. Had she really fallen that hard? She needed to get home. 

If she was staggering in the doors this morning, Marinette was limping now. Though Lila’s trip had mainly impacted her forehead, it had aggravated the pain in her stomach. Her body felt like it was on fire, but she barely noticed it through the murky pain in her head. She’d barely made it to the locker room when she had to stop, breathing labored as she leaned against the wall for support. Vaguely, she heard a “Shhh!!”, but she couldn’t be certain with her brain the equivalent of scrambled eggs. 

Sliding down the wall and closing her eyes, she felt Tikki pushing against her in the bag, trying to get her up, “‘M just gonna sit here a minute…”

“Marinette!” Her rest was rudely interrupted by a panicked screech, a tone she had heard a million times in a different name.

Her eyes opened briefly, enough to confirm her suspicions, “Fancy meeting you here, Chaton.” His hands hovered in front of her, as if afraid she would shatter from a touch.

“Princess, what happened? Are you okay? What happened?!” His hands finally delicately grabbed her face, tilting her head back and forth as he inspected for damage.

“You… you should see the other guy,” She chuckled, the pain blinding her to the thought of why is Chat Noir at her school right now?, “I’m okay.”

To try and make her point, Marinette began to stand up. However, her stubbornness wasn’t enough to push through. Before she’d stood from her crouch, she was seeing black, and it wasn’t the leather of her partner’s suit, “Uh oh.”

“Marinette!”

_____________________________________________________________

Chat Noir was sat atop Marinette’s balcony, the trap door open so he could keep an eye on her below. He’d never felt his heart beat as fast as it had when Marinette’s limp body slumped into his arms. Panicked, he’d taken her to the school nurse. Adrien barely knew how to apply a bandage, let alone treating someone who was unconscious. 

The nurse had done her best to clean Marinette, but informed him she was going to contact her parents - she needed to go to the hospital. Insisting he was faster than any ambulance, he’d carried his princess to the address her parents had given, “Come on, Marinette, please wake up.”

Leaving her to be carted off by doctors was agonizing, his tail swishing back and forth in irritation until he felt one soft hand and one large, warm one grace his back. He flinched, head whipping back and forth to see Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng embrace him, “Thank you so much, my boy. I don’t know how quickly she would have gotten help without you there.” Mrs. Cheng had tears in her eyes.

“It’s… it’s okay. I’m just… glad she’s… she’s…” He didn’t realise the tears welling up in his own eyes. Clearing his throat softly, he spoke again, “I’m sorry, but I do have to get back to the photosh- to um, my life.”

Mr. Dupain smiled softly at him, holding out a cardboard box with the T&S logo he had come to know and love, “Here, son. You look like you could use some weight on you. Thank you for saving our daughter.”

Chat Noir nearly burst out into tears at that, but simply nodded and accepted the gift, promising to swing by the bakery later tonight to check on Marinette. 

According to her parents, she had woken up, long enough to tell the doctor what had happened (she ‘fell down the stairs’), and long enough to be discharged. Now, she was resting in bed, her head, arm, and side wrapped in bandages. 

He slipped from the patio chair down onto her bed, perched at her side as she rested soundly. His clawed fingers gently traced the bandages, reaching up to ghost over the bags under her eyes, “Princess…” He whispered softly, a frown gracing his features.

“Hmmmmnn,” Blearily and slow, Marinette’s eyes blinked open to stare at her knight, hand reaching up to rest on his knee, “Chaton.” She murmured.

Letting one of his hands glide down to hold hers, the other still cupping her face, Adrien gave her a soft smile, “Hey, Mari. How are you feeling?”

She grunted, but didn’t elaborate. Taking a deep breath, her eyes began to water as her grip on his hand tightened significantly, almost - ow! - painful. How in the hell is she this strong?! He wondered. Before he could put any more thought into it, she spoke, “Chat Noir… can I tell you something?”

“Anything for you, Princess.”

[themarchrabbit]

If it's not too late to request a drabble, I would love one! Fili/Ori please, possibly 32 (“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”) or if that doesn't spark, then author's choice :-) And thank you!

Nope, not too late! Taking requests for as long as they come!

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“What are you doing?”

Ori doesn’t need to look up; he knows that voice. “My job. What are you doing?” Carefully, he keeps transcribing the notes from the High Court from shorthand into proper script, careful of the sizing. His shorthand is tiny, which isn’t any trouble for him, but this has to be easily legible for anyone with older eyes.

“Nothing, I suppose.” Fíli wanders into the room, leaning over Ori’s shoulder. “Bothering you?”

“That’s not a very becoming chore for the Crown Prince of Erebor,” Ori says, dipping his quill into the inkwell. “Isn’t there anything else that needs your royal attention?”

“I don’t believe there’s anything that could be more deserving of it.” He leans down so his mouth is right by Ori’s ear. “Or anyone.”

It makes Ori blush, but hopefully Fíli doesn’t see in this light. They’re neither of them children anymore, and it won’t do if Fíli makes him seem ridiculous. Especially now, here in Erebor, with the positions they now hold. “I’m sure there’s plenty of visiting nobles who would be happy to try for the honor.”

“I’m sure they would jump off a bloody roof if I asked,” Fíli replies, his arms on either side of Ori now. He keeps his hands off Ori’s papers, which he very well should, considering how many times Ori had threatened to thump Fíli and Kíli both for messing them up in the past. “You know I’d rather keep company with you.”

“I know you’re horribly lazy when you’re allowed to be,” Ori says, which is true. Fíli is by far the more responsible one between him and Kíli, but that’s not a high bar to clear, and he can be just as bad when he thinks he can get away with it. “I, on the other hand, have to work.”

He can feel Fíli’s laugh against his hair, Fíli is so close. “I find it very hard to believe you’ve somehow run through your share of the treasure so quickly. If you wanted, you could very easily take your place with your brothers. Wear fine gems and clothes and braids, and lounge around, admired by all. I do believe Dori has gathered himself a string of devotees already.”

“Dori has always had those. And Nori’s never hurt for them either,” Ori protests, annoyed at the thought. He knows his brothers are beautiful, but it’s always been awkward, and honestly, just plain irritating, to think about. “I doubt anyone would notice me, beside them.”

That’s how it’s always been, and always will be, most likely. Ori doesn’t mind, not really, but he doesn’t want it shoved in his face either. Strong, refined Dori, and clever, beautiful Nori. And then him, just Ori. Smaller and plainer and not particularly interested in the art of being desired.

“People aren’t stupid,” Fíli protests. “Do you really think no one notices you, Ori?”

“I don’t want to be noticed.” He doesn’t, or at least not by everyone. He’s only ever wanted one person’s notice, and Fíli has always given it, even if he’s just teasing. It’s enough for Ori. Mostly. Though maybe it would be easier if Fíli didn’t always take his teasing too far. “What do you want, Fíli? You’re being annoying.”

“To be around you,” Fíli says brightly. “Who else would dare call the Crown Prince and noble Lion of Erebor annoying?”

“Anyone who has spent more than ten minutes in your company.” He gives up on his transcription for the time being, knowing Fíli too well. He won’t leave, not that Ori truly wants him to, so it’s best to set this aside. “You know, there really are plenty of pretty, rich nobles who will entertain you now.”

“They’re not you,” Fíli teases. That’s too far, so Ori elbows him. He backs off, laughing, and Ori has enough room to stand up from his desk. “Don’t be mean. You only have to ask if you want something of me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ori tells him, pinning up one of the already finished papers to dry. “Why are you this way?”

“Do you not like the way I am?”

“That’s not what I said,” Ori says. “I only wanted to know. You could keep company with the finest gems our kingdoms have to offer, but you want to sit around and bother a scribe.”

“But I am choosing to keep company with the finest gem in any kingdom, Dwarven or not.”

And that’s too far, very much too far. “Stop it! Why do you say things like that? It’s not nice!” He has no right to say things like that, to tease so much. “Fíli, you’re such a mule’s arse sometimes.”

Fíli says nothing for a good moment, until Ori finally turns to look at him. He’s not laughing, but instead looking very solemnly at Ori. “I’m not teasing, Ori. You are, by far, the finest gem anyone could ever show me. Don’t you know I mean that?” Ori shakes his head, too anxious to speak suddenly. He doesn’t know what this is, what Fíli’s doing. If he’s not teasing, then why is he saying such things? “Ori, sometimes you scare me.”

“Why?” He can’t imagine how Fíli could be more scared than he is right now.

“Because you don’t see it, do you?” While he watches, Fíli rakes his hand through his hair, and looks at the floor. “Ori, I’m in love with you. And that terrifies me, because you don’t know, do you?”

He’s struck Ori speechless, no words coming to mind. But he takes it the wrong way, because he nods to himself, and starts for the door.

“You didn’t ask,” Ori manages, in a too-loud burst of courage. “You didn’t ask!”

It stops Fíli, and oh, he does sometimes still make Ori’s stomach flip, even after all this time of feeling the way he does about Fíli. “Didn’t ask what?”

“You didn’t ask if I was in love with you, too,” Ori says. “You didn’t ask, and you should.” He licks his lips, and keeps talking, because of he stops, he might never get it out. “Because I am. I am in love with you.”

Fíli’s expression changes slowly, the solemnity melting into a smile as he comes closer to Ori again, Ori having to look at the floor, his arms wrapped around himself, because this is all so much. It’s so much, so good it almost hurts, as Fíli cups his face and gently coaxes him to look up again. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Ori whispers. “I do.”