#me @ expositional repeats

[stevethehairington]

book 5 of the year done!!!! im literally one book away from halfway to my goal and the first month of the year isn't even over yet fjsksk i am DEFINITELY going to hit it this year!

[lizardsarecute]

writing dialogue-- 'ok this sounds acceptable'

reviewing it a day later--'this is shit actually lol'

[dragonbleps]

i really do pull out the clinical dictionary-and-thesaurus speak when i write Dal sometimes lhkjsg i am but a scientist with Dal under a glass like a bug I'm writing research on

it's not going to change but i just noticed it and im a little embarrassed. if Dal saw how i type casually he'd hurl

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Yeah uhh I feel like the major problem with Tubehell Challenge 'The Mimic' story is uhh fitting it in a small space. I can make The Storyteller more interesting, but because Andrea couldn't fill the space of a 19-20k story, I have only 16570 to work with, a lot of which can be cut out given it's mostly guff about nothing and Burrows talking about scuba diving with pretty models. There's 19207 words in The Mimic, a lot of which is loading chekov's gun they never fire and scrambling to make it 'scary' so... hm...

I can do it for sure, it's just a case of building Edwin, David and Mimic's relationships properly in a short time frame. I have some structure ideas that will help with that, and also gonna shimmy around which important parts are revealed in which story, so that should give me a lot more room to work in The Mimic, but also further limits The Storyteller so... hmmm... I'll know for sure how clever I'm going to have to be with screentime when I actually start it I think.

This post is just to say that this is going to be interesting to figure out lmao in case you were wondering how it was going

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff Part 3

Crazy how one impulsive post has quickly outshined every other post I have made on this blog. Anyway here’s more to consider. Once again, I am recirculating tried-and-true writing advice that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice and isn’t always applicable when the narrative demands otherwise.

Part 1

Part 2

1. Eliminating to-be verbs (passive voice)

Am/is/are/was/were are another type of filler that doesn’t add anything to your sentences.

There were fireworks in the sky tonight. /// Fireworks glittered in the sky tonight.

My cat was chirping at the lights on the ceiling. /// My cat chirped at the lights on the ceiling.

She was standing /// She stood

He was running /// He ran

Also applicable in present tense, of which I’ve been stuck writing lately.

There are two fish-net goals on either end of the improvised field. /// Two fish-net goals mark either end of the improvised field.

For once, it’s a cloudless night. /// For once, the stars shine clear.

Sometimes the sentence needs a little finagling to remove the bad verb and sometimes you can let a couple remain if it sounds better with the cadence or syntax. Generally, they’re not necessary and you won’t realize how strange it looks until you go back and delete them (it also helps shave off your word count).

Sometimes the to-be verb is necessary. You're writing in past-tense and must convey that.

He was running out of time does not have the same meaning as He ran out of time, and are not interchangeable. You'd have to change the entire sentence to something probably a lot wordier to escape the 'was'. To-be verbs are not the end of the world.

2. Putting character descriptors in the wrong place

I made a post already about motivated exposition, specifically about character descriptions and the mirror trope, saying character details in the wrong place can look odd and screw with the flow of the paragraph, especially if you throw in too many.

She ties her long, curly, brown tresses up in a messy bun. /// She ties her curls up in a messy brown bun. (bonus alliteration too)

Generally, I see this most often with hair, a terrible rule of threes. Eyes less so, but eyes have their own issue. Eye color gets repeated at an exhausting frequency. Whatever you have in your manuscript, you could probably delete 30-40% of the reminders that the love interest has baby blues and readers would be happy, especially if you use the same metaphor over and over again, like gemstones.

He rolled his bright, emerald eyes. /// He rolled his eyes, a vibrant green in the lamplight.

To me, one reads like you want to get the character description out as fast as possible, so the hand of the author comes in to wave and stop the story to give you the details. Fixing it, my way or another way, stands out less as exposition, which is what character descriptions boil down to—something the audience needs to know to appreciate and/or understand the story.

3. Lacking flow between sentences

Much like sentences that are all about the same length with little variety in syntax, sentences that follow each other like a grocery list or instruction manual instead of a proper narrative are difficult to find gripping.

Jack gets out a stock pot from the cupboard. He fills it with the tap and sets it on the stove. Then, he grabs russet potatoes and butter from the fridge. He leaves the butter out to soften, and sets the pot to boil. He then adds salt to the water.

From the cupboard, Jack drags a hefty stockpot. He fills it with the tap, adds salt to taste, and sets it on the stove.

Russet potatoes or yukon gold? Jack drums his fingers on the fridge door in thought. Russet—that’s what the recipe calls for. He tosses the bag on the counter and the butter beside it to soften.

This is just one version of a possible edit to the first paragraph, not the end-all, be-all perfect reconstruction. It’s not just about having transitions, like ‘then’, it’s about how one sentence flows into the next, and you can accomplish better flow in many different ways.

4. Getting too specific with movement.

I don’t see this super often, but when it happens, it tends to be pretty bad. I think it happens because writers feel the need to overcompensate and over-clarify on what’s happening. Remember: The more specific you get, the more your readers are going to wonder what’s so important about these details. This is fiction, so every detail matters.

A ridiculous example:

Jack walks over to his closet. He kneels down at the shoe rack and tugs his running shoes free. He walks back to his desk chair, sits down, and ties the laces.

Unless tying his shoes is a monumental achievement for this character, all readers would need is:

Jack shoves on his running shoes.

*quick note: Do not add "down" after the following: Kneels, stoops, crouches, squats. The "down" is already implied in the verb.

This also happens with multiple movements in succession.

Beth enters the room and steps on her shoelace, nearly causing her to trip. She kneels and ties her shoes. She stands upright and keeps moving.

Or

Beth walks in and nearly trips over her shoelace. She sighs, reties it, and keeps moving.

Even then, unless Beth is a chronically clumsy character or this near-trip is a side effect of her being late or tired (i.e. meaningful), tripping over a shoelace is kind of boring if it does nothing for her character. Miles Morales’ untied shoelaces are thematically part of his story.

Sometimes, over-describing a character’s movement is meant to show how nervous they are—overthinking everything they’re doing, second-guessing themselves ad nauseam. Or they’re autistic coded and this is how this character normally thinks as deeply methodical. Or, you’re trying to emphasize some mundanity about their life and doing it on purpose.

If you’re not writing something where the extra details service the character or the story at large, consider trimming it.

—

These are *suggestions* and writing is highly subjective. Hope this helps!

[beansprean]

time for exposition? no, time to look at him in his cute new outfit!

My Familiar’s Ghost Part 66

Masterpost

See new pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of vampire Guillermo sitting on a couch for a talking head. He is wearing black chinos, a red v-neck knit sweater with gold threading around the cuffs and neck, a gray and white button up with a heart pattern, black bat-shaped collar clips with gold trim and a gold chain, and new round glasses with gold arms and nose bridge. The lower third reads "Guillermo de la Cruz" with 'de la Cruz' crossed out followed by "The Great, New Vampire." Guillermo grins widely at the camera, fangs on full display, and holds his hands out in a ta-da pose. He says, "Sooo... I'm a vampire! For real!! I can fly, I can turn into a bat, and I even got to move into a real bedroom! Guillermo the Great is excited to get started on eternity!" 1b. Repeat, smaller panel. Guillermo sits with a giddy little smile, fists clenched excitedly over his lap, as he listens to the director offscreen who asks "So you don't have any memories of what your body was doing while you were separated?" 1c. Repeat. Guillermo drops his hands to his thighs and looks upward, smile turning a bit self-depreciating. He answers, "Um. No... I assume it was a lot of slaughtering, so. No loss, right?" 1d. Large panel, Guillermo waist-up in the bottom corner as his gaze goes far away, smile still in place but a little bit sad. Slightly embarrassed. He says, "I remember doing the ritual with Nadja and... reaching out... and then I don't know. I think I was dreaming. I woke up in the fancy room and... I was back! And a vampire!" Behind him are faded flashes of previous events: Nadja and Dolly sitting at the table while they explain the ritual; Guillermo and his soul reaching hands out to each other; Guillermo and his soul, who has taken the form of Nandor, pressing their palms together; the traffic light smashing to the ground and turning red; Guillermo pulling Nandor up into a kiss.

2a. Zoom out, Guillermo sitting on the couch. Offscreen, the director asks, "You don't think you're a ghost possessing a vampire?" Guillermo quickly straightens, head popping up and fingers lacing together over his lap. He replies, "I considered that! But possession feels different. When I was possessing objects in the house, it was like putting on a coat. I was me inside something else." 2b. Close up on Guillermo, the background turning into a softer version of his ghostly blue. He presses both hands to his chest and closes his eyes with a contented smile, continuing, "Now, I feel...complete." 2c. Zoom out again, angle slightly further left. Guillermo furrows his brow with a slight frown, one hand dropping to his lap and the other gesturing vaguely in the air as he explains, "I didn't realize how much not having a soul empties you out. But I've reconnected to it now, somehow, and to...um. Well." 2d. Close up on Guillermo as the director offscreen finishes his sentence: "Nandor?" Guillermo glowers darkly in response, shadows taking over his face as the background turns into rolling black clouds with angry strikes of lightning. /end ID

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Three

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Three: Sports Festival

Summary: Saiki and (Y/N) participate in the Sports Festival, and Saiki has his receiver taken.

            (Y/N) stretched as they waited for the events to begin. It was PK Academy’s Sports Festival, and Class 3 was ready and eager to compete (except for Saiki). Everyone was way too into the event for his taste, but it wasn’t like he could change that.

            “Never give up, Class 3! Yeah!” shouted Hairo encouragingly.

            “Yeah!” repeated his classmates.

            “Quite saying ‘yeah,’ it’s annoying.”

            “Sports Day, huh? Humph, how stupid,” remarked Kaidou dramatically, “My strength is for use in combat. I shouldn’t waste it on silly games.”

            “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re terrible at sports,” said Nendou.

            (Y/N) laughed.

            “Hey, Saiki!” called Hairo. “I expect great things from you!”

            Don’t expect anything from me!

            “Saiki!” (Y/N) ran up to him and gave him a large, closed-eye smile. “You’ve got this if you try!”

            “Thanks,” said Saiki (not as begrudgingly as he’d like to think). They seemed earnest, and he respected that (and them in general).

            “Nendou!” Hairo turned his exuberant attention to the tall boy. “You’ve got great athletic skills!”

            “Sure!” Nendou gave Hairo a thumbs-up. “You’re not gonna beat me this time.”

            “Nendou, he’s on our team, too,” reminded (Y/N), poking him.

            “(L/N)!” Hairo looked at them. “Keep bringing your energy!”

            (Y/N) gave him a peace sign and smile. “Sure thing!” They always had energy.

            “Also, Kaidou…!” Hairo attended to the blue-haired boy. “Uhm, well, do what you can.”

            Even Hairo’s optimism has limits.

            “What do you mean by that?!” cried Kaidou.

            (Y/N) patted his back comfortingly. “Give your best. I believe in you.”

            That’s probably less earnest than their other statements.

            “Don’t worry,” said Hairo, “All that matters is that our class wins!”

            “I’d rather just have fun,” commented (Y/N) to Saiki.

            Just like they said that day after the rain, they enjoy the little things. They called it “romance.” Saiki frowned as his heart beat a fraction faster as he thought of the word “romance.” That had never happened before. He wasn’t a fan.

            “The competition this year looks tough,” said Hairo. “First, Class 1. An intellectual group that has many students get top grades on tests! And Class 2. An athletic group that has the most students who belong to athletic clubs!”

            “Why does their class representative not have his shirt on?” mumbled (Y/N). They really didn’t need to see a random guy’s bare chest.

            At least someone here notices how weird this is.

            “Furthermore, Class 4,” continued Hairo, “An intellectual group led by Tanihara, who scored first-place in the midterms! The last one is Class 5. An intellectual group where an astonishing eighty percent of them wear glasses!”

            “You just like saying ‘intellectual,’ don’t you?” remarked Saiki. “And why did you have to give such long exposition?”

            “So we’ve got three intellectual classes, an athletic one, and…us,” said (Y/N). I don’t really know what’s special about us. Maybe we’re the “weird” class. A little mean, but it felt right.

            At least someone here knows how to get to the point.

            Over the loudspeaker came an announcement. “The first event is the boys’ 100-meter dash.”

            Saiki sighed.

            “Good luck, Saiki,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            Saiki nodded at them.

            “Kuu! Go for it!” cheered Mrs. Saiki.

            “I’m recording you on a hard drive called my heart,” called Mr. Saiki.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. “Doesn’t he have a video camera?”

            “Out of battery,” answered Saiki.

            (Y/N) frowned. “How do you know?”

            “He didn’t properly charge it last night.” Saiki easily covered for himself. Before they asked anything else, he walked over to the starting line.

            “Go! Saiki! For our victory!” shouted Hairo.

            Saiki sighed, and as the gun went off, he ran out. He ended up in second place, but that was too conspicuous, so he let everyone catch up and instead finished third—acceptable, but more average. His team didn’t mind and congratulated him.

            “Great job,” said (Y/N) earnestly.

            Saiki nodded to them in acknowledgement.

            “That was incredible!” exclaimed Hairo.

            “Why am I getting so much praise for ranking third?”

            “Because friends congratulate each other,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re not my friends.”

            “Maybe one day you’ll actually convince me,” teased (Y/N). They weren’t put off by Saiki’s words. After all, the heart held the truth more than what he said.

            “Not bad, pal, although I can run faster than that,” said Nendou.

            “Well, right now it’s Kaidou’s turn,” said (Y/N). “Come on, Kaidou!”

            Yare yare, so energetic.

            Kaidou tried his hardest and ended up fifth place. He looked disappointed, so (Y/N) patted him on the back and told him he tried his best. He smiled slightly and stood up straighter.

            “What was that running?!” laughed Nendou.

            Kaidou slumped over again. (Y/N) leveled a steely glare at Nendou. He flinched and shut up. Saiki watched warily and reminded himself not to upset (Y/N). Evidently, they had an intense, protective side.

            “We have to somehow turn things around in the next event,” muttered Hairo determinedly, completely engrossed in the events of the sports festival.

            The loudspeaker turned on again. “The second event is the girl’s 100-meter dash,” announced the voice.

            “Well, I’m up,” chirped (Y/N). They were competing against girls since their team needed strength in that area.

            “Good luck.”

            Surprised, (Y/N) blinked. Their heart thumped for a second, but they recovered and just grinned. “Thanks, Saiki!”

            The gun went off, and (Y/N) ran the best they could, spurred on by the belief their friends had in them (even Saiki. Especially Saiki). They crossed the finish line second, moving the class up the ranking. Seeing the scoreboard change, (Y/N) whooped happily.

            “Great job, (Y/N)!” cheered Hairo, clapping them across the back.

            (Y/N) coughed as the wind was knocked out of them but laughed all the same. “Thanks, Hairo.”

            “The next event is the coed three-legged race,” announced the loudspeaker.

            Teruhashi was competing. Instantly, everybody swarmed around her and began to give her words of encouragement. (Y/N) sweat-dropped. It really was incredible the effect she had on people.

            “Good job,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N) brightened. “Thanks!” For some reason, (Y/N) couldn’t help but straighten happily knowing Saiki had cover over to stand with them instead of hovering around Teruhashi. It was normal for him, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice it.

            From behind them, Teruhashi frowned for a moment before lighting up with a bright smile again. Why’s he over there with them?! Why isn’t he over here, telling me I’m going to do a great job?! I am going to win this! After all, I’m the perfect pretty girl, including in sports!

            I might want to blend in, but I still have my pride. I’m not going to fawn over someone… He subconsciously glanced at (Y/N) before forcing himself to focus on Teruhashi and her partner in the race.

            “Let’s do our best, Sawakita,” cooed Teruhashi.

            “O-Okay,” stuttered Sawakita, blushing nervously.

            “Let’s win no matter what!” Teruhashi took Sawakita’s hands into her own gently. I may not look it, but I hate to lose. Which is why I have to get first, to beat (L/N) and to have Saiki congratulate me!

            Yare yare. I don’t want to deal with this.

            “Hey, if we win, let’s celebrate alone, okay?” asked Teruhashi coyly.

            That’s one way to give him a reason to win.

            Sure enough, as soon as the pistol signaled the start of the race, Sawakita picked Teruhashi up and sprinted to the finish line. No one had a problem with it, and they won first place with no issue. As usual, the world smiled upon Teruhashi and let everything work out for her.

            “Aren’t they supposed to run on three legs?” asked (Y/N).

            Saiki nodded. It’s Teruhashi, though, so no one will get in trouble.

            “All right! Let’s keep it up and make a comeback!” said Hairo.

            “Ha! The scavenger hunt race is next!” laughed Nendou. “Who’s gonna do that?!”

            “You will,” said Saiki.

            “Good luck,” said (Y/N), deciding to ignore Nendou forgetting.

            “Oh, yeah. It was me,” realized Nendou as he walked over to the group of participants.

            “Go for it, Nendou!” cheered the redhead.

            “All right!” yelled Nendou as he picked up his list of items. “Oh, this is so easy.”

            “Looks like he knows where to get it,” commented Hairo, relieved.

            Nendou ran up to the class. “Hey, let me borrow that.”

            “You mean this?” Hairo held up his tennis racket.

            “No, that’s not it.” Nendou reached out and grabbed one of Saiki’s receivers.

            Saiki blanked and collapsed in exhaustion.

            “Saiki!” cried (Y/N) in concern, dropping to their knees next to him. They hadn’t anticipated such a reaction, but their worry covered up the strange moment.

            “What’s going on?!” questioned Hairo. “What happened?!”

            “I-I don’t know,” stammered (Y/N), “He just collapsed!” They gazed at him worriedly since he had an odd look on his face. He clearly wasn’t alright. “Nendou! Give me that bobble back,” they ordered. If taking it out hurt him, maybe it needed to be put back in.

            “Huh? Why?” asked Nendou.

            (Y/N) just snatched it from him and put it back in Saiki’s hair. It also went into his head, but they didn’t realize. They held their breath and waited.

            A moment later, Saiki’s eyes opened. He found himself staring up at (Y/N). Surprised and suddenly realizing he was close to their face, he sat up wildly and backed up.

            “Hey, hey, you’re safe,” assured (Y/N), putting a steadying hand on his shoulder for a moment. They removed it immediately after, not wanting to cross any boundaries. “I put that bobble back since you collapsed after Nendou took it,” they explained.

            Saiki breathed a slight sigh of relief. Obviously, his reaction to seeing them had been about the receiver. He thought he’d done something without his powers being dampened. Luckily, he hadn’t.

            “Are you okay?” asked (Y/N), their voice filled with concern.

            They didn’t care about the announcement of Nendou being last place in the scavenger hunt; they were just worried for Saiki. However, he stood up steadily, so (Y/N)’s apprehension abated.

            “I’m alright,” said Saiki. He was…glad they were concerned—somehow, them being worried about him felt nice instead of irritating.

            (Y/N) let out a breath of relief. “I’m glad.” They smiled. “You had me worried there.” They stood up and brushed the dirt off their knees. “Let’s get some lunch, you need to refuel after passing out.” When there was no response, they straightened. No Saiki. They frowned. “Saiki?” He’s wandered off. It’s not safe to do that after just collapsing. I better go find him.

            At the back of the school building, Saiki slid down the wall with his bento box. His hands trembled as he held the chopsticks. His strength was still uncontrollable, so he was avoiding other people because people might find out about his abilities and because he might hurt a friend. When Saiki heard footsteps, he was immediately on edge. It only got worse when (Y/N) walked around the corner. They were probably the person he least wanted to hurt other than his family.

            “Saiki,” they said, crouching down next to him. “You need to stop scaring me,” they joked. Their smile fell as they saw his shaking hands. Their gaze softened in concern. “Hey, you’re still pretty weak…Do you need help?”

            “I’m trying to eat. What is there to help with?”

            “At the rate you’re going, you’re either going to snap the chopsticks or drop your food,” teased (Y/N). Their expression turned serious. “But really, I can help. I know it’s kinda weird, but you need to eat, and I’m not going to just leave you without help.” Was it strange? Yes. But (Y/N) was Saiki’s friend. They would help him in any way possible.

            “Alright,” relented Saiki. He decided consciously that this was a good cover and a way for him to eat while his strength was uncontrollable, but there was also a comfortable feeling that surrounded him when (Y/N) was there to help. He couldn’t help but say yes.

            (Y/N) smiled and gently took the chopsticks into their hand. Bit by bit, they fed him his food. No words were exchanged; a calm silence enveloped them.

            The peace was unfortunately broken when Nendou rounded the corner.

            “Oh, hey, pal, pinky, we were looking for you. You guys missed the magician,” said Nendou. He noticed how (Y/N) was feeding Saiki. “Oooh, are you guys on a date?”

            (Y/N)’s faced warmed, and they laughed nervously. “No, I was just helping him out since he still isn’t feeling well.”

            Saiki nodded. Good thing (Y/N) thinks quickly. Otherwise, Nendou would tell the whole school we were dating.

            Ba-bum.

            Yare yare, there’s that feeling again.

            “Oh, pal, are you still sick? Maybe you should head home,” said Nendou.

            I never thought he’d ever have such a good idea. Saiki nodded.

            The three of them went back in front of the building. Saiki’s friends annoyances were waiting there and bombarded him.

            “What happened?”

            “Where’d you go?”

            “Are you alright?”

            “Are you heading home?”

            “Are you sure you can go home alone?”

            “Don’t push yourself.”

            “Don’t worry about us, we’ll cover for you.”

            Yare yare. These guys…It’s very hard to go home now. Saiki was tempted to smile, but his “annoyance” was too grand.

            “You’re going to stick around, aren’t you?” remarked (Y/N).

            Saiki looked at them. How do they manage to read me?

            (Y/N) continued jokingly, “We’ve melted your icy heart! You cannot help but stay!” They laughed at themself.

            The corners of Saiki’s mouth twitched upwards for a moment, and he immediately decided not to entertain their conversation for fear of more reactions.

            “Alright, Class 3!” declared Hairo. “We’re having team competitions in the afternoon! The next event is the tug of war!”

            “I think he’s super excited because he wasn’t in any of the individual events,” commented (Y/N) to Saiki. “Have fun,” they teased.

            Yare yare.

            Saiki pulled on the rope with the rest of the boys in his class. However, he wasn’t giving much effort since his strength was far beyond the others’. Saiki even accidentally broke the rope. Due to the situation from earlier, he still couldn’t control his abilities and ended up winning the match for Class 3, though no one noticed it was him.

            “Great job, you guys!” congratulated (Y/N). They turned to Saiki. “You must be strong, Saiki! You were barely breaking a sweat!”

            Yare yare. They somehow cover for all my abilities while also noticing them more than anyone else. So strange.

            “Behold the power of Class 3!” declared Hairo.

            “To think that a match against humans got me this fired up,” murmured Kaidou dramatically.

            “Did you guys have lunch?” asked Nendou.

            “The rope is torn at the spot I was holding,” exclaimed Takahashi, “Could I have done this?”

            The four boys then posed with determined faces and crossed arms while the other classes looked on in wonder. However, Class 3 was still in third place overall. Two events remained.

            “Class 3 isn’t doing so hot, huh?!” questioned Toristuka challengingly, “Looks like Class 2 might win, huh?!”

            “So? I couldn’t care less,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Having fun with friends is more important.”

            Toristuka hurriedly continued his condescension. “Ah! See? We’re number one right now! Bam!” He smiled. “Well, I was last in the three-legged race, though.”

            Recalling how creepy he’d been, (Y/N) shivered.

            “I can’t believe you look so proud of it,” said Saiki.

            “Please don’t hold a grudge against me if my class wins,” said Toritsuka, still acting superior.

            “Seriously, I couldn’t care less about who wins, or about you for that matter,” said Saiki while (Y/N) nodded in agreement.

            “Sorry, but it’s Class 3 that’s going to win!” declared Hairo. “If we lose, I’ll get a buzzcut!”

            “We’re way behind them, are you sure we should be making bets?” questioned (Y/N), tilting their head blankly. They were all for some fun, but they weren’t sure this was their class’s best idea ever.

            “Are you serious?” asked Toritsuka, looking at Hairo.

            “That just shows you how determined I am!” said Hairo.

            “Hey, hey, if Hairo’s going to do it…We’ll get a buzzcut, too!” promised the other boys of Class 3.

            “Wait, wait,” said Saiki. He didn’t want to get roped in.

            “Count me in, too,” said Kaidou confidently, “Of course, there’s no chance of me losing.”

            “Kaidou, confidence is good, but sometimes realism is important,” remarked (Y/N).

            “Where is he getting that confidence from?” asked Saiki.

            “I’ll get a buzzcut, too,” proclaimed Nendou.

            “In your case, it won’t be a penalty,” observed Saiki.

            (Y/N) nodded. “A proper cut that’s even all the way around may actually look better.”

            “That’s right! Our hearts are one!” declared Hairo. “If we lose, every guy in Class 3 will get a buzzcut!”

            “I’m glad it’s just the boys doing this,” commented (Y/N). They beamed. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”

            Saiki gave them a deadpan glare.

            “Aw, come on, you know I’ll still try to help you,” said (Y/N), waving a hand. They frowned. “All the same, I don’t think there are a lot of events left.”

            I’ll be making sure I don’t have to get a buzzcut with my powers, anyways.

            The loudspeaker turned on and announced, “The next even is the interclass beanbag toss.”

            Sure enough, as his classmates ran around and threw beanbags towards their basket, Saiki ensured that a good amount landed inside. Psychic powers came in handy occasionally.

            Hey, don’t say this is foul play. Nothing in the rulebook forbids supernatural powers.

            Once the time ran out, the beanbags were counted up, and the announcement was made.       “Class 1: thirty-three beanbags, Class 2: twenty-eight beanbags, Class 3: eighty-three beanbags,” reported the PA system.

            “Hey, we did pretty well!” chirped (Y/N). They smiled brightly, and flowers seemed to dance around them.

            “We got more than double the others!” shouted Class 3.

            “Er…” the announced paused awkwardly, “Class 4: one hundred beanbags.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened comically. “How did they manage that?!”

            Especially without psychic powers…

            “We used our heads. Look,” said Class 4’s representative pompously.

            His class had piled all the beanbags into one giant plastic bag and put that into their basket.

            (Y/N) sweat-dropped. “I feel like there should be a rule about that.”

            I might have powers, but this definitely feels like foul play.

            “Don’t call this foul play,” said Tanihara, “The rulebook doesn’t say that the use of a big bag is forbidden.”

            “They should’ve written a rule for that.”

            (Y/N) nodded fervently. “It’s out-of-the-box thinking, but it just feels unsportsmanlike.”

            “But there’s still the last event, the interclass relay!” declared an optimistic, determined Hairo. “The class in first place will get five hundred points. It means that if we’re in first place and Class 4 is in last, we can win! Saiki! I want you to be another leg!”

            “It seems refusing would just make things difficult,” the psychic observed.

            “I’ll try to get the baton to you quickly,” said (Y/N) brightly, trying to help as best they could.

            The classes organized themselves. When the pistol signaled the start, Kaidou began running as fast as he could (not very fast) while his classmates cheered him on. When he passed the baton to Tadashi, they were unfortunately in last place. This was repeated when Tadashi passed the baton to Nendou. Luckily, even though he ran very strangely, he was fast and got to first place. Teruhashi was next and could run quickly as well (another perk of being the perfect pretty girl). She passed the baton to Yumehara who managed to maintain a fast pace. Hairo was next to receive the baton. He handed it to (Y/N) while still in the lead. (Y/N) prepared to run quickly but tripped suddenly. They were in last place as they got back up and started sprinting.

            Saiki readied himself for the baton. I’m going to cross the finish line in the same place I started. In other words, we will finish in last place.

            Tripping someone isn’t foul play, either…As long as no one notices, that is… thought Tanihara.

            Now that changes everything. Can’t let him get away with cheating and sabotaging (Y/N) my class.

            “Saiki! Hurry!” called (Y/N) as they held out the baton.

            It flew from their hand to Saiki��s, causing them to blink.

            “I will,” said Saiki. It’s payback time for (Y/N).

            Class 3, indeed, all of the students, gazed in amazement as Saiki sped to the front of the group. He was almost at the finish line.

            “Yeah! Great job, Saiki!” cheered (Y/N).

            Saiki collapsed. (Y/N) sweat-dropped. His class gaped.

            Oh, that’s right. I can’t control my body well right now.

            (Y/N) walked over and knelt by him. Smiling kindly, they said, “It’s alright. You did your best.”

            Yare yare. I was trying to avoid a buzzcut.

l

            “Good morning, guys!” greeted Hairo. “Where are your buzzcuts?”

            He was sporting one himself. Behind him stood Nendou, Kaidou, and Saiki. Nendou sported the same cut, but he somehow ended up with more hair than he began with. Kaidou was completely bald, and Saiki had a buzzcut.

            (Y/N) bit their lip to stop from laughing. “You boys only had to do that if we lost to Class 2, remember? We beat them.”

            Yare yare. Saiki had a feeling that (Y/N) wasn’t going to let this one go for a while.

Taglist:

@elaemae

@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

@melovepurple

@sleep-7372

@w0mank1sser

@geminigengar

@noodleryworld

@leonardo-dabitchy

@janezee12751275

@xenop0p

@ex160-blog1

@futureittomainn

@boogiemansbitch

@dmitrytherat

@yuriisclumsy

[artist-issues]

I Saw Wish

And it was the worst animated Disney movie I’ve ever seen. I have to watch it again before I can get into the nitty gritty details. But I don’t need details to sum it up, because my dad actually said it perfectly as we left the theater:

“It was like someone who didn’t really understand Disney movies tried to make a Disney movie.”

Both the form (the technical arts of filmmaking) and the content (the morals, values, and themes of the movie) were totally horrible.

I don’t know who’s fault it was. Jeremy Spears was in the storyboard room and Mark Henn and Eric Goldberg did some 2D animation. But they must have gotten outvoted, or they must not care anymore.

Because holy cow. Here’s some stuff that’s just off the top of my head.

SPOILERS. Not that it matters, because nothing interesting happens in this movie.

The writing? Terrible. Ninety percent of it feels like the characters are filling time with quirky one-liners that are trying too hard to be appealing, then failing, then taking you out of the movie. The jokes aren’t funny. The characters just respond to each other in conversation to check a one-liner box. The other twenty percent is whole conversations repeating tell-don’t-show exposition that has already been covered, usually twice, in previous scenes. Like if in Tangled, every scene had included some variation of Rapunzel saying to friends and enemies alike, “I have to see the floating lights so I’m sneaking to the castle with this thief who wants a mysterious tiara I hid from him. Don’t tell my mother, she’s a bit overprotective!” Over. And over. And over.

The character motivations are way too broad. Asha? Her dream is just “that everybody around me gets to be happy.” That’s it, in a nutshell. No deeper exploration of that. Nobody asks, “why do you care so much?” Nobody tries to convince her she should look out for herself, and then she proves she was right all along. The King? We are told (not shown) that he doesn’t want anyone else’s dreams to be “destroyed.” But he in no believable way expresses that that motivation is still what’s driving him during the movie—what’s driving him is just a plain old lust for power, no nuance.

By the way, the whole premise of the movie? Undercooked. Half-baked concepts strung together with no definitive meaning. Therefore, it’s not believable. Example: The characters act like the wishes are beautiful—well, actually, no, this movie doesn’t know how to show, so there’s not a lot of meaningful acting—the characters just tell us that wishes are “the most beautiful part of someone,” and that’s why it’s worth going through this adventure to give their wishes back to them. But there’s no proof of that in the movie. In fact, it directly kicks it’s own legs out from under that idea, because it has every character who gives up their wish forget that part of themselves. Asha’s grandfather has forgotten his wish, but that doesn’t make him any less “beautiful.” She, and everyone, still treats him like he’s this wonderful old man who deserves the world, who everyone loves…but why is he so appealing? If he “gave up the most beautiful part of him?” The only character who is changed by their lack-of-wish is the Sleepy-analogue character…who is just sleepy, which is described as “boring.” But nobody else who’s given up their wish in the whole kingdom acts like that. It’s just him. Also, the King acts like it’s so important to protect the wishes from destruction. But what does destroying a wish look like? That actually happens to Asha’s mom. Her wish-bubble is broken, literally, and she just says she feels grief. But like. Why? She never remembered it in the first place; it had been missing from her life for years. Also, what the heck is a wish?! It seems to range from broad concepts like “inspire people” to “fly.” Just “fly,” like a bird. The desire to levitate off the ground is the most important, beautiful essence of one background character. Like, what?! But no character ever has the why behind their wish to make us care.

I could go on and on about that point. Like, think about Disney movies that wrote the book on how to make movies about characters with wishes. If Ariel were in Wish, her bubble would look like “dancing and learning and exploring on the Surface with someone who understands her.” But we believe that that is her real, genuine wish, and that it matters to her, because we are shown why being understood is so important to her. Because it’s missing from her life. There’s a scene where she explores a boat alone, and even her best friend doesn’t get excited about it with her. Her dad won’t listen to her point of view. Her siblings don’t ask her about her life even when they think she’s in love. She wants what she wants because of pieces of her life that we are shown.

We are never shown why Asha’s grandfather is obsessed with inspiring people, so we have no reason to believe it, or care whether he gets it or not. We can’t feel disappointed when his wish is said to “never come true,” like we did when Quasimodo was abused by the people he wished to join. We can’t feel elated when he finally “gets” his wish, like we did when Simba smiles on Pride Rock remembering the same way he used to as a cub and claims the crown with a roar. We don’t have anything to hang on to, nothing to relate to, nothing to grasp and feel with the characters. So we don’t feel, because they didn’t put the work in to help us feel. They just say, “the mom’s feeling grief. Feel grief.” And expect us to do the work ourselves. I have to stop harping on this point and move on.

But The main point of the movie is very broad because of that lazy premise, and it’s barely reinforced by any kind of appealing storytelling. If I had to guess, the point would be “Keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” But the story they told to communicate that meaning was so unimpactful. Asha doesn’t have a dream of her own that’s such hard work to accomplish! (Neither does her grandfather; his wish is “to inspire people.” And at the end, we’re supposed to see him strumming a guitar and believe it’s inspiring? We were never shown how he worked hard to learn how to play the instrument. Or that he carved it with his own hands, or anything like that. So there’s no meaningful demonstration of working hard for it or achieving your wish even if it’s far out of reach.) And nobody except the king is trying to take wishes away from anyone, and he just does it literally, after they voluntarily give them to him, so there’s not even any impactful demonstration of “don’t let anyone tell you your wishes are dumb or unachievable, or stop you from reaching them.” Even when he takes them away, it’s just because they…could, someday, be used to threaten his kingdom in a vague, really unlikely way. There are so many things you could do with “keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” For instance; you could say the main character has always been afraid to dream (wish for more), because maybe when she was a kid something wonderful almost happened but ended in tragedy, so she keeps her head down and doesn’t want much because if you don’t dream you’ll never be disappointed. She takes no risks, and has to learn that sometimes trying and failing is worth more than slogging through life all self-protective. I mean, the pieces were right there. She has this line about her dad, and how she wished he would get better but then he died. She has lines about how nobody should have to live with grief?? Then that’s never addressed again! It’s just a throwaway emotion-moment with no buildup or follow-through to tie it to and support that main theme.

The compositions of too many shots were so terrible. Characters got cut off in weird places. One shot has Asha dead center, with her grandfather on the left side of the table and her mother on the right, having a family dinner with a super exposition-heavy conversation that is meant to be emotionally charged. But despite everything else being perfectly centered, half of her mother’s body is chopped off. The movie’s shot like someone’s mom who doesn’t understand technology tried to take a video with her phone.

The charm of the art “style” wears off basically immediately. I know what they were going for. I see the sketch lines and watercolor textures. This is maybe the first time Disney ever failed to accomplish a visual “look” that turned out good. Everything looks dull. Muted. De-saturated. Slightly out of focus, but not in a cool Spider-Verse way. The sets or backgrounds are lazy; at no point does the scenery look complete; big, empty, boring spaces that do not create any kind of “stage” for impactful moments. The rendering looks unfinished. When Asha’s hair moves during her belting of the “I Make This Wish” song, it’s bad. It’s unnatural. It flops in a way that doesn’t make sense for the weight of her hair. The most impactful visual moments come from the villain, and they’re moments when he looks way too unhinged for the kind of line he’s saying.

There is no interesting character development. Asha goes from believing everyone is basically good and their wishes deserve the chance to come true , to….that, again. That would be fine, she could be a static character, if she proved contrast-characters wrong, in a believable way. But she never does. Because no other characters argue with her except the King. And it goes no deeper than “everyone’s wishes are basically good and they deserve the chance to make them true” vs. “nuh-uh, because I get to decide what makes them deserving.” The King doesn’t have any kind of interesting development, either. They don’t expand on his tragic backstory—it consists of one drawing of him near a broken boat, and a few images of the corner burned off of his family taoestry. They never say “King Magnifico wished for _____ and it was taken away!” They literally never tell you what his wish or dreams were, or what motivated him to create the whole kingdom that the movie’s premise sits on. So there’s no convincing sense of progression, how he got this way, why he’ll keep going “so far.”

The pacing is weird. It undercuts every moment that could have any kind of emotion behind it. One minute Valentino is suavely bouncing around, then he’s given a two-second beat to blubber with badly-animated tears that he’ll miss Star—then he instantly gets to have another funny one-liner so we forget he might’ve been sad a second ago. We’re clearly supposed to believe that the King and his wife are devoted to each other, and his turning evil was such a big betrayal, but there’s no time and no impactful evidence for us to believe either of those things. And even if we did, the moment he’s defeated and trapped in a mirror, and begs to be let free, the Queen kind of shrugs it off, makes a forgettable one-liner, and tells them to throw him in the dungeon. And he doesn’t look remorseful. And we don’t even get to assume he’s embarrassed or emotionally devastated that he’s come to this—because the last thing he says is “nooo, the dungeon is so smellyyy!” Like this is a half-baked LEGO short that can’t get emotionally deeper than what an actual 3 year-old’s parents might be okay with.

And that’s the worst offense: The movie is not genuine. It works hard for nothing, and it has no vulnerability. It just uses old Disney standbys to pretend to be vulnerable. Have the music swell and the characters gasp and the songs drip emotion when characters are meant to be saying or doing something emotional.

But truthfully, think of all the Disney movies you’ve ever seen with the hardest emotional moments. The sheer joy of Genie when he realizes he’s free. The anguish when Elsa thinks Anna’s been frozen forever, or when Anna thinks she’s dead. The trauma when Simba loses Mufasa. The longing and dreaming of Ariel when she reaches up out of her grotto. The sense of foreboding when Mother Gothel says “fine, now I’m the bad guy” or the heartbreak in Rapunzel’s eyes when she thinks Flynn has abandoned her, or the shame on Aladdin’s face when Jafar reveals he’s a street-rat, or the horror of cruelty when the stepsisters rip up Cinderella’s dress, or Kala’s tears when Tarzan leaves her in the treehouse, or Sarabi’s tears when Simba comes back, or Mulan’s father tossing aside the sword and token of the Emperor to embrace Mulan, or heck, even just Lilo pushing Stitch in the woods and telling him “get out of here.” This movie has no moments like that. It has moments you can tell that the filmmakers wanted to hit like that—but they don’t.

Because no work is put into building them up. You know how much Simba loves Mufasa, because you’ve been watching their chemistry more than any other character all the way up till he dies. You know how much Mulan wants to please her family because she spends all of Act I desperately attempting to do that. You know Quasimodo believes the world below is beautiful and wants them to accept him because he has interesting things like—talking to gargoyles, convincing us that he’s lonely; building a scale model of the townspeople, convincing us that he sees them in a beautiful way and wishes he were beautiful in more ways than one like them, too.

Right down to the facial expressions, none of them are as anguished, happy, sad, excited, silly, in any convincing way like all of Disney’s other movies. Asha’s “low moment” when she’s afraid her “wish” hurt everyone else (still vague on what that wish ever was) lasts two seconds, she’s not crying, she’s barely sitting with slumped shoulders, and her family barely spend two seconds comforting her. They basically just say, “aw, no, it’s not y fault, it’s the king’s.” And she’s like, “yeah okay” and that’s that. It’s like the animators we’re afraid to animate really intimate emotions on the characters’ faces. The voice actors, too.

And the whole movie is peppered with Easter eggs to past Disney movies. But all that does, if you really know Disney beyond the visuals, is make you think of how hollow this movie is in comparison. How much you wish you were watching Cinderella or The Little Mermaid or something with depth and vulnerability instead of Wish.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i'm so happy you brought back up the topic of rick's shitty writing of anyone even remotely non white / "white passing"

with that being said, do you think the shitty script he gave to annabeth in the show has to do with him just being deeply uninterested in adapting his story to include characters of color? bc it seems like once rick encounters a character that cannot be easily erased all ethnic or racial identity of to fit them into an usamerican specifically white ass narrative, he gets lost.

i just keep thinking how the only thing that "changed" about annabeth as presented in the show was her race but her plot relevance and her characterization got downgraded severely. meanwhile percy, whiter than before (wheres the mediterranean god look......................................), got half her functions. like i just look at rick in context and i wonder if he just gives so little fuck about characters of color he cant even write a decent character arc for an adaptation of a very established persona

thoughts? thank u!

I wouldn't be surprised if it's Rick (and the writer's room, since it actually seems Rick isn't all that heavily involved if much at all with the script itself based on some interviews) just has internal biases that he refuses to reflect on. It would be a consistent trend with the uptick in offensive writing in the books themselves (see: the troglodytes in general, all the Jewish kids in CHB being in Hermes cabin, etc etc). Rick seems to want to engage with these topics but refuses to actually assess how he's approaching it and his own biases while also overemphasizing his engagement with the topics. It's a kind of big talk/words vs actions type thing to me.

[this got a wee bit long so throwing it under a cut]

I was having a couple of conversations about this topic recently - one being group reading/discussion of WottG and how, allegedly, the slightly different characterizations in that book are inspired by the actors in the show. Annabeth is repeatedly and frequently described as motherly and maternal in the book, plus some other misc characterizations that make you tilt your head and go "Wait, what about Leah made you want to write Annabeth this way?" and concerns about it leaning into stereotypes. (It's also strange, because in the show Sally is MUCH more aggressive and less maternal, and this is painted like it's supposed to be a girlboss thing cause her being too soft and motherly was too weak or something? But now book Annabeth is now being described as all soft and maternal??? What. What is happening.)

Another conversation that i had with my therapist (cause we talk about pjo a lot lol) and later repeated and discussed more with other folks on discord more specifically regarding the show was a lot of discussion about the casting. Particularly casting choices and how the writing either is refusing to take casting into consideration to respectfully approach how things would be changed to avoid problems or are actively changing the script for characters in a way that is potentially if not downright offensive. Clarisse is the number one example i bring up because a lot of people say that the reason a plus sized actress wasn't cast for her was to avoid the "fat bully" trope. The thing is, there is ALSO a POC bully trope that is just as bad if not worse, so if they were actually taking offensive tropes into consideration one would expect them to avoid that too (especially since Percy was cast as a pasty white boy - which just makes it all look worse)? (Also other plus-sized characters like Dionysus and Gabe were also cast as skinny, same with Tyson. So it just seems like they don't want to cast plus-sized actors either.)

But also they're rewriting stuff that actively puts the casting decisions into worse tropes. Like hey, why is Percy (a white guy) the one who knows the "real" versions of all these myths and is expositioning them to Annabeth (a black girl), who in the books is supposed to know more than him? Why does he know better than her for some reason and have to guide her? Why is Percy teaching Annabeth about pop culture and how to be a kid? Not to mention stuff like the show constantly encouraging the viewer to doubt or distrust characters like Grover and Clarisse and Annabeth as red herrings as to who the traitor is. Plus there's no adjustments to stuff from the books like Annabeth initially being somewhat aggressive/antagonistic towards Percy, or Clarisse's aggression and bullying towards Percy to try and circumvent those being bad tropes in the contexts of the casting.

And there's an ongoing trend of characters who are antagonistic towards Percy in the books being divided into two groups: those who continue to be antagonistic towards Percy in the show, or those who are tweaked to suddenly become kinda silly-goofy and significantly less threatening. Gabe, Dionysus, Ares, and Hades are all examples of characters that should be antagonistic towards Percy but are softened SIGNIFICANTLY and played for laughs in the show. Echidna is played as a twist antagonist because she initially because she approaches the kids as very sweet and helpful. And they're all cast as white! Meanwhile other characters like Clarisse, Luke, Zeus, etc, are still antagonistic towards Percy (plus also like Annabeth initially and again, Grover being painted as a major red herring). Plus some new additions like Hermes, Mr. Lin Manuel Miranda himself, being wholly introduced into the plot when he's not supposed to appear until book 2, and all he does is sabotage the quest. Like, it's weird! That's a weird writing decision!!!! I get wanting to get that sweet sweet LMM cameo money, but, why is Hermes an antagonist here???????? he's not even supposed to be here yet!.

We also have stuff like Poseidon (who, like many of the god/major kid pairings so far seems to have been cast to match each other appearance-wise) saving the day for Percy and being this weirdly good dad, versus the books where we get the iconic "I am sorry you were born" line and Percy and Poseidon's tension is part of their arcs. Notably, Poseidon does this by ceding to Zeus, who is actively about to start a war. While Gabe is rewritten to be a total loser, Sally is MUCH more aggressive and her yelling and screaming at young Percy is supposed to be sympathetic for some reason? If Gabe were acting like Sally does in the show, he would actually be significantly more like his book counterpart! The show is making active decisions to paint these characters the way they do!

Admittedly, part of it may just be they got overzealous with their casting (not inherently a bad thing! diverse casting is good!) and then proceeded to not consider how that casting affects the way the characters are perceived. It also doesn't bode well for certain guesses we can make going further into the show - Thalia is very at odds with Percy initially. She's a very aggressive character. They fight a lot! Also Annabeth's description already implies that they're tweaking Thalia's character to be more "tough love" versus the books where she's significantly more of a bleeding heart when she first meets Annabeth. Like, I'm very happy about Thalia's casting, her actress seems amazing, but also I'm VERY concerned with how they're going to approach her character to make sure it doesn't end up wildly offensive. Athena is similar - we can guess based on casting decisions so far that they're going to try and cast Athena as similar in appearance to Annabeth/Leah. The show has already painted Athena has antagonistic and uncaring towards her daughter. If projected trends continue, these things are not gonna be great.

And the show does seem to rarely want to engage with these topics - like the scene with the cop in the train. You can tell what they wanted to address by having Annabeth be the one to confront him. The thing is they were too cowardly to actually have that conversation! They paint the kids as being unreasonable and getting unnecessarily upset when they aren't directly being accused of destroying a room, therein painting the cop as the one in the right in that situation. The implication seems to be a little bit they were going for "Oh, this is Annabeth's hubris getting them into trouble" but. that's such a bad way to do it! That's like the worst way you could have done it! (This is also a trend in books from HoO onwards, more or less - Rick tries to engage with certain topics, often using characters of specific demographics, and then proceeds to do a really bad job of it.)

There are also some aspects that are just like - in the books, Luke being a middle-class blond-haired blue-eyed pretty white boy is relevant! Because the fact that he has privilege from that particularly in how he's perceived is part of how he came to where he is and why he acts the way he does. Percy not having those same privileges, and having aspects like constantly inherently being labeled as a trouble-maker just based on his atypical (neurodivergent) behavior and coming from a lower socioeconomical background play heavily into his character!!! Percy being both a poor and disabled kid (and implied potentially POC) plays DIRECTLY into why he feels so strongly about standing up for other disenfranchised kids (in SoM, explicitly including other disabled kids and kids of color). It directly relates to his experiences and standing up for kids who are like him because he didn't have that, versus Luke whose perceptions and goals are very self-oriented. Now, in the show, we've essentially swapped Percy and Luke's appearances, and that paints a very different narrative. And that's important to acknowledge!

[synamartia]

“ Not Done Yet . . . „

“ Stop being a bitch and touch me already . . . „

synopsis ┊ ◜ When Adam first told you that he would be going on tour with his band, you were supportive and encouraged him to play his best - cheering him on from the front row during each performance and whispering sweet nothings to him in the filthiest of ways as he pounded you backstage. But when you catch a few groupies getting a little too handsy with Adam, you decide to teach him a lesson for letting them touch what was so obviously yours . . . ◞ wc ┊ ◜ 3,679 ◞ warnings ┊ ◜ Adam x Reader ✧ Afab!Reader ✧ No pronouns or Y/N used ✧ Explicit / MDNI / 18+ Only ✧ Suggested established relationship ✧ Sexual situations ✧ Bratty!Sub!Adam ✧ Dom!Reader turned soft ✧ Cunnilingus ✧ Vaginal fingering ✧ Mild impact play ✧ Brat taming ✧ Dirty Talk (it's Adam, babe. There's gonna be dirty talk) ✧ Edging (male) ✧ Unprotected sex ✧ Creampie ◞ notes ┊ ◜ The smut came before the story on this one, and the exposition is killing me, ya'll; it's sloppy, jumps around everywhere and makes zero sense, so I'm cutting it from the story; but I'm gonna leave it as the summary for context purposes! This is my first ever Kinktober event, and I'm super excited to have the chance to collab with my amazingly talented wives~! If you haven't yet, go check out the masterlist down below for our Coven Kinktober 2024 event and show these beautiful souls some well-deserved love! ◞ links ┊ ◜ syn's masterlist ✧ coven kinktober 2024 ◞

"Ah! Fuckin' bitch-! ... nnghh-!"

Adam's insults were cut short when the palm of your hand connected with the back of his head, and then his cheek when he pulled away from your slick folds. The sound of skin-on-skin contact rang in your ears, shortly followed by the breathless gasps that escaped your angel's throat when you roughly yanked on his ashy brown locks. Adam stared at you, a little bit of that condescending attitude he was famous for flickering in his honeyed eyes.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" you asked through gritted teeth, grip tight on his hair, forcing him to look up at you from his place between your thighs. Adam didn't answer - instead he only clicked his tongue in the mild defiance of your domineering position, to which you tugged his head further back until his throat was exposed. You dropped the book you had been reading prior to Adam disobeying your unspoken rule when he was in trouble - that your pleasure came first - and reached to drag a single pointed digit up his throat, then digging into the soft tissue beneath his chin.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"Tch... no," Adam responded lowly and averted his gaze, only to have you press your nail further into his skin until his golden blood began to trickle down his neck and your finger.

"'No', what?"

"Fuck! No, miss! No, you didn't!" he hissed, eyes drifting back up to your displeased expression and swallowing hard when he saw you looking down your nose at him. He knew he fucked up the moment you raised a single brow, contempt flashing in your eyes as you yanked his head back even further, forcing him to look at the ceiling.

Shifting into an upright position, you held Adam's head in place with one hand and cupped his jaw with the other, squeezing his cheeks together. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," you spoke slowly, giving him one chance to correct the mistake he had made. "'No', what?" you repeated, earning another click of his tongue as he rolled his eyes at your question and opened his mouth to answer. "No, mistress, you didn't," he mumbled out the correct response.

You scoffed at the attitude Adam was giving you, the tip of your tongue pressed against your left fang. "You're being such a brat tonight," you stated, releasing his jaw and letting your hand travel down his neck to his sternum, relishing in the sudden intake of breath when your cold fingertips pinched his nipple. "Well, what the fuck did you expect? It's been over two hours n- OW! The fuck?! What the hell was that for?!" he asked, his cheek stinging from another slap to his face.

"Watch how you speak to me," you warned him, your hand moving up and stopping at his neck, your slender digits wrapping loosely around it. Adam caressed his flushed cheek, trying to focus more on the pain in his face rather than his crotch - his cock so embarrassingly hard and throbbing at your small display of dominance, his reddened tip angry and weeping from neglect.

You didn't know how lucky you were that Adam loved it when you were mean to him. He was a big guy, and strong; he could easily overpower your much smaller frame and take what he wanted, what he so desperately needed - but he'd figured out long ago that the angrier you were, the better you fucked him. Naturally, this led to him always acting out, more so whenever you were around, looking for new ways to piss you off, to see how far he could push you before you ultimately decided to tie him down and use him as your own personal sex toy.

"It fucking hurts, babe! I can't take this anymore!" he rubbed at the stubble on his chin, his other hand wrapping around your wrist and guiding it down in an attempt to get you to touch him, to jerk him off until he spilled his seed all over your hand. But you only smirked, swatting away his hand and pulling his head back again, leaning forward until your lips brushed against his ear.

"I didn't hear you use the safe word, babe," you whispered hotly, tone mocking as you parroted the pet-name he just used, teeth glancing his earlobe before you pulled away. Amusement danced within your eyes as you watched Adam open his mouth then close it again, repeating the process a couple of times in his futile search for a good enough rebuttal. He knew all he had to do was say the safe word and this would be over, the illusion shattered as he revoked every bit of the control he'd given you, all so he could fuck you stupid.

But there was just something so tantalizing about submitting himself to you and letting you do whatever you wanted to him, even if it meant going a solid month without any kind of release. The build-up was beyond painful, dreadful even, but the mind numbing, toe curling, jaw dropping euphoria that would come crashing down on him whenever you would reward him for his obedience was well worth the effort. And if he was successful in pissing you off? Well, that was just an added bonus.

"Come on! Stop being a bitch and fucking touch me already," Adam grumbled, not noticing the devious smirk that made its way onto your lips as you realized he must have forgotten this was a punishment.

"No, I don't think I will," you stated in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Wait- ... what?" he asked in disbelief, confusion setting in at your outright refusal to touch him now. He was so confident in his ability to manipulate you even from a submissive position since he'd been successful so many times before this, but he hadn't expected you to tell him no - tease him, maybe edge him a bit, but not this. This was new, and he had no idea how to respond. "The fuck you mean, 'no'?" he asked incredulously, watching as you picked up your book and began to read once more.

"Exactly that. No. You want to act like a brat? Fine," you started, looking over the top of your book at him. "Brats don't deserve to cum."

"Seriously?" Adam groaned, but when he couldn't find a single shred of mercy in your expression, he knew you were serious. "Okay, damn! I'm sorry, I'll be good!" he began to plead, attempting to move back between your legs and continue his messy slurping of your sweet, sweet pussy. But you stopped him, fingers lacing through his hair once more and holding him back, refusing to let him any closer. "It hurts so fucking bad, baby! Please- shit!" he whined, praying to anything and everything that his pleas would be heard, and you would show a little bit of mercy, rutting against the side of the bed in an attempt to alleviate the pain himself.

Adam was so close to saying the safe word, struggling against the vice grip you had on his brown strands, mouth hung open and eyes hazy with wanton desire. His hips began to stutter, his grinding against the plush fabric of your bed was enough to have him right on the cusp of a blissful release, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He fought the urge to grab your thighs and drag you to him, to fuck his calloused hand until he drained his balls of every last drop, to take away your pseudo control and give you a taste of your own medicine.

But the friction caused by his rutting provided him with just enough stimulation to continue on with this charade. Smiling wickedly behind the pages of your book, you snickered softly at the desperation now present in his voice and how he struggled against your hand. "Baby, please-! Let me cum, please just let me fucking cum, I'll do anything," he pled, having been reduced to nothing more than a whining mess, ready and willing to submit to your every whim on a promise.

"Why should I? Because you said 'please'? That's not how this works," you spoke, relenting in your efforts to hold him back by shoving his face between your legs and rolling your hips against his mouth as he began to lick and suck harshly on your clit. "You forget, Adam. I'm not- ... haahhh! ... here for your entertainment or your pleasure. I'm here for mine, and- ... nngh, fuck! ... And I really don't give a shit if you cum," you told him scornfully, your dramatic moaning making his cock twitch and sending electrical pulses up and down his spine.

"Please..." he whined, pressing his tongue flat against your core and rubbing harshly at your slick folds. "I'll behave, I promise."

And there it was. The sight you had been aiming for this entire time - that pathetic, defeated look on his face and whimpers of total submission escaping his throat. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold yourself back from relinquishing control and letting Adam have his way with you. No, he needed to learn his lesson first.

"So polite all of a sudden..."

For once, Adam was silent as he gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, slinging both your legs over his shoulders and closing his eyes as he tried to focus solely on making you cum. "Fine, I'll go easy on you," you spoke, flipping to the next page of your book. Adam opened his eyes again to look up at you, a renewed hope shining brightly in his golden irises. "Go ahead, touch yourself," you urged him, turning your eyes back to the words written on the new page.

"Thank fucking god-!" Adam moaned against your dripping cunt, one of his hands immediately wrapping around his length and pumping furiously.

"But let's make things a little interesting," he heard you speak, and halted all movement, waiting for the stipulation he just knew you were about to add. He should have known it wasn't going to be that easy. It never was. Adam looked up at you, flicking his firm tongue over your pink nub a couple of times before he pulled back just enough to speak. "How?"

"If you can make me cum before I finish this chapter, I'll let you fuck me however you want," you told him, grabbing hold of his hair and pulling him back when he began to suck on your clit. "Hey, don't be so hasty! You didn't let me finish," you warned him, your walls clenching around nothing when he whimpered yet again. You almost felt bad for how much you had neglected him - but Adam was the one with the real power here. All he had to do was say the magic word, and the dynamic would shift, and you would be the one begging him to let you cum.

"However, if you cum before I do, then I won't let you cum again tonight. I'll tie you up, and I'll play with you and tease you..." you started, loosening your grip on his hair and pushing the stray pieces back into place in a loving manner. "And I'll fuck myself on your cock until I lose count of how many times I cum, and you won't be able to do anything about it," you giggled innocently despite the wickedness of your statement, turning to continue reading as you spread your legs even further for Adam.

"Now then - better get to work, because I only have four pages left in this chapter."

There was no more fight left in him, he didn't care what kind of rules you set anymore. The only thing he knew and cared for in this moment was making you cum as fast as possible for the chance to have his way with you. Adam didn't think twice, diving right back in, lips attaching to your little pink nub and sucking harshly.

He alternated between sucking and flicking the tip of his tongue against it, to sliding it between your inner folds and dipping inside as far as it could go. Using his thumb to pull back your clitoral hood, he wrapped his other hand around his cock and stroked himself as carefully as possible.

Adam was trying not to get too close to the edge, but it was proving to be quite difficult considering how far you had pushed him already. He began to thrust forward, fucking his own hand, rubbing his thumb over the tip of his swollen cockhead, using the precum that dribbled out to stroke himself even faster.

"F-fuuuhh-!" he was becoming more and more desperate, moaning and whimpering against your heat, sucking and slurping, shaking his head up and down, side to side, drunk off the sounds you made despite your efforts to remain unbothered by his mouth.

Truth was, you were already close to an orgasm before you stopped him earlier, and the resulting hypersensitivity had you racing back to it so quickly that you didn't know if you could even finish the current page. "O-oh, god..." you whispered, trying to focus your attention on the words.

You couldn't concentrate, unable to process what you were reading, going over the same sentence again and again. At this point, you were only pretending to read, to maintain the illusion of dominance - but it was beginning to crack the closer he brought you to orgasm, the tighter that knot in the pits of your belly wound with each swipe of his tongue.

"Mmpphh- oh fuck you taste so fucking good, hoooh- ... holy shit!" he cried loudly, his cock twitching in anticipation when he noticed the telltale signs of your impending orgasm. Your plush walls clamped down on his tongue each time he dipped it inside your core, your hips gyrating against his mouth as you absentmindedly chased your release.

"Good boy, just like that..." you praised, running a hand through his hair, a gentleness in stark contrast with your earlier pulling. Adam ran two fingers between your folds, his mouth focusing on your puffy clit as he pushed in and curled them, massaging your velvety walls and rubbing that one spot you always had trouble reaching with your own hand.

He was beginning to lose rhythm, hips stuttering as he fucked his own hand, his muscles tensing expectantly as that knot wound tighter and tighter. Struggling to hold his orgasm back for the nth time, Adam had to stop pumping his shaft when he managed to elicit a moan from you, his grip firm around the base of his dick in an effort to keep from blowing his load all over the bedside.

"That's it, baby, cum for me..." he murmured, the wet sloppy sound of your cunt music to his ears, barely hanging on by a thread when you pressed your heels against his wings, rubbing the golden feathers as best you could with your toes from this angle.

"God-!" you cried, having forgotten entirely about the book with how tight your muscles flexed and the speed with which your release was approaching.

"O-oh fuck, fuck, I'm gonna-!"

A few seconds later and you were doing exactly what he was begging you to do, throwing your head back and clenching your eyes shut as you came, your fluids gushing out, coating his face and tongue and the bedding you were laying on. Adam eagerly drank up every single drop, slurping loudly and delivering a few last kitten licks to your oversensitive bud, your thighs trembling and instinctively trying to close around his head.

Chest heaving, you let your body relax not long after Adam pulled away and wiped his face, not caring one bit that he didn't wait for permission to climb on top of you and nestle himself between your legs, guiding his fat cock to your slick entrance. Without hesitation or warning, Adam thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you with a single motion, stretching you wide open, his jaw dropping at the highly anticipated sensation of your plush walls enveloping him, easily molding to the shape of his cock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, can't wait anymore!" Adam cried, needy and desperate, retracting his hips a couple of inches only to slam right back in. "Fucking need you, just let me fuck you, please-!" he moaned, his breathing nothing more than a string of stuttering gasps, his pudgy belly slapping against yours with every thrust. The loud smacking sound of sweaty skin filled the room as he chased that high, mesmerized by the way your tits bounced in tandem with the brutal pace he wasted no time in setting.

Staring up at him, you brought one hand up to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down until you could press your forehead against his. "That's it, baby, that's it, fucking use me-!" you whispered, your breath mixing with his, your walls fluttering around his cock as he pounded into you at an inhuman pace. A deep groan rumbled within his chest when he felt your already tight walls clench around him, attempting to milk him for all that he was worth.

"Adam, fuck, baby," you called his name, earning a drawn-out whine from the man above you as he moved to bury his face in the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You could see he was unravelling fast, and knew he wasn't going to last much longer. "Fuck, keep saying my name like that..." he begged, pulling away and glancing down at the place your bodies were connected.

Adam's hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts and massaging each one roughly, moving south moments later until he was grabbing hold of your hips, his thumb grazing over the tattoo of his name scrawled across your left hip.

He repositioned himself, kneeling on the bed now and lifting the lower half of your body off the bed, jerking it up and down roughly, matching his thrusts as his moaning began to rise in pitch the closer he got to his release. He was so drunk off the way your walls gripped him tight, pulling him in deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against your ass with every movement and your name falling from his lips like a mantra.

"O-oh my god, oh my fucking god, 'm gonna cum! G-gonna fucking cum- h-hah, fuck!" Adam babbled, pulling out completely and replacing the feel of your walls with his hand, squeezing tightly as he used your essence to greedily fist his aching cock. "W-where do you want it? Fucking tell me," he begged, his belly flexing as his body jerked forward, using every ounce of what little willpower he had left to hold on long enough for you to answer.

"Inside, cum inside me, Adam-!" you begged, and Adam was more than happy to oblige.

"God, baby, you're killing me," he rasped, his breath hitching in his throat as he moved back to you sopping cunt, a couple short ropes of his cum shooting out and landing on your folds just before he slipped back inside, resuming his brutal pace, determined to fuck you through his high right into another orgasm. "Anything for you babe, I'll give you whatever you want, whatever you fucking want-!" he promised as the full force of his release came crashing down on him, inhaling sharply and holding it as he spilled his hot seed deep within your core.

"Yes, yes, yes-! A-Adam, fuck-! Right there! Don't stop!" your walls clamped down on his twitching shaft when he moved his hand between your bodies and began rubbing fast harsh circles on your clit, the knot in your belly snapping for the second time as your fluids spilled around his cock and dripped down his thighs, soaking the bedding beneath you. "Hngh! Ngh! Nngh-!" he grunted, each one punctuated by a sharp thrust, his cum spilling out around him and leaving a thick white ring at the base of his cock.

Adam gave a few more thrusts before he began to slow down, soon coming to a complete halt as he began to soften inside you. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bed right next to your head, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath, massaging soothing circles into your hips where he knew he had been holding you too tight. "Fuck..." he whispered, turning to press feather like kisses to the side of your neck and ear.

You wrapped one arm around his torso, tracing the tips of your fingers over the joint of his wing and shoulder, your other hand resting lightly on his upper arm. Soft whimpers escaped his throat at the overall sensitivity of his whole body, shuddering as your nails raked through the ruffled golden feathers. Eventually, Adam pulled out of you completely and moved to lay on his back next to you, staring up at the ceiling. "Holy shit..." he mumbled, closing his eyes in pure bliss.

A couple minutes go by with the two of you laying there in silence, muscles relaxing as you came down from your highs, basking in the afterglow of your shared release. Adam breathed a sigh of relief, the excruciating pain in his cock now nothing more than a dull ache as the remnants of his cum leaked from his tip.

The calmness and serenity of the scene didn't last much longer though when you moved to straddle his waist, his eyes shooting open and his hands immediately grabbing hold of your hips when you began to grind down on his semi-erect length, hissing in both pleasure and pain from the overstimulation and making his hips jerk back. "F-fucking hell, what are you doin'!?" Adam started, swallowing hard a couple seconds later when he saw the devious smirk on your sweat covered face.

"Oh, my sweet angel. I hope you don't think we're done yet."

story ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ header ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ dividers ┊ ◜ kodaswrld ✧ strangergraphics ◞ summoning ┊ ◜ @hazelfoureyes ✧ @minkdelovely ✧ @sugoi-writes ✧ @fraugwinska ✧ @macabr3-barbi3

Please do not copy or repost as your own! Thank you!

[linnienin]

🌛A s t e r o i d ⁕ S a l o m è🌜 ( 5 6 2 ) and the Dance of the Seven Veils

~~~~~~~~~~~ Y o u r ⁕ e n c h a n t i n g ⁕ e n e r g y ~~~~~~~~~~~

An astro walkthrough post following Salomè's steps in the Dance of the Seven Veils through the lens of the Seven Deadly Sins.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

The gifs in this post (excluded the last one) were created by me and are from the movie "Salomè" (1953) with Rita Hayworth

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"Look at the moon! How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from the tomb. She is like a dead woman. You would fancy she was looking for dead things."

"Salomè", Oscar Wilde

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

W h o ⁕ i s ⁕ S a l o m è (quick summary of her story):

⁕ Salomè, the princess of Judaea, falls in love with the prophet John The Baptist (i'll refer to him as 'the prophet' to avoid repeating his name too much) and orders to free him from the prison he was held in (for condemning the marriage of Salome's parents, King Herod and his wife Herodias as unlawful)

⁕ The prophet rejects her, but she assures him she will kiss his mouth sooner or later, no matter what.

⁕ Salome's mother in the meantime convinces her daughter to view the prophet as an evil person that deserves to die (alimenting her fresh feeling from the rejection)

⁕ When Salomè is asked by her stepfather king Herod (who lusts over her) to dance she agrees only if she can asks anything in return.

⁕ Once the dance's over, Salomè requests the decapitated head of John the Baptist on a silver plate.

⁕ To the horror of all the partecipants, she finally kisses the mouth of the prophet consumed by her lustful desires.

⁕ King Herod, sickened and shocked, orders her execution.

(this is the William Shakespeare opera version based on the biblical one)

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

M y ⁕ i n t e r p r e t a t i o n :

In a birth chart Asteroid Salomè represents:

⁕ Your enchanting power

⁕ How people target your naivety to use your talent

⁕ The extremes you're ready to face in order to get what you want.

⁕ What you want but can't have

⁕ What desires consumes you

I also want to make a quick clarification between asteroid Salomè and Sirene because both are seducing and mesmerizing energies, but imo: Sirene : conscious type of seduction, aim for what they want, in control of their actions , calculated Salomè: unconscious type of seduction, influenced by others in their choices, controlled by their desires, not in control of themselves

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P o s t ⁕ g u i d e:

I'll go through the steps of the whole Dance and make them into little sections:

⁕ Every section is about one of the Seven Deadly Sins ⁕ Within every section there will be interpretations of different Salomè signs/degrees, depending on which Sins they fall into (in my personal opinion)

Disclaimer: every single sign could fall into every single sin since they're all part of human nature, but one would always prevail on others imo, and this is just my personal take on them.

Enjoy ✨

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1 s t ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : P R I D E

⁕ Leo Salomè/Salomè at 5°-17°-29° : You enchant with your confidence and talent. Your creativity allows you to shine from within and make a strong impression on people.

⁕ You draw attention to yourself easily, and others envy this, so they target your individuality to trigger the worst out of you. They want to robb you of your 'Main character' type of energy, using your exposition and will to take up space, to their own interest. They feed your ego only to break your mirror into several pieces later, leaving you not recognizing yourself anymore. You'll find yourself becoming riddiculous just to gain that attention again, blending with the masses for validation, but feeling extremely guilty and shameful about it. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ You have a great desire to be able to show yourself without getting judged. You want to dive deep into your creative mind and feel accepted and appreciated for your dramatic and showy persona. When people don't understand your needs, you can get arrogant, narcissistic and selfish .

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Aquarius Salomè/Salomè at 11°-23°: You enchant with your uniqueness and innovation. Your mindblowing perspectives draws people in and out of curiosity, and you release them with more confusion and even more questions, to trap them in getting back to you.

⁕ You know this is your strategy to create multiple connections and dodge your way to the top, but envious people want to stop you from climbing up that ladder. They'll use you and your network for their own interests, but turning their back to you once they get what they want. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ When no one truly deeply understand you, your different view and quirky personality, you start to doubt your identity, facing the negative effects of feeling like the black sheep. You lose the courage to stand up for yourself as you isolate from the world with no track of time and completely dissociating from reality. You become inexistent, cause you won't merge with the masses. A great desire to instill change and put reality in discussion burns in you, but if people keep overlooking your ideas, you just explode and can become rebellious, distant and unpredictable.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓��⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

2 n d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G R E E D

⁕ Capricorn Salomè/Salomè at 10°-22° : You enchant with your loyalty and perseverance. Your disciplined and committed persona inspire people, but they also get envious of all the accomplishments you've achieved with such resiliency.

⁕ You view life simply and clearly, this is what allows you to be so precise with no hesitation when making important choices. And because this is such a rare quality, people want to robb you of it and use it for themselves and their interests. However, you base your self worth on materialism and achievements and when people don't validate them, you only want to get more to prove yourself. This is how others target your weeknesses and trigger your greed. ⁕ They show you the best of everything to make you feel inferior and in consequence wanting it all. But the truth is you don't need it all to feel complete within. You have a great desire to feel the best and most powerful of all, but because you attach your emotions to the outside and not accept them inside of you out of fear of showing your vulnerabilities, you are therefore not in tune with yourself and you are controlled by the world. You want to become the best version of yourself, but if you don't truly accept your imperfections, you can get dissatisfied, demanding and cold with no way of enjoying life like you envisioned you'd have.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

3 r d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : L U S T

⁕ Scorpio Salomè/Salomè at 8°-20° : You enchant with your mystery and intensity. Your enigmatic and independent spirit makes you an extremely interesting character everyone wants to get to know.

⁕ You attract unwanted attention, and you are the center topic of everyone's gossipy chitchat. You are people's dream, and everyone envy your subtle popularity, they all want to get a little sip of you. People view you as a prize they want to conquer to make themselves appear bigger. You have a great desire to form deep and meaningful connections, so you give a chance to others in exploring your hidden and vulnerable side, but all they do is take advantage of your thoughtfulness to feed their curiosity and ego, and once they get what they want, they only come back to you when they need a little refresh. This is how they trigger your lust. ⁕ You hide your emotional side because of past wounds, but your intense feelings still need an outlet or else they'd consume you. You need someone that cherish and care for your complexity and is willing to explore the dark without judgements otherwise you'll become insatiable, unfulfilled and uncontrollable, confusing the real profund emotional depth with a toxic emotionless bond based on superficial desires.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

4 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : E N V Y

⁕ Virgo Salomè/Salomè at 6°-18° : You enchant with your skills and intelligence. Your analytical mind and organized approach give you the ability to grasp details and process them in an incredible clear and systematic way.

⁕ People envy your critical thinking and your kind, hardworking nature, so they take advantage of your modesty to use your talents for their interests. You take pride in giving yourself to others to help them out, but when this gets to an extreme and hinders you from developing your own identity, you get stuck in a limbo of constant crave for validation and endless comparisons. This is how your envy gets triggered. ⁕ You look at others' freedom and accomplishments, and you feel guilty you haven't reached that level yet, so you blame yourself for your inability and incompetence, believing you'll never get better and so remain stuck in your delusions. You have a great desire to master your talents and get genuine recognition from yourself and others, but when you don't take on this path, you become fussy, critical and judgemental.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Gemini Salomè/Salomè at 3°-15°-27°: You enchant with your wit and sarcasm. Your exceptionally curious mind make you jump on every kind of topic with no shame, letting you explore anything and expanding your horizons making you very clever and articulated.

⁕ You excel in debates and are such a social butterfly, you know how to grasp people's attentions with your words. And well, who wouldn't be envious of such a skill? People use your talents by making you feel like you're guiding them and you have the control over the situation, but then you focus too much on the details that you forget the bigger picture, and this includes you forging your own path and understanding what you truly want from life. Those distractions that people throws at you trigger your envy. ⁕ You look up at the people that make decisions and have a clear idea of what they want to do and you feel jealous of their resolution in walking only one path. You overthink so much you'd love to know how to find peace even for just a second, but you get absorbed in the envy, and at your worst you get gossipy, superficial and inconsistent. You have a great desire of knowing yourself fully, being flexible while also find stability within your flexibility. But if you can't look within and stop comparing with others, you'll never know your truth.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

5 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G L U T T O N Y

⁕ Libra Salomè/Salomè 7°-19° : You enchant with your charisma and tactfulness. Your cooperative nature and romantic aura enhance your already stunning natural beauty, and people envy this hard core because it appears as you have been blessed with everything by life.

⁕ They take advantage of your agreeable temperament to use you for their interests. So you live your life as a secondary character, always trying to please others but never taking into account your own will. People use this indecisiveness of yours to trigger your gluttony. ⁕ You never feel satisfied because you don't even know what you want. So you only "eat" more because you crave that instant moment of pleasure constantly. As you base your worth from outside sources, you feel empty inside, hence why you keep feeling the need to put things inside you to fill that void. You have a great desire to make the world fair for everyone and form genuine connections between people, but if you can't complete this purpose, you become unbalanced, overly-indulgent and insecure.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Taurus Salomè/Salomè at 2°-14°-26° : You enchant with your steadiness and sensuality. Your driven and kind hearted nature allows you to always put your best in everything you focus on, and you're not one to lose your focus easily.

⁕ People envy how firm and determined you are, despite looking very gracious outwardly, you never give up, and this beautiful combo of extremes make you look like a person that possess everything. Others are gonna want to break your peaceful and unshakable nature, taking advantage of your kindness, they're gonna try to use your resiliency for their interests and letting you see how much there is of the world by shifting your focus on the pleasures of life. Soon you're gonna enter the sensual world and you'd never want to go back. This is how they trigger your gluttony. ⁕ Your body craves intimacy and contact, but you've been living in your head, only focusing on possessions denying your sensual side. Now after realizing how food can fill you and make you enjoy the experience, you become addicted to it. The idea of something that doesn't take up space like everything in materialism, but can instead grow you to take up space (eating) makes you feel important and not tie your self worth to outward successes. But it's still making up for your lack of love coming from within, and if you can't feel it you can get stubborn, possessive and self-absorbed.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

6 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : W R A T H

⁕ Aries Salomè/Salomè at 1°-13°-25° : You enchant with your assertivity and bravery. Your optimistic and dynamic spirit combined with your dominant demeanor allow you to be a great leader.

⁕ You fearlessness and ease in overcoming challenges make people envious of the power you hold. They use your spontaneous and competitive nature to their interests, trying to make fun of you, to slowly make you lose the confidence in yourself and step down the throne you deserve, but you can't stand the view of this injustice (both if made to you or to others).This is how they trigger your wrath. ⁕ You are not afraid to speak up, but after you lose your confidence, your words are spilled out with impulsiveness and aggressiveness, making people afraid of how quick you can lose your temper. You have a great desire to help others realize their potential, and you want to guide them on the tortuous path of life, but if people ignore you and make you feel small, then you become impatient, insensitive and reckless.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Sagittarius Salomè/Salomè at 9°-21° : You enchant with your wisdom and open-mindedness. Your free spirit allows you to experience life humbly giving you the ability to transform your mistakes in insightful life lessons.

⁕ You change people's perspectives by elaborating a wide range of informations and putting them in a clear view thanks to your capability of grasping patterns, and others envy this. They want to robb your wisdom, to feel like wise Gods themselves, so they use your knowledge to shut your voice down, triggering your wrath. ⁕ Once you raise your voice and let everyone see this impulsive side of yourself, you can witness people losing interest and trust in you, making you insecure and small, full of existential crisis. You have a great desire to change the world for the best, and to let people see different point of view with your philosophy, but when you are not understood you can turn into a close-minded, highly opinionated and skeptical person.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

7 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ r e v e a l : S L O T H

⁕ Pisces Salomè/Salomè at 12°-24° : You enchant with your vulnerability and spirituality. Your imagination allows you to put yourself in other people's shoes and understand their point of view in an empathetic way.

⁕ Your easygoing and adaptable nature make others envious of you. They take advantage of your compassion by treating you as their personal punching bag, their shoulder to cry on, their victim to sacrifce. They suck all your energy into their personal interests, leaving you completely numb and not giving you space to display your creativity. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You have a great desire to feel emotions and share them with people that truly understand you, but if people neglect this aspect of yourself, you become lazy, unmotivated and hopeless. The world holds no meaning to you and you'd rather spend time feeling delusional than open up in fear of not being accepted.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Cancer Salomè/Salomè at 4°-16°-28° : You enchant with your softness and compassion. Your nurturing and maternal energy makes others feel at home and safe.

⁕ Your incredible intuition knows everyone's needs and your affectionate nature make you want to help everyone just to see a smile on their faces. Unfortunately others can misuse this gift of yours to their interest since they're envious of how perfectly in tune you are with your emotions. When you can sense that all you see are fake smiles, you start to question your ability to heal others and your sensitive side is hightened. This is the perfect moment for those people to strike some offensive words that will make you insecure and want to just disappear from the world. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You isolate and close yourself in your shell to protect you from further damage. You feel you are unworthy and that you don't bring any value to the world, so you dwell in your sense of guilt and fear, unable to do anything. You have a great desire to make the world a better place, to share your love and emotions with others, to protect those in needs, but if you can't express this side of youself you become pessimistic, moody and manipulative.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

And you've reached the end! Congrats! And thanks for staying with me ✨

I hope you enjoyed this post and find it helpful in understanding your own Salomè placement 😊

Hope the dance steps were easy to follow too 💃

It took me some time to make cause i wanted to truly dive deep in the meaning of it and not only talk about the magnetizing part, but remember, this is only my interpretation, i'd love to peacefully discuss with you if you disagree with me 👍

I'm kinda tempted to make a post on Salomè through the houses, let me know if you'd love to know more on this asteroid

as always,

I wish you a wonderful day ahead (or night) 😘 and i'll see you in the next post! Yours Linnie 🌛

[nocek]

I'm late to the party and I'm quite sure it's already been done so I feel stupid redrawing a meme buuuuuut... at the second seance that's all that was running around my head during Miguel's exposition dump scene knowing how it escalates :D

Well that and thoughts of: nice scientific theory you have here. Truthfully based on factual evidence. Except, you've filtered those facts through your biased/ traumatized perception so yeah... this is why your science papers need to be peer reviewed.

Also a reason why you need to cooperate with art people who would tell you canon is not about events, they can change. It's about overarching narrative.

And I can't wait for the next movie (may it take as much time as it needs) to somehow swinging eating a cake and having it too. Because i love the repeating pattern of two/repetition in this movie. It's so small but it works so well at building up the next one. After noticing that I actually think that the surprise reveal at the end makes sense while previously I was annoyed we've like got nice ending with Gwen and then like 5 extra minutes of next movie that was kinda annoying.

Oh and speaking of annoying. I salute this movie for making fun of main mcu. Because sure the reference was kinda forced and barely salvaged by added joke of they should revoke doctor Strange's license buuuut.... It made me wish for Steve's ending fix it because seriously. He is pulling exactly the same bullshit Miguel did. Like seriously.

Besides idea of pissed off Miguel dragging Steve back to universe 19999 is amusing af (because I too am still pissed off about it)

Oh and to end my blabbling with genuine question. Do I remember correctly that the Syd Mead-esque Nueva York we've seen had a number like 700 something? Three digit one anyway. Does that mean that the happy family universe went like through incursion with 2099 one and that's why it got destroyed? Or both got destroyed?

[misstrashchan]

So. What's the opposite of a sacrifice?

With the final episode looming it's a question we've been turning in our heads, so I wanted to give my best guess/analysis as to what it might be before Jon and Muna come to tear our hearts out in the final episode.

This is the question Hayward asks Paige, and later Carpenter, and it seems to be the underlying thematic statement of the series, in response to Carpenter's exposition in the first episode of the Silt Verses that introduces us to the fundamentals of the world and system they live in:

CARPENTER:

A god must feed.

A god must be fed.

This is a fact agreed upon across every territory in the Peninsula. And so, really, the only difference between the people born to the water and the people born to the land...

...is the precise nature of the sacrifice we need to make.

There is a God for anything in their world as long as there is someone believing in it. But all Gods need human sacrifices. A god must feed. A god must be fed.

These simple rules have been used as fascinating and horrifying metaphors of our modern society, and to explore themes of faith and sacrifice throughout the story.

And so the final question the last season proposes is if we can find a way to make something better, that can exist outside of this ultimately unsustainable exploitative system and the harm it inflicts upon ourselves and the world, when it has come to define so much of the way we live and how we think. And that means figuring out the opposite of a sacrifice, if they want to kill the idea, the lie, that is at the heart of their world.

At first I thought the opposite of a sacrifice, of offering up to the gods, was about killing your gods. Starving them out. Refusing to offer up anything. And that is part of it, I think. I mean it's literally been a repeating mantra of multiple characters this season once they've reached they're breaking points. Violence in revolution as a tool to overthrow oppresive systems is sometimes needed and necessary. But what about after? What kind of future or vision for a better world can there be? There needs to be something at the heart of that movement that isn't just about violence against their opressors, because you then define yourself in relation to them.

This is even illustrated in the Many Below god Paige created having predator and prey emeshed together, a movement defined by their resistance against the predators of the world, the beasts, cannot seperate themselves to meaningfully create a better future that exists outside of that dichotomy. I think Hayward realises that even earlier in S2:

HAYWARD:

There’s a hare in the grass, half-buried and bloodied.

A barn owl has latched onto its back, its talons driving deep into the flesh of the hare.

Both animals are dead.

Familiar black stone veins protrude from the carcass of the victim, twisting like branches, driving upwards into the predator’s skin.

Hare and owl are locked together, inseparably.

The god must have struck just as the prey died.

White crocus is flowering up from the two entwined bodies.

(Unhappily)

And suddenly I begin to feel deeply afraid.

It all makes me think of a dormouse, dead in the dirt, its ribs showing. Of rabbits, teeth chattering, hungering from their cages

I kick dust up over the corpses. Nudge them aside into the long grass so they can’t be seen from the path.

Paige doesn’t need to know about this, I tell myself.

There’s no sense in worrying her. Not yet.

Which then makes sense why he's the one proposing the question of what the opposite of a sacrifice is to Paige (and Carpenter), for this very reason.

I think the answer is pretty simple and yet, like most simple truths in this world, it's forgotten and overlooked or twisted as naïve.

Preservation. The opposite of a sacrifice is preservation. To better explain this let me use an example:

If someone who cared about you tells you you're working too hard at your thankless job, sacrificing your sleep, your time, your personal relationships, your physical and mental wellbeing, far past the point considered sane, they'd tell you to stop. To make sure you take care of yourself. Instead of endlessly feeding yourself into a machine to justify your existence.

Applied to the world of the Silt Verses, it's not just self preservation and caring for yourself. It's about caring for, protecting, and preserving the lives of those around you, that is the ultimate act of rebellion and political warfare, the first steps forward towards a better world. Caring for humanity.

Whenever our characters reach a breaking point of turning against their gods, there's a common thread of wanting to save their fellow man, and realising the inadequacy of a god's ability to do that. Whether that's somebody close to them (like Faulkner and Paige):

Or humanity as a whole (VAL and Shrue):

SHRUE:

Use them, pass them on, do not forget the suffering that keeps the engines of this world turning, forget the name of your god and cherish the name of your neighbour that was swallowed up by it-

Cherish your neighbour. Be kinder to one another.

This can even go back to Carpenter's rejection of the Trawler-Man back in S1, her fury at the fact those she loved had been eaten (her family) and would continue to be eaten (Faulkner).

CARPENTER:

(Yelling to the river)

It's over between us, you twin mouthed prick!

Do you hear me?

Does that stir you from your torpor? Pry the barnacles loose from your sodden ears?

My father and mother were Gregory and Sandra Glass. My grandmother was Adalina Glass. My brother was Em.

They died for you.

Every single one of them died for you and they thought it meant something.

My name is Carpenter. And I am still alive!

I have loved you for so long. I have tried to know you for so, so much longer.

And I'm done with you. Here and now. I'm not laying down my life for you.

I'm not dying, do you hear?

The same breaking point for Faulkner at turning against his parish and finally snapping is the idea of Carpenter being offered as a sacrifice, an offering returned, begging for her to live.

I must clarify this is my own interpretation of the question and themes the story proposes. I'm

I'm not sure we'll actually get a hard answer so much as different characters offering their own answers and us as the audience encouraged to think for ourselves what it might be. I think this is what Hayward's answer might be at least, anyway, because like me he's a corny motherfucker:

If a sacrifice is the idea that the most meaningful and transformative thing you can do is to give up your life, your sense of self, to die, then the opposite of that would be to try to keep on living, and finding meaning and transformation in that, surely?

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

Would you mind sharing your planning process of the comic? I'm starting to brainstorm a fiction idea and right now the ideas are very messy and I wanted to know if you could show how you plan what happens on a season and on an episode, maybe with an example of a season episode you already published, so I can learn how to organize myself?

I really, REALLY appreciate you coming to ask me for help with this. It's awesome to hear that you respect my writing enough to seek me out as an authority on such things, or at least enough to ask for advice.

But I'm gonna be real with you - what you're asking for is not a quick slapdash reply that I can whip up in my free time. What you're asking for is an hour long video essay (with examples) on the level of an educational creative writing online course.

And I--I don't know if I have it in me to do that right now. Not with everything else I'm trying to do. (Sorry.)

BUT.

What I can give you instead is a basic rundown, and maybe some recommendations for where to this stuff.

To be absolutely brief: For me, the best way to visualize how I plan would be to make a flowchart.

Keep in mind that....... I don't ever actually.......MAKE. A flowchart.

Mostly, I am just using this as a visual representation of how my ideas flow from and to each other in a coherent way. The reality is that this skill is something you have to develop until it becomes second nature.

As an example, let's take the episode(s) where I introduced Seaglass.

This little arc was planned in season 3, but really started to come into play in Season 4.

To make it happen, I started with the obvious main idea: SEAGLASS.

I then broke it down into multiple smaller ideas:

If you notice, the main plot of this doesn't even start when the Seaglass exposition does. Steven makes Seaglass back in season 3, but doesn't know about it. But these ideas are still important to acknowledge as being a part of the main plot.

I then fill in MORE space between these larger ideas.

This whole set of steps is just a logical progression of me playing 'how do we get there'. I make up plot points and say 'what happens to get from A to B?'

And keep in mind - this may seem kinda obvious. That's because... it should be! But that's how the planning happens.

Realistically, it's just a bunch of asking myself questions. The same exact questions I refuse to answer in asks.

"What happens next? What would happen if....?" "Why doesn't Steven know about ....?"

"How would Steven find Seaglass if he doesn't know she exists?"

Well she's small and green, kinda like Peridot. So he goes looking for Peridot and mistakes Seaglass for her.

BAM! You've got yourself a plot point. That's a plan, baybee!

And then just kinda rinse and repeat.

And eventually, you want to make sure that you have some sort of connection back to the main plot point. In this case, it's the realization that Steven CREATED LIFE.

Again, I want to stress - I don't actually........plan.... by writing this down.

I do this process in my head. Often, multiple times per chapter, writing and editing to make it make more and more sense. The important part is about asking yourself questions. The same questions your readers should be asking.

"Why is this character doing this?" "Why is this event happening NOW?" "How will A find out when they realize what B has done?" "What is the BEST time for B to find out...? What is the WORST time?"

All of this takes imagination. It isn't about organization. It's moreso about learning to tetris plot events into their most snug spaces. It's about thinking of events as a staircase, which eventually leads to a larger staircase of plot arcs.

And as a final note, I will say that someday, when I'm less busy, I may make a video about plot. But it will take more time and effort, and for now, please just watch videos by other creators! I'm sure they're just as good at it as I am.

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar + 41? 🧡 maybe fake/pr-dating-turned-real-dating coded, so maybe even + 56? like, they realize the fake wasn't that fake anymore 🙈 (insert i am in love are you in love audio here)

they are both in love, anon.

(because i found it kind of impossible to explain without adding sooo much exposition... oscar is not a driver. he's just... a guy. that mclaren found. to date lando. suspend your disbelief, idk)

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

41. to pretend (or is it?) | landoscar | 1.2k

Lando is in over his head. His aching, pounding, hurts-so-bad-it’s-making-him nauseous head. If he’d known one throw-away trip to the club in Miami was going to complicate his life so irreparably, he would have tucked his P1 trophy into bed next to him and gone straight to sleep like a good, boring boy. Instead, he’d gotten catastrophically fucked-up on any number of things he doesn’t remember and tossed himself dick-first into an entire publicity nightmare. That’s the worst part, probably: Lando doesn’t even remember. He remembers taking shots with Max and Danny and he remembers – barely – stumbling to the bathroom, and the next discernable point on that mental timeline comes at approximately 6:45 a.m., when he’d woken up to go vomit and found his lock screen so full of notifications that it’d made him forget to wonder where the man he’d gone to bed next to had pissed off to so early.

Since then, every minute of Lando’s life not spent in the car has felt full wall-to-wall with interviews, and meetings with crisis management, and saying “I’d prefer not to comment on that” so many times he hears it on repeat like an ear worm when he’s falling asleep at night. And also Oscar. There’s been a lot of Oscar.

He’s waiting in the lobby of McLaren’s hospitality when Lando arrives down from his driver’s room after qualifying in Brazil. Lando wonders how he got in, if their bosses have finally decided he’s trustworthy enough to walk around unchaperoned. It’s funny that he ever didn’t have a pass, actually; he is technically a McLaren employee. Probably. Lando thinks he gets paid. They’ve never talked about the specifics.

Either way, however he got there, Oscar is by himself in the lobby, leaned back in a chair, thumbing at his phone. He looks up when he senses Lando’s arrival, and Lando must look even more pathetic than he even thought, because Oscar’s face immediately goes soft with concern and he leaps up to take Lando’s bag off his hands.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. He slides the backpack onto his own shoulders and then steadies a hand in the middle of Lando’s back, thumb tracing comforting little circles near his spine.

Lando could lie, but there’s not really any point to that, so he lets his face fold into the grimace it wants to be in and presses his thumb between his eyebrows.

“Head’s killing me,” he says. It comes out weak.

Oscar makes a sad little sound in sympathy, and the palm on Lando’s back shifts to his side so Oscar can tug him closer. Lando doesn’t have the energy to fight Oscar on these things at the best of times lately, so he’s definitely not going to when he’s exhausted and sick with the pain behind his eyes. Even though there’s really nobody around to see them.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, then,” Oscar says, and Lando has never agreed to anything faster.

Oscar leads the way out of hospitality and through the paddock, fingers linked securely between Lando’s own. It’s baffling that he’s already been around this circus long enough to know the way without help. Nice, though, because Lando’s not really in a state to be of any.

They run into a few people along the way – fans or sponsors or employees. Lando doesn’t get the chance to tell which are which, because every time somebody new greets them, Oscar’s fingers tighten around his own and he talks the both of them cleverly out of the conversation before Lando can even consider what he would say if he was left to his own devices. It feels nearly impossible that less than six months ago, Oscar could barely say two words to Lando without being directly asked to.

“Oscar!” he hears as they’re nearing the exit, and they’re so close to relative quiet that Lando can’t help but groan about it. Oscar squeezes his hand again like an apology as he turns to address whoever it is.

"What’s up?” Oscar asks. When Lando lifts his eyes from the pavement, it’s Max stood before them. Both of his hands are hooked in the straps of his backpack and his chest is heaving just a little, like he’d jogged to catch them up.

“You’ll of course be at the race tomorrow?” Max asks. Lando’s not sure where this conversation is going, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have to happen right now. He hopes the look he’s giving Max is sufficiently irritated.

It must do the job, because Max’s eyes brighten and he says “Not pleased about that, Lando?”

Oscar’s hand goes from Lando’s palm to his back again, quick, and before Lando can open his mouth, Oscar’s saying, “He doesn’t feel good.”

“Ah,” Max says. Lando can’t figure out the look he’s being given.

“The race tomorrow?” Lando presses. If they’re going to chat about whatever it was right now, they could at least get to the point.

Max nods, shifting his gaze back to Oscar, “You are staying, yeah?”

“Yeah," Oscar says, "Why?”

It’s taking too long. Lando squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder, hoping the counterpressure might do anything at all for the hot ache in his brain. Oscar’s hand goes immediately to the back of Lando’s neck, like it’s habit, and his thumb starts drawing firm lines down the muscle there, hairline to nape. It feels…really, really nice, actually.

“You’ll fly back with us after,” he can make out Max saying, “to Monaco. Lando and I and a few others.”

That doesn’t really make sense. Oscar’s been planning to go home for a bit over the mini break, Lando knows, they talked about it nearly right away when the agreement was drawn up. Far be it from him to argue that point, though, not when Oscar’s saying “Yeah, thanks, mate,” and his thumb’s still easing the pain in Lando’s skull. Lando would blame it on the headache, but it’s not like he’ll mind the extra time with Oscar, either. Which Max knows.

Lando cracks his eyes open and shifts enough to squint suspiciously at his friend, but Max is just grinning happily at the pair of them.

“Very good,” Max says. Sure.

“That’s all?” Oscar asks. His thumb finally stills. Lando does not whine about it, but it’s a close thing.

“Yes,” Max says, “you can take grumpy home now.”

Then, before Lando can decide whether that’s worth getting upset over, Oscar squeezes the back of his neck and nudges him up off his shoulder. His eyes are apologetic when Lando meets them, and he kisses Lando once on the forehead as he slides their palms back together.

It’s nice. Domestic. Very convincing, probably. Oscar’s gotten really good at his job.

“We’ll see you, mate,” Oscar says.

Max clasps Oscar’s hand for a second, then squeezes Lando’s shoulder on his way by.

When he's a few steps off, Oscar says, “Ready?” like Lando hasn’t been begging to go this whole time.

Lando says yes, please and he can tell it's a little whiny, because Oscar says "Hey, okay love, I'm sorry" and brushes a gentle kiss against his lips. Lando thinks Max is probably too far away to see it, but Oscar would know better.

It’s not until they’re finally settled into the back of the car, sides pressed together, that Lando remembers:

“Max knows about everything. You didn’t have to… he knows.”

Oscar’s gaze is soft and maybe a little sad, for some reason, but he smiles past it and combs his fingers through Lando’s hair until he settles.

“Yeah,” Oscar says as Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder, “He does.”

[daflangstlairde-art]

lightning in our fingertips today

Work 1 of DFL's Whumptober 2024

Summary:

Donnie and Leo get hit with a wayward body swap spell. You could say it gives Donnie a new perspective on the matters of his dear twin. When was Leo going to tell them that his Ninpō hurts him?

—

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Draxum rubbed the bridge of his snout, sighing, already tired of their crap. 

“And you're sure you don't know anything else about the spell that you are being affected by, the caster, or their method of casting?” he repeated. 

“Nope,” Leo repeated, popping the p sound. 

“So then how do you expect me to, and I quote, fix this?” Draxum raised his eyebrows. 

Donnie shrugged. “You're the mystic guy, right? Isn't that kind of your job?” 

“I–” Draxum sighed again, dragging a hand down his face. Donnie couldn't help but feel greatly amused by it. Judging by Leo’s expression, the sentiment was doubled. “Can you at least discern whether the spell affects only your bodies or your minds as well?” 

...Donnie and Leo shared a look. 

“...Uh, what?” Leo asked the question for them both, thankfully, looking at Draxum. 

Draxum sighed yet again. He should check his lungs. 

“Swapping spells and curses can function in a variety of ways,” he began explaining. “They can only switch your bodies—the way you experience being in that body remains the same as you’d experience the world in your own body. Or they can, ah... let’s put it like this—they can swap out your self but put you in the experience of the other person,”

“Ah, they can swap our essence through mystic-magic-whatever but they don't swap our brains,” Donnie echoed, “Ergo all those neural pathways and malfunctions and whatnot remain the same,”

“Hey! Don't call it malfunctions,” Mikey chastised. Him and Raph were mostly here for the Exposition™. 

“I... suppose you can put it that way,” Draxum blinked. “Though don't take it so... literally. As I've mentioned before, spells, curses, any sort of mystic–”

“–involvement can be highly metaphorical and swayed by our mere perception of things, yes, I remember,” Donnie said like he was in pain. Eugh. These are some of the parts of magic that he wasn't strongly affectionate towards. He didn't like their loosey goosey rules. 

“Well?” 

Oh right, Draxum had asked them a question. 

“I mean, I dunno,” Leo scratched his head, “I guess I kinda think more... uh... like Donnie? Sometimes?” 

Donnie frowned. “...Huh, that would explain your sudden willingness to view your own mystic powers through a more scientific lens,” he realized. 

Leo cleared his throat, “Right, yeah, that's what I was talking about,” 

Donnie sent him a look, but didn't have time to question it. 

“And you?” Draxum turned the question to him. 

Hmmm. 

Had he noticed any odd behaviors in himself? Anything that wasn't very like himself?

...Hard to say. 

Him and Leo overlapped in many a manner, and where they didn't, they differed greatly. 

...Donnie remembered the craving, the need for a second person’s presence from last night. Which also made him realize his inability to sleep wasn't born from obsession over a project, which was the reason why he usually couldn't sleep; he kind of just... wasn't able to, which... did sound more like Leo. They were aware of his insomniac struggles. 

Huh. Donnie hadn't thought about it. This line of thought was making him view the last two days in yet another new way, comparing his behavior to Leo. 

It wasn't much like Leo to freeze up in the middle of a fight—that one was admittedly more of a Donnie thing. However, it was supposed to be a thing of the past—a thing that happened when he was overly reliant on his tech, when it would suddenly be unavailable to him for whatever reason. Ever since he got on the same page with his Ninpō, obstacles like a piece of fried equipment or drained battery weren't so monumental. 

...He suppose it was logical he’d return to that state of mind due to the sudden inability to use his trusty mystic powers. Which sounded a bit too uncomfortably familiar.

The meltdown it induced was more Donnie’s thing as well. 

...Except... except... 

...The way his thoughts sounded. 

They... they didn't sound like Donnie. Whereas so far his mental voice still sounded the way it always did. 

No no, they sounded... like Leo. 

The realization made liquid nitrogen pool in his stomach. 

He– he would have to reflect more on it later, because the others expected an answer from him. Donnie cleared his throat.

“Uh, yes,” he said, coughing awkwardly. “Yes, I have also noticed... the same. As what Leo answered,” smooth. 

“...Ssssoooo,” Leo, thankfully, turned the conversation back to Draxum. “Can you do something about it?” 

“Yes,” which made Leo grin, “I will do research,” Draxum stated, and Leo’s expression turned to a groan. 

“Duuuudeee!” 

Personally? Donnie wasn't all that mad about the fake-out. 

Quite frankly, he had some research of his own to do.

“...Pluuss it would be too risky to initiate any spells involving your bodies and minds currently, considering one of you is concussed.” Draxum deadpanned.

Raph reached over and flicked the side of Leo’s head, making him loudly complain. Donnie snorted and Mikey giggled.

—

Night come, Donnie had two options.

A. Try to sleep on his own. Observe the effects it had on him. 

B. Immediately head to somebody else’s room to spend the night with them. 

He was a scientist, so of course he went with option A. 

This yielded the expected results, though still, Donnie was unable to figure out the exact cause of his sleeplessness. Due to his usual modus operandi, he just wasn’t that used to pointedly analyzing his feelings, much less differentiating them from someone else’s. It was a bit frustrating, which did not aid the sleep matter!

Sooo here he was, once again rooming with Leo for the night. He’d kicked Leon to the outer side of the bed this time, so Donnie could lay on his left side, because his right shoulder was still hurting for no particular reason. And his shell, Leo’s shell, was aching. And once again, he felt nauseated after dinner, and he was starting to feel like that really wasn't just because of his personal sensitivities. 

It was dark in the room, though not completely. There was a night lamp on. And the light of Leo’s phone. He wasn't sleeping either, just scrolling aimlessly. Donnie didn't pay much mind to it. He was here for research. 

Aaand also to sleep, but, you know. Research. 

...Though with Leo here, he was admittedly growing sleepy. It was just the two of them. Leo’s room didn't smell like much, but it still smelled like home. Donnie was laying on his side just passively observing the side of his twin’s face. His own face, that is, maskless in the night.

Just the two of them and their slow breathing. The subtle sounds of tapping whenever Leo would scroll down. He didn't even have the volume turned up. Some video popped up on his feed, and Donnie watched Leo watch it soundlessly for barely three seconds, with no indication of interest, before he scrolled to the next post.

Donnie idly played with the edge of the blanket over him (of course they had two separate ones because otherwise it will be WAR at DAWN). It was... a nice texture. He wondered if it would be a nice texture were he back in his body. He wondered if it felt nice only because he was sensing it through Leo’s. 

He wondered how much this whole body swap thing was really affecting him. Draxum’s words made him realize there was a lot he hadn't noticed, likely because, well. He was operating like Leo now, and Leo acting like Leo wouldn't be odd to Leo’s perception. However, Donnie’s perception also still remained, and it was odd to him. But was it odd when compared to his normal or to Leo’s normal?

Gah. It was all so... so...! He wished this stupid spell had clearer lines! 

But, alas, dramatic sigh. It does not, which meant Donnie had to map out the lines himself. 

Was Leo not sleeping right now because of his usual insomnia? Or did he feel preoccupied with the desire to Do Something, which is what usually kept Donnie up? 

...Was there a distance?

...It occured to Donnie that he wasn't entirely sure how Leo perceived his own Slumber Struggles. Donnie– hm. This situation was making him realize a lot of things like that, and it hasn't even been that long. He wondered just how much they didn't really know about Leo. How much they didn't think to learn, because it just... it just... it was just never brought to focus. Donnie wondered if that was just him, if Raph and Mikey did know. He wondered whether it was intentional. 

Leo wasn't commenting on his staring. Donnie appreciated it. 

“...You know you're supposed to rest with a concussion, right?” Donnie muttered.He frowned. “And– aren't screens also bad?” 

Leo’s thumb (or, well, Donnie’s thumb, technically) paused. Donnie wasn't sure whether it was due to the comment or just because he was reading a post online.

“Yep, I know,” Leo said simply. Resumed scrolling. 

“Theennn... why aren't you still up?” 

Quiet. 

The distant sounds of papá’s running shows. Some electrical hum. Soft breathing. 

At last, Leo shrugged. “Can't sleep, you know how it is,” he glanced at Donnie just for a moment to throw him a grin, before returning to his task.

All in Donnie’s voice and with Donnie’s face. It made the action less smooth than it would be on Leo’s. Donnie wondered why, exactly, it felt that way. 

“...I don't, actually,” he voiced his earlier thought. It came out flatter than he wanted, maybe because he was tired. “You've never really told us how it is,” 

Leo paused again. Or maybe he was just idly reading another post, none of it really sinking into his brain. He shrugged. 

He exhaled, and shut off his phone, slapping it somewhere on the bed to be immediately lost to the caverns of blankets and pillows. Donnie scheduled a morning expedition to dig out the lost treasure of Phone. 

Leo shuffled a bit, getting more comfortable and laying down, blanket over him. Donnie could only see the larger shapes of his face in dim blue light from the night light. 

“Happy?” Leo asked, and Donnie was pretty sure it was meant to be teasing, but it fell flatter than what was probably intended. 

“Most definitely,” Donnie replied smugly, grinning, and shuffled to also get comfortable for some actual sleep. 

Now it was just the darkness and the two of them. He felt relieved said darkness wasn't absolute, and when he caught that feeling and tried to examine it, he wasn't sure why he felt it. 

The room was pleasantly chilly, so they felt just the right amount of cozy under their respective blankets. The air was well ventilated. 

Donnie breathed in, and out, closing his eyes. He yawned. Leo yawned two seconds afterwards, and then mumbled an unintelligible complaint at Donnie for making him yawn. Donnie exhaled through his nose in mirth. 

Why was his shoulder hurting? The shoulder Donnie remembered watching Casey Junior and Raph set after the Invasion? Why was there a persistent crick in this one specific spot in his shell? A spot that Donnie distinctly remembered having a crack post-Invasion? Mm, he forgot to ask Leo about it. Whatever. He’ll ask Leo tomorrow, or, something. 

Donnie’s thoughts floated around, and he once again circled back to their fight with Baxter and his big robot. 

In all fairness, Leo had been trying to get him involved in the tussle. He’d gotten quite skilled at coordinating them, actually. But he himself didn't want Donnie to use the portals if they hurt (hypocrite), and without them, there just wasn't much to do against a huge metal machine. 

The plan was just to open it so Donnie could deactivate it. It went awry due to Mikey needing to step aside and Stockboy’s miscalculations. However, Donnie wondered if the whole thing would've gone smoother if he’d just sucked it up and used the portals. Their efficiency vastly overshadowed some mystic zippy zaps at his fingers. 

...But it just– it just– it felt uncomfortable. There was an element to the faux shocks that felt... wrong. He couldn't quite describe it, but it made him feel... discomfort. Unease. Like sitting on the edge of a chair, a hard and lumpy chair. Like code that is ever so slightly buggy, even though he’s already spent hours making it as efficient as possible. Like that time his brothers (cough, Leo, cough) reprogrammed Shelldon. Something that just... isn't supposed to be Like That. 

But for the life of him, he couldn't identify what exactly that meant. 

Why did Leo fly directly into a collapsing building? Why did Leo keep a concussion away from their attention? 

...Why did Donnie freeze up during the fight like that? Why was he hit with a meltdown like that?

...It just... it felt... 

He tried to double down on everything he’d felt in that moment, like pressing down with your thumbs to locate a bruise. 

There was just something about... something about... 

It just overwhelmed him. 

Watching debris and glass rain down in pieces, a curtain of destruction. Listening to the cacophony of car alarms, of people yelling in concern, sirens approaching. 

His Ninpō was bust, his brothers were missing, his brothers were in danger. Two of his brothers were down for the count, and they were going to die and there was only one thing to do. 

And it was terrifying and it was all his fault. It was the scariest moment of his life. 

So Raph was off to save them, and he pushed himself to his feet. Even though his body was so sore, it all hurt from all the fighting, but he didn't have a choice. 

Even as his knees betrayed him, he forced himself upwards. This was all his fault and it was choking him. He had to fix this, for his family. 

A hulking figure in the distance. Metal and sharp and hateful. A red light, like a sign screaming GET AWAY. 

But he couldn't. This was his last chance to just make. Things. Right. 

It was a desperation that made him want to cry, so he set his expression and readied his stance. 

The wind blew past him, as he shot forwards into the fight. And he lunged through a portal and he hurled his sword, and the Krang grabbed him and hurled his sword away and– 

“YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” 

–and–

“YOU WRETCHED–

–LITTLE–

–PEST!” 

Each vitriol-packed punch from the Krang leader, massive and hulking and sharp and metal, rammed into his body with the force of an entire failed genocide.

Each hit was an admirable competitor to be his last. With each hit, the harm tripled—shell and bones shattering and collapsing, blood desperately trying to escape. 

The only thing he had in his personal hell was a reminder of why and how he earned his place here in the first place. 

Life swam in and out of his vision, everything blurred by pain until the pain blurred too. He dedicated the last flashes of color to that reminder, the most important thing in the world:

A small photograph showcasing his family’s smiling faces. 

Tears rolled down his face, and he loved them so much it hurt. Everything hurt, and he was dying, and yet, and yet, and yet. 

It’s okay. 

They would live, this time around. 

He hoped they would forget him, because selfishly, he didn't want to drag them down even in death, not more than he already has. He hoped they would thrive.

He couldn't help but feel... happy to be dying, haha. Because they would live, because they won, because it was over. Because he deserved it the most. It was right. 

He couldn't help but smile. 

“WIPE THAT GRIN OFF YOUR FACE, GAH–!” 

–Donnie awoke with a desperate gasp for breath as his entire chest and lungs and heart collapsed under the–

–the...

...the nothing. 

It was just him in Leo’s bedroom, trying to inhale in big wet gasps. Shaking in Leo’s body, washed in cold sweat, blanket half kicked off. 

That... that was not a nightmare. There is no way that was just a nightmare. It was too, too... clear, detailed, too potent, too real. 

Donnie would know, because after the Invasion, he had nightmares. It was like... leftover data from the avalanche that came with his connection to The Technodrome. Data, horrible data, that just needed an outlet, and his subconscious was the perfect ground.

“Leo–” Donnie let out, strangled, feeling around for– for–

Leo wasn't there. 

Donnie shot up, but no, the half of the bed Leo had taken up was empty. In fact, Donnie had imposed upon it in his sleep. 

The sight sent a fresh new wave of terror through his body, doing the exact opposite of helping him in this highly stressful situation!

Donnie stumbled to his feet, frantic, looking for his arm brace to track Leo down– no, wait, not the blue dot, he had to look for the purple dot– 

—

“YOU!” Donnie leveled the shape of his twin with an index finger immediately upon stumbling out of the portal and onto the rooftop. Teeth gritted through the sharp sparkling between the layers of his hands' skin and flesh. “You gave me a HEART ATTACK!” 

“Sorry,” Leo sheepishly shrugged, dissipating the purple constructs. 

Donnie halted his terrified-infuriated momentum, gaping. 

Wait. 

Was Leo... training with his Ninpō?! 

Did Leo. Get up in the middle of the night. And fly with Donnie’s hover shell to a random rooftop. To train with Donnie’s Ninpō?

The Ninpō that SUPPOSEDLY HURT HIM?! 

Donnie was just beyond himself with this brother of his! His heart was in too fragile of a state to take this! He made strangling motions in the air, and Leo just looked amused. 

“Are you– are– are you training with my Ninpō?!” Donnie exclaimed, incredulous.

Leo just shrugged, idly spinning his bō and turning around. 

“No– no! You aren't– slithering out of this one!” Donnie seethed, following after the casual walk of his twin much less casually. 

Leo just went to the edge of the rooftop and for a moment Donnie’s stomach swooped and his heart stopped–

(The portal collapsing on itself, an explosion, colors–) 

–but Leo just... sat down. Legs dangling, but otherwise, considerably safe. Looking over the night life of NYC. 

Donnie slowly exhaled, heartbeat erratic. He observed the figure of his brother, even if he was technically in Donnie’s body. 

Dark, in the night. Though still visible, what with New York’s light pollution. 

His back was to Donnie. He was looking out at the buildings. The bustle far down below. 

He was... so... subdued. Smaller, even with one of Donnie’s shells on; smaller in presence, somehow. Like instead of spilling outwards and filling up a whole cathedral, his presence was kept neatly to himself. No more, no less. 

Donnie rushed to be beside Leo, arms crossed. 

“I had a nightmare,” he stated, and that got Leo’s attention. He winced, turning sympathetic eyes to Donnie. 

“...Yikes, Dee, I’m sor–” he began, all soft and gentle and ready to turn the concern towards Donnie, but Donnie was not having it. 

“I had YOUR nightmare,” he clarified through teeth. 

Leo cringed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Augh, I’m really sorry about–” 

“THAT'S NOT WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY!” Donnie yelled, throwing his hands. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Leo said, calm and gentle as ever, “I’m listening to you bro,” he affirmed, smiling. 

Donnie clenched, unclenched, and re-clenched his jaw. 

“You,” he whispered, “never told us you had nightmares.” he emphasized each part. 

And Leo, Leo had the audacity to shrug. 

“I mean, who doesn't, am I right?” he joked. 

Donnie dragged a hand down his face, and sat down on the edge, next to him. At last, he tried to get his breathing under control. Tried to get his heart to stabilize. Tried to get the sheer horror thrumming through him to chillax. 

That nightmare hit something sensitive. And not just to Leo’s brain. 

Through all their altercations with all the different types of foes, there were few tragedies Donnie and his family experienced. Few real tragedies. 

Because sure, it wasn't fun when, say, Draxum snatched them up to use them as bait for dad. It wasn't nice when Raph got Got during Big Mama’s Battle Nexus: New York. 

But they handled it! Because they were still together! At the end of the day, they were together. And they could do anything together. 

Shredder was one of those real tragedies. 

Karai’s death, even though they didn't get to really know her– well. That is a tragedy in and of itself. They didn't know her well, but she was family and then suddenly she was no longer with them.

All of the Invasion still haunted them, in little and big ways. 

But...

...That moment. That chain of moments. 

(“Casey, listen to me. When I get to the other side, you close that door.”

“This is the only way.”

“Hero moves–”

“I’m proud–” 

“–Casey, PLEASE!”)

Staring up at an objectively marvelous explosion as the portal closed around The Technodrome for good. Colors of light expanding, crystalline through his tears, it was the ugliest, most horrible thing Donnie had born witness to. 

It was the scariest, worst moment of his life. 

Donnie brought his feet up, propped his elbows on his knees to hold the sides of his head. Squeezed his eyes shut, tears prickling just at the memory of it. 

He would go through the entire Invasion twice over, if it meant he would be sure to never go through that one moment ever again. 

“You–” his voice cracked, and he swallowed. “You almost died, Leo,” 

We almost lost you. I almost lost my other half, my mirror, the outline of my own existence. 

How could you feel that was ever “right”? 

“But... I’m alive,” Leo smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. Well. Donnie’s hand on Leo’s shoulder, technically. “Soo it's all good!” 

Yes, Leo was alive, and that was all well and good. Except it wasn't, because Leo wasn't well and good. 

And, to make matters substantially worse, none of them noticed. 

His physical injuries recovered, and he bounced right back up. Better than ever. Less pestering, more serious, more dedicated. More sincere, or so they thought.

It was a beautiful act, crafted oh so carefully, and it was by design that none of them noticed. It was the second ugliest thing Donnie had ever seen. 

“Hey,” Leo caught his attention, gentle and soft and caring. Because he was still directing this Donnie’s way, he was still trying to take care of Donnie. 

Donnie glared at him. It wasn't as effective with the built-up tears. 

Leo was unaffected by it, and even though he wore Donnie’s face, Donnie recognized the smile he was giving. 

Leo opened an arm. 

Donnie’s lip wobbled, and he readily sunk into the embrace. Immediately clutching onto his twin like he was going to perish right here and right now. 

It was a little awkward, with the way they sat side by side on the edge of a rooftop. But it was good. Cars and people moved far below them, lights humming against the blue of the night sky. It was starting to smell like autumn chill. But being held by Leo, his twin, Donnie felt a little warmer. 

He swallowed the distress, to say–

–Oh. 

He winced as the sharpness of a concussion headache sunk in very suddenly. 

Oh. 

O– okay then. Huh. Hm. Well. This is... fine. 

“Ack, wait, hold on–” Leo tried pulling away from his hug, because it was Donnie who was holding him now. Donnie didn't allow it, just squeezed him tighter to indicate he was not letting go under any circumstances!

Leo was going to be hugged and loved, whether he wanted it or not!!! 

...Well, no, of course Donnie would let go if he was genuinely uncomfortable. But he wasn't going to let Leo deny himself some affection. 

This was about him. 

“My head hurts,” Donnie muttered a complaint, just to taste his voice that was his own yet again. Leo had the audacity to chuckle. 

“Sorry,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” 

But... thinking about it... really, beside the head injury... 

Donnie rubbed his fingertips together. There was no leftover static to it. No soreness, no displeasure, nothing. Even though Leo had supposedly been training for a bit now. 

Donnie had been looking for something definitive, this entire time. But if there were any definitive signs, they would have noticed something was wrong much sooner. They didn't. 

Something that would spell out, in no unclear terms, Leo is struggling. Leo has been struggling. Leo needs help. You aren't just overthinking this. 

The nightmare-flashback, yes, but.

“...Using my Ninpō didn't hurt you, did it?” Donnie whispered. 

Silence. Their breathing. Their heartbeats. 

Minutely, Leo shook his head, now his head. 

Why did you lie? Donnie didn't ask. How long has this been going on? he didn't ask.

“...Why does the magic born from the power of family, love and togetherness hurt you, Leo?” Donnie dared to ask, quiet. Like otherwise it would scare away the poor skittish animal that was vulnerability. 

“I think,” Leo started, now in his own voice. In a tone that was trying to make it a lighthearted matter even as Donnie’s heart was audibly being ripped apart. “that if you're asking it like that, you... kinda already know why,” Leo answered in mirth, teasing.

But he was wrong. Donnie really, really didn't. He didn't know why. He didn't understand. He didn't understand why Leo would hide from them, why he would feel this way.

And all his well-informed theories hurt. They hurt. He supposed he knew why the feeling of Leo’s Ninpō was so... wrong. 

Something like that wasn't supposed to hurt him.

Was that... really... how Leo felt about it? About their, their– 

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut again. Might as well make them match, both tearing up due to his emotions.

“My head hurts,” Donnie said, just a bit choked up but you have no proof. 

“Sorry,”

“You already said that,”

“Sorry 2.0 then,” 

Donnie snorted. Damn Leon. 

“We are going to bed,” 

“Whaaattt! Dude–”

“Do not argue with me, Leonardo, or I sweear– you are going to sleep,” Donnie emphasized, squeezing Leo tighter. 

Leo complained, but didn't resist being dragged to bed. 

They still had to work on fixing his Ninpō. Donnie had questions to ask, including the matter of Leo’s shoulder and shell and his persistent nausea and on and on the list went. 

But for tonight, this was enough.