#his self sacrificial ways and self hatred run so deep

[astoryofsuchwoe]

i like to hurt my own feelings

[strangersatellites]

pride, envy, sloth, gluttony, greed, lust, ao3

Seven Deadly Sins Series (NSFW 18+)

wrath (noun): uncontrolled feelings of anger, rage, and even hatred. wrath often reveals itself in the wish to seek vengeance. in its purest form, wrath presents with injury, violence, and hate

cw: rough sex, unhealthy relationships, blood, unsafe sex, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, angst (????) on accident, probably more tbh they genuinely fucking hate each other in this universe

This thing they’d had going on for three months now really had started off fun.

It started out soft and sweet. Stolen kisses in the back of The Hideout, quick, messy blowjobs in the backseat of Steve’s car, booty calls late at night when one or the other couldn’t sleep.

He can’t really identify what went wrong or when. All Steve knows is that the butterflies that he used to get when Eddie came around have turned and twisted into something sharp and heavy. Now when they’re within earshot of each other it's all biting insults and low-blows.

Somewhere along the line, the happiness that Eddie planted in his heart morphed into bitter resentment. But Steve’s nothing if not self-sacrificial, and the sex was too good to give up. Who is he to deny himself of the only good thing Eddie has left to offer him? So now he finds himself shoved into bar bathrooms and left high and dry, bruises mottled up and down his chest and dark bags under his eyes from a fitful sleep. Somehow he’s convinced himself it's better than nothing.

On nights where he can’t shake the memory of Eddie’s lips on his and his heart fluttering pretty and soft, he goes out. 

He goes out to a seedy club and he finds someone that he won’t remember the name of in the morning and he tries anything to clear his mind. Nothing’s ever as good.

Tonight he’s found himself a few beers deep and tracing water stains on the bar top at some place he’s never been just outside of town. He’d spent the last ten minutes or so talking to a guy that looked like he’d show him a good enough time. Dark, curly hair cut so that it flopped down into his face, pretty blue eyes that went a shade darker when they looked Steve over, and a shirt cut low enough that Steve could see ink swirl across his collarbones in vines and leaves. 

Steve thinks his name is Adam, but he wasn’t really listening and still really isn’t. He’s found that a few soft laughs and hums while guys talk is usually enough to feign interest long enough to coax them to a bathroom. 

This guy, Adam maybe, is about two seconds away from dragging him there himself, he can tell. It’s written all over his body language. Steve smiles his prettiest smile and flutters his eyelashes.

But as soon as he opens his mouth to purr something like “Do you want to get out of here?” There are strong arms snaking around his waist and teeth scraping at his throat and Steve’s blood runs hot in an instant. He’s well-accustomed to it no longer being a good sensation.

Steve shoves his elbow back with as much force as he can muster and it all goes red before he even hears his chuckle.

“Strike out again, Harrington? I made it just in time then, huh sweetheart,” Eddie coos in a tone dripping with condescension.

He’s on his feet and shoving at Eddie’s chest with enough force he knows it’ll bruise, sees it knock the wind out of him a bit. Gets right up in his face and would do anything to rip that self-satisfied smirk right off of it.

“You miserable fucking prick,” he spits, uncaring of the way Eddie flinches back the tiniest bit. “I was not striking out, and I never am! And yet here you come acting like you’re saving some damsel in distress when it’s you crawling back to me. Every. Single. Time,” he punctuates with jabs to his chest. 

Eddie’s smile doesn’t leave as he huffs a laugh. His tongue swipes across sharp, sharp teeth and he leers at Steve with narrowed eyes. Predatory in a way Steve liked once upon a time but now makes him want to punch out his teeth. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he looks entirely too comfortable with the fact that he just ruined Steve’s night. Again.

“God, sweetheart. You’re so wound up,” he whispers, face pinching up in faux concern. He brings his hands up to smooth down Steve’s biceps and digs his fingers in tight enough that he doesn’t budge with Steve’s attempts at shaking him off. “Tell me. When was the last time someone fucked you good enough that you remembered his name the next morning, now be honest.” He leans in close and that smirk is back and Steve hates it. “You can say it was me, honey. It’ll be our little secret.” 

And Steve’s seeing red again because he’s right. 

It was him. It’s always him and probably always will be. 

He gets back up in his space once more and makes sure he’s looking at his eyes when he whispers a sharp “Fuck. You.”

And it's only for a split second but he swears he sees hurt flash through brown eyes. Gone in an instant and replaced with a real, raw indifference that Steve thinks might be worse. 

He feels a hand at the back of his neck and Eddie’s lips brush his ear. 

“Yours or mine?”

And it was always going to go like this. Steve’s not under any illusions. Knew this time wouldn’t be different. But it still stings the way that he knows in an alternate universe that question might’ve been accompanied with giggles and a kiss. 

But then he remembers the way that Eddie looked so proud when Steve first said he hated him and the rage is back ten-fold.

He turns on his heel and knows he’s being followed.

“Yours. Don’t want you in my fucking house.”

*****

Steve’s got Eddie’s wrists pinned to the wall above his head and his teeth raking down his neck. Wants to leave a mark. A memory. 

He hears Eddie gasp as Steve’s hips shove hard against his own and he shoves harder in retaliation.

“Remember when you used to kiss me?” Steve asks, Eddie’s breath against his face enough to pull some bricks from the walls he’s spent months building.

He feels more than hears Eddie’s hum. Feels his knee come up to shove him backwards until he’s the one pressed against the wall, face turned sideways and arms pinned behind his back.

“Yeah sweetheart.” He leans in to bite at Steve’s ear and make him hiss.

Steve’s grinning, ugly and mean when he grits out “Worst decision of my fucking life.”

But now Eddie’s the one smirking, he can hear it when he speaks. “Mine too. Liked my life a lot better when I didn’t know what you taste like.”

Steve aims for the shin when he bucks a foot backwards, nails it if Eddie’s grunt is anything to go by. He spins around and shoves at Eddie hard enough to send them both to the floor, grateful for a second the fact that his muscle mass makes it easy to manhandle his way into what he wants. 

He laughs, loud and fake. “Now see, that I just don’t believe, Eddie.” He’s got his eyebrows raised high and pout on his lips and he knows what’s coming and he relaxes into it.

And yeah maybe Steve’s strong, but Eddie knows him. Knows when his guard is down. He gets his knees up around Steve’s hips and flips them over, Steve’s back against the ground and there’s the fury Steve’s been after. Been trying to bring it out all night.

Eddie’s got a ringed hand pressed tight against Steve’s throat when he finally lets himself feel. Feel good the way only Eddie can make him. Lets the fight drain out of him as his vision goes spotty. Eddie’s spitting words in his face, “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” and saliva into his mouth and it’s so bad-good.

His next breath is heaving as he comes back down and Eddie’s already standing and walking away. 

“Get up. I don’t have all night.”

And now that he’s got Eddie mad, got him fired up, he knows he can let himself go. Lets himself fall even though he knows Eddie’s not going to catch him. Thinks it's worth it until it's not. Until tomorrow when he remembers the way he and Eddie won’t look at each other when their friends are around. They way they don’t talk.

Because this is how it's always going to go. He’s going to let Eddie rile him up, make his sharp, heavy butterflies flutter out in words he thinks he doesn’t really mean. He’s going to push and push and push until Eddie breaks. And even though he started it, Eddie always will. Break, that is. He’ll break out of his self-assured, indifferent asshole persona and he’ll turn into something real and mean. Someone that hates Steve back. 

Steve thinks it shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

There’s nothing gentle about the way Eddie stretches him open. The way he smacks the inside of Steve’s thigh hard enough it leaves a welt the shape of his hand. 

He’s got two fingers inside him and Steve feels so good and he can’t help but talk. Head thrown back, words fall from his lips between desperate moans. 

“Hate you so fucking much.”

A smack to his ass and a dejected huff. 

“Yeah. I know you do sweetheart."

Steve groans in annoyance but his back arches all the same.

“Hate it when you call me that.”

And he’s not looking but he knows Eddie is rolling his eyes. 

“I know you do, baby.”

And there’s tears pricking at the back of his eyes because sure he really does hate this man. Really does think he’d have been better off never meeting him. But all he can hear when Eddie calls him “baby” is the way he used to say it through laughter against his skin.

He knows he’s pouting but he thinks he deserves it with the bitter memories he’s fighting away. “Hate that even worse.”

Eddie pulls his fingers out and crawls up his body to squeeze at his cheeks until he fishmouths.

“I know. Now shut up and stop crying. You wanted me mean and you’ve fucking got it baby.”

Steve gasps high in his throat when Eddie grabs him by his hips and flips him onto his belly and something about this flavor of anger Eddie’s wearing sets Steve off again. But this time his anger isn’t a facade. It's raw and real and it's hurt that got brushed aside and became something else entirely.

“Hate what we could’ve been. Hate that I hate you.” He says into a pillow.

He hears Eddie groan and not in a good way. In the way he does when he’s annoyed. He feels his weight lay over his back and his hand on the inside of his thigh yanking upward and open.

“Well I hate that you don’t know when to stop talking." He grits out and the pressure as he presses inside Steve is enough to make him white out.

By the time he builds up a bruising rhythm, punching Steve’s breath out of him on every thrust, he’s talking again.

“Could’ve given you everything you wanted sweetheart,” and his tone is so patronizing, “But it just wasn’t fucking enough was it?”

And Steve’s barely holding on to his consciousness through the pressure deep in his guts and the hand pressing the back of his neck down, down, down. But he’s still got enough wherewithal that that strikes a chord.

Because no, having Eddie behind closed doors wasn’t enough. And Eddie knows that. He knows how that hurt him and chooses to use it against him anyway.

His voice is muffled into the pillow and broken up by whimpers and whines but he speaks anyway.

“Well it wasn’t my– shit, so good. Wasn’t my pride that got in the way.”

Eddie’s hips slow to a deep grind and freeze pressed to the hilt.

The hand at the back of Steve’s neck slides to the front and yanks him up on his knees, pressed against Eddie’s chest.

His chest is heaving where its plastered to Steve’s back and his voice rumbles through them both.

“Maybe not. But it was you that kept your mouth shut and made it my fault.”

Steve goes to argue but gets cut off by the sharp stinging of teeth breaking the skin against his shoulder blade. His breath goes ragged on a shriek and his vision whites out around the edges. Eddie’s shoving him back down, ass-up and face smushed sideways. His hand slips up and pries his mouth wide open and shoves in hard, stopping anything he could possibly say. Steve’s eyes are wide where he’s staring, gone glassy and wet.

“And it looks like now you don’t know how to do that, do you baby?” He asks.

And he’s got his fingers down his throat and his dick shoved deep.

There’s blood dripping from his teeth in that sharp, bitter smile. And he’s so pretty. And Steve hates him.

He chokes around his fingers on a sob as Eddie picks up his pace again.

Hates that it feels so good.

Hates that he comes back for this.

Hates that Eddie’s right.

Because maybe he can’t pinpoint when or where things went south, but he knows it has everything to do with the way he started needing more and not asking for it. Knows Eddie was letting him figure it out on his own. And instead of just going for it, he knows he started blaming.

So maybe he does hate Eddie. Hates him for the way he didn’t push him when he knew he needed it. Hates that he still uses him like this. 

But he really hates himself. Because he could’ve had what he wanted but he didn’t take it.

(Hates that tomorrow he’ll forget this all again, too far in his head and in the feeling of Eddie taking what he wouldn’t give. He’ll forget it all and go back to hating him again.)

A sharp smack to the outside of his thigh brings him barreling back down into reality and it's Eddie’s words that send him hurdling into release.

“Here you fucking go again with the crying. God I hate that you’re so fucking pretty.”

Steve hates that that’s what does it for him. Hates that his crying is what does it for Eddie. Hates the way he’s filled up and will have to go home messy, the way Eddie pulls out of him and throws him his clothes.

He hears the flick of a lighter and Eddie’s heavy inhale from far away.

“I assume you can show yourself out.”

As Steve pulls his shirt over his head and wipes the tear tracks from his face he thinks “Yeah. This is why I hate him.”

And from the other side of the room Eddie thinks that if Steve would say half of the things that run through his mind with Eddie inside him, maybe they wouldn’t hate each other at all.

[zykamiliah]

they didn’t say that a 20 y/o dating someone in their early 30s was pedophilia though? they said it was a power imbalance, and that it doesn’t disappear as soon as they are a legal adult. look, i enjoy svsss, but it’s true there is a mental gap. and a student pursuing a teacher doesn’t necessarily make the teacher’s reciprocation okay. i think there’s room for nuance here that neither you nor the other blogger is realizing

they were relating the feeling of weirdness they got from reading svsss to the power imbalance of a real life teacher/student relationship or actual pedophilia.

like i said, the power imbalance is part of the conflict in svsss and bingqiu's relationship. No one in this fandom believes they were the perfect soulmates from start to finish, Healthy and Unproblematic. But it's one thing that their dynamic was unbalanced and toxic because of the their misunderstandings and communications problems, and another entirely different what that other blogger was saying.

by the time binghe comes from the abyss, he has already grown into his own power and become a demon lord. when they meet again, sqq is not the one leveling his power against sqq, but the opposite.

here I talked about why i don't think bingqiu is toxic, if you'd like to read my analysis on it.

now, for the mental gap, what exactly are you saying here? Because if we're going to compare mental age gaps, we need to take into consideration that binghe and shen yuan are from different worlds, and that their upbringing was very different. lbh practically grew in the streets as an orphan before his adoptive mother took him in, and the he went back to that after her death, before entering CQM. shen yuan, on the other hand, grew with a loving family, was a rich and pampered young master and never had to go through the struggles that lbh went through: starvation, mistreatment, poverty, loneliness, being homeless and parentless, with no one to care for him or protect him. so really, between the two, who has more worthy life experiences?

okay, let's get at it from another angle. through the entire novel, and specially after the sqq's death, lbh is very honest with himself about his own feelings and thoughts. he knows his mind really well, even under the influence of xin mo. he knows how to manipulate dreams, after all. you could said that his most unhealthy habits are his codependency and the way he internalizes his self-hate, and the subsequent self-harm he does to his mind and body because of this. i'd say his most childish moments are in the Jinlan arc, where his actions contradict themselves, as he's both resentful toward SQQ and trying to win his approval at the same time.

shen yuan, on the other hand? emotionally repressed. he doesn't process his own thoughts and emotions and pushes everything under the surface. queerphobic. homophobic. deep in denial of his own queerness and gayness, oblivious to everything gay going own around him, runs from his problems, self-sacrificial to the detriment of his own well-being, so tsundere it backfires on him sometimes, unable to understand why someone like airplane would write shitty porn to pay the bills; even thought at his core he's kind to must people, he spends a great part of the novel being very vitriolic towards sqh. it's because he can't let go of his hatred towards the authors, who he partly blames for the bad things that happen to him.

taking all this into account, i really can't say what their true mental ages are, and if the gap is really that big, or if it really has such a huge impact on their relationship.

and a student pursuing a teacher doesn’t necessarily make the teacher’s reciprocation okay.

maybe you're right on this one, but are all cases of teacher/student relationships the same? must we, just as sqq did, ignore lbh's agency and own wishes and do what he thought was best?

there's thinking that teenagers under 18 have no way of making rational decisions when it comes to love and sexual attraction, and there's thinking that a 25 years old's agency in regards to who he wants to be with is meaningless.

[waveypedia]

The Real Deal

Ao3

Lena comes to the Nine-Tailed Diner just often enough for the waiters to know her face, but not often enough for them to know her name. She prefers it that way. The anonymity is comforting, but she knows in her gut it’s just an illusion when the waiters give her familiar smiles as she slides into her usual spot in the corner.

There was a time, before she met Webby, when Lena would scowl and duck her head away from the waiters’ friendly greetings. Where the mere notion of being noticed would make her gut churn and blood boil.

Not anymore.

Lena taps her carefully manicured nails against the smooth table as she waits, watching the cozily bustling diner. She’s not usually one for nail polish, but Dewey was just so excited when he saw the color that perfectly matched her magic, and despite her snarky exterior she couldn’t say no to Dewey’s infectious excitement when he bounced up to her with the bottles of nail polish. She smiles at the memory.

If Lena from a year and a half ago could see her now, she’d be unrecognizable. That’s not such a bad thing, Lena muses.

She pulls out her phone and quickly scrolls through social media, smiling when a picture of Webby pops up on her feed. Webby doesn’t post much, but when she does, just seeing her face never fails to make Lena smile.

The noise of the city and the harbor outside eventually fades into a calming white noise in the back of Lena’s mind. She’s used to the city. It was her home for fifteen years. But the sound of a particular car pulling up to the curb jerks Lena out of her thoughts, and she presses her face to the window, filled with an almost childlike glee.

A familiar car, light green and blocky and just as eccentric as its owner, putters at the curb. Lena can only see into the drivers’ side, but she snorts as she spots a familiar stupid-looking hat and chuckles to herself. Soon enough, a familiar face pops out from the other side of the car, looks to the corner window expectantly, and waves enthusiastically. Lena grins and waves back.

The bell on the diner door jingles, right on schedule, and Lena’s friend nearly sprints over to her booth.

“Hi, Lena!” Boyd chirps, and Lena grins.

“Hi,” she responds, significantly less energetic but with the same sentiment behind it.

Every month, Lena and Boyd meet at the Nine-Tailed Diner, just the two of them. It started one day when it was supposed to be all of the kids, but the McDuck kiddos were called away on an adventure, Violet had a school project, and Gosalyn was busy in St. Canard. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize how similar Lena and Boyd’s unique situations and backstories are.

Lena didn’t realize how lonely she was until she had someone who shared her experiences.

Boyd rubs at his elbow. It’s a nervous stim, and Lena’s attention is piqued. If Gyro said something insensitive to him again, well, he may be tall, but he’s a skinny twink, I can take him—

“Lena?”

Lena bites back a swell of nervousness and feigns casualness. “Hm?”

“How… do you feel about Webby?”

Lena blinks. “Well, I like her. You know that, dummy.”

“Yeah, but… how does that feel? You know… liking someone?” Boyd won’t meet her eyes.

Lena frowns. “What do you mean? Doesn’t everyone feel that way?”

Boyd stares at the table, lip trembling, and Lena ponders.

She doesn’t entirely know how to describe how she feels about Webby. Before Webby, it was just her and Aunt Magica. The two of us against the world, Lena always told herself, but it was always the world against Aunt Magica, with Lena sandwiched in the middle. And then she grew to hate Magica as well, like she always should have. For so long, Lena only knew hatred and apathy, whoever it may be directed to.

And then she met Webby.

And then she met Webby, and everything changed.

Webby was—is—a literal ray of sunshine. When Webby’s smiling face pops up in Lena’s view, when her bubbling laugh or high voice makes Lena’s heart sing. It’s stereotypical and cliché beyond belief, much to Lena’s chagrin, but that’s how she feels . If Huey offered her a thesaurus he must have stored in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook somewhere (that thing has everything — it’s kind of ridiculous, honestly) she wouldn’t change it. There’s no other way to describe it.

“I… don’t know,” Lena hums. “Just… whenever I see her, I instantly feel better. It’s free serotonin, y’know?”

Boyd hums in acknowledgement, and after a moment of semi-awkward silence Lena continues.

She’s never been all that good about putting her feelings into words. She’s not particularly wordy like Huey, and she doesn’t have Violet’s extensive vocabulary (although she’s picked up quite a few words and phrases from the Sabrewing family). Not that she cares about it. It makes these kind of conversations difficult, though. But for Boyd, she will try.

“She was the first person to ever care about me,” Lena muses, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater under the table. She’s had it forever. It feels like home, in the same way Webby does. “She has a special place in my heart. She was my first friend, but it’s different than my relationship with the boys, or Vi, or you.”

Boyd nods and avoids her gaze. He’s unhappy with that conclusion, although Lena can’t fathom why.

“So… by that logic,” Boyd begins, “I should be in love with Huey, right?”

Lena shrugs. It is true that Huey directly parallels Webby in their respective situations. “However you want to define it, dude.”

Boyd flexes his fingers. He’s still unhappy.

“Look, I’m not gonna judge you,” Lena says, snorting slightly and raising her hands placatingly in front of her. “I know homophobia is A Thing, but I literally just talked extensively about how I’m head over heels for another girl, so…”

“Homophobia is terrible,” Boyd responds finally. “I genuinely do not understand how people could think such a thing! How does one act so cruelly to another just because of something so trivial as sexual orientation?”

Lena presses her lips together. “Beats me, dude.”

After a moment, she adds, “So what’s your problem, then?”

Boyd’s head jerks up. “Huh?”

“You’re clearly disappointed about something ,” Lena says, gesturing with her arms and raising her eyebrows. “I know you well enough, ‘cause of these dumb meetings. I’m just gonna point out they were your idea.”

Boyd smirks, ever so slightly. “You love them, though.”

Lena looks away and crosses her arms pointedly, but allows the smallest of smiles to slip through her mask. Boyd cackles at that.

“But seriously. What’s botherin’ you?”

“By all accounts… I should feel that way about Huey. I don’t care about genders, and I feel differently about him than I feel about you and the other kids. But saying I love him, it just doesn’t feel right.” Boyd rubs at his arm.

“Hey, that’s fine!” Lena replies. “That’s kinda how I feel about labels, y’know? Webby likes ‘em, but I don’t.” She narrows her eyes and leans forward with her elbows on the table. “Is Huey pressuring you? ‘Cause if he is I’ll—”

“No! Nononono, Lena, it’s fine,” Boyd chuckles nervously, raising his hands placatingly in front of him. “If anything, I guess I’m pressuring myself. Logically, based on all accounts I have consulted, I should be in love. But…”

Lena gives an exaggeratedly frustrated sigh, making Boyd chuckle despite himself.

“Look, Pink tells me aaaaalll the time that my magic isn’t logical. Especially friendship magic. It follows its own rules, and it’s about looove and the power of friendship or whatever. So cheesy. But I guess your love might be the same thing.”

Lena takes a deep breath and leans back in the diner booth. “Stop pushing your feelings into dumb little boxes they don’t belong in. They won’t fit.”

Boyd smiles at her, small but not muted. “Thanks, Lena.”

Lena glances away, staring pointedly out the window. “Whatever. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

Boyd just giggles at that. His laughter is frustratingly infectious, and after a moment Lena finds herself chuckling alongside him.

The rest of the afternoon flits by, and for the life of her Lena cannot recall what they talked about. But their first topic of conversation, and Boyd’s worry, sits heavy on her mind for a while to come.

--

When Doctor (unofficially, shh, if the news got out that he had never finished his doctorate because of those ridiculous geese Gyro would be ruined ) Gyro Gearloose secured a job with McDuck Industries, he did not expect his precious lab would be run afoot by small children. Not even by Fenton, who acts more like a small child than some of these literal small children sometimes.

It’s almost closing time, but that has never mattered to McDuck Industries’ research branch. Even if Fenton and Manny go home eventually, Gyro has spent weeks on end in the lab. He will outlast them all.

Well, he used to. Before his team and his boss dragged him out to see the sunlight. And before Boyd.

For the record, Gyro did not forget about closing time. Not this time. He was working with that infernal little rodent, who, along with the blue nephew, had somehow wormed Mr. McDuck into allowing her to take some freelance work in the research department. Gyro’s department.

...He did have to admit that Gadget Hackwrench was frustratingly proficient at mechanics and machinery. Especially since she was so small. She was a great help to Gyro’s newest project, which required a lot of rough mechanical know-how.

Gadget, unlike the rest of them, was not incredibly self-sacrificial and actually liked clocking out when she was supposed to. She had to go home to her Rescue Avengers, or whatever they were called. Gyro couldn’t wrap his head around her way of thinking.

So they were tinkering away at the panel of the machine when Gadget glanced at the clock and reminded him of her obligations. She was packing up when Boyd came in.

“Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd, chipper as ever, entered the lab and bounced up to Gyro’s workstation. He was a bundle of energy, reminiscent of the blue and pink children. His hands darted around him like a hummingbird, never quite staying in one place long enough for Gyro’s tired brain to process. After a minute of unconsciously trying to watch and comprehend it, Gyro glanced away and rubbed at his forehead under his glasses while Boyd greeted Gadget with the same enthusiasm.

Wait. Was it really enthusiasm?

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Gyro watched carefully as Boyd flitted around Gadget, mentally comparing his movements and stims with what he knew of happy Boyd. And yes. It was off.

Gadget packed up, and Gyro slowly but carefully placed his wrench down and turned to face Boyd, leaning against his desk in a facade of casualness.

“So.”

“Can you fix me?”

Gyro pinches the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?”

Boyd clasps his hands nervously in front of him. “No. No. Nothing! I just… I know how I’m supposed to feel, but I don’t feel like that! So I must be broken!”

Gyro stares at Boyd like he’s grown a second head —- which, with Gyro’s robotics, is actually plausible. “Pft, you’re not broken. You think you could be broken?! I made you, kid. I fixed you up after Akita tampered with you. The great Gyro Gearloose does not make mistakes.”

Manny taps something unsupportive, and Fenton and Gadget both —- purposefully badly —- hide their laughter. Gyro screeches something incomprehensible at them. It doesn’t matter what he says; the point gets across.

Boyd is still staring up at Gyro, with that hero-worship puppy-dog look in his eyes that he wears so well, and he looks so scared that Gyro’s heart twists. His body sags, and he sighs and rolls his eyes and gestures for Boyd to follow. He perks up, and is immediately at Gyro’s heels with a characteristic grin, but his hands are trembling. Did he teach himself to do that?

Gyro kneels in front of Boyd, behind his desk, and stares into his eyes. Not in a symbolic way —- if he focuses just right, he can see the circuitry in his head.

Gyro purses his lips. “Everything looks fine. I told you I don’t make mistakes.”

“But—- But Lena’s in love with Webby and Dewey’s had three crushes in the past month and I don’t feel anything like that, ever! Lena says it’s fine but she’s had one girlfriend and that worked out for her perfectly and I’m happy for her and Webby, I really am, but I don’t know how to make it work for me and it must be some sort of error in the programming and I—-I just want to be a real boy!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Gyro shoves his hands in front of him reflexively. He pulls them back, out of Boyd’s face, when he processes and realizes how overwhelming that gesture could be. Boyd buries his face in his hands. “You are a real boy.”

Boyd gives him a tiny nod and doesn’t respond. Gyro’s throat feels tight and constricting, bile building up inside. He wants to say something and break the tension and silence, but he doesn’t know what or how.

“Love isn’t everything,” he says lamely after a minute. “I didn’t fall in love until Fenton, honestly. Not for real. Della said something about ‘demiromanticism,’ whatever the hell that is, and she says Mr. McDuck is the same way, but honestly I don’t really care. I don’t need to compartmentalize and hyper-analyze every aspect of myself that way. But if you want to, you could talk to her. Or the red nephew. He’d know.”

It’s weird, being this open and honest about his thoughts and feelings that aren’t inventions and blueprints. A part of Gyro is screaming at himself to close, shutter the windows and pull the walls back up and raise the prickly spikes to defend against anyone who dares get close. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, really.

Strike that. He knows why. It’s Boyd . He’ll do anything to bring that kid’s sunny disposition back. And he knows why he’ll do that, too.

“Demiromanticism?” Boyd places a finger on his chin and tilts his head ever so carefully to the side, testing out the feel of the word. “What’s that?”

Gyro shrugs lazily. “I dunno. Some fancy way of saying I only want a relationship with people who get close to me. Which is a very exclusive circle.”

Boyd pauses. Blinks. Gyro can nearly see the wheels turning in his head. “If there’s a term for that, do you think… there’s a term for going all the way? A term for never wanting a relationship?”

Gyro raises his eyebrows. “Probably.” He reaches for his phone. Boyd could search for it in his internal search engine (proudly programmed by Gyro two months ago, since search engines didn’t exist twenty years ago, but for the record if he had thought of it Akita hadn’t had him on such a tight schedule he could have done it. For the record.)

“Aromanticism,” Gyro muses, reading out loud. “The lack of romantic attraction. Does that sound about right?”

“Hmm,” Boyd puts his finger to his chin again. “It fits! I like it!”

Gyro smiles, that soft and gentle smile reserved exclusively for Boyd (and Fenton, sometimes). “Perfect. Now get out of my lab. It’s past closing time.”

Boyd sticks out his tongue, playful. “Like you care. Don’t stay up too late!”

Gyro just smiles in response and resolves himself to not make any promises he won’t keep.

Boyd gives him a quick, tight hug goodbye. He always gives hugs, to say hello and goodbye and everything inbetween, and Gyro is never quite prepared for them, although he certainly doesn’t mind them. Gyro isn’t very comfortable with touch or affection in general when it doesn’t come from a select few people, but he never protests. Boyd is one of those “select few people”.

If today’s hug is a bit tighter and longer than usual (but still brief, since Boyd knows well how Gyro clams up with physical affection, even if it’s from him, and he respects that), neither Boyd nor Gyro say a word.

Boyd says his goodbyes to the rest of Team Science (Gadget is long gone by now) and skips out of the room. “I can’t wait to tell Huey about this! He probably knows all about aromanticism! It’s probably in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook!”

Gyro leans against his desk, the cuffs of his shirt catching on the corners. “You do that, kid.”

“And Lena! She’ll be happy to know I figured it out, even if she won’t say so!” Boyd chirps. “Thanks, Dr. Gearloose!”

Gyro’s wry smile turns into something monumentally more sincere and real. “No problem, kid.”

The elevator dings and Boyd is gone. Gyro used to revel in the lab’s silence, but even with the background noise of Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb tinkering away at their respective projects (and decidedly not saying anything), it feels uncomfortably quiet without Boyd’s incessant chatter.

He hums softly to himself and picks up his phone to call Della before she hears about this from Huey and berates him for not telling her right away. He puts on a new pot of coffee for when he comes back, and lets Fenton know he’s going on his break.

“You know the workday technically ended half an hour ago, right? You don’t need me to clock you out,” Fenton replies, grinning. He can read Gyro like a book.

Gyro rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath, but waves his former intern off.

As he walks out, he pictures Boyd. He would be sitting in the limo, brimming with excitement, tapping his fingers eagerly on his legs with barely contained enthusiasm. Launchpad picked him up for a sleepover at Mr. McDuck’s, so by this point he should be almost home. He’ll burst into the mansion and spill his discovery to Huey before he catches his breath, and he, Huey, Webby, and Violet will make a board and a list of thoughts and information on aromanticism while Dewey tries to catch popcorn in his mouth and Lena and Louie add snarky comments. They’ll all chime in with their own experiences and eat lots of sugary snacks until they eventually fall asleep in a pile of pillows and blankets and each other on the living room couch. Boyd will come into the lab on Monday and tell him all about it, and maybe Huey will as well.

Gyro smiles fondly to himself as he steps into the hallway outside of the lab and leans against the wall, pulling up Della’s contact on his phone. The tab on aromanticism is still open on his phone, and he scrolls through it idly, taking note of all the information and how it could relate to Boyd.

He’s not fit for this role in Boyd’s life. But he loves Boyd, so he’ll do his best. And Dr. Gyro Gearloose’s best is a feat they tell tales of.

Across town, in the mansion, sitting on her sleeping bag in her pajamas and sneaking handfuls of gummy bears behind Violet’s watchful eye, Lena shares a similar sentiment. Boyd explains what he’s learned, bursting with excited energy in the form of overenthusiastic gestures, and Lena wonders why this little, enthusiastic kid decided to choose her as a sister figure.

But she’s not complaining.

Lena sneaks another handful of gummies and wraps her arm around Webby, who makes a bright, contented sound and snuggles into her side. No, she’s definitely not complaining.

~

i wrote this almost a year ago actually, for the Because We're Family LGBTQuaranzine! (@ducktaleslgbtquaranzine) This is a nonprofit pay-what-you-want zine, with all of the money going to DirectRelief, a charity dedicated to Covid relief in countries that have been hit hard by it. I had a lot of fun working on this zine and this particular piece, and I worked with a lot of great people. The zine is chock-full of amazing pieces and really talented, skilled people, and all the proceeds go to a reputable cause. I cannot recommend it enough!

this piece is pretty close to my heart because it encompasses a lot of my favorite things - weblena, lena & boyd friendship (they have SO many parallels i think they would get along so well!), and gyro being a father to boyd! in all honesty, this was my very first zine and i was really nervous, but i had so much fun writing this and i'm grateful it was such a good experience!

a lot of boyd's confusion about aromanticism is taken straight from my self-realization process. that's some good ole projection, baybee! i didn't have anyone like huey, but it's certainly difficult to figure out what romantic love really is and how that affects you and your relationships. it's like a puzzle. it's not explicitly mentioned in the fic, but i'm autistic, and boyd is pretty heavily autistic-coded (and god i could go on for hours about that, and i have before, but i'll spare you all the tangent, although i'll happily talk about it if you want me to), which adds this whole other obstacle when figuring out aromanticism, because we struggle with social relationships and fitting them in boxes. sometimes labels feel really comforting and satisfactory, but sometimes it's a real puzzle to fit into these boxes that weren't always made for us. sometimes they fit, and sometimes they don't. it was pretty fun exploring that from a slightly different perspective, as well as putting some of my own thoughts and experiences into words.

if you ever wanna talk ducktales, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here or on my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment (i read tags) if you enjoyed it!

[sanjisock]

puddles

ao3

i. arlong park

It does not take long for Sanji to learn that Zoro is a man who does not do things in halves.

He watches in fascination as Zoro faces Mihawk without a single moment’s of hesitation — cut in half, bleeding all over the deck, but his sword stays true still. Zoro dreams, not of being a great swordsman, but of being the greatest; either you are, or you are not.

Sanji can understand that. It is not quite different from his own, if you look at it in the right ways — you either believe in the All Blue, or you don’t. It either exists, or it doesn’t. You can’t bargain with faith.

But Sanji isn’t the same kid with the iron mask all those years ago who had nothing to lose; he has Zeff now, and a debt as heavy as a lost limb that he could never even begin to repay. He knows how much a dream can cost. He knows how much love — true love, the kind with complete and utter devotion — can cost.

Cocoyashi Village is in celebration, and Sanji finds himself tucked into a corner of the party together with Zoro, somehow untouched by the cacophony. They’re still sizing each other up, barely knowing one another past a fight and a promise to a captain. But Zoro has trusted him easily in that very fight, and right now there’s a spark in the air between them, something not entirely different from attraction .

Zoro takes a large gulp from his bottle and gestures back at the ship. “You coming?”

This could be something , Sanji thinks. Wants to try, if he’s being honest.

But Zoro is a man who does not do things in halves — he is not a man who tries . If Sanji takes the leap, this is it — they either are, or they aren’t. And if they aren’t — Sanji isn’t sure a crew as small and as tight-knitted as the Straw Hats can handle a break up, especially so early on in their journey.

(Sanji isn’t sure a heart as weak as his can handle a break up). 

“I’ll catch up later,” he shrugs, scrambling for an excuse. He suddenly feels like he’s ten again, terrified and running away. “Been wanting to check out this one recipe from that guy over there.”

“If you say so,” Zoro takes the dismissal in stride, and dumps the empty sake bottle into a barrel as he stands up to leave.

Sanji watches him disappear into the night.

+

ii. enies lobby

The Mosshead has been giving him the nastiest look ever since the ship sailed away from Water Seven, so Sanji isn’t particularly surprised when Zoro stops him on his track on the way to Usopp’s workshop.

Zoro eyes the colorful drink on the tray in Sanji’s hand like it’s challenged him into a duel, before finally grunting, “you need to stop treating Usopp like that.”

Sanji’s eyes unwittingly follow Zoro’s gaze on the drink he made for Usopp — it has five colors, three different fruits, and a whip cream on top. Entirely too flashy for the male crewmembers, usually reserved for important occasions. Sanji feigns obliviousness, still. “Like what?”

“Like he’s going to break anytime soon,” Zoro says.

“You mean nicely ?” Sanji snarls back. “Like a normal human being? Not everyone is like you, Marimo. Some people have emotions. ”

“It’s insulting , is what it is,” Zoro retorts, his whole body leaning into Sanji’s personal space, like a challenge. “There’s never a need for you to coddle him. Usopp made his decisions as a man back then, and he had to learn the consequences for it — ”

“And he has learned , Zoro,” Sanji cuts in, feeling exhausted all of a sudden, the fight leaving his body in a snap. He sighs. “Look — I get that it’s your thing, protecting our pride as a crew and all. I was on your side, remember? But it’s all in the past, and Usopp’s got your message, loud and clear.”

Sanji thinks of a little boy with the iron mask, who were forced to learn all his lessons the hard way; and what comes out next is, “I’m the cook of this ship. Let me feed him.”

Let me take care of him , he doesn’t say, but it means pretty much the same thing.

There must’ve been something in his voice, because Zoro seems taken aback; all the tension bleeds out from his shoulders, and he’s now looking at Sanji with an unreadable expression.

There’s a moment of silence, stretched long enough to the point of awkwardness, before Zoro says, “ — didn’t mean to. I mean — quite a lot of shit went down, just didn’t wanna see you — don’t overexert yourself.”

Sanji blinks. “What are you saying .”

“All this talk about taking care of people,” Zoro says, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of — what? Embarrassment ? “Why wouldn’t you let me —”

Zoro pauses there, sentence trailing off into nothing; but Sanji has always been good at reading Zoro, and he hears the words anyway.

Why wouldn’t you let me take care of you .

Sanji thinks of the party in Cocoyashi, and then hundreds of moments after that — quiet moments in the galley when Zoro helped him wash up the dishes, playful banters that Zoro could only keep up with. Countless enemies they fight side by side, together, the way he feels his heart beat in sync with Zoro’s from across the battlefield.

“Cook —” Zoro puts his hand on Sanji’s shoulder then, and the touch burns , like an electric shock; it jolts Sanji back from his thoughts, a reminder of the reality between them, the way they would fight as hard as they love, and what would that leave him, in the aftermath?

“Let me go ,” Sanji says before he can stop himself, and practically runs to Usopp’s workshop.

+

iii. thriller bark

“You’re a dumbass ,” Sanji says.

“Hn,” Zoro says, not arguing for once.

“I’ve always known you have moss for brains,” Sanji continues, fully aware he’s rambling but unable to stop himself, “but who would’ve thought you’d be this dumb. What kind of complete and utter idiot would be so fucking reckless against a warlord for the second time in his life.”

Zoro hums noncommittally.

Sanji tightens the bandage across his torso with a little more force than necessary.

Zoro makes a pained grunt, and Sanji winces at the sound; they’ve roughhoused each other countless of times before, but this is the first time Zoro can’t take something Sanji dished. It shouldn’t be surprising though, not after the wounds he has taken from Bartholomew Kuma —

“You need to learn to pick your battles,” Sanji rambles on, because he’s suddenly hit with the realization that if he stops talking he might actually cry . “Or at least employ some strategies. Ever heard of those? That’s what people with brains usually do when they fight instead of simply waving some pointy sticks against the enemy. Raise your hand a bit —” he moves to the wound on Zoro’s arm, taking greater care to make sure he’s as gentle as possible, a silent apology for the earlier mishap. “Right there. Yeah. Anyways, I was saying —”

“Sanji,” Zoro says, and Sanji stops.

It’s so unfamiliar — the way Sanji’s name rolls off Zoro’s tongue, shaped by his deep voice. It sends a shiver down his spine, Sanji’s heart suddenly rattling against his ribcage.

When he looks up, Zoro is staring back at him with half-lidded eyes, something other than pain marring his gaze.

Longing .

Sanji feels his throat dry all of a sudden.

“Sanji,” Zoro says, voice low and rasp, but steady. And then: “stay.”

Sanji drops the bandages in his hands. He can’t do this — not when he’s staring at the very reminder of what it would cost . The idea of losing Zoro, as a nakama , has already torn him from the inside; he can’t imagine what it’s like to see Zoro’s lifeless body on the infirmary bed, as a lover.

He remembers standing in front of her mother’s grave, feeling like he’s coming apart at the seams, and wanting to tear up the stitches; wishing he could just unravel after so much hurt . 

“Zoro,” he says, feeling like he’s on the verge of a panic attack, “I — I can’t —”

But when he dares himself to finally meet Zoro’s eyes, the Swordsman has lost consciousness again.

Sanji flees the infirmary.

+

iv. zou

He flips BIg Mom’s invitation to the tea party over and over again, staring at the words etched on the paper.

Groom: Third Son of the Vinsmokes, Sanji.

The words settle unpleasantly in his gut, and he swallows, trying to calm himself down. He’s no longer the same weak kid with the iron mask; he’s now a Straw Hat, and he’s going to settle his issues with his pathetic excuse of a family once and for all.

That’s all.

...so why does it feel like this isn’t going to end well with Zoro?

Thoughts of the Shitty Swordsman appear in his mind, unbidden. A scowl, definitely — maybe a few scathing words to accompany the look. Something about Sanji and his self-sacrificial tendencies — as if Zoro has any right to lecture anyone about that — or maybe some diatribe about trusting the crew to take care of one of their own.

Which is not what this is about, at all. Of course Sanji trusts everyone in the crew — trusts Luffy  to be able to take care of himself. But this is his problem, and he’s the only one responsible to fix it. There’s no need to trouble everyone with a little family problems.

(So why does it still feel like he’s running away?)

+ 

v. whole cake island

“First of all, the captain of my own ship came all this way to track me down,” he says, raising a finger for emphasis, “only for me to insult and hurt him to the best of my ability despite no resistance from him whatsoever. That means I cannot go back to your ship right now.”

Run , he remembers being ten, hearing Reiju’s voice through the prison bars. There is no turning back. Your mistakes are final.

“Second of all,” he continues, “the shitty geezer who saved my life and the home where I was raised are being held hostage in case I don’t play along. That means I cannot escape from this wedding.”

Run , he remembers thinking every time he catches sight of Zeff’s leg. This is the cost of your dream. This is the cost of your love.

“Third of all,” he says, voice rising even higher, “the evil family to which I’m related to is walking into Big Mom’s trap, and they’ll all be slaughtered in a matter of hours. They’re scum of the earth to whom I owe nothing but my hatred but I cannot bring myself to abandon them to their fate and run away!”

Run , he tells himself. Your love worths nothing. You are not worth anyone’s love.

“For these three reason,” he says, eyes avoiding Luffy’s. “I cannot return with the rest of you.”

There’s a bright sunburst of pain against his cheek, and the momentum of the punch throws him against a tree bark, shattering under the impact.

“Tell me how you really feel ,” Luffy yells. “What do you want, Sanji?”

For the first time in his life, Sanji stops running.

+

(i. wano)

Sanji didn’t notice at first, with all the flurry and chaos of the fight against Kaido; but once things have settled down, it occurs to him that Wano is a spring island.

The air is tinged with the kind of heat that barely tips over to unpleasant, uncomfortable without the unbearable fever of summer. Even the nights are wearily humid, which is why he decided to stray away from the celebration feast into the forest, and finds Zoro training alone, swinging his new sword against the wind.

They have not had a moment to themselves ever since — ever since . All of their conversations have mostly been in the heat of the battle, and Sanji isn’t quite sure if they simply did not have the time, or if Zoro has been avoiding him.

It doesn’t matter — here they are, gravitating towards each other still. As if fate herself has weaved a path for them, time and again.

He thinks he can still hear Luffy asking, in the rain: what do you want, Sanji?

“Zoro,” he says, and faces him, head on. “I am in love with you.”

He thinks Zoro would’ve been surprised, once upon a time; maybe if Sanji dared to say it under the Alabasta moonlight, or bathed by the campfire light in the Sky Islands; but now, it feels superfluous, almost redundant. It is no longer the truth that matters between them.

Zoro finally turns to meet his eyes, and sheathes his sword into its scabbard. “What do you want, Cook?”

The same question, again. He’s been running away for so long, he’s forgotten what truly matters, before the risks and the tragedies and the costs . What he truly wants .

The answer to that has always been simple.

“I want us, Zoro. Together. In whichever way you’ll have me.”

Zoro walks up and stops, right in front of Sanji. “You have me ,” he says. “You’ve always had me. It’s you who’s always —” Zoro pauses, gritting his teeth, frustration written all over his face.

“I know,” Sanji says, heartbeat rising up his throat, his ears, his mouth. “Zoro, I —”

“I need to know ,” Zoro says, hand a hair’s breadth away from Sanji’s own, but not quite touching. “I need to know if you will keep running away from me or not.”

Sanji takes the offered hand and closes the distance between them.

It is a short kiss at first, only a cling of lips — and then he feels Zoro’s free hand drifting up to cradle his face as Zoro leans in for another kiss, and another, little dips of kisses, as if Zoro needed the constant reassurance that Sanji is here, with him. And Sanji can give him that, owe him that much — he breathes into the kiss, chases Zoro’s lips and mouths at the curve of his smile.

“This is it, right?” Zoro says when they part, forehead still pressed against one another’s. “Because this is it for me, Cook.”

Sanji thinks of Zoro, who doesn’t do things in halves. Either they are, or they aren’t. And for once he realizes — not the fear or the risk, but how much of an honor it is, to be loved by this man. Entirely and all-consuming.

“This is it,” he tells Zoro, and squeezes Zoro’s hand. “No more running away.”

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

TUA HUNGER GAMES AU:

(please understand that by AU, I mean they share an incredibly small amount of things in common with the original source material which I barely remember BUT the “story” takes place in the setting of the books/films) (not to be misleading or anything :p)

(BEWARE: abuse, murder, human experimentation, etc.)

(If you can handle watching Umbrella Academy AND The Hunger Games, this will be fine for you.)

(Katniss) Allison doesn’t want to be here, but she wasn’t just gonna let Ray be taken from her by a stupid punishment meant for her great-grandparents. She resolves to win the Games for Ray, so she can make it back to him and they can start their lives together in a better place. But when she wins, her life is changed in ways she never could’ve anticipated.

(Peeta) Luther won a few years ago. He’s Allison’s age, but lives up in Victor’s Village, hiding from the rest of the District. She’s the only one who’s seen him in years, as she brings him food and supplies from town as one of her jobs. She’s fallen in love with him, and he with her, and when she goes to the Games, Luther begins to work with Ray to find and aid the rebellion, hoping to bring her home alive.

(Gale) Ray has understood the tragedy of the Games far better than most others since he was very little. He was chosen when he was twelve, but his sister volunteered for him and died in the last rounds of the Games. He’s been dreaming of running away ever since, writing his pamphlets and letters in hopes of stirring up a revolution, and when Luther approaches him for help, he thinks it might just finally work. He just hopes he doesn’t lose Allison, who he’s been planning on marrying since the day he met her, now that she’s volunteered for him too. Too many people love him, he thinks, and too much.

(Rue) Claire is a young girl Allison makes friends with during her Games, taking on a motherly role to her. Claire is struck down by another tribute, Patrick, and Allison killed him, but not before Claire is already too far gone. Allison holds her as she dies and joins the revolution, eventually, in her name.

(Prim) Vanya fell in love with Sissy a long time ago. Her husband died in the coal mines, and Vanya has been a nanny and second mother to her adopted son Harlan ever since. When Harlan is chosen, Vanya volunteers in his place, knowing she’ll die. Imagine her surprise when Allison saves her with a scheme about sisterly love.

(Johanna) Lila was one of the younger victors, known for seeming meek and eventually murdering over half her fellow tributes to win. She went mad with grief and rage after the Games, and only Diego, her beloved brother who she volunteered for, could calm her. Eudora is her lover, though they keep it exceptionally quiet, and she’s incredibly close with Five, though they’ll never be self-sacrificial for one another, as it breaks their agreement to respect each other as warriors. Lila’s ready to murder Reginald for what he did to her family - but first she wants to murder the Handler, who’s kept her on a leash for years by threatening Diego’s life.

(Finnick) Eudora is a victor, and the capital’s darling. She’s quite daring and charming, and seeks to help and mentor every tribute she can, not just those from her District. She, Diego, and Lila, a victor she mentored and later her lover, were childhood friends and were all possible contenders for the Games, though Diego never participated despite being Reaped twice because both Eudora and Lila volunteered for him. She considers Diego a brother, and ensures he is safe when his rebellion threatens his life. She is the hero of the revolution, and eventually takes over as President of Umbrellacademy (Panem) after the war is won.

(Snow) Reginald is the President of Umbrellacademy, and is hated by every District. Five has tried multiple times to kill him, but Reginald has escaped his murderous clutches every time. With each attempt, Reginald has locked Five away in a pitch-black room deep beneath the ground for days or weeks on end with only food and water as signs of life. Because of this, Five is distrusting and angry and doesn’t show loyalty to those if he can help it, yet is terrified of being alone. (Five is, however, the one who executes Reginald in the end. Because he goddamn deserves to.)

(Coin / Dr. Gaul) The Handler runs the Commission (District 13), a former District bombed into nothing in the first war. Five became her ally when he won, but soon realized she held nothing but contempt for the people of the Districts just like Reginald, and escaped from her. She keeps a tight grasp on Lila, who she knows was Five’s ally and friend, and works even harder towards her goal of taking over Umbrellacademy and ruling the lands for herself. In the end, Lila kills her when she gives her an ultimatum: choose unfathomable power and riches and kill Five, or choose Five and die by his side. Lila gives her a sad look and plunges her sword into the Handler’s heart wordlessly, gathering Five to her chest.

(Haymitch) Five has been bitter and angry since his victory, which occurred in the first quarter quell. His District chose him overwhelmingly, voting for him to be in the Games because he offered to give up his life for their children by being the tribute, knowing he could win. The trouble came when his fellow tribute Dolores, an unwanted, became his ally and friend, eventually sacrificing herself for him. One of her snakes bit him and the venom made him ageless, so he’s looked thirteen for forty-five years. He helps run the resistance, eventually leading it as the war worsens and they lose more and more people. Because of Dolores, he does not allow anyone to get too close to him, but is kind and loyal to anyone he does choose to hold his favor - Lila, Diego, Klaus, Allison, Luther, Vanya, and Ben. Though he’s gone mad from his traumatic experiences and time alone, he’s still one of Umbrellacademy’s most treasured citizens, and lives celebrated as a war hero by every survivor comes the war’s end.

(Effie) Klaus travelled to the Capitol when he was seventeen after his lover Dave volunteered for him in District 12. Horrified, Klaus followed him as a stowaway on the train, earning Five’s respect and protection. When Dave died, Klaus was devastated, and turned to drinking and partying to drown his woes. He works for the resistance with Five, but keeps his persona so bubbly and aloof nobody would ever suspect him of being even nearly as smart as he is. He’s found ways to manipulate the Capitol’s scientific brilliance for his own tributes’ advantage, once he won his right to be an escort for his District following Dave’s death. He used this knowledge to save one of his tributes, Ben, whom he formed so strong an attachment to they became near-lovers, partners in all but the physical. Klaus faked his death during training and preserved his spirit in the body of a mockingjay, who he keeps as a pet. He is dangerous, but vulnerable - for all his brilliance, Klaus is prone to emotional attachments, and finds himself making careless mistakes when the lives of his loved ones are threatened.

(Cinna) Diego is the fashion designer for District 12, having come to the Capitol with his sister Eudora after she won her Games. They’re both from District 4, but he instead chooses to work for 12, entranced by the District’s escort Klaus from their first meeting. The two fall deeply in love, but only acknowledge it in coded conversations and never touch if they can help it, knowing that to take any risk in revealing their feelings for each other would result in one or both of them being killed by the Capitol as an example. Diego has another sister in Lila, who volunteered for him when he was Reaped a second time, and protects both of them with his life. He is close to Five, who he works with closely when training tributes, and immediately recognizes Allison as the face of their rebellion, risking his life for her in the hopes that she will lead them to a better world where he can finally hold Klaus in his arms.

(Cato) Leonard is a tribute in Allison’s Games. He tries to kill Vanya, which prompts Allison to kill him towards the end of the Games. Though he had very little chance originally due to being from the incredibly poor District 8, he grew in danger with every tribute dead, and was well-known for his manipulative charm that won him many sponsors. Allison’s hatred of him does not stop him from showing himself as a prominent victim in her many traumatic dreams.

Hazel and Cha-Cha are peacekeepers, both of whom have wavering loyalties to the Capitol. Hazel is on the fence because he fell in love with a District 12 marketplace vendor, Agnes, and Cha-Cha has been in touch with the Commission for years, hoping to bring the rebellion to the forefront and finally make a safe home with Hazel that isn’t so structured and merciless. This is made difficult by the fact that the Handler has complete control over them, threatening Agnes’ life if they don’t cooperate, and they’ll both do anything to save her - Hazel because he loves her, and Cha-Cha because she loves Hazel.

Agnes is a woman from District 12 who sells tributes lucky charms. She gave Allison her wolf, and Five his snake, and Klaus his mockingjay, and continues to help her people in whatever way she can, offering them bread and treats in secret whenever she manages to scrounge some from Hazel and Cha-Cha. She’s a prominent figure in the black market, but dies when District 12 is bombed, prompting Hazel and Cha-Cha to begin infiltrating the Peacekeepers from the inside despite the overwhelming risks.

(Lucy Gray) Dolores was Five’s ally and friend in his Games, one who shared his emblem of snakes. She learned to control them and change their venom’s property with herbs, granting Five agelessness when she had one bite him just before dying in his arms, having sacrificed herself so he could win. Her death cemented Five’s hatred of the Games and Capitol and his belief of attachments as weaknesses, and he often hallucinates her and speaks with her phantom when he’s locked away from the world, leading her to be known as a sore subject with Five and his greatest weakness. (That is, until his new family comes along and gives him something to fight for.)

(Mockingjay) Ben was a tribute in one of Klaus�� first Games as an escort, and he fell in deep platonic love with him. The two remained bonded throughout the years, as Klaus saved Ben by faking his death and keeping him in the body of a mockingjay until their victory in the second war, and Ben stayed by Klaus’ side for all that time as his beloved pet. Klaus would receive the names of marks from Five and give Ben poison to kill them with, having found a way to alter the venom in Ben’s talons from records of Dolores and Five’s Games, and a couple of vague and shallow conversations between himself and the latter. When Ben returns to his human form, Klaus tugs him into his arms and thanks him for all he’s done, never leaving his side again.

[graffitibible]

PLEASE dig more into the intricacies of ghoul and gogo's relationship I'd LOVE to hear more!!

OH THANK GOD, i have SO MANY THOTS about this relationship

im putting this under a cut because it got. ridiculously long lmao. im sorry you can indulge me if you want

one of the hardest things about writing ghouls pov is that he is, consistently, a ridiculously unreliable narrator. their awareness of themself and other people is on so many different levels of disordered thinking and his sense of self is so distorted by a chemical cocktail of neuroses, compartmentalized trauma, and a lifetime of severe self-loathing. they’re like ten layers deep into this mental bullshit and don’t have the tools to unpack it. whenever ghoul meets someone new, theres a fundamental paranoia and fear regarding what their motives might be in regards to him. thats why they approach everything with so much defensiveness and the general assumption that someone has an ulterior motive. this is actually pretty common coming from kids with roughed up backgrounds like ghoul’s. unprompted kindness absolutely terrifies him because they assume theres some kind of trick there - historically, all the people in his life who were supposed to be “safe” weren’t so this is one of the rules of the world that ghoul’s internalized as fact. and because ghoul is scared basically all the time they tend to grab that fear and channel it into being angry instead because that nets him more control of the situation.

basically: ghoul is two thousand tons of radioactive maladaptive coping mechanisms packed into a five foot two goblin who hates the idea of being scared all the time and has chosen instead to channel all that fear into being An Absolute Nightmare.

narratively, i needed ghoul to have at least one positive relationship in his life so that there was a basis for some good relationships in the fabulous four collective. i needed ghoul to have some kind of context of “this is what it’s like to trust someone, this is what it’s like to love someone so goddamn much you’d do unspeakable things to keep them safe, this is what it’s like to have someone in your life who has your back unconditionally.” granted, thats not how this relationship ended, but at least for a minute there, gogo and ghoul had each other’s backs. that was important because i needed ghoul to have some experience in navigating a positive relationship. 

it wasn’t originally gonna be newsagogo, but i did know that gogo was gonna cross paths with ghoul prior to their run-in with poison and kobra - this was something i settled on sometime while i was writing part two of “starry-eyed.” gogo was meant to be a) one of the ways to contextualize a lot of the Shit in the zones that ghoul didn’t have an opportunity to learn about on their own time and b) one of the key ways that ghoul gets to cement a real genuine sense of justice. prior to that, ghoul had this unfocused hatred of bli the way most people in the zones do but didn’t have a real big picture understanding of how best to chip away at that kinda construct. the closest thing to it was gangs that were super bloodthirsty and liked to hunt dracs for sport but these groups weren’t interested in dismantling the institution of bli, just the catharsis of blasting dracs to hell and back. so when i got to this run-in proper, there were enough similarities in their characters (both tech-heads, both with some deep-seated vendettas against bli, both prone to couching their Real Problems in humor and deflection, etc.) for me to go “hang on.....what if....” and i could kill 2 birds with one narrative stone.

that being said oh man i did not expect writing that relationship to hurt the way it did. 

because on a lot of levels, these two really got each other! ghoul can read gogo’s expressions and body language so easy. ghoul, like jet, is an extrovert; he recharges best around people they trust. gogo’s the same. like, one thing i feel like i didn’t do well enough in that chapter was cement that, objectively speaking, gogo didn’t strictly need ghoul’s help. newsagogo is fully capable of setting up and running that station all on their own. ghoul suspected this from the start, sure, but gogo has a good grasp of tech and could probably do most of the setup herself. BUT she offers this hand to him because she doesn’t like running this station alone. she likes people and likes being around people - hence why she’s so desperate to get herself really networked into the desert and capable of calling up other dj buddies of hers. it’s pretty common practice for a dj to have a partner or team to back them up (in case they need a runner, in case they need to pack their stuff and go, in case they need someone to spot them, etc.) so gogo was in the market for that - and ghoul was a good candidate. a tech-brain, someone good with radios and obscure gear? that’s ideal runner material, and gogo doesn’t have to do this shit on her own.

and newsagogo was a really good influence on ghoul in a lot of ways. she’s the first person to go “hey let’s just do shit for fun” without any ulterior motive. takes them out drinking for fun, likes to drink soda on the roof for fun (this did not always end well but the intention was in the right place). that’s a new thing for ghoul, who’s always felt fundamentally unwanted. in every group and crew and relationship he’s had prior to this one, there was always the undercurrent of “they’re using me. they’re using me and once they’re done using me they’re gonna ditch me or kill me.” so while gogo’s doing these casual bonding activities ghoul is like WHAT IS THE ULTERIOR MOTIVE HERE and their paranoia is eating away at him and theres really honestly no other shoe that needs to drop here but thats not something that registers on ghoul’s radar.

even with that rocky start ghoul was picking up a lotta stuff from gogo, like that aforementioned sense of justice. and it was with a positive relationship like that one that i could bring out just how person-oriented fun ghoul is. like, the way i write the fab four, someone like party poison is task-oriented. fun ghoul (and jet star, actually) are both person-oriented. that’s why fun ghoul becomes so ride-or-die for newsagogo. this is actually like...their default state of being if allowed to get close to people lol. fun ghoul has a distorted sense of self that causes him to rank their own safety and self-worth way below everyone else’s along with a default propensity to love people...deeply. ghoul loves people ungently. they love people with everything they are. will easily put himself in a position to die if it means that the people they love are safe. part of this is setting up just how easy it was for the fab four and ghoul in particular to make that suicidal, sacrificial call in “SING” but part of this is just who fun ghoul is as a person. so when gogo gets hurt, ghoul goes ahead and conjures up every scrap of leverage he has against tommy chow mein and basically sets it on fire because that’s what ghoul loving someone is like. it’s ghoul trying to take apart anything that threatens the people they give a shit about and being wholly capable and willing to set himself on fire to keep the people they love warm.

they complimented each other incredibly well in a way that surprised me. like, ghoul gets people in a way gogo doesn’t, and vice versa. gogo has the attack plan and knows how they intend to set about dismantling bli with careful, calculated movements, but ghouls the one that suggests “hey, you know that if youre a dj you actually have a lot of political capital in the zones, technically??” like not with those words but thats the basic gist behind what they suggested. prior to that it didn’t occur to gogo to use DJing as a route to get what they needed but DJs have a lot of clout in the zones with the right crowds and ghoul’s hunch turned out to be correct. gogo’s the person who can do the face-to-face interactions in a clear and concise way, who can sell good headlines on the airwaves, but ghouls the one who comes at those interactions with the requisite suspicion to realize when things could be off - it’s that paranoid initiative that saves gogo’s life when that bomb goes off.

ofc once ghoul realized that they gave this much of a shit about newsagogo he immediately tried to stop thinking about it because this kind of unconditional caring for someone? that’s brand new. and it terrifies the shit out of him. because all of a sudden, ghoul doesn’t have the handy back door that they’ve always had. if shit really gets bad, he tells himself consistently, they can just leave. they can ditch whoever they’re with and it’ll be fine. but when ghoul gives this much of a shit about someone, the idea of leaving feels like trying to carve your heart out with a spoon. every time gogo expressed this casual affection ghoul does his best to brush it aside or willfully forget it - but they dont, really. subconsciously that’s always there. and no matter what kind of bad blood manages to end up between them, ghoul can’t forget that this is the first person who he actually wanted to call a friend; they keep that pendant gogo gave him for the rest of their life.

but ultimately, the pair of them fell apart because they both grew in such a way that they couldnt be in each other’s lives forever. gogo prioritizes the cause over her interpersonal relationships; that’s just the kind of person they are in this stage of rebellion against bli. gogo can look at her personal happiness and acknowledge that something like that is secondary to their goals. war is about sacrifice and gogo understands this. newsagogo knows that she might not survive to the end of it, knows full well that their agents might not survive to the end of it, and has accepted these consequences. losing some of their agents doesn’t shake gogo the same way it does ghoul.

because ghoul’s the kind of person who can’t accept that. this is the first positive relationship he’s had in their life and he doesn’t wanna lose it. he doesn’t wanna lose newsagogo over a big blanket cause. the seeds for that kind of “will die bleeding for this cause” are there, but ghoul is a socially-oriented person and very person-oriented in general. and fundamentally, fun ghoul is a deeply compassionate person who can’t help but empathize: the micro will always supersede the macro. it’s easier for ghoul to charge into battery city to save a little girl than it would to charge into battery city for a vaguely defined reason that might further a broader cause.

unfortunately, because gogo and ghoul had two such different approaches to this and because ghoul is a volatile person, they did that thing where uh. again, this is pretty common in abuse survivors, but ghoul did that thing where he detonates their positive relationships because this was always a foregone conclusion to someone ensconced in so many paranoid maladaptive coping mechanisms and at least this way, with ghoul going off, the relationship gets to detonate in a way that ghoul can control. a lot of those moments where ghoul acts like an absolute little nightmare have to do with that notion of control; this way, fun ghoul gets to decide when and how the relationship ends and for someone who did not get a lot of control over anything in their early life, this is how he compensates.

i wrote this fuckin. tragic “friends who drifted apart, who didn’t see the cracks in the foundation of their relationship until they were using them to splinter themselves away from each other” with no basis in anything canon and fucked myself up over it and why did i do this?

this was an essay and a half but yeah feel free to yell at me about newsagogo and fun ghoul cause THATS a niche fucking friendship i didnt expect to mess me up the way it did

[thesarcasticramen]

Rain Rain Go Away (Come Again Another Day)

Adrien Agreste hated the rain.

He hated the way that the once bright blue sky would be concealed by gray clouds. He hated the cold that was brought on by the change of climate and the wet of being showered. He hated how it dampens a what could be wonderful chance to bathe in sunlight and how it slows down the pacing of the day. He knew what people thought of him. He knew that they think he's incapable of the word "hate" because he likes to find the silver lining in almost everything. Unfortunately, he is capable of loathing after all because he definitely can't find a silver lining on a rainy day. Maybe it's due to his jaded perception, but frankly, there just isn't one.

Adrien Agreste hated the rain because it was raining the day his father entered his room, looking the most horrified and devastated he has ever seen. He could still remember that day like it was yesterday: the slow and calculated steps his father made towards him, the icy lost expression in his eyes, and the words that shattered Adrien's life forever. Adrien Agreste hated the rain because it was raining when his world tilted upside down. It was raining the day his mother disappeared.

Years later, he thought he could move past it but he can't. His relationship with his father detoriated further and so did his relationship with the rain.

When he received the black cat miraculous, he found a ticket to his freedom. It may grant him only temporary occassions but if he was given the chance to breathe and leave his depressing life behind even for just a few hours, he jumped at it. So when he donned the mask, he was no longer Adrien Agreste, the broken boy with the perfect image, he was Chat Noir, the hero of Paris.

He loved saving people, serving his city alongside the love of his life. He loved being free from the confinement of his prison of a mansion and the restraints of his reputation and responsibilities as a teen model. He loved being with the miraculous Ladybug who accepted him for his flawed persona. He loved being able to jump from one building to another, laughing without a care in the world, throwing all his problems out of the window and actually live. He loved the priveleges that was tied to the ring but all of those things still did nothing about his hatred for the rain. He still abhors it with every fiber of his being. In fact, more so now that he seems to manifest some parts of a cat's nature and one of them is not being a fan of water.

Chat Noir hated the rain because that was the day that Ladybug looked sadly but straight in the eye and crushed his heart. After a particularly difficult akuma that they managed to handle but without a series of unfortunate mistakes and failures, they got into a fight. It was a battle even bigger than the one they just had. With three remaining pads on his ring and three spots on his lady's earrings, they faced each other in a heated argument.

"You should've stuck with the plan!" Ladybug fumed.

"If I did, you could've gotten hurt! I wouldn't know how to live with myself if I let that happen," he defended himself.

"But we put a lot more people in danger because you chose to abandon your post and catch that hit for me." He was about to say something but she refused to listen to him. "No Chat! Getting hurt is all part of being a superhero. When I accepted my miraculous, I also accepted that part of the job."

"But milady—" She didn't get it. She just didn't get it, did she?

"Chat, you have to stop being self-sacrificial and think before you leap. You can't just mess with the plan and run into your improvised ideas headfirst—"

"I was just trying to protect you!"

"Well, I don't need your protection!" She snapped angrily and that's when Chat Noir flinched at the harshness and the edge of her voice, a sudden constriction seizing his chest and there was a prick in his eyes and a lump in his throat. (Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.)

Of course, she didn't need protection. She was strong, she was smart and she was amazing with or without his idiocy, possibly better without. What made him think he was actually needed?

None of them spoke for a little while until his ring beeped and her earrings followed. Ladybug sighed and softened when he brought his head down in defeat (and shame and shame and shame). Chat tensed when he felt her hand land on his shoulder and he refused to meet her gaze. He didn't want to see any more of her disappointment.

"Chat," she called softly, the gentleness that she used whenever she comforted him returning. His heart would've fluttered if she used that voice when she was talking to him any other day but now, he's soaked in the rain and his heart was throbbing painfully instead. "Hey, I know you were just looking out for me and I appreciate it. But...Paris needs your protection more than I do. What I need, is your trust and support."

Chat nodded solemnly and swallowed but the lump remained. Ladybug squeezed his shoulder, making him look up at her and she smiled. "Besides, nobody makes a better team than we do, remember?" she giggled, hoping to ease the tension between them. It was the most wonderful sound he has ever heard.

When their miraculouses beeped again, Ladybug smiled and walked towards the edge of the roof that they were standing on. Chat Noir watched her with his fists shaking and his heart rampaging. It's not fair. She doesn't understand. Can't she see that— "I'm in love with you!"

Chat Noir bit his tongue and immediately regretted saying that aloud. Ladybug almost slipped at his sudden confession but she stopped from her tracks and froze. Chat Noir never felt truer terror at the silence that reigned after his impulsive action. Stupid! He shouldn't have said that! A part of him rejoiced for finally coming clean and hoping that now she knows that all his flirting and endearments and protection for her are all just fruit of his feelings for her. Because Chat Noir is hopelessly head-over-heels in love with Ladybug, and there's all that there is to it.

Ladybug spun and maybe it was just the rain blurring his view or making the mood dramatic and bleak but Chat Noir felt his heart sink when he stared at her cerulean blue eyes—eyes that were always full of wonder and hope that he loved the most—which held nothing but sadness in them. After a few seconds of opening and closing her mouth, she struck the final blow of a rainy day. "I'm sorry Chat Noir."

Chat Noir stood there, watching as his beloved leaped away leaving him alone on the roof, tears falling, body shivering, and heart cracked in two.

After the rejection, Adrien became open to how he despised the rain. The week that followed was the worst one he ever had. His signature smile replaced by a somber face that almost made everybody think he was mourning for somebody's death. (He was mourning for his heart.) He went on with his day like a zombie and he knew about all the worried glances that his classmates and friends threw at him. He dodged Nino's questions, Alya's journalistic skills, and Chloe's attempts of "cheering him up." Plagg was sympathetic and kept his nagging to a minimum. He loved his chosen and it hurts him to see Adrien hurting like this. Still, he kept his mouth shut about his knowledge because his meddling with mortals' love lives will earn nothing but Tikki's fury.

Friday came and even his teachers had given up on trying to know what was going on with him. They were dismissed for the day and he was packing his things, already itching to transform and run across rooftops for the rest of the day, when somebody bumped into his back that almost made him topple over if it weren't for the desk in front of him.

"Eek!" somebody squeaked. "I'm s-so sorry Adrien! I d-didn't mean to jump you—I mean, b-bump into you!"

Adrien turned around and saw a very flushed and stuttering Marinette behind him as she profusely apologized. "I-It's just that I'm so clumsy and you're right in front of me—I-I'm not saying i-it's your fault! You're amazing! I-I mean no! I-I mean yes! B-But I tripped! A-And I really hope I didn't hurt you—"

Her eyes widened. "O-Oh no! I didn't hurt you right?! I didn't leave any marks on your gorgeous face—I mean normal face that will make you miss photoshoots? A-Are you okay? I'm so so so sorry! I r-really didn't see you and—crap, i-if your dad wants to press charges, it's okay—"

Adrien quickly reassured her with a small smile. "Hey, it's fine Marinette. I'm okay and there's absolutely no need to talk about pressing charges. It was just an accident." He closed his messenger bag and wore the strap. "How about you? Are you okay? Nothing broken?" he asked, half-teasingly and half-worriedly.

He noticed how Marinette blushed a darker red and started to stutter again until she settled for a nod and a wide abashed smile. Adrien almost forgot about what he wanted to do that afternoon. His classmate never failed to amuse him. "Wanna walk together?" he offered.

Marinette flailed her arms everywhere in panic and Adrien didn't know if it was something he did or said that made her act like that. He wasn't oblivious to the different treatment that he received from Marinette and most of the time, he's bothered by it. He hoped that they were past the bubblegum incident and she no longer disliked him. Maybe it was because of who his father was and who he was. After all, Marinette was an aspiring fashion designer. Whatever the reason was, he just didn't want it to get in the way of a wonderful friendship with the class representative.

Adrien was about to duck inside the car parked in front after bidding Marinette a quick goodbye when Marinette stopped him. "A-Adrien, wait!"

Curious, Adrien turned his attention back to her. Did he forget something? Marinette took a deep breath and a look of determination took over her gaze that seemed strikingly familiar to Adrien. Where did he see that expression before?

"W-We couldn't help but notice that you seem to be going through something right now a-and...I just want you to know that we're all here for you. You can always talk to any of us, t-to me," Marinette said with a sincere smile.

For the first time that week, Adrien felt happy, felt loved. Somebody cared for him. A smile tugged at his lips and it was probably the biggest one he had shown since the rejection. "Thanks Marinette. You're such a great friend."

The peace didn't last. There was an akuma attack the same day. Despite the dread that was gnawing at his gut at the idea of seeing his la—partner even if it has been days. Adrien shook his head and transformed. He was a superhero for crying out loud. He can't just abandon his duty to his city just because of a heartbreak.

They were a mess. He kept as much distance from Ladybug as he could and they had trouble communicating. Ladybug sensed the air around him but didn't say a word about it. If they used to work like a well-oiled machine, then they appear to be more of a busted engine now. Still, they managed to save the day. He was about to make an exit when Ladybug held her fist out for their traditional victory fist bump and looked at him expectantly.

Chat Noir knew he had every right to turn his head away and leave. He was still getting over her "I'm sorry." He had the right to space and time. A selfish part of him told him that she deserved to feel the same pain of being rejected to let her know how it felt when she stabbed him in the heart.

But he loved Ladybug as much as he loved Paris. They can't afford to put their people at risk just because he was still pouting about his unrequited crush. He can't afford to lose an incredible friendship with one of his best friends either. Even if it seems impossible, he has to move on and settle with the fact that she'll never see and love him the way he wanted. So, smiling (and trying to ignore the pang), he bumped his fist with hers. Her bright smile was so blinding and he wanted to hit himself for still being weak in the knees for it. He nodded a farewell and leapt away, the load lesser than before.

They were going to be okay.

That night, after recharging Plagg, he was enjoying an evening of a solo patrol. He wanted some time alone to think and just enjoy the breeze and lights. He had no place in mind and let his feet take him wherever they could until he spotted a recognizable pair of blue pigtails and pink pants. He halted and her words earlier that day echoed inside his mind. "Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to take her up on her offer," he whispered.

She was immersed in her sketchbook with her tongue out the corner of her mouth, a thing she does when she's deep in concentration that he found adorable. A steaming mug of hot chocolate and a plate of half-finished sweets were in front of her. Chat Noir watched her for a little bit longer, not knowing how to approach his classmate. Would it be too unusual and creepy for him to show up out of the blue?

Oh, what was he doing? Marinette was Adrien's friend. He was Chat Noir now and he only had very few interactions with the girl. But Chat Noir was also her friend, right? He never recalled a time when Marinette turned him away, or anyone at all. (She was that amazing.) Maybe this was a bad idea. Chat Noir looked at Marinette one last time. She hasn't noticed him yet. He should probably go because last time he checked, this could be considered stalking, and stalking was illegal.

Marinette screamed when she found a set of glowing green eyes in the dark watching her after she heard a sneeze from above. Chat Noir screamed as well before he lost his balance in surprise and fell onto the balcony in a loud thud. Both of them were in the state of hysteria, Marinette demanding answers on what he was doing there and Chat Noir spouting explanations and excuses. If it weren't for Marinette's parents who knocked and checked on their daughter, they wouldn't have had calmed down.

A few minutes later, Chat Noir was sitting on the railing while Marinette was leaning against them. None of them spoke for a while until Marinette broke the silence.

"So..."

Chat Noir scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. "I'm really really sorry Marinette. I didn't mean to spy on you and startle you. I just saw you while I was patrolling and decided to drop by."

Marinette smiled and accepted this. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from a superhero of Paris?"

Chat Noir grinned at her and took her hand to drop a chaste kiss on the back of it. "Can't this cat visit his favorite civilian?"

Marinette rolled her eyes and Chat chuckled. He felt lighter. Marinette always had that magic touch with people. Though he never admitted it to anyone but she was someone who he drew comfort from. There was just something about her that made him gravitate towards her and he didn't mind one bit.

They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing about random things. Marinette groaned at his puns and jokes while Chat Noir asked about her designs. For hours, they trapped themselves inside a bubble where he could forget about Ladybug, his whole life, and rainy days. Her company was just what he needed that night and it meant the world to him. When they decided to call it a night, Chat Noir pulled her in for a hug. When Marinette asked what it was for, Chat just squeezed her tighter and he hoped it delivered his gratitude.

The next week, Adrien's mood became better. He smiled a bit more and joined conversations with other people. His friends were glad to see that he's no longer brooding. He wasn't fully over Ladybug's rejection nor was his heart any close to healing but he basked in the warmth of Marinette's reminder. He was cared for and he was loved.

The next time he paid her a visit, he was being bugged by the possibility—the reality of Ladybug loving somebody else. There was another akuma attack that day. It was a girl who was pining over a guy and never had the courage to tell him until she was too late since the guy seemed to be interested with someone else. Chat Noir couldn't help but feel his heart twinge in hurt because he knew how she must've felt. He understood the feeling of feelings that are not reciprocated. He made a move to console her when Ladybug beat him to it. He was more than shocked. Why? Why her? She had no idea what the poor victim was going through. He was the one who could relate the most so why her?

"Loving somebody just sucks, doesn't it? It's the most wonderful feeling in the world yet it can give us great affliction at the same time. But isn't that how love works? Pain makes it a whole package. It's all about taking a leap of faith. It's going to hurt, like really really hurt but at the end of the day, we become stronger and wiser. Never stop yourself from loving and never fear pain because it will help you grow," Ladybug said.

"But how can you be sure it's worth it? How do you even know that?" the victim accused.

"I know how it feels like to love somebody far too unreachable. However, when it comes to love, everything is worth fighting for." The girl threw her arms around Ladybug and sobbed on her shoulder.

Chat Noir was confused. What just happened? He knew how empathetic Ladybug was but that...that was a spiel of somebody who talked from experience. How could she possibly know exactly how that girl felt, exactly how he felt? Was she inferring from how she thought he felt when he got rejected? How—

That was until he saw Ladybug's eyes and he knew he misinterpreted her. The look in her eyes mirrored his, it was of a longing soul and a broken heart. Everything clicked. She was in love with someone else.

That night, he was perched atop of a balcony, eyes cast forward but not really seeing. He couldn't admire the vast starry night sky and the tranquil streets. No, he was haunted by the sadness in Ladybug's eyes and the agonizing truth that she merely didn't have space for him in her heart because it was already taken by an unknown individual.

He fisted his hair and yanked at it in frustration, muffling a loud cry. Of course he never had a shot at her. He can't help but be jealous of the guy. Who was he to earn such devotion from the most incredible lady in all of Paris? Gritting his teeth, he hit his head against his knees. What did he have that he didn't? Clearly, he was the more meritorious candidate. What does a civilian have against a superhero? Chat Noir banged his head once more. Stupid. Ladybug wasn't that superficial.

Sighing, he loosened his hold on his hair and rested his forehead on his knees while breathing heavily. His closed his eyes to stop the stinging. Chat Noir vowed to let her go because he couldn't be selfish, he remembered. Ladybug's happiness would always be his top priority.

"Are you gonna keep sulking there or would you rather talk about it?"

Chat Noir stiffened and whipped his head behind him where he heard her. Even he had no clue that he was here again. Marinette was standing there in her pajamas and holding a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies, levelling him with a concerned gaze. When he didn't answer, she placed the tray on the table and approached where he was.

"Hey Marinette," Chat Noir mumbled in greeting.

"Hey," she tucked the strands of her hair behind her ear as the wind blew. "Is everything okay?"

Mustering a smile, he nodded. "Yeah, nothing's got my whiskers in a knot."

"Are you sure?" she asked. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice though he doubted she believed that he was okay. Marinette had always been so perceptive. Chat didn't want to trouble her with his problems so he chose to grin and lie.

"Paw-sitive."

Marinette knowingly stared at him, waiting for him to give in but Chat Noir didn't change his mind. When that was the case, she smiled, an "It's okay, I understand." hidden in it. "Whatever you say. You hungry?"

Marinette walked back towards her chair. Chat Noir curiously peered over her form and saw the tray of inviting snacks. She picked up one mug and the plate and stretched it towards him. "Don't think I didn't see the way you've been eyeing my pastries last week."

As if on cue, Chat Noir's stomach rumbled and he scratched at the back of his head in embarrassment. Trying not to appear like a hyena, he accepted the treats with a grateful smile. That evening, he pushed the thought of Ladybug and her mystery crush to the back of his mind. He sat next to Marinette as they wordlessly drank in the view of the moon and the stars and relished in hot chocolate and chocolate-chip cookies. When he bowed thank you and good night (because hugging her was probably a little too much last time), she was the one who pulled him in an embrace, whispering, "When you feel like you have nowhere else to go, my balcony is always open for some stray cats."

Chat Noir would've been lying if he said that his heart didn't explode then and there and he didn't smile all the way back to the mansion. God, she was such a great friend.

Adrien loved Ladybug, he will always do, but he respected that it was time to be more of a partner and a friend to her and rid of his hopes of ever becoming more. During akuma attacks, he acted more professionally. He carried out with their plans and soon enough they regained their unity and coordination. If Ladybug noticed the change, he will never know.

Adrien hung out with his friends more, mostly Nino, Alya, and Marinette. He would make the most out of the time he was permitted by his father. Somehow, the four of them would always be down to just the two of them, Adrien and Marinette. Alya and Nino would oddly vanish without a trace. Adrien was fine with it, he wanted to get to know Marinette better but the latter was always awkward when it's just the two of them so he didn't want to make her any more uncomfortable. After his first two unannounced visits, he became a frequence to her residence anyway.

Although Marinette joked about how feeding a stray cat only urged it to keep coming back and how insufferable his puns and antics are, he knew that they both enjoyed each other's company. Marinette was a good listener, the best even. She always listened to whatever he had to say without prejudice and spoke sensitively and compassionately but full of depth and wisdom. There were times when Adrien was loaded with work and lessons that he was unable to come but Marinette didn't mind and listened to him vent the next time they were together. But when he insisted to come, he would end up passing out on Marinette's chair only to wake up with a blanket over him and food on the table. Marinette had a few extremely busy nights and over the weeks and months that they grew accustomed to the new normal, he would hang out in her room. Sometimes, he would give her the space to focus, but sometimes, due to boredom, he would annoy her and she would have to kick him out and put him in the time-out zone (the balcony where bad kitties belong).

Chat Noir never felt more at home than at Marinette's. He was never hungry and he would pretend to complain about losing his godlike figure but Marinette would just shove food in his mouth to shut him up. Maybe it was because of the ironically huge but confining room or the dull interior of the mansion or just living with an estranged and detached father that made the bakery ooze with so much warmth and life. He loved being at Marinette's because whenever he was with her, he was his most authentic self. He thought that when he became Chat Noir, he was free but when he was with his princess, that's when he truly was free.

They could talk to each other about everything. It took a while but he opened up about his parents and lonely home life, his suffocation from always being in the spotlight, and his bad days. He listened to her gush and lament about her crush (who was missing out big time by the way) and rant about her dilemmas, supported and praised her whenever she showed him her designs, and frowned whenever she would slip up about some of her insecurities. The more time they spent with each other, they got to delve deeper into each other's character, see one another's quirks and faults, hear each other's stories.

Plagg didn't want to admit it but he adored Marinette. She obviously loved both sides of his chosen and she took good care of him. The kid deserved all the love in the universe. (Okay, and maybe because she spoils him with cheese whenever he needs to recharge.)

Chat Noir knew how dangerous their little rendezvous nights were becoming. Plagg gave him the wake up call. There was a supervillain out to get his head and getting close to a powerless and vulnerable civilian puts her in a precarious situation. He tried to give Marinette a way out before she gets caught up in peril because of him.

"Marinette, Hawkmoth—"

"He won't."

"But getting close to me practically paints a huge target on your back. If anything were to happen to you...I can't—"

Marinette smiled and held his hand. "I have you. I have nothing to be scared of."

Chat Noir almost teared up when she told him how much this meant to her. And to hear her put so much trust in him made him melt. Chat Noir made up his mind that nothing was to harm Marinette Dupain-Cheng without killing him first.

They kept their meet ups under the radar. He didn't mention her with Ladybug and Marinette did the same with everybody. At first, it was hard. Adrien would forget that he's out of the suit and interact with Marinette the same way only Chat Noir would. But he got the hang of it. Adrien was a little disappointed and found himself wanting for Marinette to act around Adrien the same way she should with Chat. With Chat, she was bold, sassy, and witty. With Adrien, she was all blushing and stuttering. Maybe someday she would eventually warm up to Adrien, but for now, he's more than happy to keep the real Marinette all to his Chat Noir self. Cats can be territorial after all. ("Kid, you're literally the same person." "Shut up Plagg.")

Chat Noir will always love Ladybug, but now, he could proudly say that he was honored to be her partner and actually be okay staying in the friendzone. She was his first love and he will never regret falling in love with her. But it was a taboo topic whenever he was at Marinette's. Weirdly, it was what brought him together with her yet he did his best to never bring the heroine up. He didn't know why. He talked to her about his hardest struggles yet it seemed to be something that he just couldn't bring himself to disclose it with Marinette. He's not planning to keep it from her forever, but there's a right time for it to happen. He just didn't expect it to happen in a weather he was not very fond of.

Adrien Agreste hated the rain. As Chat Noir, even more so. It was because of the rain that Adrien got sick. It was because of the rain that made it just terrible for Chat Noir to fight in his state. A slight fever, an akuma attack and rain? Yeah, now that's a recipe for Adrien's worst day ever. Luckily, the duo stopped the akuma quicker than they usually did. After their fist bump, Chat Noir was ready to go home and burrow himself in his bed for the rest of the weekend but Ladybug placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and another on his cheek.

"Chat, are you okay?" she asked, worry evidently laced in her voice. Recently, she had become a little touchy with him. (They're platonic, he would convince himself.) Chat Noir noted that she still had an effect on him but not as strong as before.

He grinned at her soothingly to brush off her alarm. "I'm as right as rain milady." The nickname stuck and now it was just second nature for him to call her that. He sneezed and that didn't really help his case.

"Chat Noir, you're sick—"

Chat stepped away from Ladybug's scrutiny and winked. "Nothing a little cat nap won't fix. I'll cat-ch you later Ladybug!" He jumped faster than she could call his name.

Sleep wasn't much of a friend to Adrien that night either. For for the third time since he got the chance to faceplant on his bed and close his eyes, he was awoken by another nightmare that had left him covered in sweat yet shuddering in the cold. His screams bounced off the walls that Nathalie barged into his room the first time it happened. He excused it to watching too many horror movies to which she raised an eyebrow at and admonished him. She told him that she was going to log out and head home already and if he needed anything, she was on-call.

His third nightmare sent him to madness. Groggy with trepidation, he grabbed the nearest black jacket and woke up Plagg to transform. The kwami tried to talk sense into him but he was too stubborn and too shaken to listen. He needed solace, he needed warmth, he needed home, he needed Marinette.

Opening one panel of his glass windows, he dove into the night and hissed when he realized that it hadn't ceased raining. There was no moon that shone on his path. If it weren't for his night vision, he would've might as well plunged into pitch black. He stumbled several times and almost slipped from one of the rooftops but he kept propelling himself forward fuelled by a surge of adrenaline and necessity. His eyes were glassy and irritated, his throat itchy and aching, his nose congested and stuffy and his head spinning. The droplets that drenched his whole being projected flashbacks in his mind, his most painful memories, his nightmares. Must...get...away...

When he discerned the outline of the familiar balcony, he sprinted faster. He clicked his baton and it extended, catapulting him towards it. The wind slapped the skin of his face that was exposed and that's when all the strength he had seemed to wear off and his bones to melt. He smacked against the concrete floor and he groaned as the bullets of water landed directly on his face now. He attempted to push himself up but he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. Dark spots clouded his vision and he was ready to drown in slumber.

He was home and that was all that mattered.

---

this turned out to be longer than I expected so there's a second part! this is the very first fan fiction i have written in my entire life so please be kind. thanks for reading!

Part 2: Down Came the Rain (and Washed the Black Cat Out)

[writingforjoy]

A Worse Fate

Sorry this is late @alexprompts, but here’s my take on the ‘Burn it all’ prompt! I thought it’d be cool to make something like a small backstory/piece of history for (Im)Mortal.

TW FOR BLOOD AND BODY HORROR (maybe, i tried it though. not gonna lie)

Tell me, young one. What is a fate worse than death?

Abandonment? Becoming bedridden? Immortality?

Well, for this 26 year old mother, whose skin was as brown as a ripe cocoa bean, watching her and her kids freedom being snatched away was worse. Watching your loved one die fighting for what was right was worse. Watching your child being sold and taken away was far worse than death. Being raped and tortured by your slave owner was worse. . And how could any self-respecting mother let their children childhood and freedom be plucked away from them, like the sweet nectar from a freshly bloomed honeysuckle that the white men thrived on.

Enslavement. That’s a fate worse than death.

Outside her small home, Ellie Mae could hear the bloodhounds in the distance, and she could smell the scent of their masters close behind. She had been found.

She knew they were coming, that’s why she had called for her grandfather Guidry to come help them escape to the North, the Freedom Land. She had spent days preparing their bags, teaching her second son Elijah about his family, how to follow directions when given, how to properly use magic when his has awakened, and if need be, how to follow the North Star. She had hoped that she’d have more time to escape and meet Guidry, but now she couldn’t.

Ellie Mae gathered what little else she owned: the family spellbook that she made her own editions too, her bible, a dress to change into, and all the money she had left. She stuffed it all in her own bag, threw it on, and scurried over to Elijah and Emmery’s room. “Elijah, Elijah wake up. We have to go.” She shook him gently before pulling the covers off him and sitting him up herself. “Boy, I said wake up.”

Elijah’s head nodded a few times before his eyes fluttered open. “Mama...is it time to eat?” He asked sleepily. The room was dark, save for the light of the moon shining through the window. Elijah looked around the room, noticing the sleeping dove in her makeshift nest on the floor, then noticed that his mother was fully dressed even though it was still night. “Mama, is everything okay?”

“We gon go visit Grandpa Guidry early, baby. Gon and get dressed. Emmie,” Ellie walked over to the dove in the middle of the floor and stroked her back “Emmie baby, wake up. Let’s go exploring baby.”

Emmery was no heavy sleeper, the small bird-witch stretched her wings as she rose and walked out of her nest, cooing softly at her brother and mother before finally shifting back into her human form. “Is Daddy here yet?” She asked.

“Is Drusus coming with us?”

Drusus, Emmery’s father, was on his way over going to spend a few days with them while his owner allowed it, and secretly help them meet up with Guidry. “No, we gon meet him out in the field. Now hurry and get dressed y’all two. We ain’t got-”

The howls from the bloodhounds were getting louder and more excited the closer they got to the house, causing the nine and six year old to cling to Ellie. “M-mama, are those wolves?” Emmery asked timidly.

“No, baby, no. Them just some dumb old dogs bein’ nosey. Now quick, Elijah, get y’all bag I done told y’all to make yesterday.”

She hurried out of their room into the kitchen where the bowl hushpuppies were waiting on the table. Outside the window, Ellie could see specks of red getting closer and the shadow of the bloodhounds jumping around in her yard, just waiting for their masters next command. She poured them all into a towel, along with other food, and tied it up tightly before putting it in her bag. She had cooked at least a good two pounds worth of hushpuppies to give to any dogs that might find them and give away their location, surely that would be enough.

“Mama?” Ellie turned to see Elijah and Emmery standing together in the doorway. Emmery was trying her best to tie their bag around, and Elijah stood watching Ellie, his golden eyes almost glowing in the dark carried a worried look. “I can smell Papa’s scent comin’ this way. Is Papa gonna get us?”

Ellie, too, could smell the stench of tobacco drawing near. She had told Elijah about Henry, his birth father, some time ago, and how she left him when Elijah and Emmery was younger because Henry was mean and abusive towards her. Then later that in some places, people that looked like him would have people like her to work for no pay. What she didn’t tell him was that Henry was one of those people, that he had dozens of people ‘working’ for him, that those people like her were slaves, and that she was one of Henry’s slaves. She didn’t tell him that Henry had another son that would’ve been the same age as his older brother Ezekiel, but had died in a horrible accident. She couldn’t tell him that he was almost the spitting image of Henry’s late Elijah. “No, no he ain’t.” She walked over to help Emmery with her bag, then tied the food bag around Elijah’s shoulder. “I ain’t gon let him take ya from me, got it?” She be damned if he took another child from her. She grabbed their hands and lead them down into the basement, locking the door behind them. They walked in silence in the basement, stopping first at the window to make sure the coast was clear, then they stopped just in front of the door leading outside. “Elijah, remember what I told ya ‘bout Drusus and Guidry scents?”

“Yessum, Drusus smells like cinnamon and Guidry smells like sugar canes.”

Suddenly, something started scratching at the door. One scratch. Silence. Two more. Silence. Then the scratched repeated. Ellie could smell cinnamon wafting through from the outside. It was Drusus saying saying he was here, but danger was nearby and he couldn’t be in his human form. “Emmie, you remember what ya Daddy bird form is, dontcha?”

“Mm, a big hawk, Mama!”

“Mhm, that’s him doin that scratchin out there now.” She said quietly. She squatted down low enough to be face to face with them. “Now listen y’all. There some bad men outside that gon try and separate us just cause me and Emmie look different from you, Elijah. So when we get out there, we have to be very, very quiet and move quickly, okay? If they get us, Emmie, I want you to change into a dove and fly away with yo Daddy, me and Elij-”

The sound of a door breaking startled them, followed by heavy footsteps stomping around above them, knocking everything over and causing destruction in their home. “Find my boy and that nigger woman and bring them to me, if ya find the nigger child then you can keep her!”

Ellie was quickly running out of time, at this rate even if they do get out, it wasn’t going to take long for them to be found and separated. The bloodhounds was soon barking at the basement door, and someone started banging on it in an attempt to break it down. Something had to give, Ellie knew it, and she was more than happy to do whatever it took to make sure her kids stayed free.

“Elijah, tell Drusus that I’m gon buy y’all some time to escape, and not to come back no matter what happens, ya hear?”

Elijah’s eyes grew wide with fear at the thought of leaving Ellie. “But Mama-”

“Boy we ain’t got time just do it!” She pushed them towards the door, then gave Elijah her bag. “Y’all stay together, take care of each other, remember my rules, and do whatever Drusus and Guidry tells ya.”

She hugged them both tightly and gave them both a kiss before shoving them out the door and locking it. She pulled a small dagger out from her apron pocket, then made a deep cut in her palm as she made her way to the middle of the basement. She knelt down and used the blood from her hand to draw a protective pentagram around her, then added the sacrificial runes. Ellie took a deep breath, placed both hands on the pentagram, and whispered the spell she made and experimented with often, hoping that it’d work like she wants it.

Use my magic

Build a wall

Trap my victims

Kill them all

The more drained Ellie began to feel, the more the pentagram began to glow an eerie red, then small embers crawled out from it, and started dancing around her, waiting to see who she wanted their target to be. She focused on every bloodhound and person that had invaded her house, this was going to be the last house they ever broke in.

“Go get’em!” The basement door swung open and the bloodhounds ran down the steps and charged towards Ellie, but the tiny embers around her sprung to life and surrounded each of the hounds in a wall of fire, caging them in. Their barks soon turned to whimpers as the embers snaked their way around the hounds body and tore into their flesh.

She looked up to see three of the men surrounding the dogs and trying to save them, and watched as the embers caged them in as well, then wormed their way up their bodies, leaving a scorched trail as they did before digging their way under their skin. Bubbles appeared on their skin as it darkened each second their blood was boiled before they fell to the floor shaking violently.

Then two more men appeared at the top of the basement where the door once was, but Ellie kept whispering her spell, making it stronger. She was too far in to stop now, and she wasn’t going to stop with them. “Quick, shoot’er!” Henry shouted.

The other guy jumped down the stairs aiming his gun at Ellie and fired, but the bullet bounced off the barrier that Ellie made, then she sent a few embers towards him. She watched as it boxed him in, then the shower of ember needles slowly fell on him. All that was left was the two of them and the house.

Henry descended the stairs, his eyes locked with Ellie. She could feel his hatred for her even from that small distance. She wasn’t going to let him leave the house alive, sure as hell wasn’t going to leave any kind of evidence either. Slowly the embers rolled away from her as she shifted her focus to the house. She was going to burn it all to the ground, with herself in it, to make sure that there’d be no way possible for anyone to find anything and try to trace her kids. A small sacrifice she was willing to make to ensure the safety of her kids. The only regrets that she’d have are not being able to see Emmery being able to control her shifting flawlessly, to see what beautiful magic Elijah would grow up to have, there was no doubt that he had some, he was her son after all. Most of all she wouldn’t be able to watch them grow. “Woman,” Henry growled “you’d rather sit here and die, than tell just give up and tell me where my boy is at? Dontcha know that I’ma find him anyway? Ima find him and that child of yours and sell her off just like yo other one! You gonna die in vain and go straight to hell where you belong!”

Ellie looked at him and laughed. She laughed long and hard. “Then darlin’,” She sent the embers after him, and watched as he squirmed about, trying to shake them off. “I’ll be sure to save ya a seat next to me.” She smiled.

Those regrets were small compared to the immense joy knowing that her kids are safe with Drusus and Guidry, knowing that they will be able to practice their magic freely and soon be able to harness it fully, that they’d be able to grow up together and live in a safer place among family. Her kids were going to be alright, they were going to be just fine.

She watched as he slumped over against the fiery wall, and she was finally free. She was a slave no more. Then she too fell over, the spell have taken its toll on her. She felt death was coming as the house started to fall in around her, the once small embers having turned to roaring flames, licking their way up and around the house, being sure to leave nothing behind. When death comes, she would welcome it’s freedom with open arms. To her, being a slave was a fate worse than death.

@orchidalienscribbler @rhikasa @morganwriteblr @wiseauthorowl

[zayashmaya]

Gods and Monsters - 4 - Honeymoon (part 1).

Marvus x Reader; SFWish

Other chapters here!

In which the limo becomes the ultimate wingman.

There are violets in your eyes There are guns that blaze around you There are roses in between my thighs and fire that surrounds you It's no wonder every man in town had neither fought nor found you ... 

- Lana Del Rey

You were propped up on Marvus’s lap from the moment the chauffeur closed the door behind him. It was a rather intimate gesture, but Marvus had insisted, and you knew him well enough by now to expect this sort of behavior from him. You even questioned him once about his tendency to always touch you, and he had claimed it was because he enjoyed your warmth, so you happily obliged his cold-blooded yearnings.

Marvus had chosen his singular seat that was strategically placed between a mini fridge and a bartop upon which rested several bottles of faygo. You discretely scrunched your nose as he took a generous chug. Not even the atmospheric tunes playing from the speakers could appease your rising hatred for that drink.

But Marvus mistook your leering for thirst, apparently. “Wanna lil taste?” he offered, jostling the faygo with a slight shake.

Would it be rude to refuse? Would it go against his religion, even? “Is this the same faygo they serve during service … ?” you asked, remembering how Chahut had prompted you to partake in the ritualistic consumption.

“Na b dis ain’t the cheap shit, u gotta try it.”

You hesitantly accepted the bottle, using both hands to tip it up. The cold, acrid nectar electrified your taste buds with its overpowering sweetness. With the amount of sugar and other obscure additives mixed into this noxious concoction, no wonder the purplebloods were prone to sporadic bouts of madness.

The limo rolled over a bump and made you spill some of the faygo from the corner of your mouth. “Damn it,” you muttered, wiping it away with your hand as you leaned over Marvus’s lap to set the bottle down, unaware of his gaze on your lips.

Before you could settle back into place, Marvus caught hold of your wrist. You felt your pulse quicken — was he upset with how you’re conducting yourself, wasting his favorite drink?

Judging by his cheeky grin and hooded eyes, you knew that was not the case.

Your anxiety disappeared instantly, only to be replaced with frozen shock as his tongue darted out to slowly lick away the sticky faygo on the back of your hand.

“Wh — I — Marvus — “

“Can’t let it go ta waste, ya no wat i’m sayin?” he cheekily said as you wiped off his spit on your dress. “So, wat b da verdict?”

God, you still felt the residual chill on your hand from his tongue. It had been so wet and smooth —

“Yo buddy, u gud?”

What would it feel like in other places — 

You snapped out of your wandering thoughts and prayed you weren’t blushing too hard. “Wh — what? Oh, it’s … it’s something, alright,” you meekly replied.

Marvus chuckled. “Don't stress it babe, i can see u ain’t too keen on da wicked elixir. It b written all over your face.”

You smoothed your hands over your cheeks and cursed the heat blossoming forth. “Don’t tease me, Marv,” you whined, turning away from him.

He gently grabbed your wrists and pried your hands away with ease, smiling at your mock pout. “I juss can’t help myself. Look at dat cute redness all over u. How’s a bro supposed to resist makin u flush, ‘specially when i no it’s all for me?"

Revealing one’s blood color to another was considered to be an intimate display of trust, as you’d learned when you first met Vikare. Maybe Marvus was just eager for some reassurance of your friendship? Troll culture sure is confusing.

A short buzz saved you from further provocation. Marvus seemed almost disappointed by the interruption, judging by how his smile fell into a flat line. But he excused himself all the same, busying himself with his palmhusk while grumbling about not getting enough free time.

You were tempted to check out the television, but the remote was cast away on another seat, and Marvus had tightened his hold around your waist while he spoke to someone who might have been his manager. Trapped as you were, you simply leaned onto his shoulder and looked outside, letting the ambient rap streaming from the speakers set the mood.

Through the tinted windows you could make out towering high-rises and neon signs flaring with Alternian government propaganda. A particular sign caught your eye for a brief moment as it passed by — written into a giant billboard in magenta were the words, the revolution will not be televised, because it does not exist.

Marvus snapped his fingers in front of you, prompting you to look up. He was startlingly close, you realized, and you very nearly got lost in those impossibly dark eyes before he asked, “Whachu thinkin abt, babe?”

You regarded him silently.

Here you were, legs propped up over the lap of a dangerous highblood. He had finished with his phone call, grazing his knuckles over the expanse of your leg. Strange, how you felt completely at ease with him, despite knowing what he was capable of. You were not an idiot — Marvus could command thousands of mindless trolls with the same flair of a ringleader in a circus, fanning the flames of crowd-induced mania simply for his own convenience. Blood spilled for his sake, sacrificial lambs led to a euphoric slaughter.

The propaganda sign was still burned into the back of your retinas, a haunting after-image that colored your world a dizzying lime, and you were reminded of Tyzias’s hushed whispers of a caste long-forgotten, lost to the depths of a magenta shadow.

Dead. The limebloods were all dead, as decreed by the Condesce.

Limelight, you thought. The focus of public attention. How ironic.

Marvus would one day have to carry out the Condesce's whims. He was certainly fit for it, having honed his craft as a global superstar. All of his life had been dedicated to his adoring fans, painstakingly perfecting his performances with an avid devotion to not only the populace, but to his very namesake, to whom he was destined to become.

And that is precisely why you pitied him. How different could his livelihood have been, how evolved beyond its empty meaning could it become, if only he could create music for music’s sake. Not for an inevitable life of servitude, forced to use his powers to control the masses.

If only he knew what true freedom meant. Not that your world was perfect by any means, but still, you wondered.

“I was thinking about music,” you replied.

He quirked a brow. “Don’t leave me hanging like dis now, i gots to b knowin wat’s cooking in that funky think pan of yours.”

“Well,” you started, wondering if what you were about to say was considered heretical. “I was just wondering what music means for your people. For my people, it’s traditionally been used for all sorts of reasons, but at its core, music has always been a form of self-expression, rebellion, and spreading messages of awareness. You know, like … problems with our society, and stuff.”

You paused and glanced at Marvus. Nothing about him seemed out of place — except behind his ever-present grin and hooded eyes hid a keen glint of intuitive understanding. “Dont lemme stop u bb,” he said with a wink. “I like to hear u spit sum faxxual truths at me abt alien culture.”

“You’re not going to rip me in half for saying these things?” You knew he wouldn’t, but it was your turn to tease.

Marvus had the decency to look scandalized. “Daaayum, dat hit me rite in the blood pusher,” he dramatically replied, slapping a hand over his chest. “I ain’t never given u no reason to think i’d hurt u!”

You smiled softly at his genuine concern, shuffling around for a moment to bring your knees on either side of his hips. Marvus looked a little out of sorts with your repositioning, eyes roaming over your further-exposed thighs as your dress rode up from straddling him.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” you quietly said, placing your hand over his. “But I’ve been on this planet long enough to know danger when I see it.”

His fingers entwined with yours. “Damn strait, cuz.” He brought your hand up to his lips and gave a quick nip to your fingertips, gently so as to not scratch. You snatched it back with a giggle. “But btwn u and me, i think u’d give me a run for my cas$$shmunny, hunnie.”

“How so?”

He tapped two fingers against your temple. “The danger b all up in here.”

“The only thing dangerous about me is my lack of a brain — er, a think pan.”

“Na don’t sell urself short like dat, i b tellin u dat u wouldn’t have survived without sum street smarts.”

“That’s what I thought in the beginning,” you wistfully said. “Until I started realizing how my life has turned into an endless stream of do-overs. At this point, I’m more inclined to think that there is a higher power watching over me, guiding my way.”

Marvus hummed in answer, short and deep and with a hint of questioning. “Hey babe, lemme axe u sumthin.”

You wordlessly nodded, sobering up from the sudden change in mood. This was, perhaps, the first time you had ever seen him with such a thoughtful look on his face.

“You really believe in the Dark Carnival, sis?” His eyes appeared to flash with each passing lamp post, like a dangerous creature prowling in the darkness.

Long ago, you might have hesitated. Longer still, you might have faked your devotion in favor of friendship. Now, though … now you knew with resounding certainty.

“I really do,” you answered.

“How do u no for a fact?”

“Because I’ve been there.” Marvus frowned and leaned back against his chair. You did not let his skepticism deter you. “I died once, you know. I don’t really remember it, but I know it happened because whenever I’m in church, I can practically feel myself being lifted into another plane of existence. And — and there was a carousel,” you animatedly recalled, each bit of recollection stringing together lost memories until it felt like you were there again. “There were two angels who came to get my body, and there were weird mannequins occupying the other horses on the carousel, and there were paintings of clowns with smiles and frowns … And a purple figure holding something, and there was a lot of red and green — “

Marvus placed a hand against your cheek, and you felt your zealous excitement cool down to a happy daze. “Either u hittin da incense too hard, or dat was a mutherfxxn prophetic vision.”

“I dunno,” you slurred, leaning into his touch. “But it was real, Marvus. It was fucking real, and the only time I’ve ever really felt at peace since I got here.”

“Shiiiiit, lil mama,” he breathed in awe, running his fingers through your hair before grabbing your waist. “I ain’t gonna doubt u no more. If da messiahs deemed u fit for such an honor, then i fxxn bow to u.”

You giggled. “You do that anyway! Since I’m so short, ya see.”

“Yea, short n sweet,” he rumbled low, and you felt his touch run down your sides to end up at your thighs. At this point, you were fairly convinced he had a fixation.

It took a moment to catch up with his words. There you go again with your blushing. “Wh — what are you saying … “ you trailed off, shyly looking away.

“Only truths,” he replied. “Cuz all i see is truths all over u. Your skin b glowin like its covered in sum kinda special stardust n shit. Makes perfect sense tho.” He bared his sharp fangs in a wide smile, his eyes raking up and down your form as you felt his hands grip your thighs a little tighter. “Them leg struts b a muthafuxxin miracle, babe. And that’s a true fact, strait up.”

You felt the gears turning in your head while you processed what he said. Was he … ?

“Oh!” You leaned in towards him and bunched your hands into the fabric of his coat. Marvus craned his neck to bring his face closer to yours — for what reason, you couldn’t imagine — and it almost looked like he planned to close his eyes before you excitedly spoke, “You’re talking about that sparkly powder you guys use during prayer, right? And you use this stardust to pray for miracles, ergo my strut sticks, which apparently even the Grand Highblood approves of. That’s pretty poetic, Marvus. You really have a way with words! Although I guess you have to be, since it’s quite literally your livelihood."

Holy hell were you rambling.

Marvus reared back, eyes wide and mouth pursed in confusion. Whatever he saw in your oblivious face had him soften his expression, a light smile playing on his lips. “Pfft. Yea, lil mama.”

The limo suddenly lurched. You were propelled face-forward into Marvus’s chest, and you were tempted to compare his pecks to airbags, but that was too gauche, even by your standards.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, ready to scoot back to put some respectful distance between you, but his hands found their way around you and held you in place.

This was intimate. This was far more intimate than his usual touchy-feely self. You were frozen in hesitation, a bundle of nerves and unexplored emotions rising to the forefront of your mind. “Marvus … ?”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel him. Solid, sinewy flesh pressed against your cheek, cold to the touch and yet pulsing with a living beat.

“Wanna know another fact?” he quietly asked. You slowly nodded, and he continued, “You’re kinda one dense mofo, too.”

Well, that took a turn you were not expecting. Marvus loosened his grip to let you look at him face on. Your nose wrinkled in confusion as he watched you with an amused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Babe. Do i rly gots to spell it out for u? Maybe free-style some sicknasty beats to get dem thots cookin in ur think pan?”

You opened your mouth to speak before closing it to think for a moment. The prospect seemed rather exciting; how many people had the privilege of having this talented troll customize a rap for them? “I wouldn’t turn down a verse from you.”

“ :o) “ He reached out to carefully tuck your hair behind an ear — your heart fluttered — and leaned in to murmur:

”Lover lovin herself all up on me, Luscious hips, all curves and dips, And a burning touch That I just gotta worship like an effigy Ya hear me baby — “

Your hands clenched into fists against his chest.

“Red flushin and rushin like a river that flows I wanna b known how far down it goes."

You felt your breath leave your body.

Marvus finally leaned back to gauge your reaction. God, he was so close, hypnotizing you with those deadly bedroom eyes. You couldn’t look away. “Catch my drift now?”

It was at this very moment that your predicament became utterly, embarrassingly aware to you. “You wanted to pail me this whole time?!”

“Ye ;o) “

“But — but why?”

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head. “Whutchu mean why?"

You felt your cheeks burn as the onslaught of past remarks about your appearance surged forth to the forefront of your mind. “Because I’m not attractive to your kind,” you bluntly replied. “I’ve been compared to a mutated lusus, for goodness sake!”

“Hahaha lol!”

“That’s not funny!” You lightly smacked your palm against his shoulder.

Marvus settled down from his laughing bout, completely unperturbed by your attack. “U ain’t gotta give those muthafxxkas any of ur time or energy. Who gives a damn wat they b thinkin, they ain’t the ones who get to have u at the end of the nite. I like u for ur cute lil booty — “ He shamelessly patted your behind, and you admitted to yourself that it wasn’t an unwelcome advance. “ — and most of all, i fxxks whichu for how chill n funny u are. So don’t be all up and worried bout any of dat. Wouldn’t have u here otherwise.”

It was time for one of your famous, long-winded internal monologues.

Did you want this? Did you feel attracted to Marvus Xoloto?

Hell fucking yes, don’t ask yourself such stupid questions.

With that out of the way, on to the next point of consideration — were you ready to accept his propositioning?

Oh, how badly you wanted to say yes. The urge for friendship had long ago morphed into a consuming hunger for stronger bonds. You had even caved in to your whimsical desires and became rather well acquainted with troll anatomy … except everything crashed and burned right after your romp.

Lanque’s cutthroat critique bore into your heart and grew there like a festering wound ever since that fateful night. As such, you could not help but wonder whether Marvus would find you boring, too. Even worse than that, you wondered whether he was doing this to satisfy some sick curiosity about your body. Just another exotic thing to cross off his bucket list.

You did not want to believe those dark thoughts. Marvus had never treated you badly before — in fact, all evidence pointed to the contrary, that he was genuinely into you. But try as you might, your self-confidence was at an all time low. You were afraid to open up again.

Marvus patiently waited while you chewed on your bottom lip and looked away. As soon as your face darkened, he was there to reel you back in with a tap against your nose. You snapped out of your thoughts and drew your attention to him, afraid to see him irate or disappointed by your silence. Instead, you found him to be his usual smiling self.

“Don’t stress it so hard, cuz. U ain’t gotta do anythin u aint keen on, ya dig? I’ma getchu home like i promised, and we gonna forget dis happened.”

It should have been enough. You should have been happy with his suggestion, eager to put this all behind you and remain platonic friends, because you were still hurting from your last tryst.

So why did you feel bothered?

Marvus pressed a button off to the side of his armrest, and the driver’s voice crackled through a nearby speaker. “Yes sir?”

You were about to miss out on an important situation, your senses told you. And you needed to make a choice.

Some other you chose the sensible route. Some other you would return to your watchtower and never get this opportunity again.

But you were strong enough to push through your doubts, right when it mattered most.

You grabbed hold of his loosened bowtie —

“Sup buddy, we gotta — “

— and yanked him down to your level, smashing your lips against his.

[kalico-to-the-letter]

REVIEW // RWBY | 6.1 | “ARGUS LIMITED”

AKA the one in which I find solidarity with the Grimm’s hatred of rail transportation. Don’t talk to me about trains and how they ruin my days, or else I might also transform into a giant feathery chimera of darkness and breath fire on you.

Welcome in to my review of Volume 6, Chapter 1, entitled “Argus Limited”. We are back in business for another winter, coming through with yet another season of my incredibly unwieldy and low-reach style of conveying my thoughts on this show I love. 

In this episode: bitter feelings, Partings of the ways, and Oh my goodness, I have missed the RWBY dynamic.

Look at this girl, by the way. This is the face of a girl who knows she’s finally being given some work to do in this show.

A LOT OF PROMISE: WHERE IT WAS NEEDED MOST, AND NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON

In this era of episodic writing, premieres (and finales) exist in their own kind of world, somehow connected to the body of the season by virtue of proximity and story threads, but oftentimes separated completely by tone and mood and direction. More of a mission statement underlined by style, flash, and signature moments, rather than an actual episodic narrative.

RWBY has been part of this as well, which is why I bring it up. Last year’s premiere had a foot in that territory, and I’m sure you all remember the utterly pointless food fight in the Volume 2 premiere (that’s OK, I had to look it up as well).

But while this Volume 6 premiere looks like it’s not doing a whole lot, scratch a little beneath the surface and you’ll realise that holy shit, a lot happened in this episode. And they pulled it off very slickly. I call it low-key good storytelling.

Let me explain.

This is an episode dominated by three action pieces, all on a single set. This itself doesn’t seem like much, but it actually keeps the narrative very tightly focused, and affords us great opportunity to get acquainted with the setting; outside the train, we only visit Adam’s location and the station. I expected it coming in, but this is the least jumping around the show’s format has used in years, and to actually see the tight focus in action again is different to merely speculating about it. Not to mention that we get something different out of each visit to the action pieces. The action beat in the middle of the episode offers an alternative angle to the in medias res action of the opening, and adds to it, while of course the ending serves a purpose which is simultaneously connected and separate with its partners.

It is in between these scenes – and even during these scenes – where, if you pay close enough attention, one can see the subtle plot and character machinations working to service the episode as a contained story, or possible matters for the future. These things aren’t being buried, but it requires some thinking about to put together.

We can see the character dynamics shifting and revealing themselves, particularly in the little bit of grinding between Yang and Blake, who clearly have still not addressed their deeper issues with each other. And even that gets a little bandage wrapped over it when they are able to come together and click seamlessly as teammates in combat.

We can see the fundamentals of this plot. The crew, just two weeks removed from the last finale, are transporting the relic they retrieved from Haven to Atlas, at the behest of the ever enigmatic Oz. On the train to their destination, they are attacked by Grimm. Team RWBY, Oscar, and Qrow are separated from JNR. They meet a strange elderly woman, who reminds me in every way of Legend of Korra’s version of Katara with high-tech glasses. It’s literally that simple, but the structure of the episode makes it so that it doesn’t feel as bare as I’ve just outlined.

One other such important machination is the possible rehabilitation of Ruby Rose.

It was the biggest thread in my preview for the upcoming season, and I won’t run it into the ground again here. Essentially, Ruby has been one of the least interesting characters throughout the run of this series, and has been eclipsed by her teammates in character depth, which is not what you want for your main heroine.

And this episode takes real strides to correcting this. Like Ruby taking the lead in the fighting. And diffusing the negative energy in the train. And formulating a decent and thoroughly self-sacrificial plan to keep the civilians safe.

How hard was that? Now Ruby’s the hero of this episode, and you have a solid base on which to build for her going forward.

Maybe.

It could all still be for nought. They could find a way to completely undo her newfound credibility, and it wouldn’t be that hard. But let’s err on the side of optimism, shall we? This show is generally pretty good with carrying and developing these kinds of threads as the seasons roll on.

OBSERVATIONS:

Adam is basically that guy you have no choice but to turn down, because you’ve got your own shit together and he is an anchor to a lesser version of yourself. Then he can’t handle it and gets head-deep in his fuckshit bag. Blake, stay winning. 

I love the pointed irony of Weiss returning to Atlas after spending an entire season trying to get out of the place.

It’s touching that Ilia got some kind of closure out of her time with Blake, even if it almost certainly wasn’t the kind she was originally after. Also, what I would have given to see Blake roast the boy Neptune even harder for trying to hit on the “wrong tree”. I wasn’t even that mad at the Sun stuff, since it was him basically realising what he should be doing (and should have been doing from the start).

I’m still not sure how I feel about Oz/Oscar. There is still something off-putting about that character, even though the show went to pains to help him along last season.

I have so many emotions just seeing Team RWBY chilling together again. I feel like Weiss and Ruby are practically bonded at this point. Yang and Blake looks like a promising storyline to pay attention to this season as well.

GRADE: B+

“Argus Limited” is a premiere buzzing with typically well-coordinated action beats, but don’t let that be all you take away from this episode. The storytelling here, while low-key, subtle, and perhaps lacking a little in plot substance, should not be underestimated in its effectiveness – especially for the character of Ruby, who finally gets a chance to be important, rather than just having the show tell us she is. Watch out for how this develops. – KALLIE

[easkyrah]

Writing Tips

By yours truly, Ea SkyrAHHHHHHHHHHH because how does one write?!?!??? I shall attempt to do the justice as requested without coming across sappy and superior. I would like to put it out there whoever said writing was easy doesn’t know how to write; look at me, already going on a tangent. So I’m just going to leave this here for now, but edit and add on as time proceeds. Note that these tips work for me, but do not have to work for you!

Be realistic to yourself

One thing I’ve noticed is that most fan-fiction writers conform to the type of writing style of the author in the fandom. While this does draw more attention to the fics and appeal to the general audience, this does not promote the writer’s own style. 

Most fan-fiction writers aspire to become authors. Play around with writing styles. Personally, I’ve toyed with hyphens a lot after becoming hooked with Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry, and started using more ellipses after reading Sarah J. Maas’s works. 

However, Poe uses a plethora of commas and exclamation marks. Maas utilizes myriad of fragments. This doesn’t mean you must incorporate all aspects of another’s. For example, when varying sentence length, I tend to use alliteration—extended with hyphens—perhaps finalized with an ellipse...

Take what you need and flesh it into your own writing style. Take what you love and build what you want. Take what you see and observe your own style emerge. But never, ever feel forced to wedge your words into other works.  

Are you a fluff writer? A smut writer? An angst writer? If you tend to lean towards one genre, don’t jerk yourself in another to attempt to “be more diverse, learn how to write more, etc”. Don’t force yourself into a direction that is not you. 

Doing so allows writer’s block to seep. Doing so means that your writing is now not reflective of who you are and what you want your writing to come across as. 

Trying out new writing types is great, don’t get me wrong. But if you’re not doing it for yourself, for your own experimental purposes, then you lose that passion in writing. 

Once you lose that passion in writing, you lose the senses captured in the writing. And if you’re not happy with your writing, then chances are, your readers will not be happy with it either.

Channel the Characters

Most people agree that the plot is the heart of the story, yeah? If so, then the characters are the blood, the essence of life that circulates around, the makes us cherish or condone the story. If there’s no characters, or blood, there’s not story, or life. 

Characters have their own unique personality: they react differently in varying scenarios; they have their own personal ghosts, flaws, and vices. With all these facets and more, it’s hard to piece together a plot that resounds to each of the character’s fundamental pillars.

What I do is pretend I am the character, not am I seeing through the character’s eyes. In fan-fiction, you don’t have to exactly follow the same lines of the original characterization. You’re allowed to have a Dark![name], or even Switch. That’s why OC’s gain such popularity nowadays. 

You can hold the character with one hand, and have he/she have the other folded into the original pages. You do not have to fold the characters around the plot. You can have a crack character. That is okay. Do not let your mind conform to the characterization. 

If a character does something small as small as waggling his/her eyebrows to something large as tracking down your family’s location across the seas from separation since youth and bringing them to you despite others planning contingencies against you, which also takes time away from plotting to gain $$$ since you’re all about greed: I’m just SOC trash, then piece together those small skins of sanctuary in your fics. 

That repeated idea will elicit familiarity from your readers. Not only will it seem like you’re just deep in the fandom as the next person, but also will make you a credible writer. Details are the cells in the story’s body. If you can capture them, then you can write the fic.

So when you think of characters, you probably think of the heroine or hero first, yeah? For me, at least, I think of the villain. The villain can be the environment, the mind of the protagonist, or a physical entity. Without the opposition, the character’s response, inner strength, and/or Achilles’ Heel does not manifest. 

Who is the villain in your fic? How will he or she challenge the protagonist? Is your villain a flat type, or will he or she undergo character development? Is she insane and fickle, keeping readers on their toes? Or is he beyond strong that he can smash the protagonist to the floor, creating mutual hatred and a cycle? Is their fates intertwined to the point where Priestess Chay-ara and Prince Khufu have their fate encircled by Vandal’s Savage (DC trash)?

The villain challenges the protagonist’s beliefs. Whether if it’s outright as the devil whispering in his or her ear, or indirect as having the protagonist save a child or an elder, the main character and his or her response will determine his or her own characterization. 

His or her flaws will be revealed. Is he obsessed with tracking down the villain? Is she lazy to follow through her sense of duty? Is he a stringent, judge-type character? Is she a morally gray character? Does he have a twisted conscience? Does she strike up a deal with the villain? Does she does so for greed or for self-sacrificial purposes?

You can spin the villain in so many ways to shape the plot. What if the main villain was bullied into his or her own the present assessment? Break the trope that the villain victimizes others so they can play the victim. Or will you follow the emerging trope: make the protagonist a bad guy (because he’s threatened? because she’s under mind control?), and only the villain can stop the lead character after fighting him or her for so long.   

At Large

In the end, sometimes I really don’t care about the plot or the characters. I don’t care about the snazzy dialogue or elegant symbolism    I care about how this overall piece made you feel. Did you cringe? Cry? Smile? Laugh? Those responses allow writers to see how to flesh their writing. 

If the writings elicit feeling, then you’ve accomplished beyond scratching the surface. You’ve given human qualities to pages, and given personality to characters. You’ve exploited the emotions, and that in itself is more than talent. 

Repetition is no easy aspect to use. If you repeat words such as “lips” or “walls”, that dulls the entire writing. Use synonyms that appeal to you, but do not essentially change your writing style. Doing so only exacerbates the piece at whole. 

Your word choice defines who you are as a writer. The jump from “postponing” to “procrastinating” is no large one, but going from “impromptu” to “extemporaneous” is. Having one technical word in a fluff fic creates inconsistency. 

With this, I tend to read certain scenes aloud. Doing so allows me to see if the sentences flow, and also adds an emphasis on the syllables, which have stressed and unstressed sounds. 

Following the sounds also allows more similar words and something congruous to follow up. I tend to highlight variance in sentence length, and doing so means that each word has to be concise, and chosen carefully.

At Small

Flatter yourself. You are a writer. The eyes are the window to the soul? Pffft, it’s the words that are that, and the key to the heart. You are conquering realms, immersing yourself in the imagination, and jumping across cultures. 

If you’re attempting to write, do not multitask. Trust me, you get nowhere doing that. Sit down, and imagine. Close your eyes, and see what you want to happen. Take a journey down through the details. 

Personally, I don’t plan when I write. I write on whims. It’s a talent if you can sit down, feeling dry, and conjure up words. To circumvent writer’s block, I take a stroll down Pinterest, talk to other users, or don’t think about writing at all. Often I find that when I’m running a recovery run, that’s often when the creative juices leak. Find your outlet. 

We all have other talents or topics we’re experts on. For me, as a cross country and track and field runner, running’s my specialty. I’m no Olympian, but if you can weave in facts that flow in scenes (e.g. Cassian attempting to train Nesta in ACOWAR), then you build credibility piece by piece. 

If you have a green thumb, perhaps incorporate your knowledge of plants and the environment into fics. You could create an AU where there’s plants versus zombies (like the app), and have the characters zombies. Or perhaps you can create a fluff scene where the manliest character actually knows about flowers and has his soul mate swooning over him because of that fact. Now I’m just rambling, oh wells.

Many readers are becoming concerned with ethnicity. This is going to be hard to tackle. But if you’re writing a fan-fiction, you don’t necessarily have to detail all the looks of a character. I personally tend to stray away from saying “small eyes” to reference to Asian characters, because one, I find that offensive, and two, not very artistically written. Instead, if describing appearances in new environments, I focus on the details that are altered. Does that even make sense??

Do, not tell. That’s one essential mantra I have to repeat to myself. Don’t say a character’s “mean and cold and crude” right off the bat. Instead, demonstrate such qualities through actions. Don’t say a character’s a sick sadist. Show the reader how the character is one. 

Yes, 99% of male characters are hot as heck, rocking those muscular bods, but perhaps go beyond that? I protest that having broad shoulders, often one detail given by writers, is a sign of being hella hot and out of this world handsome. 

You can manipulate the tropes to make readers fall in love with characters. For example, the mysterious, violent detective has his determined significant other tucking sunflowers in his hair keeps every flower and upon asking his SO to marriage, he sweeps her away to a sunflower field. Keep the environment mysterious, reflecting the male’s own character, by having the proposal at dusk or dawn. 

When world-building, which is essential in AU’s for fan-fictions, space out the facts in the world. Perhaps have a billboard displaying one of the rules society has to follow. Have the character speak one of the despised government regulations through his or her own unique dialogue. 

OH AND THE OXFORD COMMA. If there’s not that third comma, I tend to just stop reading the fic. It’s not a huuuuge deal, but it always triggers me. I’m just biased like that so please just kindly turn away from me I just don’t understand. 

I’m skipping sooo much, but feel free to add on. I’ll be revising this as I think upon this more, but these were what I could think of at the top of my head. 

[contravarius-blog]

Arrival Aboard the Grymorg Gavog

//Vast black emptiness to every side/ silence, a hard cool surface, smooth/ Neon crucifix lit up in red, blue, yellow, hundreds of feet high/ lowering over Kelja like a lid on hinges/ an array of columns spaced at intervals/ they materialize to either side/ hung upon each, a writhing bloodied youth naked, shackled/ gleaming metal tools on robotic arms/

//Rip-saws and buzz saws appearing as phantoms/ harrowing the striplings threatening but not yet connecting/ new beings one per victim clad head to heel in slaughterhouse leathers gas masks black boots and gloves all shiny and new like love to a youth/ they palpate the young men/ vast glowing neon cross hangs overhead belongs to the firmament itself/ Kelja scans the other sacrificial fuckboys [surreal 1980's boywhores submissive fresh-faced all-American tiny cute smooth sweet disposition sensitive teen cock just learned to jack off gets fucked by daddy-type guys back seats of cars dope habits shy little cocksucker (faux naif) likes older bigger stronger to hold him down so he can feel the strength on top of him only wants to please you make you grunt eyes shut hard cock skin stripping his rectum/ ecstasy warm and wet your manhood filling what a conflict he calls love compels him to surrender with the self-conscious vigor of an unproven convert/ even though it hurts him sometimes he's so happy to please you he cries in relief/ taking daddy's cock means he's a good boy and all a good boy wants is for his daddy to say 'I love you, son']/

//but one of the shackled striplings arrests Kelja’s gaze, familiar (ah, so recognized)/ starts to walk then to run/ boy's name was JOEY/ very close briefly height of adolescence when connections were still meaningful and left life-long impact/spending moments in silence sitting near the river's edge middle of summer strange place transitory a camp sent there not home temporary uprooted did something wrong/ they had been innately wrong right down to the way their souls were when still hot off the assembly line/ how could God have fucked up their manufacture?/ Rapt at nature's effortless perfection the blue sky the restless water the birds that sang to show the rest where they ought to get lessons/ sometimes Kelja looked at him significantly and Joey did the same/ never when the eyes were on them/ Kelja sidled closer Joey did the same right until their knees and elbows touched/ back away before it's obvious you'll never see each other again/ connection an offense repaired with punishment/ love is sin loneliness is purity/ heartbeats a fusillade/ neither daring to look at the other/ RED SIGN OF FIRE FLASHING WORDS:::::/ wicked evil an animal lust unnatural perverse demonic/ Joey was nothing like that/ he was kind/ quiet/ shy/ sweet small gentle (a boy a boy a boy) thoughtful honest affectionate

//soft like healing and warmth holding him between his legs making his eyes close happy a contented whimper lips half open/ trust/ moving toward the kindness/ touching your vulnerability/ skin ‘like, beyond neutrino-detector-sensitive and shit’/ make him feel good breathing harder face flushed/ physical arousal is weaving a cocoon with the tether to his soul/

//sharing he'd give you more than he took for himself and he always shared whenever he had anything to share/ but the Christian Machine would smash him on the conveyor belt when his ghost quit this world/ It would sort him into the wrong line and it would drag him screaming into the incinerator/ it would strip him and devour him/ it would unboundedly grieve every nerve it attached to/

//Joey's face meant safety/ it meant you could put your weapons and armor aside/ he filed the future's fangs down/ he made Kelja believe in a life in which the soul didn't scream for nepenthe to untrammel it from the hurt/ his quiet voice carried over the vicious condemnation of the righteous/ mislabeling their own malleus meleficarum gratification as other's betterment/ and they separated them/ two fragments of spirit that shone with light when put together/ Kelja locked in a room/ isolation screaming in his face, it's hands around his neck, threatening to be the only one to never leave him I have the loyalty you sought, the same that wore your breath to shyness in its pursuit/ Kelja’s cries were uncontrollable that night/ astonished at the size of the pain/ crushed in the giant's palm

//Everywhere he turned there was something to strike drown burn or cut him/ his opponent was everyone/ kindness is mythology- the blood from this scourging is made of the illusions he’s thereby drained of/ apostates of faith in the world entire/////

//Next morning lights come on/ a second later it all comes back/ a boulder that could crater a city smashes into his chest but it spares his legs so he gets up and brushes his teeth, a menial chore that mocks/ trivializes/ ugly embarassment, this phase-shifting from solid to tears with a mouthful of toothpaste. Kelja grabs a chisel and carves a mask of stone. It has a strong jaw, a heavy brow, a fierce expression. He checks the eyeholes. They frame the world, they put it in a cage and make him safe again/ fix the strap in place sheathe the dagger fill quiver with arrows/ walk through the door/ cage the world/

// Vulnerable no more covered in hard metal hatred/ render my enemy's disintegration/ impose overkill/ power inspires fear/ smiles reversed/ your horror my manna/ it nurses me grants a malign euphoria makes me glow red/ I'm the shudder sharp iron invader/ I burnt the tunnels into your attempted defenses/ gutted responsive nerves/ manipulated your signals/ repurposed your machinery/ exploited your experience/ red sharp unlistening cruelties grinding knees-deep through your skinned-compassions/ kindness lying torn and bloody crumpled in a playroom pile/ tender brutalized empathy sucked out the safe interior soul like a prize of crabmeat swallowed with greed the coiled ball of love's cuddle gore/ blessed-infant-moire-poix sold-kiddie-flesh-profit-turning sacred miracle bundle of joy/ teddy-bear-rapekit innocence-splatterball cerise-colored-orgasm-puddle pain-slop-cradle-atrocity//