#and the focus and whimsy fixes me

[citrussunrises]

New coping mechanism: drawing perry.

#It works #btw #I fill a page with Perry's #and the focus and whimsy fixes me #Plus I have a bunch of perry pictures at the end #im getting better this is only my second page #will update yall with more Perry's #perry the platypus #phineas and ferb #dwampyverse #phineas and ferb fanart #perry the platypus fanart #my art #m

[hypnotisedfireflies]

Six Summer Fics for Tessjoels

... confused? Well, it's summer here, and that means summer reading! Here's some of my favourite Tessjoel stories that are in progress right now, and have been updated within the last month.

These are just unfinished tales - here's some of my finished favourites from the last year.

Taste your beating heart by @beerandyarn I can't tell you what this story is really about without spoiling it. The mystery is way too much fun. But let's just say it's a TLOU AU set in the early days of Tessjoel and there are ... other mysterious things than just Cordyceps out there. The characterisation is fucking awesome and this is the slow burn of slow burns. Like, part of me wants to shake elfin for making me suffer and the other part of me can't get enough.

Of Artists and Architects, by @oliviassunrise It's kind of hard to transplant characters from the TLOU universe into a modern AU without losing them in the mix. You have to really understand them so as not to shed their personalities while building a softer, mushroom-free world around them. Kayli does this beautifully and you still feel like Tess is Tess and Joel is Joel. This is no basic repackaging though - there's so much soul to this story, you can really feel the care and love with which it is written.

A Soul for Sale or Rent, by @bumblepony I don't want to give too much away about this one because it's full of surprises and takes a concept that could be ridiculous but ends up being so clever and heartbreaking and heartwarming. Ellie is a ghost and only Joel can see her. While Tessjoel isn't the focus of the story the way it's included is so clever and haunting (I think about it randomly, ok) that you've gotta check it out. So original.

deep red bells by melforbes Subtle queen. All this author's stories are like poetry, but they manage not to divulge into aimless whimsy and are always anchored with a strong story and pathos. This is an AU where Joel's daughter is abducted and Tess is a young cop with a tantalising dark past. The magic is in the dialogue. It's dark, but not heavy, and I'm pretty sure it's going to kill me.

I Saw the End, it Looked Just like the Middle, by @elpickett A new Tess lives series, and it has a really interesting narrative structure. As with the stories above, I don't want to spoil that, but there's some insight into FEDRA which I really enjoy. I love to read different ways Tess Lives Truthers fix explore the canon and bring her to Jackson. You can tell the author has really put a lot of thought into how this is going to work and how to 'save' Tess in a believable way.

Let the Burial Rite be Read, the Last Funeral Song Sung, by @stephpuppet An AU with a dark and gentle premise - Grim Reaper!Tess! Ever since I saw Meet Joe Black and Dead Like Me I've had a yen for this kind of tale, personifying Death as a sympathetic and empathetic, a wise creature who maybe experiences emotions they do not understand. ANYWAY. I love different interpretations of this theme and combining it with my hyperfixation is a treat for the new year. Grab your tissues, the first chapter is devastating.

#fic recs #joel loves tess #joel x tess #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic recs #joel miller #tess servopoulos #tess lives #tlou fic recs

[denimbex1986]

'Neil Patrick Harris’ debut as The Toymaker delivered a chilling performance that elevated the third Doctor Who special in truly surprising ways.

“The Giggle,” now streaming on Disney+, quickly ditches the whimsy that characterized the previous two specials. Its opening minutes acquaint us with The Toymaker, who runs a toy emporium in Soho circa 1925. An assistant to the real-life inventor John Logie Baird purchases a ventriloquist’s dummy named Stooky Bill from the off-putting clerk (very clearly the Toymaker) and hurries off to help his boss run tests on a prototype for a live television system.

Baird pops off Stooky Bill’s head, fixes it to a crude-looking contraption, and starts the test. The experiment is a success and Stooky Bill becomes the world’s first televised image. Baird notes that to prove his invention works, he will next need to produce moving pictures. Gazing upon the now-melting dummy’s head in awe, Baird and his assistant hear distant maniacal laughing.

The focus returns to Donna and the Doctor in present-day London, where, if you recall, things have escalated dramatically. The people of London have suddenly and inexplicably turned on each other, brawling with strangers, stepping in front of careening cars, and setting fire to newsstands and storefronts. As the Doctor tries to talk down an especially unruly pedestrian, the Toymaker flits into view behind him. The enigmatic villain now sports a slick black suit, a top hat and liberally applied makeup, epitomizing fashionable evil.

UNIT soldiers arrive and whisk Donna, the Doctor and Wilf across the city to their headquarters.

Returning from “The Star Beast” is UNIT scientist Shirley Anne Bingham, who again proves to be a valuable ally to our heroes as they navigate this new threat. Shirley and UNIT Science Director Kate Stewart lead the Doctor and Donna to the control room, where former Companion Melanie “Mel” Bush greets them.

They wrap up the pleasantries and break down what’s happening: Every person on the planet suddenly believes they are right, and any attempt to convince them otherwise is met with violence. Everyone at UNIT wears a metal armband called a Zeedex to keep them from going mad, too. They don’t know exactly what’s going on, but they suspect a signal (triggered days prior to humanity’s collective snapping) is behind the chaos. They’ve identified a specific satellite as “a link in the chain,” but the Doctor suspects something deeper.

Eventually, the Doctor discovers that the signal setting the world on fire is actually a hidden recording of Stooky Bill’s crazed giggling. Shirley traces the recording back to October 2, 1925, prompting Donna and the Doctor to board the TARDIS and travel there. They quickly find the Toymaker at his shop, but finding him and beating him are two very different challenges.

The Doctor recognizes this old foe and tells Donna to return to the TARDIS. “You never ask me to do that!” Donna protests. She realizes that the Doctor is afraid of the Toymaker, but before they can do anything else, they find themselves trapped in a maze. Donna and the Doctor are separated, the former being forced to fight off a bunch of walking, talking dolls while the latter encounters Baird’s puppetized (not a word but we’re running with it) assistant. After overcoming their respective trials, Donna and the Doctor end up together again in a theater, where the Toymaker treats them to a puppet show recounting the Doctor’s adventures with various Companions.

The Doctor challenges the Toymaker to a card game and loses. Recognizing their very immediate predicament, Donna and the Doctor escape the Toymaker’s shop as it noisily converts to a tiny music box.

Back in the present, UNIT uses a galvanic beam to target and destroy the problematic satellite that’s boosting Stooky Bill’s malicious signal. The Doctor and Donna return to headquarters moments before the Toymaker appears, indulges in lively song and dance, kills a handful of soldiers, and abruptly flees.

The dastardly villain reappears and uses the galvanic beam to shoot this reincarnation of the Doctor, saying his next game must be played with a new Doctor. As this Doctor falls to his knees and starts dying, Donna and Mel rush to his side and promise to be with him until the end.

But the end doesn’t come. Instead, the Doctor, still David Tennant, makes a bizarre request: “Could you…pull?”

Donna and Mel tug on each of the Fourteenth Doctor’s arms, “pulling” the Fifteenth Doctor (played by franchise newcomer Ncuti Gatwa) from Tennant’s body. The Fifteenth Doctor explains that they can both exist at the same time because of “bi-generation,” which was previously thought to be a myth.

The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Doctor face off against the Toymaker in a final game: don’t drop the ball. The Doctors manage to beat the Toymaker and banish him from existence.

Donna and the Fifteenth Doctor convince Tennant’s Doctor to retire, and after using the Toymaker’s toy hammer to knock another TARDIS out of the TARDIS, the Fifteenth Doctor departs.

“The Giggle” concludes on a touching note: the Doctor, having “retired” from Time Lording, spends a quiet afternoon with Donna and her family. Is this the actual end of his story? Probably not, but it’s a much-needed change of pace for the guy….'

#Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #The Giggle #David Tennant #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #Wilfred Mott #Bernard Cribbins #Neil Patrick Harris #The Toymaker #Shirley Anne Bingham #Ruth Madeley #Kate Stewart #Jemma Redgrave #UNIT #Ncuti Gatwa #Bi-generation #John Logie Baird #Stooky Bill #TARDIS #The Star Beast

[hellonoblesky]

i think being a star wars fan at this point is just a constant battle with anger but like. at the source of that anger is just this very passionate love and if we could just kick dave filoni out of the Disney's Special Screenwriter chair and get something new it would fix a lot.

Like no hate towards anyone who does enjoy his takes on star wars, more power to you I love the whimsy you have, but to me, personally, it's getting... repetitive? It's always the Filoni Formula, in that some insane force bullshittery is Real Now but also Look At These Cameos!!! And there's little fine-tuned focus on things that SHOULD be focused on. He's GREAT with 3-ep arcs like in TCW but longform shows are not the man's forte and it's, unfortunately, showing :(

#turtledove yells into the abyss #yes this is targeted at the ashoka show #like.... what the fuck dude #that was such a highly anticipated show (at least in my circles) and it was just so... bland??? #it's like. 'AH! Here's something INSANE ! And here'es CAMEOS and then FORCE BULLSHITTERY!!!' and that's it #when there's a whole other like. arc. within universe. that's been shoved off to the side in favor of making the main character in that arc #just a villian to the NR. like guys the chiss are not struggling against the grysk navy for nothing now #t. zahn did not write 6 damn books for nothing come on now

[therealityhelix]

Shards of the Nexus: Koi no Yokan

Helix has one weakness. And also another.

Song: Tell Me Baby-RHCP

@cardwrecks​ @captainbaddecisions​

The energy of this place! Electricity in every inch, flowing, buzzing leylines of enslaved lightning, the movement of lights a rainbow in darkness. People in masses, composite organisms, breathing, pulsing in time with the music, a thudding memory of ancestors heartbeats. The building respired, air in constant movement, the throats in the walls struggling to overcome the lungs of the people. The building lived, and the energy filled her up, vibrant antiquity, the ancient ritual of music and dance.

A little too much, actually.

The bouncers didn't know she was here, though she stood out in sartorial anachronism, rockabilly flair in a sea of candy acid vogue. She had entered through a door of a different kind, and the night life had hit her like a sonic brick.

YJ had spoken so highly...she had to find someplace away for a moment, away from the sound, the resonance thrumming in her bones, the weakness, the nemesis. YJ wouldn't have known that 'club' meant something different to her, alcohol and smoke, billiards and leather backed chairs, high bred men challenging themselves and each other, wasn't that what a Riddler was? YJ and Arkham, Puzzles and the Detective, she'd grown to expect predatory quiet in the homes and presences of the viridian men. Not safety, and not silence exactly, but not these auditory attacks.

There were side rooms to disappear into, before noise overcame her, three people exiting one. They didn't see her, though she slipped in so close behind them as to brush skirts. With walls between her and the pumping symphonic tide, she could reinforce herself before facing that battlefield once more.

A breath. Two breaths. She was substantial. She was concrete. She would not have her atoms stripped away by stepping back out into that solar wind of sound. She had come here to meet someone.

There was a man.

Watermelon stripes. Grape soda. Tinted sunglasses indoors. Summer, this man was Summer.

A trickle of gold flowed down his throat, terminated in an inquiry. The symbol, the sigil, the sign!

He regarded her with the same amused curiosity that must be echoing in her own face, stood-to speak? To rebuke? To welcome? Who could know, who could know, so different this one, and the energy here, just beneath the floor, just behind the walls, it spiked as the dozen eyes on the ceiling focused on her, it spiked and it was her focus now, and he smiled-

Deep lapis inset ivory, brass filament in amber flesh, more precious for the flaws trapped within. Long sinuous lines, vines, emeralds and amethysts dripping from his shoulders, like all his kin. A greeting, a voice, irreverent velvet burnout, coumarin and black dammar flowing thick and sticky. And the magic! She could smell it here, he'd been touched by it like all the others, moulded and cracked by the whimsy of Gray beings alien even to her, deep down inside him, a festering bubo of plum wine and bitters.

“Hey there cutie, you all right?”

And she was solid again, fixed with a tack to the wall of the Here and Now. He gazed down at her, the lapis dusting her form, quiet blades picking her apart just as she had done to him. The others had all expressed that this one was different, but hadn't elaborated. Neon and alcohol, glitter and decadence, hedonism as a varnish, a temple of Dyonisian mystery. Not in a thousand worlds would she have expected Edward Nigma to be this.

It was delightful.

“I'm...fine. Yes. Mildly disoriented, nothing more.” It was true, she had returned to herself.

He leaned, casual, calculating against a couch. She was outside of arms reach, but not the legs, no. Nobody had mentioned danger in regards to him, but then, she hadn't been warned about Arkham either.

A rite of passage, a hazing for those who would dare. Survive the challenge of meeting the Patriarch.

She had.

“How bout'cha sit down? Room ain't reserved again tonight.”

She took a seat, took in the room. Couches, mismatched in a way that complemented, a little raised stage with a pillar in the center, power coating like bright honey...pole, it was a pole on the stage. Oh. Yes that explained the molasses thick energy that permeated the place. Certain things, ancient things, caused power to pool. Sex and death, music and dance, blood and light, all built up like layers of stone, ready to be mined by those who could. He sat on the edge of the stage, light sheen of sweat just barely discernible on his face.

“So...you a little lost? You needin' a place to rest until you sober up? I know the place has a reputation, but we do have rules here. If it's the hard stuff, well, you can lay down for a little while and I wont say nothin', but you don't come in here with it again. If you need help though, I can point you in the right direction.”

“You're Swag.” she said.

“And you're not high...are you? So who wants to know?”

“Helix.”

A spark, a star in the lapis. Recognition.

“Hey girl, I was wondering when you were gonna show up! I was beginning to feel left out.”

“You know of me?” But why wouldn't they talk? Family was meant to communicate.

“Heard a thing or two. A pesterer of Puzzles, a wyrdling to YJ, an...adversary of Arkham? Nah.” he shook his head, a sardonic grin. “Nah, you don't wanna be that. But yeah. There have been a few words said about you. Mostly 'How the hell did she get in here?' So. How the hell did you get in here?”

“I walked.” she said, and his look was a gentle abrasion. “I...walked. The membranes between worlds open in multiversal osmosis, and I walk. I'm...sorry. Loud noises...fray me. It's hard to think. The energy is overstimulating.”

“Take your time.”

She did. Eventually the strumming on her synapses ceased, the threads of reality cementing.

An offering of water. She hadn't noticed that he had left. That was...odd. How could anybody lose track of this man? She drained the cup.

“So you walked here. Care to say where from? It's kinda a long way from Detective's neck of the woods to here. Figuratively and literally.”

Where did he fall on the pendulum swing? Yj closer to Detective, Puzzles closer to Arkham...Center ground? So many people reveling beyond the door, relishing life. No traps here. No riddles. Questions, not riddles.

“I walk, figuratively and literally. Meeting the Detective was a happy accident. I come from further than that. You're Aware? Of the multiplicity of self? The mitosis of the multiverse?”

He nodded slowly.

“Became aware a li'l while ago. Prolly about the same time Arkham and Detective became aware of each other. I...assume this is unusual, since there's nothing in history mentioning...huh, I wonder if that's where the legends of doppelgangers come from...”

“Maybe.” Oh, he was as quick as his soul-kin, scalpel sharp in cotton gauze. But he had the respect of Matriarch and Patriarch alike, how could anything else be expected?

“It may be a new development. I haven't seen its like before. It's so easy to move here, in this Nexus. Even you native souls can move back and forth, if you know the places.”

“And you're not? Native to the...Nexus?”

“I'm from further away.”

The seed of doubt spread cotyledons in his face. It was worse than not being understood. Being disbelieved.

“I'm from Earth.” she pressed further. “Just not this one, nor any other within this tangle. From further out.”

“I was bouta ask why you sounded like you came from Central City if you really were from 'outside', but...just from a far away Earth, huh? How far does it go?”

“Long way. Couldn't ever explore them all. More and more different, the further one goes. I'm from very far away.”

He clicked his tongue, accepting her words, if maybe not her meaning.

“Ehhh, what can I say? I know a woman who is half plant. There's an alien in upstate New York. I've met six separate me's. Things can always get weirder.”

It was an acceptable concession. He continued to watch her. She supposed it hadn't been the most stunning first impression, showing her weakness like this, but it was better than it had been with Puzzles.

Come to think of it, she had seen this man before, a terrified satellite at Puzzles funeral. In the focus on that hideous rebirth, she'd barely noticed, but there had been another fellow with him, and a ring on his hand, but both were conspicuous in their current absence.

'Nothing lasts forever' was a truth she'd had to grapple with far too often, a platitude useless until after the loss had occurred. She sympathized, for whatever that was worth.

She might have gone quiet for too long, because he reached out as if to steady her, pulling back before actually touching. She caught a whiff of pine heavy cologne, margarita lime mix.

“You're sure, you're all right? You need someplace quieter?”

“I'm fine, really. So this place is yours. Your business?” It seemed strange for a Riddler, but this was a strange Riddler. One who hadn't yet so eagerly tried to show off, or challenge, or prove his own intellect. Even friendly YJ, even the gentle Detective, all had tried to demonstrate something of their mental prowess within mere minutes of meeting her.

“Yep. All above board too. I went straight a while ago. Well, as straight as someone like me can go.” He said with a cheeky wink.

Ridiculous. She couldn't help but to smile back.

“The others said you were different.”

He snorted in laughter.

“I'll just bet they did! How many times did the term 'degenerate freak' show up?”

She tilted her head. Self-depreciation dribbled from his sunken eyes. It fit him poorly.

“Not once. Do you not know that you're loved?”

The surprise, the consternation lasted a Planck length, then disappeared back into easeful allure. But he was watching her now, really watching with that languid, snakelike regard they all shared.

“Well.” he said. “Do you?”

The biomachine moving in uncharted ways. Multiversal syzygy. Swirling islimi progression entwining with centrifugal tessellation. There was something to be built here.

“There is no one left who can. But maybe I'm talking too much. Saying without thinking.”

“No, no.” he leaned forward, weathered smile, shining satin teeth. “Keep talking.”

artist: me

artist: verticalthoughts(deactivated)

Artist: @cardwrecks​

#shards of the nexus #Swag!Riddler #Riddler Family

[37q]

eating disorder tw but its not the main focus rly i dont think hm wait ok maybe.. mostly gender talk actually

anyways personalizing "it's incredible what women will come up with if left to their own devices" for a sec: ive had trouble articulating this recent phenomenon in my life but lately ive been working on the values i hold "capability" to and the ways that i allow those values to make decisions for me instead of just living life with whimsy.

still caught up in optics as ive always been maybe as a disease of childhood transness but far better than i used to be and yet! im always weighing how material, physical empowerment will be gendered! i saw a quote a while back from like this one transfems lil memoirs and a conversation she had w a friend abt their eating disorder i think? and the friend was like yeah i mean transition and life as a woman has been excruciating enough already but whats another pain if itll help me pass? or whatever. im so scared of gaining any mass anywhere above my waist!!! i wanna throw up thinking about it!!!! oh my god ive never said that before i feel so sick!!!!!

anyways i struggle w NOT presenting weakness or frailty when im fearful of a gendering Eye of Patriarchy or fuckin. male panopticon inside my head but thats the thing! 🥰 ive been divorcing from that panoptic on my head lately! its still there lowkey but my drive to make my life better has been overcoming that adolescent "avoid male interests at all costs" fear :)

so now im like fascinated by like engineering again im thinking of ways to produce more effective hand rests on the bottom of my steering wheel (maybe i wont even have to remove the plastic on the wheel if im good enough at making sockets? for the rests if i make them attachable via clip :3c) and ive been making moves to get into woodworking and throwing together rudimentary furniture which is just so different than what id previously felt abt it. ive been fixing things so often lately like OBSESSED with getting tools for problems i understand 40 year old dads now. that thought is what kills me n saves me tho interestingly enough

what had previously been like a grand gendering process of establishing my princess status (its still there tho) had actually just been reinforcing the unhealthy habits i used to get there in the sense of physical and emotional weakness -- going largely untreated for like 3 or 4 disorders which either obliterate my prefrontal cortex, the integrity and efficacy of my synaptic response in neurotransmission, or my reception of the macro resources necessary to maintain basic body function to name a few... but like theres something to be said for how explicitly gendered it is to be starved-stupid crazy weak and feminine as fuck. not assigning values to those terms (anymore) i was just like leaning into being insanely unwell and calling it a gender role. which tbf is like the predominant myth ALSHSLFHDKD...

... but also im working on stepping away from internalizing a relationship w the myth of gender and using that reaction as my behavioral starting point! (affirmation and argument time) im not a man, i wont even trip and fall into manhood no matter what endeavors i pursue! no matter how much goes on in others ppls heads! there is no way to look at or engage with the world in an explicitly man way because life doesnt actually function on categorical dualities, not to mention bimodal distributions! and thats lesbianism (and therapy) at work! like no presumption of a male occupation of an Entire Sector Of Life And Economy and working on that latent projection of gendered insecurities (and thus production of gendered karma in my materialization of such a projection via action or inaction) onto a life thats literally Just Life Dude. i literally make it. the future doesnt exist yet and the only value it has it the karma we bring to it and take from it!

huge mood change ugh solemn now im forgetting the śūnyatā of the self, the śūnyatā of its form, the śūnyatā of the conception of form itself... of course its only determined internally via extant thought forms and reproduced via tangible, material projection... thats literally the whole racket! of course im suffering with it!!!!!!!!

sooooo yeah im working on recognizing impermanence and encouraging WWP (wonder whim play) just as long as i dont root it in a sense of stability or security! currently that security comes from my sense of any (patriarchal obvi) gendering processes at work in any social situation at hand so i could work on 1. shallowly, my proximity to men or 2. conventionally, my personal processes of projection and reaction to a psychological proximity to men or 3. ultimately, my necessity to ground my "sense of self" in an illusory, impermanent, and universally imprisoning process extant to saṃsāra such as the social mechanisms of gender. i dont even have to fight to have a name for what my wife n i got goin on not because its too complex or too hard but literally i dont care. my words are as empty as yours

#freeform

[groovylittleclown]

Hello hello!! It is birthday time, you know what that means!! New pinned post!!! 🎉

Hi! I am Mackerel or Mack! But I also go by Clown, Groovy, Orbit, and Ax!! I am always adding more names so feel free to call me anything!! I'm 20 (woag!), I use mirrored pronouns (meaning I use your pronouns), and I am non-SAM arospec!! (current hypothesis is cupioromantic!!)

About me?? I am on a quest to get some skills and learn some stuff!! Including but not limited to... Sewing, Sculpting, Carpentry, Set Design, Character Design, and Editing!! I hope to share my progress whenever I gather up the motivation and courage!! I am very excited!!

I am big into puppetry of all kinds and have a dream to make my own puppet show. I probably spend most of my time daydreaming about potential stories and the worlds and characters in those stores.

I am currently working on a project called Flawless. Without spoilers, it's a story about a group of characters with only "bad traits". They have no redeeming qualities, they are all massive jerks, and they all hate each other. They have to try to fix their traits to leave their house-area-thing. The story is currently undergoing changes, so that may not stay the focus of Flawless, but I am excited nevertheless!!

Another project I'm working on doesn't have a proper name, and I don't talk about it all that much, but it's about the Desdemona family and is a world building project centered around angels and object head characters. I'm very excited about it and cannot wait to start sharing it with you!!

I'm in a buncha fandoms, a few of them are; FNaF, Sonic, Muppets / Muppet Adjacent (fraggle rock, sesame street,…), DHMIS, Transformers, Rick and Morty, Puppet History, ACNH, Monster High, and TADC.

Other than that, I really like clowns, puppetry(as previously mentioned), wacky aesthetics, time loops, horror (especially body horror and psychological horror), YTPMVs and mind funk stuff!!

And Now!! Funfacts!!!

My animal crossing island theme is Funky Town. My favorite animal is a bunny. I work for a theater. I have a list of various puppet medias that I still need to go through. My favorite Stardew Valley character is Maru, however, I have never actually made it past summer of year 1. I have a saxophone named Bertha but I haven't played in a while. My favorite mario game is Luigi's Mansion: Dark Moon. My favorite sea creature is the Chambered Nautilus!! Aaaaaaand I am on yet another quest to find my gender after mystical being beyond my comprehension stole it from me all those years ago.. (/silly)

Tags I use (not including project tags):

mackerel posts

mackerel rambles <- longer post

mackerel reblogs <- not in my alt blog

mackerel draws <- my art

mackerel project tag <- my projects

romance tag <- filtering purposes

I am still working on my persona so I will edit this when I get them done!! (finally changing out that frog!! I love them but I need more whimsy) But until then!! Have this thing!! (it's a bunny clown stuffed animal?? Thing??? I dunno, don't poke it.)

#mackerel posts #mackerel rambles #i wrote this like 4 months in advance #i want a new pinned so bad #but i gotta wait #i wanted to list my collected names and favorite characters #but that might be for another day #i hope the rainbow text isnt too annoying or troublesome to read #ive been trying to add it as an accent because i like the look of it #but i know not everyone does #also!! i gotta change up what my blog actually looks like #i never think about it cause im always on mobile #cw eyestrain #tagging just to be safe #ITS THE DAY!!!!! #IVE BEEN WAITING TO POST THIS!!!!!! #long post

[limelocked]

Fixing MCC

MCC has a problem and when I say that I’m not talking about how scuffed individual games might be or the tech intensive nature of its venue, I’m talking about a more fundamental problem to the event; its branding.

MCC is a “for fun” even but it’s getting more and more competitive in an unchecked manner that seems from an outside perspective to be influencing the competitors in a negative way (dream/sapnap being upset about perceived unfairness in the event, hbomb and scott getting harassment over that percieved unfairness, technoblade talking about the pressure to overperform to avoid getting flack, and inthelittlewood saying that playing in Dodgebolt makes him feel genuinely physically sick) which at least to me constitutes as feelings and concerns one wouldn’t have in a “for fun” event.

MCC being competitive isn’t a bad thing! Don’t get me wrong! But there is a problem with this and we cannot just put it on “rabid fans” because those fans are sports fans, they act like football fans, and I think that those fans are misunderstanding what MCC is supposed to be because actions (how the vibes of the event are) speak louder than the words (everyone insisting that it’s purely for fun).

So here are some suggestions on how to make this event better. The ideas aren’t perfect but personally I think they fit the growing needs of MCC.

1. Split MCC in two Splitting MCC into two leagues (called A and B for convenience) would lessen the condensed toxicity towards the one individual event and give more MCC to the fandom even though, in this hypothetical, it would be played the same amount as with the current schedule.

League A would be as MCC is right now, it would be just as competitive but with more transparent messaging about this to the participants and to fans over social media. League B would be something not unlike a non-canon MCC where winning isn’t what’s supposed to be the fun in the event. This league may have different achievements set in the winners hall (longest distance flown with an elytra for example instead of fastest time in the TGTTOS flight tunnels) and a generally bigger focus on whimsy.

League A would play one month, the B league would play the next, so on and so forth, giving us the same amount of MCC but different.

2. Rotating cast While I love the OGs of MCC I’ll admit that it’s getting stale and the few new players added every event are having a harder time catching up with the skill curve even with the dedicated practice server because competing in MCC is unlike practice and most general Minecraft prowess while in actual play due to the added pressure of playing live.

If the split leagues were implemented in company with this change then I’d suggest that the B league would have a far larger portion of newer members that would after a few appearances be able to move to league A. MCC OGs that want a more fun and less stressful/competitive MCC should also be allowed to play here, though with lower priority over newer members.

3. The most important point; Internal Consistency If only one thing changes then I want it to be this one; MCC needs to choose what it wants to be and apply it universally and be transparent to viewers about it. Contradictory information between what happens in the event and its brand recognition will not help in the toxicity that MCC is breeding right now.

- If it wants to remain as a fun and wacky minigame event then my suggestion would be to suffer the viewing numbers tanking and drop some of the more competitive people and boost newer voices. - If it wants to be competitive then add catch-up mechanics for the lower placing teams (such as letting the lower half of teams choose a game to be played perhaps after the audience blackout round).

Whatever happens: MCC needs to be transparent to fans both in the event (via how the event is actually played) and on social media about what it wants to be so that the confusion between fans isn’t there.

And I hope this is already happening behind closed doors, but it also needs be said that MCC should handle internal strife between participants and notify new competitors of how participating feels (re: stress, self defeatism, etc) so that they can work around those problems when they’re noticed in the event because the players mental health Is Important.

But that is all for me, I hope that MCC will continue to improve and be an enjoyable event into the far future!

#mcc #mcyt #im not posting this on reddit even tho i kinda want to #i want to make clear that im really happy we have mcc and that its a fun event thats better organized than any of its peers but that doesnt #make it invulnerable to critizism

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!! 

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

#JeanMarco #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein fanfiction #marco bott #marco bodt #jean x marco #fluff #kissing #making out #spicy #marco x jean #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #our second fic ever #please be nice #and gentle #slow burn #slow build #cute

[duskyskz]

Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

*********************************

Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary. 

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard. 

“Croak!” 

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward. 

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries. 

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation. 

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later. 

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm. 

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?” 

 The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears. 

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard. 

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?” 

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries. 

Ah, well. 

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay. 

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking. 

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul. 

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak. 

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears. 

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway. 

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you. 

You love your town, you really do. 

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right. 

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place. 

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses. 

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination? 

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings. 

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too! 

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot. 

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus. 

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink. 

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion. 

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know  you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of  heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination. 

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth. 

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight. 

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side. 

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.” 

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.” 

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.” 

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock  lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate. 

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.” 

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.” 

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons. 

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life. 

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires. 

Ah, warlock things. 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth. 

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach. 

“Undress me, please.” 

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible. 

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn. 

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning. 

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps. 

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement. 

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement. 

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.” 

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions. 

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things. 

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base. 

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core. 

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely. 

“Tell me when I can move, alright?” 

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim. 

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole. 

“Let me clean you first, birdie.” 

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration. 

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent. 

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #stray kids imagines #hyunjin #Halloween au #Hyunjin au

[quickspinner]

Haste to the Wedding

Here’s my fic for the @lukanette-exchange​, for @misslenamooney​! I hope you like it! The prompts were “Lukanette, happy Marinette, and if you’re feeling a bit salty, you can salt on Alya and Lila.“ I only have the faintest sprinkling of salt here, more like an echo of the past than anything else, but it was a convenient frame for the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! This will be up on AO3 later today.

Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbours The lovers their bliss can no longer delay. Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors, And let every heart beat with rapture today. ~ Haste to the Wedding, traditional Gaelic jig.

“Oh, Marinette, it’s so perfect,” Alya breathed, bouncing slightly and then stilling before Marinette could reprimand her. The gown was lovely, the white lace making beautiful patterns against Alya’s darker skin where Marinette had left it open, and forming a more subtle texture in the areas where the dress was lined for modesty. It skimmed Alya’s body beautifully before flaring in a subtle trumpet shape towards the bottom, with just enough train in the back to form a nice shape on the ground behind her. All in all, Marinette felt very satisfied with it. Sophisticated and strong enough for the tough reporter, with a touch of the whimsy and fantasy that one expected in a wedding dress.

Alya was glowing with happiness, and Marinette smiled absently as she selected another pin from a cushion on her wrist. They’d grown apart a bit, going to different lycées and both traveling extensively for their careers, so they didn’t get to see each other often and sometimes didn’t speak directly for months at a time, but they were still good friends, and when Alya had called and asked Marinette to personally design her wedding dress, there was no question of saying no. Marinette had even hesitantly offered to work with Alya on the wedding planning, since she’d be in Paris much more than Alya over the coming months, but somewhat to her relief, Alya had dismissed her offer, telling her she’d run into another old friend who was starting up a wedding planning business and that she was taking care of everything. Marinette wasn’t sorry to be exempted from the planning (and also from bridesmaid duties, since Alya had decided to have only her sisters attend her).

Now she need only worry about the dress, which Alya of course insisted only Marinette could do. Alya had opted for a crisp white pantsuit look for the civil ceremony at City Hall, saving her wedding dress for the fancifully American-style wedding reception they had planned for the next day.

Despite her faith in her friend, Alya had been a bit nervous, Marinette could tell, about having most of their consultations long-distance, but Marinette was used to it, and she had treated Alya like any of her several high-profile clients that couldn’t always meet with her in person. Marinette’s professionalism and smooth process had seemed to soothe Alya’s worries, and they had managed a couple of in-person meetups for the most critical stages.

The only thing that had given Marinette pause was the idea of not having a final fitting until the day before the wedding, but it really couldn’t be helped. Marinette preferred to have multiple redundant contingency plans and plenty of time to implement them. She’d had several mini-meltdowns at the very idea of a huge last-minute problem, and had actually been in the middle of one when Alya walked in the door, fresh from the civil ceremony and glowing with happiness and excitement. The irrational panic that Alya wouldn’t like the dress had melted away as soon as Alya caught sight of it and let out a deafening squeal, and once the dress was on, it became apparent that Marinette’s assistant had been right in telling her to have more faith in her own skill. The dress was nearly perfect. No emergencies, no last minute creative fixes, no (or at least, no more than usual) stress. Marinette only had to pin the hem to the final length for Alya’s shoes and finish it that night, and it would be ready for tomorrow. 

She just had to endure Alya’s teasing until then. “Marinette, come on, spill,” the bride urged. “I know something’s going on with you and Luka since he got back from his tour. I just want to know what it is!”

“So do I,” Marinette muttered, selecting another pin from the cushion on her wrist. “I don’t know, Alya, we’ve been flirting a lot and there’s been...I mean, he’s always been a touchy-feely person, so I don’t know if it means anything—”

“Girl, when it comes to you Luka has always meant something and you know it.”

Marinette blushed, but she couldn’t deny it. Luka had never pressed his admiration on her but he never hid it, either, and Marinette had never been unaffected by it. Busy as they were with their own careers, both made it a point to make time to see each other whenever the two of them were in the same city, and the meetings were always comfortable, enjoyable, brief, and just on the edge of flirtatious, charged with potential they never had time to explore. Since he’d come back from his tour and she’d actually managed to be in town for a few months consecutively, they’d met up a few times now (more than a few) and it was—it was so fun, and Luka was so sweet and smooth and it felt so good to be the center of someone’s attention, and they’d always had so much chemistry together, and she was really starting to think that maybe— 

Focus, she thought, sticking some pins in her mouth as an excuse not to speak. Fortunately, Alya’s mind was too focused on the wedding to pester Marinette for long.  

“We thought about asking if he could play the wedding, but I know it’s not normally his thing, and my friend said she had some other options, and boy, did she! And how amazing will it be to have Jagged Stone playing the reception? It’ll be huge for Nino, for people to know he has enough connections to get someone that big to play—Marinette? Are you okay?”

Marinette’s head had snapped up to stare wide-eyed at Alya, and she was completely frozen now, a sick feeling forming in her stomach. Slowly she took the pins out of her mouth, sitting back on her heels as she looked up at Alya. “Alya,” Marinette began hesitantly. “Jagged’s in Greece. He has three back to back shows scheduled over the next three nights, and two more shortly after. There’s no way he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow.”

Alya’s mouth dropped open slightly, and then she laughed. “That can’t be right, Marinette! He’s been booked for the wedding for six months!”

“Six months?” Marinette echoed, her brows coming together as that sick feeling got worse. “Alya, Jagged’s schedule is booked out for two years at least.” 

“Well yeah, for normal people.” Alya flapped a hand dismissively. “But Lila said—” She paused and bit her lip. “I mean—for you know, people with connections…” but she trailed off as Marinette laid her pins aside and stood up. 

“You let Lila book the band for your wedding?” Marinette demanded, and then at Alya’s guilty look, she sucked in a horrified breath. “Lila is your old friend that’s in the wedding planning business?” 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Alya sighed, twisting her hands together. “I know you guys never got along and I knew you’d be mad.” 

“Mad isn’t the word I would use,” Marinette sighed, pacing the floor and pulling at her hair. “Alya, how much of the wedding did Lila book?” 

“Almost all of it,” Alya shrugged. “My mom got us the venue and she’s doing the catering, and I insisted on having you do my dress, but Lila booked everything else.” She smiled dreamily. “It’s going to be beautiful, Marinette, she got so many incredible things and her budget was so reasonable. Her business is really going to take off after everybody sees how well she’s done. I was a little nervous, but I knew she could pull it off.”

Marinette just stared at her for a moment, her lips in a firm line, and then she pulled out her phone. “Just a minute, Alya,” she muttered, and dialed. It went to voicemail, as she expected. “Hey, Penny, this is Marinette. I was um, working on a project that I wanted Jagged to see, and since I hear he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow, I was hoping he could make some time for me. No pressure, just, if he’s available. Please let me know either way.” 

She hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, trying to keep her face neutral.  “Alya,” she said quietly, “What did Lila book for you?”

Alya shrugged. “Everything except the dress, which of course had to be you, the food, which of course had to be my mom, and the venue, which we already had reserved through one of my mom’s contacts. Flowers—oh, you should have seen the pictures she sent me they were to die for—favors for the guests, the band obviously, the cake—she tried to get your parents but they were booked solid and we agreed we shouldn’t bother you about it—the makeup and hair and photographer, from all that modeling she’s done you know, and the decorations.”

Marinette took a deep breath and sat down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hands. This was going to be a disaster. Alya’s wedding was going to be a disaster. Oh, the important stuff was still there, at least no one would go hungry and they weren’t going to have hundreds of guests descend on some poor bewildered staff person demanding to be let in to a wedding that didn’t exist. Alya and Nino were already legally married and they could still—

“Lila doesn’t have the rings, right?” Marinette demanded, looking up sharply. 

“No, Nino does,” Alya frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Marinette, what is  your problem?” 

Marinette got up and swatted Alya’s hands away from the fabric irritably. “Don’t, you’ll soil it. My problem is that Lila has never delivered on a single thing she promised you. Have you actually talked to any of these people yourself?”

“No, but Lila and I have been talking every week and she sent me pictures and samples and she did all the consultations. I didn’t have to worry about a thing!” 

Marinette moaned, tossing her head back. “You never confirmed anything she booked?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “She sent me invoices for all of them! I can show you the check stubs if you’re that upset about it.”

“You wrote checks?” Marinette gasped. Charges on a credit card they might have been able to dispute, but—okay, no, this was too much. She’d worry about that part later. “Did you sign a contract with her?” 

Alya scoffed. “Of course not, we’re friends.” 

Marinette pressed her lips together and folded her arms and reminded herself that Nino would be upset if she strangled his bride the night before the wedding. “We’re friends,” she pointed out tightly, gesturing between herself and Alya. “I still made you sign a contract.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve always been anal like that.” 

“Anal like—” Marinette stopped, turning her back for a second to breathe, and before she could formulate a response her phone beeped with an incoming video message.

She set it to play on speaker. “Hi, Marinette,” Penny Rolling said, looking pristine as always despite the chaos behind her. “Always great to hear from you! Unfortunately it seems like there’s been some kind of misunderstanding? Jagged’s not scheduled to be in Paris again for two more months. I know he’d want to see what you’re working on, so text me later and we can work out a video call instead. So sorry for the mixup. Talk to you soon.”

Marinette looked up at Alya, who was doing a credible impression of a fish. 

“That’s just—okay, so there was a misunderstanding, you’ve told me how Jagged is, I’m sure—maybe he forgot to tell Penny and she didn’t put it on his calendar, but it’s just one thing, there’s no need to—”

“Alya.” Marinette met her friend’s gaze steadily and Alya cut off, seeming to shrink a little. “This is your wedding. Do you really want to take the chance?”

Alya just stared at her.

“Call the florist first,” Marinette said calmly. Too calmly, she knew, but she also knew that Alya was finally listening, because the color drained from her face and she began fumbling for her phone. 

Not bothering to wait for the outcome, Marinette pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to a fresh page, making a list down the page as she frantically thought about her options. In a few moments she had a plan sketched out and was dialing her own phone.

“Adrien,” Marinette bit out as soon as he picked up. “Did you know that Nino and Alya’s wedding planner was Lila?”

There was a good thirty seconds of silence on the other end of the line before Adrien breathed, “Oh no. No, I didn’t know, it never even occurred to me to…what are we going to do, Marinette?”

“We’re going to fix this disaster so our friends can have the wedding they deserve,” Marinette said as if it was simple. “You’re on photography and flowers. I know you hate trading on your name and your contacts but so help me, you better use every ounce of fame you have to get this done—”

“I’ll do it,” Adrien said quickly. “I’ll do it. And count on me to cover the cost of whatever else you need to get. Whatever premium you have to promise.” 

“I’ll hold you do that,” Marinette told him, and then glanced over her shoulder. An increasingly panicked-looking Alya wasn’t even paying attention to her. “And call Nino and tell him he better get back here now. Thanks, chaton.” 

“You can always count on me, my lady. So can Alya and Nino.” 

“All right, I’ll call if I need anything else.” She hung up the phone and dialed again. 

“Hi, boss,” a chipper voice greeted her. 

“Sabrina,” Marinette sighed, unable to match her assistant’s cheerful tone. “Listen, there’s been a problem with Alya’s wedding and I need you to ransack the warehouse for decorations. Anything that we might use for a wedding photoshoot. And start calling any stylist and makeup artist who’s ever done well for us and get them on board to do wedding hair and makeup tomorrow. I know it’s short notice but we need somebody on board in a hurry. Money is no object. Adrien’s footing the bill so if you need a credit card or something, call him. He’ll be expecting you.”

“Colors?” Sabrina asked, and Marinette smiled at the brusque tone and lack of questioning. She’d been nervous when Sabrina had called her looking for a job, having been fired (again) by Chloe, but taking her on was going on Marinette’s list of best management decisions ever. Sabrina was a huge asset to Marinette’s successful and growing business, and the only assistant Marinette had ever hired that was detail-oriented and organized enough to keep up with her.

“Orange, mint, and forest green,” she replied, making a note on her list to text that to Adrien as well for the florist. “Just have the guys pile it all in the van and we’ll sort through it when we get there. Grab whatever you can find in the scrap fabrics, too. I’m not sure it’ll be much but we’ll work with whatever we can have.” She paused. “Sabrina, this is a personal favor, not a job, but I—”

“Got it, boss,” Sabrina chirped. “Text me the address and what time the venue opens, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Sabrina,” Marinette smiled, making a mark on her list. 

Next, she called her mother, made Sabine put her on speaker so that Tom could hear, and begged shamelessly, using every “Papa’s little girl” trick she could think of to get them on board. Naturally, Tom couldn’t refuse. Marinette felt guilty for putting that much work on them but she’d find a way to make it up to them later.

Looking at the next item on her list, she hesitated. She set her phone down and pressed her hands to her face, and then looked back down at the list, feeling her face heat. She knew what she needed to do—she knew who she needed to call, but…

She glanced up at Alya, who was sitting motionless in her chair, the phone in her lap, staring into space with a blank expression that was...bad. On Alya, it was really bad.

Marinette took a deep breath and dialed the phone. She put a hand over her racing heart and pressed as if that would stop the fluttering. 

“Hey, beautiful,” a warm, deep voice said, and Marinette smiled in spite of herself. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you today. Figured you’d be busy.”

“H-hey, Luka,” she said, and swallowed, hating the stutter. “I—well, I am busy, but I—that is, I mean—argh.” She groaned, and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. God, she hated to do this. “I need a favor,” she said through gritted teeth, and then sighed. “A big one. Huge. A really big, I-have-no-right-to-ask-you-this-sized favor.”

“I’m listening,” Luka said, unruffled as always, a touch of amusement in his voice. 

“So, the wedding,” Marinette took a breath and blew it out. “Well, long story short, the band fell through. A lot of things fell through, actually, and we’re really scrambling to fix everything and I know this is super, super short notice and I won’t blame you one bit if you tell me to jump ship, but—but this is really important to me, Luka, and I...I…”

“You want me to find you a band in less than twenty-four hours?” Luka asked incredulously.

“W-well,” Marinette cringed, fisting the fabric of her skirt in her hand. “I was sort of hoping you’d be the band? Not that I don’t trust you, I’m sure anybody you could get would be great, but you’re amazing, and I really need amazing for this. This—I can’t explain everything but this is not going to be the wedding Nino and Alya had counted on and I really, really need it to be the best we can possibly give them, and you’re definitely the best, so—please, Luka, I’m begging, I’ll do anything, Adrien’s covering all the expenses and we’ll come up with a number to make it worth it for you and anyone you can bring with you, and I’m sure there’s going to be industry contacts there because of Nino, and I just—”

“Marinette,” Luka said firmly, and she shut her mouth abruptly. 

“Yes?” she ventured, when Luka didn’t say anything more.

“What time do you need me to be there?” he asked, and she could hear his smile. “I’m not sure if I can get the rest of the guys, or even subs, it might just be me—”

“You’re more than enough,” Marinette assured him, and then blushed. “I mean. Well. You are. Anyway, I, um...I’ll text you the details and you let me know how it turns out with the others.”

“Yeah, sure. Be sure and send me anything they wanted as far as the set list. First dance and all that.” He chuckled. “I haven’t played many weddings but I remember that much at least.”  

“Okay,” Marinette said, glancing aside as the door opened and Nino came through, expression worried. “I’ll probably have Nino get in touch with you directly about that stuff. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Luka, I...I feel like I’m taking advantage…”

“Marinette,” Luka’s voice was velvety, rich and alluring, and despite the situation it sent a shiver down her spine. “You can take advantage of me any time you want.” 

Mairnette scrunched her shoulders as a fierce blush spread over her face. “Luka,” she whined, and he laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, still in that voice. “Save a dance for me.” 

The call cut off and Marinette dropped the phone in her lap, dropped her head in her hands, and squealed softly. 

Okay. Plenty of time later to think about her complicated relationship with the guitarist and how much she’d been wondering lately if kissing him stupid would uncomplicate it or make it worse. For now, Alya was coming out of her catatonic state, Marinette’s phone was already blowing up with texts from Adrien and Sabrina and her mother, and she had a disaster to mitigate.

At least that was something she was good at. She picked up her notebook and marched over to Alya and Nino.

***

It could have been worse, Marinette reflected with satisfaction as she looked around the party hall. Sabrina was a miracle worker, and that was a fact. Resourceful and much more ruthless than her (current) employer, she knew how to use her contacts and how to trade on Adrien’s name and wealth to get things done. Marinette only hoped they hadn’t screwed anyone over too badly.

“You know it’s bad form to outshine the bride at her wedding,” said a deep voice in her ear, and Marinette jumped and whirled to smack Luka in the shoulder as he laughed. She pouted and shook her finger in his face. “No flirting until after your set.” 

“All right,” he chuckled, catching her hand and bringing it down gently as he smiled at her. “You’re the boss today.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand in a way that made his words a lie. “Where should we set up?” 

“We?” Marinette blinked, her mouth dropping open slightly as she finally tore her eyes from Luka to look over his shoulder, where three other people stood with instrument cases and bored expressions. 

“I called in some favors,” he grinned. “I’ll probably be playing dive bars and who knows what else for weeks to pay this back, but...anything for you, Marinette.” 

She should have scolded him for flirting again, but she couldn’t because she knew that he meant it. He was only laying it on so thick now because she’d been flirting back and encouraging him over the last few weeks, and when he looked at her like that, well...she had a hard time being sorry. 

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly and she realized he was still waiting for an answer to his question. He was still rubbing her hand with his thumb, though, too, and Marinette whipped her hand away and turned on her heel, calling “Follow me.” 

“Anywhere,” he said softly behind her, and she bit her lip, trying not to giggle like a teenager. 

Once she had led him to the stage and the sound system, he sobered a bit, clearly settling into professional mode as he gave his bandmates instructions for setting up. Marinette hovered while he checked the stage lights and asked for some adjustments. The venue staff accommodated him with admirable speed. Marinette was called away for a bit to consult with the frazzled, tired-but-triumphant florist and figure out how best to distribute what they had managed to acquire. She was surprised at how much there was. A lot of it was white but it was tastefully mixed with the orange and pale green blossoms. It would do, distributed correctly.

When she returned, the band was set up and tuning up for their sound check. Marinette checked the time nervously.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be ready,” Luka’s normally soft voice boomed through the sound system, and she jumped slightly. She looked up to find him at the microphone, guitar slung across his shoulders, and as he tossed back his hair and smiled at her, she was reminded of the boy from the boat, Juleka’s brother, the boy who gave her rides on his bike and smiled at her with soft eyes and played songs that resonated in her heart. 

Almost as if he could hear her, his hands went to the strings, but it wasn’t her heart that he played this time. She recognized the intro to Alya and Nino’s first dance song, though it sounded more vibrant with Luka’s distinctive rock edge. It would be perfect for them, she noted absently. Luka’s eyes found her again and he smirked. Marinette was barely aware of the drums picking up the rhythm and the bass coming in a bit late as Luka took a breath and sang, low and smooth, his eyes on her.

“What would I do without your smart mouth, drawing me in and you kicking me out, you’ve got my head spinning, no kidding, I can’t pin you down. What’s going on in that beautiful mind? I’m on your magical mystery ride, and I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, but I’ll be all right.” 

He dropped his eyes, and Marinette thought he might be blushing as he launched into the chorus. She put a hand over her heart and sighed at the way it beat against her hand as she closed her eyes to listen to him singing All of me loves all of you… 

It gave her goosebumps. Luka wasn’t Jagged Stone, and he didn’t try to be. His voice was so rich and full it seemed to fill the space and make everything sound closer and more intimate. 

He cut off abruptly and stepped back, motioning his bandmates to cut off. “Okay, can we bring the bass up just a little bit?” The guy working the sound waved an acknowledgement, and they played the lead-in again. This time Luka nodded in satisfaction, and then turned back to ask his bandmates something Marinette couldn’t hear.

They ran through parts of a few other of the more important songs, and Marinette was more and more impressed at the way Luka managed to fit the songs to his own style, without changing the substance. 

When he was satisfied with the way everything sounded, they all put the instruments in their stands and came down off the stage. 

Luka opened his mouth to say something but Marinette raised up on her toes, took his face in her hands and kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Thank you so much for doing this,” she told him. “You’re really my hero today.” 

He licked his lips, and made a visible effort to drag his gaze from her mouth to her eyes, but they flicked right back again when Marinette bit her lip again to keep in another fit of giggles that wanted to burst from her. He always had that effect on her. She patted his cheek. “I have to go check on Alya, but I’ll catch up with you in a bit, okay?” 

“Sure,” he managed finally, and cleared his throat as she turned away. She got a few steps away before he called her name and she turned back. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he said simply, and Marinette blushed, hands going automatically to smooth her simple pink and mint cocktail dress. 

“Thanks, Luka,” she said, watching his eyes follow the slight shrug of her bare shoulders. “You look really good too. I like your usual look, but you clean up nicely too.” She winked at him. “Don’t forget you promised me a dance after your set.”

Luka’s mouth dropped open slightly and he looked a bit as if he’d been hit in the back of the head with a board. Marinette tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, and if she put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked away, it was just for the sake of making her skirt swish that little bit more. 

Behind her, Luka put a hand to his heart and pretended to faint into his bandmate’s arms. “She’s gonna kill me,” he muttered with a happy sigh.

“So long as I get paid first, mate,” his drummer grunted, heaving him off. 

***

Alya cried when she saw the hall, despite all the ladies in the group converging on her and begging her not to make her eyes puffy on her big day. In all honesty her eyes were already puffy from the hopeless weeping that had followed her denial and disbelief, but the makeup artist Sabrina found did a masterful job hiding it, and the glow of Alya’s happiness and relief did anything else that was wanted. 

It maybe wasn’t the decorations Alya had picked out, or the hairstyle Alya had decided on, or exactly the shade of eyeshadow she had planned on, but it all came together just fine. No one would ever know the disaster the wedding had almost been. Marinette spared a moment to viciously wish that Lila might see the social media pictures of just how lovely it had all turned out in spite of her, before putting the horrible woman out of her mind entirely. 

“You’re a miracle worker as always,” Adrien sighed as they paused for a congratulatory fist bump. 

“Sabrina gets most of the credit,” Marinette observed. “She did a lot of the legwork, and we for sure wouldn’t have been able to do as much without you backing us. It sure would be nice if I could find the money to put a bonus in her next paycheck.”

Adrien nodded. “How about you overcharge me for a custom suit for the charity ball I have to attend next month?” 

“That should do it,” Marinette agreed. “Have your assistant call Sabrina, we’ll set something up.” 

“Still,” Adrien said, nudging Marinette with a cat-like grin spreading across his face. “Somehow I doubt Sabrina had much to do with the music for tonight.” 

“No, that was Nino,” Marinette replied airily. “He called in a favor with a DJ friend of his that was on the guest list anyway.”

“Uh-huh. And the live music?” Adrien nudged her a little harder and Marinette shoved him off so hard he nearly fell.

“I’m going to check on the cake,” she announced, though she knew her parents had delivered it to Mme Césare’s staff earlier and that they surely knew what they were doing.

The ring ceremony went off without a hitch, with Alya’s sisters at her side and Adrien and Noel at Nino’s, without any hint of the drama that had been going on behind the scenes since yesterday. 

And the dress, Marinette noted with satisfaction, looked perfect. 

Then Alya and Nino took the dance floor, and Luka took over the mic, and then he was singing again, in that voice that gave her goosebumps. It had been quite a while since she had seen him perform live, and she hadn’t exactly forgotten the way he could command a room, but it still gave her the shivers. She drifted closer and closer to the stage as she moved through the crowd, and then suddenly she was looking up at Luka, and he was looking down at her, and Marinette might have felt self-conscious except that everyone else was locked on Alya and Nino. No one had any attention to notice the way they were looking at each other as Luka sang, “You’re my downfall, you’re my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing in my head for you.” 

Really, to Marinette, it felt like all those other people weren’t even there.

***

She was looking for him, once the band had wrapped up and the DJ had taken over, and he still managed to come up from behind and surprise her. 

“Is now a good time for that dance?” 

“Luka, stop sneaking up on me,” Marinette scolded, turning to find him grinning down at her once again. 

“I’m not even sorry,” he told her, chuckling as he held out his hand. “May I?”  

Marinette rolled her eyes, but she was grinning as she put her hand in his and let him guide her onto the dance floor, where his broad, warm hands settled on her waist as her own delicate hands joined behind his neck. 

“You did an awesome job up there,” Marinette told him as they swayed. “Really. Jagged Stone himself couldn’t have done better.” 

Luka snorted. “As if Jagged could ever contain himself enough to play a wedding. He’d be upstaging the bride every chance that he got.”

“That...is probably true,” Marinette admitted. She loved the rock star, but she was by no means blind to his faults, which included being extremely self-absorbed and a natural attention magnet. It really was better that he hadn’t been here. 

She sighed. “I still can’t believe Alya thought Lila could actually deliver on all those promises. I thought after everything—but she did eventually manage to lie her way into some real connections, so I guess maybe she had just enough authenticity to sound credible this time.”

“Don’t think about her,” Luka said softly, whisking her into a turn. “I don’t like the faces you make when you do,” he teased, lifting one hand to stroke the deep crease between her brows. “You pulled it off, Marinette. Look at Alya and Nino. They couldn’t be any happier, so just dance with me and forget about all that mess. What’s on the big calendar for this week, hm? Or should I even ask?” 

“Actually, I was wondering if maybe I could take you to dinner,” Marinette said as lightly as she could manage. “As a thank you.” 

Luka looked away for a second. “I think you already know I’d love to go out with you, Marinette,” Luka said, his voice serious even though he was still smiling when he looked back at her. “But I’d rather it not be out of pity, or even gratitude. I want you on your own terms.” 

Of course he did. That was just...so Luka. Marinette took a deep breath and shifted a little closer to him, letting her fingers drift up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he repeated, the eyes that had gone half-lidded at her touch snapping open. 

“Okay,” Marinette confirmed. “Here’s my terms. I work a lot. My business is very deadline driven and I’m very hands-on with a lot of people as part of the fitting process. It’s entirely professional, entirely necessary, and you have to be okay with it.”

“I can handle that,” Luka agreed, looking as cool as ever, but they were now moving ever so slightly off-beat with the music, so she knew he was rattled. 

“I can’t always be home to cook dinner. I might not even be home to eat dinner. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am and in a couple more years I might be able to bring on more staff, but that’s not a guarantee.” 

“I’d never ask you to stop pursuing your passion, Marinette,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “But if you’re not taking care of yourself, if you’re not eating and sleeping enough to at least function, I’m gonna ask you to slow down.”

“Fair,” Marinette acknowledged. “I travel a lot. I’ll be in other cities a lot, on my own, with a lot of clients and models. The tabloids like to stir up trouble and it’s only a matter of time before they have me shacking up with somebody. I expect you to talk to me before you jump to any conclusions.” 

“Of course,” he said so simply that she believed him. 

Marinette took a deep breath. “Sometimes I have to be places that I can’t explain,” she said softly, no longer looking him in the eye. “I don’t want to have to lie and come up with excuses, so...I need you to just trust me. And if it gets to be too much...I need you to tell me that too, so we can stay friends when we split up.” 

“Okay,” Luka said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Is that all?”

Marinette shrugged and tried to smile. “Mostly, yeah.” 

“All right then,” Luka grinned, twirling her around. “I accept your terms. Are you ready to hear mine?” 

“O-okay,” Marinette stammered. 

“We’re in the same boat on the travel. I work a lot of odd jobs and weird hours,” Luka began. “My schedule’s never the same from week to week. I work a lot of late nights and I hate mornings.” 

“Me too,” Marinette giggled. “I think I can live with that. What else?”

“I get hit on kind of a lot,” he said, looking away slightly as a faint hint of red colored his cheeks. “When I play a gig. And this tour was—it was crazy, even though we were just the opening act. Some people get a little handsy. I don’t like it, I don’t ask for it, and it’s got nothing to do with things between us—no matter what it looks like when you walk up. So, same courtesy? Talk to me before you freak out?” 

“I don’t freak out as easily as I used to,” Marinette mumbled, blushing herself. “But yeah, I got it. Okay. I don’t really like that people are touching you when you don’t want them to, though. I can’t promise I won’t bend a thumb or two if they’re where they don’t belong.” 

“Hmm, we’ll negotiate on that,” Luka chuckled, pinching her waist lightly. “I don’t personally mind but I don’t want my girlfriend getting kicked out of every club in Paris.” He gave her a soft look. “And you would be my girlfriend. I’m not interested in dating around if being with you is an option.”

Marinette blushed harder, but put her nose in the air and pretended to consider. “Hm. That sounds reasonable. Besides, I don’t mind making time for you, but otherwise I’m way too busy to date.” She held her “Chloe face” for another moment and then broke down in giggles, and Luka laughed too, and they collapsed against each other for a moment, Luka’s forehead coming down to rest on hers as they snickered. Marinette closed her eyes, breathing in the peace and contentment she always felt with him, and wondered why they hadn’t had this talk sooner. It felt so...right.

Reluctantly, Marinette pushed him back after a moment, pulling him back into the dance. 

“I don’t want to steal Alya’s spotlight,” she murmured, glancing at her glowing friend, floating around the room on her new husband’s arm. “She’s already going to be mad enough we stole her song.”

“Did we?” Luka chuckled, and Marinette grinned. 

“I think we did. It sure felt like it to me.” 

“Yeah, it did,” Luka sighed. “I should probably be sorry about that. Hopefully everyone else was focused on the bride and groom. But seriously, I think you’ve already kind of stolen the show here. You say you didn’t do much but I was talking to Adrien a bit before.” He shook his head. “You’re amazing. Anyone else would have just patted her back and left her to figure it out on her own.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Marinette sighed. “I just happened to have the resources to make it happen.”

“Because you’re amazing,” Luka chuckled. 

Marinette’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile too broadly, pretending to dust something off his shoulder as an excuse not to look at him for a moment. “Maybe. It did turn out pretty nicely, after all. I guess I deserve some credit for that.” She glanced up at his face, half-afraid he’d be put off by her lack of modesty, but he just squeezed her waist lightly and nodded. 

“Absolutely. The business you’ve built at your age, it’s incredible. You’re so dedicated and driven and passionate, it blows my mind. Makes me feel like I’m really slacking. If I had your dedication I’d be on my third album by now.”

“You would be,” Marinette chided, squeezing his arm. “If you’d accepted Jagged’s help.”

Luka sighed and looked away. “That’s complicated, Marinette.” 

“I know,” Marinette said, giving him a sympathetic look. “And you’re doing great on your own. Are the final numbers in from the tour yet? I know you were waiting to hear.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Luka’s mouth. “Yeah. They’re, um...they’re pretty good. Really good, actually. Nothing’s certain yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to pick up our option for the next album.”

“Really?” Marinette screeched in a whisper, bouncing on her toes. “Luka, that’s amazing!” She popped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Her eyes went round when she realized what she’d just done, but Luka’s went heavy-lidded and dark. 

Suddenly he made a sharp turn and pulled her into an alcove they’d been about to pass, shielded from the rest of the party by a draping of fabric that some professional corner of Marinette’s brain recognized as leftovers from her spring collection. Then Luka’s hand was cradling the back of her neck and his lips were pressed firmly, though gently, to hers, and she was pulling him down into her, pressing up on her toes to deepen the kiss while Luka’s other hand found the small of her back and pulled her closer. 

“Marinette,” Adrien’s amused voice was low, and when Marinette gasped and looked behind her, she saw Adrien was standing casually (or what passed for casually when one was an internationally famous model) with his back to the entrance of their little alcove. “They’re about to round up all the single ladies, and Alya’s going to come looking for you.” 

“Right,” Marinette gasped, reaching up to touch her face. “Do I—” 

“You’re fine. Me?” Luka smiled at her with so much happiness that Marinette almost didn’t register his question. 

When she did, she reached up and wiped away a smear beneath his lower lip with her thumb. “I think that’s all.” 

“Hmm,” Luka sighed. “We’ll have to do better next time.” He laughed when Marinette gasped and smacked him in the chest before flouncing out of the alcove to punch a snickering Adrien in the arm.

“So violent,” Adrien moaned, rubbing his arm. “Do you know how much money that arm is worth?”

“You’re insured,” Marinette huffed, eyes narrowed as she got in his face and flexed her own arm. “And we both know I can take you so don’t be giving me shit, Agreste.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned to Luka. “Are you seriously signing up for this, Couffaine?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka sighed, clapping a friendly hand on Adrien’s shoulder and shoving him away from Marinette. “That was hot,” Luka grinned, putting his arm around Marinette’s shoulders as  Adrien jokingly pretended to stagger into a drink cart. 

Marinette giggled. “I think growing up with your mom warped your personality.”

“Almost definitely,” Luka chuckled, his arm slipping down to squeeze her waist, but before he could say anything else, the DJ was calling all the single women to the floor.

Marinette tried to hang back but Adrien was blocking her exit, so any attempt she might have made to hide was thwarted, and then Alya grabbed the microphone and yelled into it, “Get your ass up here, Marinette, front and center!” 

“Favoritism!” someone yelled, and Alya just laughed.

Marinette reluctantly wandered over and let herself be pushed to the front. She tried not to feel self-conscious as she stood with the other single ladies, all of whom were quite a bit taller than she was. Stupid Alya and her tall genes and her tallish friends. She exchanged a look with Nora, who looked bored and was clearly only participating because her mother had ordered her to be for the sake of having all the sisters in the pictures. 

It was a stupid, meaningless tradition anyway. She’d much rather still be basking in Luka’s calm yet electrifying presence. Marinette pasted on a smile and prepared herself to make the minimum effort necessary to look good in the pictures 

“Ready?” Alya called, turning her back to the group. “One...two…” 

Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around her waist and a familiar voice softly murmured, “Jump” in her ear. She obeyed without thought just as Alya yelled, “THREE!” and flung the bouquet back over her head. For a moment Marinette felt weightless as she was lifted up high—very high—high enough to snatch the bundle of flowers out of the air. She looked over her shoulder and found Luka grinning up at her as he lowered her to the floor. 

“That was cheating,” Ella pouted, and Marinette very maturely stuck out her tongue at the younger girl. She giggled and leaned back into Luka’s chest, his chuckle rumbling against her back before they made their way back off the dance floor as guests began to trickle back onto it. 

Marinette grinned down at the fragrant bundle in her hands, feeling a little flutter as Luka, still behind her, leaned his face down beside hers. 

“So I know we only just became official and everything, but I’m just saying, you know, whenever you’re ready—”

“Luka!” Marinette laughed, turning in his arms to look up at him. He grinned and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he teased. “I’m not saying I won’t wait for you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but I wouldn’t be sad if I didn’t have to anymore.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Marinette grinned wickedly, and then pulled her phone out of the hidden pocket of her dress. “Hold that thought.” She dialed and brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, Sabrina, sorry to bother you but hopefully this will be quick. I know this is short notice, but you know that flight for Vegas I have booked for Monday morning?” Marinette continued, watching Luka’s eyes go wide and his mouth drop open. Oh, that was fun, taking him off guard for once. “I need another ticket. Mm-hmm. Great! Let me know when it’s booked.” She hung up and slipped her phone back in the pocket. “You should know by now that I don’t hesitate anymore,” she teased, looking up into his shocked expression with a grin. “So if you were bluffing you better speak up now, Luka Couffaine.” 

“You know I wasn’t,” he breathed, voice low and serious. “So don’t mess with me here, Marinette.” 

Marinette shrugged slightly, blushing as she picked at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “You’ve always been more honest with your feelings with most people, so...yeah. I didn’t think you were.” It was an effort to meet his eyes, but she managed it, though it brought the heat to her face again. “Neither am I.” 

A single beat.

“Well all right then,” Luka grinned, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “But we probably should stop by City Hall on our way to the airport just to make sure.” 

“You know I like to be thorough,” Marinette agreed, and then squeezed his hand hard. “But if you let a word of this slip before then I’ll kill you. I’m not upstaging Alya’s wedding after all the work I put into saving it.” 

“That would be a shame,” Luka agreed. “Also a crappy thing to do to a friend, so.” He tugged her hand lightly. “You know the sooner we get out of here the less we can give away.” 

“I like the way you think,” Marinette giggled. “Let’s see if I can keep it together enough to say goodbye.” 

Fiction Master Post

I hope you enjoyed it! Here’s the cover I had in mind when Luka played the wedding song.

#quickspins #lukanette-exchange #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fics #prompt fic #lukanette exchange 2020

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me

I’m gonna miss writing about Amethyst.

As the most sisterly Crystal Gem, a firebrand in the new role of middle child after spending millennia as the baby of the group, Amethyst’s story is about growing from a wild teen to a responsible adult. Like Steven, she feels the need to prove that she’s a Crystal Gem too, but unlike Steven, she already is a Crystal Gem, so she carries a different kind of resentment as she continues to be treated like a child. It’s made even worse by her warrior instincts clashing with her small frame: she lives with the constant anxiety that she’s a mistake, a Gem who came out wrong and doesn’t belong in her family, so she comforts and distracts herself with hedonism and shapeshifting. Her problem goes beyond not feeling respected: deep down, she fears that she doesn’t deserve respect.

But she changes her mind.

“This isn’t normal.”

The Return and Jailbreak culminated the first act of Steven Universe, giving our characters subtle achievements (Amethyst and Pearl casually fuse into Opal, Greg reveals a deeper understanding of the Gems than we once thought, Beach City comes together as a community when Steven is in danger) and huge changes (Steven summons a massive shield, Garnet’s status as a fusion is confirmed, Lapis goes from prisoner to imprisoner). While not an official finale, Beta and Earthlings culminated the second act, narrowing the focus to five characters as they each reach one milestone or another: Lapis and Amethyst find a level of peace, Peridot defends her new home, Jasper succumbs to corruption, and Steven helps his friends but fails to help his enemy.

In a way, Change Your Mind culminates the third act with an even narrower focus. Sure, it gives big moments to a ton of characters (there’s fanservice galore, and we see the three Diamonds in particular take enormous steps), but we zero in on Steven in the same way the entire act has zeroed in on Steven, because this is a story about identity. It isn’t only about who he is, but who he wants to be moving forward, and fusing all the insights he’s learned from his human family, his Crystal Gem family, and his Diamond family into a song that encapsulates his growth over the course of the series.

We start in the most lifelike of the Diamond dreams, so real that Steven still sees himself as Steven rather than embodying Pink. Once again, this connection emerges from sleeping in a location where Pink once dwelled, but while he wasn’t feeling her impatience and rage in Jungle Moon, nor her hardening resolve in Can’t Go Back, nor her whimsy in Familiar, this time they share the same headspace when they’re both locked in a tower.

Considering how bombastic things get in this episode, I love how low-key this final dream remains until White Diamond interferes. We’re as lost as Steven at first, worrying about Connie and baffled at Blue’s recognizable mood but incongruous accusations, but as the truth becomes clear, he transforms into Pink off-screen without any fanfare, both in body and in mind: Steven isn’t questioning Blue’s warning about Pink Pearl, Pink Diamond is apologizing for her own behavior in Zach Callison’s voice. Still, looking down jolts him out of it, and after seeing the Crystal Gems poofed at the ball for a more definitive Steven memory, we cycle in Rose’s horror at her family launching a final attack on Earth. The rapid-fire identity shifts that follow inspired the most haunting piece of promo art for the episode, drawn by Rebecca Sugar herself, but I didn’t wanna display it without a seizure warning.

It’s excellent exposition, hitting the highlights of the Diamonds’ many wrongs and establishing Steven’s fraying sense of self in a way that’s both artful and brief; it’s important to remind younger viewers about the stakes, but Change Your Mind doesn’t pretend that anyone should be watching this episode without context, so it doesn’t prioritize thorough explanation. And despite how frightening the nightmare becomes, Steven gains a new sense of clarity after seeing the pattern laid out in front of him. The Diamonds are hurting him in the same way they hurt his mother, and if he’s going to help everyone, he needs to help himself.

When Blue Diamond returns to the tower in modern day, Steven isn’t afraid, and he isn’t alone. The first of many puns riddling the finale emerges (“Déjà Blue!”) before Connie proves why she’s the perfect partner for our hero, platonic or otherwise. He’s terrible at confronting the people that hurt him—this would require him to acknowledge he’s hurt in the first place, which he’s also terrible at—but if she was comfortable enough with confrontation to call out her best friend when he wrongs her, Blue Diamond doesn’t stand a chance. Connie comes out swinging, loading the bases with candor and sass despite Blue’s confusion over why a human even gets an opinion about this stuff, which makes Steven’s refusal to apologize hit the Diamond like a grand slam.

I love that Steven’s flat “no” takes Connie by surprise as well as Blue, because yeah, it’s uncharacteristically blunt for someone who’s spent his entire trip to Homeworld bending over backwards like he usually does to accommodate others. When he doubles down by explaining that he isn’t sorry about creating a show that celebrates queer characters whoops sorry I mean fusion, Callison makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and this is what upsets Blue enough to inflict her tears on him. We’ll learn even more about Pink’s temper in Steven Universe Future, but the simple act of not bowing to authority makes Steven “worse than ever” in Blue’s mind: violence is more acceptable than insubordination. (Also, violence in cartoons is more acceptable than queer folks just sorta existing in cartoons, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Change Your Mind is about combating bigotry and cycles of abuse, and Blue is the obvious first test. She’s a bigot who doesn’t think she’s a bigot (compared to Yellow, who doesn’t care that she’s a bigot, and White, who’s quite proud of being a bigot). She passively perpetuates a toxic status quo (compared to Yellow, who actively perpetuates it, and White, who established it in the first place). It makes sense that she’s the first of the remaining Diamonds to change her mind, because all it takes for her to realize that something is wrong is thinking about it a little harder.

This doesn’t let her off the hook, of course: Blue’s sloth—the sin, not the animal—might not look flashy next to Yellow’s wrath or White’s pride or Pink’s envy, but she still chose to do nothing for thousands of years rather than contemplate how her actions and her society might have wronged Pink. If it was this easy for Blue to realize she was hurting Pink, it makes it that much more of an issue that it took her this long to figure it out. Unintentional bigots might be the “best” option by default, but they can be just as harmful as intentional bigots, and there’s a special sort of damage that can come from an oppressor who truly believes themselves an ally.

That said, while it’s important to acknowledge her blame (emphasized here when she only stops attacking Steven when he calls her out rather than the Diamonds in general), Blue is also a victim. She’s one of the most powerful beings on Homeworld, but she’s still trapped by White Diamond, and resorts to putting others down as a means of reclaiming a sense of that power. In the same way oppressed people often turn to sexism and racism and homophobia to make themselves feel bigger, Blue (and Yellow) reinforce White’s sweeping bigotry in the same way they echo her family-specific abuse. It’s not a good coping mechanism, in this show or in the real world, but understanding the problem is key to fixing it.

So it still feels like a victory when Blue turns, even though it should’ve happened ages ago, and even though she’s a tyrant. She isn’t just deciding to help Steven, she’s breaking out of that cycle in a way that allows for growth beyond our hero’s immediate concerns. Lisa Hannigan captures this transformation beautifully, shifting from manipulative whining about Pink’s behavior to a crushing realization that she’s the one who’s wrong. And even as she joins Steven’s side, she remains weighed down by her longstanding prejudice: Hannigan stutters as she refers to the Crystal Gems as his family, and her triumphant defense of Steven’s name to Yellow comes with the caveat that she’s still misgendering him.

But before we get to Yellow, we take a pit stop that grounds us back to Steven and Connie’s hunger. It may seem small, but this is a critical moment in establishing Steven’s humanity in a way the show has quietly done from day one: with food.

The very first scene of Steven Universe establishes our hero’s human half in a donut shop, upset about dessert. From there, the next five episodes drill in that Steven will take a unique approach to his magical Gem heritage, and they all involve food in a major way: Cookie Cats, then his father’s saying about pork chops and hot dogs, then the Cheeseburger Backpack (important enough to be the episode’s name), then the Together Breakfast (ditto), then creating a monster based on fries.

It’s not just Steven, either. The first few Connie episodes involve eating and drinking in ways that show hints of growth (worrying about trans fats, then sneaking food into movie theaters) and mark key moments in her life (sharing a juicebox, taking her parents to dinner). Lars’s development is tied with his love of baking, and on top of him and Sadie working at the Big Donut, the Frymans and the Pizzas are so tied to their food service jobs that it’s in their names. And speaking of names, we’ve got Vidalia calling her sons Sour Cream and Onion. It even extends to the Gems: Amethyst’s connection with Earth means she loves food, and Pearl’s greater distance from humanity means she can’t stomach it.

Food is fundamentally something that humans require and Gems don’t, and just like we saw in Lars’s Head, Steven’s physical body forces him to think about his own needs despite his usual focus on others. Both his humanity and his ability to stand up for himself are key to his eventual victory, and what could’ve been a generic transition between Blue and Yellow’s big scenes instead becomes a quiet Steven scene. Steven changing into his usual clothes (including his mom’s star) and Connie changing into her own outfit (including her dad’s jacket) is the perfect finishing touch before we dive back into the drama.

True to their natures, Yellow Diamond gets a starker introduction than Blue’s dream sequence: as the lights burst on, we get two shots focusing on a horrifying number of mutated Gem Shards floating around in the room, then the Crystal Gems’ thankfully intact gems in one big bubble, before panning down to the villain who caused all this pain. The menace is palpable before she even opens her mouth, but Patti LuPone’s low tone keeps the mood from boiling over just long enough that when she loses her cool, it hits like a freight train.

Blue’s passive bigotry endured because she lacked introspection, but Yellow’s active bigotry requires constantly justifying actions she knows are cruel by presenting it as a matter of superior reasoning. We’ve known from her first appearance that Yellow’s seething fury undermines her reputation for cold logic, and now more than ever the connection between her behavior and that of “sophisticated” bigots is clear. You know the type: openly, smugly hateful, but couching their hate as something derived from some deep knowledge about the subject, whether in religious convictions or whatever “science” they can scrape together to confirm their worldview.

Sure enough, even in her rage, Yellow lays down what she sees as a rational explanation for why it was okay to mistreat Pink, and why it’s okay that they themselves are mistreated: if they make exceptions for anyone, even other Diamonds, they must make exceptions for everyone, and chaos reigns. Besides the slippery slope being a fallacy, her argument is punctured by Connie’s second big retort of the night, pointing out that this extreme conclusion of Homeworld Gems living free actually sounds pretty nice. But you can’t force this type of bigot to change their mind through reason; if such a person was actually interested in logical worldviews, they wouldn’t have become a bigot in the first place. You need to change their heart.

Fortunately, emotions are Blue’s domain, so she’s just the person to help. Unfortunately, in the same way she still can’t get Steven’s pronouns right, Blue lacks experience with healthy communication, and strikes a first blow against Yellow on instinct. The ensuing brawl is brutal, switching between the massive scale of two warring titans and the smaller scale of Steven and Connie scrambling to save the Crystal Gems as Blue and Yellow unload millennia of baggage on each other. It’s so important that Blue is the physical instigator here, as it fuels Yellow’s white-hot self-righteous streak like nothing else, and it keeps the fight from being one-sided all the way through: Yellow pretty much needs to be the one dealing the final blow for the scene to stick, so it gets balanced out by Blue’s opening punch.

Blue uses her powers on Yellow, and Yellow uses her powers on Blue, but Steven’s power is talking. So just like with Blue’s conversion, Connie gets the opening words while Steven gets the finisher. When he finally gets her attention after being ignored throughout the scene, he makes Yellow listen to him by using the same food-based expression I mentioned from all the way back in Laser Light Cannon. It’d pack a bigger punch if Greg said “If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs” at literally any other point in the show, but it still does the trick.

Blue was emotionally ready to accept that Pink was suffering, but hadn’t considered the Diamonds’ role in that suffering. Yellow knew that Pink suffered thanks to the Diamonds, but suppressed her emotions to the point where she couldn’t empathize with her sister’s plight. Blue needed to be more thoughtful to change, and Yellow needed to be more in touch with her emotions to change, and thus the stage is set for the Battle of Heart and Mind against White Diamond.

Except that this isn’t the lesson of Change Your Mind. Blue and Yellow show that some bigots can be reached, which is great! But despite their differences, Steven uses the same basic strategy in both: he doesn’t let them belittle his identity, he confidently dispels their wrongheaded assumptions, and he gets help from allies instead of shouldering the burden himself. We spend the beginning of the episode seeing that in the right circumstances this approach can work, but from here we’ll see that with some bigots, it’s a non-starter.

So long as you can engage with bigots while maintaining your self-respect, it can be good work to try and help them see the light. It’s not an obligation, but if you want to change hearts and minds, Steven provides a good template for how to do it. Now the rest of the episode can focus on the bigger lesson: if someone refuses to respect your humanity when you’re steadfast and forthright, it isn’t your job to breathe in their poison, or to hold your breath until you asphyxiate waiting for change.

But more on that after the break!

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

As we reach the end of the original series, it would be criminal not to acknowledge three long-time storyboarders who are on their way out. This isn’t their final contribution to the series, as only one of Change Your Mind’s twelve credited writer/boarders didn’t go on to work on The Movie in some way (Christine Liu, whose tenure was brief but great), and Hilary Florido stayed on as a supervisor for Future. But I wanted to write the big sendoffs here, as this is the last proper “episode” that these three worked on as regular boarders. So it’s time to say goodbye to Katie Mitroff, Hilary Florido, and Jeff Liu.

First up is Katie Mitroff, who clocked two early knockouts with Alone Together and The Test alongside Florido. Mitroff’n’Florido went on to make other classics like Maximum Capacity and Joy Ride before the former teamed up with Lamar Abrams and the latter teamed up with Jesse Zuke for their next batch of episodes.

With Abrams, Mitroff deepened the lore of the show with We Need to Talk, Steven’s Birthday, Bismuth, Buddy’s Book, Three Gems and a Baby, and especially The Answer. She gave us the harrowing revelation of Back to the Moon, and the most ridiculous episode of the series, Restaurant Wars. Her final partner was Paul Villeco, finishing strong with The Trial, Back to the Kindergarten, Your Mother and Mine, Pool Hopping, What’s Your Problem?, Reunited, and Change Your Mind, 100% of which are either in my Love ‘em ranking or my Top Episodes. (Oh, sorry, spoiler alert I love Change Your Mind.)

It’s strange, because she didn’t work on any of the major episodes of Amethyst’s big arc at the end of Season 3, but Mitroff is one of my favorite Amethyst boarders: she’s the consistent thread between Maximum Capacity, Back to the Moon, and What’s Your Problem?, three cornerstones of the character. She excelled at going outside the show’s usual style, as seen in The Answer and Your Mother and Mine, and it’s no coincidence she helped animate Isn’t It Love? to bring Cotton Candy Garnet back for one last ride.

Katie Mitroff is an absolute rock star, I wish her well and you should too.

#change your mind #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

[mermanthommy]

🧜🏻‍♂️Sometimes it’s good to just sit back and relax. Do you take time for yourself???🧘🏻‍♂️ - Sadly,… yesterday,… my @apple watch took a turn for the worst and decided to break underwater while swimming!!! - This may seem trivial to most of you ,… however with fitness being such a huge part of my lifestyle,… this was a huge deal for me!!! - Luckily,… I was pretty much done with hitting all of my fitness goals yesterday,… but today is a different story. - I quickly realized after waking up this morning that I am required to have an @apple watch to participate in my @applefitnessplus yoga workouts and without it,… I had no access!!! - This may have been a lousy way to start the day,… but I quickly remembered to set an intention and restart my thought process!!! - So with that in mind,… today’s focus will be on positivity and making the best out of a bad situation. - I’ll be going into the @apple store to get it fixed or replaced and in the meantime I was able to take care of some things around the house and take a breather. - It was honestly a great way to revenged myself and to take the necessary time to just sit back and relax!!! - @mermanthommy Seafari Congo Whimsy Tail by: @mertailor (Save 10% off non silicone items with code THOMMY10 at www.TheMertailor.com!!!) Photo by: @digitalfluke Shot on: @canonusa EOS 80D Edited with: @affinitybyserif - #mertailor #mymertailor #ad #whimsy #whimsytail #whimsytails #fantaseafin #fabrictail #mermaidtail #mermaidtails #sitbackandrelax #mermancosplay #mermaidcosplay #cosplayer #takeabreak #gaycosplay #gaycalifornia #gaysacramento #jungleboys #congo #rainforests #rainforest #amazonrainforest #tropicalfish #bigfish #catchoftheday #rainbowfish #professionalmerman #mermaidsarereal #professionalmermaid (at Roseville, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPoKJ3aBK2d/?utm_medium=tumblr

#mertailor #mymertailor #ad #whimsy #whimsytail #whimsytails #fantaseafin #fabrictail #mermaidtail #mermaidtails #sitbackandrelax #mermancosplay #mermaidcosplay #cosplayer #takeabreak #gaycosplay #gaycalifornia #gaysacramento #jungleboys #congo #rainforests #rainforest #amazonrainforest #tropicalfish #bigfish #catchoftheday #rainbowfish #professionalmerman #mermaidsarereal #professionalmermaid

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Fragmentation Fanfic

Title: Fragmentation

Summary: Once Upon a Time, a Bold-and-Boisterous Prince sits on a throne. A Bold-and-Boisterous Prince has a great fall. A Hallowed Heart finds him in pieces and a Studious Scholar puts the Prince back together again. Or. 

A broken crown lies in an empty throne room. A Shrewd Snake and a Shy Spiderling enter the throne room. Only there isn’t just a broken crown awaiting them, there’s a broken boy. All the words and all the actions can’t put the boy back together again, but a listening ear and a comforting embrace softens the pain. Or.

If a mirror shatters into two pieces, which one is the original piece?

Word-Count: 2.9k

Pairings: Platonic Moralogince, Platonic Anxceitmus

Warnings: Angst, Crying, Panic, Murder Mention, Death Mention, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending Kinda?, No Unsympathetic Sides At Worst Morally Grey

Hi, anyone remember the random ficlet I posted in pieces months back that ended all happily? Well, I expanded upon it and here we are. Or in other news, here’s my take on a Split Fic, and it’s not your typical take in my humble opinion.

-

A clatter echoed in the throne room. A golden crown laid cracked in two. A soft thud followed it as a red sash carelessly engulfed the crown. An exhale, long and strained. Silence. Then a sob as a prince fell to the ground, shattering.

A battered and beaten Heart came along searching for the Prince. He called out his name, searching the castle high and low. But the Prince did not answer nor did the Heart catch a glimpse of him. When the Heart entered the throne room, he kept his gaze on the empty throne. It was not until his foot caught on something that he drew his attention to the marble floor.

“Oh my!” the Heart gaped, eyes watering, “Oh dear!”

Lying at the Heart’s feet, was the fragmented remains of the once bold and boisterous Prince. The Heart touched a piece, a chill pulsing through him at its cold, ceramic touch.

Great globs of tears fell down the Heart’s face as he toppled to the floor in anguish.

He gathered the pieces close to his chest, trying to put the beloved Prince back together again. But for all the Heart’s earnest efforts, the pieces only fractured and splintered into more.

The Heart placed his head into his hands, shaking. He was not good enough to save the Prince. Worse than that, he not only failed but he had damaged the Prince further. He could feel his insides growing frayed, threatening to unravel and come unmade like the Prince himself.

But with a breath of air, he held it together. He may not have the ability to put back together the Prince, but perhaps the Scholar could.

The Scholar was smart. His idea of fun afternoon involved delving into complex, convoluted math theorems. Out of anyone in the realm of Thomas, the Heart trusted him most in solving the matter of the broken Prince.

Lifting a hand away from his face, the Heart summoned him. The Scholar arrived, completely oblivious. His eyes closed, hands tightly clasped around his bowtie. “Welcome to the Jungle, it’s so exciting--” the Scholar recited, in a spoken monotone measure.

The Heart pulled incessantly on the Scholar’s pants leg to grab his attention. This caused the Scholar to jump back, startled. His eyes flew open, trailing down at the Heart and then to the porcelain remains of the Prince.

Usually, the Scholar was never one at a loss for words. He was always the first to ask questions, to seek knowledge to better equip himself and others. But he kept staring at the scene before him, seemingly having lost the capability of speech.

Then a strange stifled noise came from the Scholar. As if there was a blockage in his lungs, a spear that punctured all the air out of them. But of course, there was no spear sticking out of his chest. No logical reason for such a noise to occur. With a face devoid of all emotion, the Scholar knelt down beside the Heart.

He picked up a piece, examining it with an analytical touch, short of licking it. Licking things was a very scientific tool. A tool he refrained from deploying at this moment.

“It’s him isn’t it?” The Scholar said at last, frowning, “But how? It does not make logical sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” The Heart piped up, “but his realm doesn’t tend to follow the rules of reality. But you can fix this, right? Undo wh–whatever this is?”

The Scholar frowned, eyeing the ceramic shards carefully. 

“It is always easier to destroy than to create,” He began, “Or recreate in this instance. However, that does not mean it is improbable.”

A spark of hope ignited in Heart. So you can do it?!”

“I can try,” The Scholar amended, “There is, of course, a possibility it will not work at all.”

The Scholar placed the piece in his hand on the floor along with the rest. Then he stood up, outstretching a hand.

 “You should get back.” He advised. The Heart nodded, scampering a few feet back for good measure.

Satisfied with this, the Scholar’s eyes glowed indigo as he called forth his power. Nonsensical, really, but it was how the Prince’s dominion interpreted him; a wizened wizard with a terrifying amount of power. The Scholar restored sensibility to its whimsy. He could reduce a magical unicorn to an average horse.

Something similar could be applied in this situation. He would take the shattered statue and return its original completely whole flesh-and-blood state. He just had to focus and recall every factual evidence he knew of the Prince. Chips and chunks of ceramic floated in the air, swirling as they came together again. At first the shape was ambiguous. 

But as more and more pieces flew up, it became more apparent. A graceful swoop of auburn hair. A chiseled perfectly-formed jaw. A white tunic with a red sash spilling across the chest.

 Bit by bit, their treasured prince was returning to them at last.

As the last piece fell into place, a bright light burst forth, filling up the entirety of the throne room. Both the Heart and the Scholar were knocked to the ground by its force. As quickly as it came, it faded. 

“Ouch.” Heart murmured, still keeping a hand over his stinging eyes. The Scholar tried forcing his eyes open, but a wave of nausea hit him. He slumped back down, drained from the massive amount of energy he’d expended.

The sound of strutting boots reached both their ears, growing louder as it neared. Then it stopped. 

“Helloooo?”

The Heart opened his eyes. Through his burning, black-spot riddled vision, the Prince’s befuddled face greeted him. Whole and complete with no signs of cracked lines running across his sun-kissed skin.

“Prince!” The Heart exclaimed, jumping to his feet to embrace him, “You’re okay!”

“Whoa!” The Prince said, holding out his arms for balance. He nearly collapsed regardless when a second set of arms engulfed him. Despite being adamant against physical touch, the Scholar was also…hugging him?

“Not that I don’t appreciate being lavished with displays of affection, I must ask–what in Walt Disney’s name is going on?” 

“We thought we lost you!” The Heart wailed, “and that you wouldn’t ever be coming back!”

“Indeed, th-the possibility of you returning to your full stature was low.” The Scholar said, leaning heavily on the other two for support.

“Well that’s preposterous!” The Prince declared, bringing his arms around his friends, “You should know that a hero like myself could never die.”

“Pompous as always.” The Scholar snorted, but there was no true malice to it.

“Are you feeling alright?” The Heart queried.

“I’m right as rain!” The Prince said with a wide smile, “I admit, I’m very fuzzy on what happened, but I feel much better now.”

“That would make sense, seeing as we found you in actual pieces.” 

The Heart sniffled, burying his head into the Prince’s tunic. “I love you two so much, you know that right?”

“Of course we know, you tell us this every day,” The Scholar responded. Neither Heart nor Scholar saw the hesitation dancing in the Prince’s eyes before it was overswept by a glimmering gleam.

“And we love you very much, Heart,” The Prince said, “Why, I’d fight a thousand dragons to keep you safe!”

The Heart giggled at this. Then wailed, leaving wet spots in the Prince’s pristine clothing. “Th--that’s lovely, but all I want is to cuddle with you and Scholar watching Disney movies and never ever ever let go!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scholar said, “you’d have to let go at some point--”

“Scholar,” The Prince said, holding up a hand, “Not the time.”

The Prince then massaged the Heart’s scalp, carefully untangling his locks of hair. “My Dear Heart, I apologize. I didn't mean to distress you or the Scholar so. If that’s what you wish for me to do with you two for the rest of the night, I shall do that.”

“I would not be opposed to that.” The Scholar agreed, “As long as we go to bed at an appropriate time--”

“Then it’s settled!” The Prince exclaimed, “Come on, let us build the most magnificent blanket fort!”

With a snap of his fingers, the three vanished. 

The throne room stood silent once more, absent of any apparent sentient life. All that remained was a dusty floor and a crown broken in two. It remained this way only just mere moments. For a Snake came slithering around, forked tongue sniffing the air. Scuttling after him came a Spiderling. All eyes and legs and not much else.

“Snake, why are we here?” The Spiderling asked, “This is the Prince’s domain! He won’t be happy if he finds us here!”

“Shush, Spiderling. Everything will be fineee.” Snake reassured, picking up the broken halves of the Prince’s golden crown. He examined them closely with a careful eye.

“Just because you say that doesn’t make it true!” Spiderling scowled, stomping a leg.

“If you’re so worried, you didn’t have to come.”

Spiderling mumbled something. The Snake raised an eyebrow, “Come again?”

“I came because I wanna protect you from getting hurt!” The Spiderling burst out, face flushing red.

“Aww, I despise you too,” The Snake cooed, ruffling Spiderling’s hair. The latter let out a shriek, hands flying to fix his hair at once.

“But you know I am totally a damsel-in-distress. Completely incapable of defending myself. Besides, surely you felt it too--the Disturbance.”

The Spiderling nodded, grimacing, “I felt Prince...he...is that his crown?!”

“Yes. Just like him to leave such a beloved possession broken and abandoned on the floor, hm?”

“Let me touch it,” The Spiderling pleaded. For he could draw the slightest hint of misery into himself with a simple touch. And with that misery, perhaps a glimpse into what tragedy befell the prince.

The Snake hesitated, before nodding his head. The Spiderling then stood up on the tippy-toes of his numerous legs, tracing one of his fingers on the remains of the crown lying in the Snake’s hands. A spark of anguish jolted the Spiderling at once.

He experienced a pounding, excruciating headache. A mind torn in two, attempting to entertain two polarizing ideas at once. Anger, sadness, frustration crashed down upon the Spiderling wave after wave. It sought to overwhelm, drive him to self-destruction like it had the young Prince.

The Spiderling cried out in pain, his hands cradling his face as he dropped to the floor. A series of metallic clangs followed and then the Snake was at his side.

“Spider!” The Snake cried, laying a cool hand on top of the Spiderling’s, “You’re okay, you’re fine, everything’s fineeeee.”

The Spiderling’s eyes glowed gold for a second, his face relaxing completely. Slowly, the gold left his eyes and he dug his face into the Snake’s satin vest with a whimper.

“I knew it, I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to touch it,” The Snake said, stroking the other’s unruly mop of hair in a soothing manner.

“I’m okay,” The Spiderling grumbled, “Dealt with worse.”

“Lie.” 

“M-maybe, but Prince, he’s--” The Spiderling hesitated, tears gathering in his eyes, “I think he’s dead!”

“I’m not!” A voice said, hauntingly cheery, “but I wish I was!” 

Both Snake and Spiderling froze, each gazing at the throne room every which way. But besides themselves, there was no one else there.

The Snake’s slitted eye narrowed, “Who are you?”

“I’m the Prince!” The voice claimed, “Or at least, I was. Still am? It’s very unclear. I’m the pieces they forgot, the pieces nobody knew about! Hiding away, like an axe murderer hiding in a closet to kill you in your sleep!”

The Spiderling shuddered at the simile, both sets of arms clinging to Snake for dear life. He was very much content to allow Snake to do the talking for the two of them.

“What do you mean?” The Snake asked.

“Well, you see, I--the Prince--again, very confusing like that weird nightmare Thomas had about eating chocolate-covered teeth--had an argument with himself, ourselves? And his--my head hurt, like it was gonna explode! And so we did! Into itty bitty pieces of confetti and blood and guts!”

The Disturbance. The Snake’s blood ran cold at this. All this time the Prince was dealing with something on the levels of this, and he had no idea? How could the Snake not sense this hidden turmoil? 

That was what the Snake was best at--knowing the jagged truths behind brightly-painted facades. If he’d known--he could’ve possibly helped--well, it didn’t matter now.

Out loud, the Snake simply deadpanned, “Delightful.” 

“Isn’t it?!” The voice shrieked, two green eyes bulging with excitement, “Anywho, that’s when Mr. No Fun showed up and started boo-hooing. He tried to fix it, but he just made it worse! So that’s when he invited Smartypants to join the party.”

“Heart and Scholar?” 

“Winner, winner, chicken-weiner!” Two hands abruptly appeared, clapping, “Now I like Smartypants, but like I said, he’s a Smartypants, thinks he knows everything there is to know and hates when we--I make things up just because!”

“I feel your pain.” 

“Do you?” A several sets of needle-thin, sharp teeth jutted out.

The Snake waved a hand, “Not literally. I don’t presume to know what your pain feels like because I am not you. But I’ve had my run-ins with the Scholar and while an...useful asset to Thomas, I agree he can be difficult to deal with.”

Something green and sticky coiled around the Snake’s bottom reptilian half, entangling the end of his tail. “Ooh I like you!”

Another green-and-sticky something attached to the Spiderling, who did his very best to stay still and not freak. “And I also like you, even though you haven’t said much! What’s your favorite Disney villain?”

“M-maleficient.” The Spiderling said in a hoarse whisper.

“Ooh, sick. I like Ursula because she has two pet eels and when I--we--Thomas grows up, I think we should totally get two pet moray eels and we can feed people we don’t like to them--”

“That’s very nice and you can tell us that wonderful idea later,” The Snake cut in, “but what happened with Scholar and Heart?”

“Oh, alright,” A black boot stomped in mild irritation, “So you know Humpty Dumpty? He’s always depicted as an egg, but it never says that in the rhyme! It’s kinda like that. Smartypants tried putting him--me--us back together again but he got it all wrong!”

A translucent head appeared, shaking side to side in indignation. 

“Y’see, when he put the Prince back together again, he based it off of what he remembered the Prince being. All the pieces he thinks makes who me--him--the Prince is. All. The. Pieces. That. Aren’t. ME!” The fiery flash in the green eyes was the only warning the two received before the physical glimpses dissipated completely. 

“P-prince?” The Snake called out, uncharacteristically hesitant, “Are you still with us?” 

“Don’t! Don’t call me that.”

“Well, what can we call you then?” The Snake amended, withholding a sigh of relief.

“Can I...can I be called the Kraken?”

“Of course, you can be called whatever you’d like.”

An ear-splitting screech sounded in the throne room, causing the Snake to slightly regret his statement. Only slightly, because it was very clearly a joyous screech.

There was a green shimmer in the air and then within a blink, a boy. A boy who looked remarkably similar to the beloved Prince, but not quite. The green tentacles attached to his back was the most glaringly obvious difference. 

But there were more subtle ones. Half-healed scrapes and faded scars. Something the Prince would never allow to blemish his skin. A white strand of hair nestled among the boy’s auburn locks of hair. A black raggedy shirt and a pair of green pants that looked closer to a pirate’s garb than a prince’s attire. 

“I’m the Kraken! Not a stinky loser prince!” The boy whooped and with a running start, crashed into the Snake and the Spiderling. His tentacles surrounded them and the Snake was certain it’d be hard to escape their suction-cup grip anytime soon. 

He was worried that the Spiderling would panic and sink his fangs into the Kraken. Instead, the Spiderling comfortingly stroked the Kraken’s hair just like the Snake had previously done for him. 

The Snake repressed a smile at this. “Kraken, what would you like to do?”

“Cry, I think.” The Kraken responded, promptly bursting into tears. The Spiderling joined him, the poor thing, soaking in the Kraken’s fear and grief. 

“Shh, my dears, it’ll be alright,” The Snake promised, “Forget the others, the three of us can be our own little family. How does that sound?”

“S-sounds good,” The Kraken hiccuped, “Don’t know why I--we--him were so mean to you two, I’m--I’m s-s-s-sorry--”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” The Snake said, “don’t force yourself to talk, let it all out.”

The Kraken obliged, wailing as if the world had ended and all that remained was a trillion bits of space dust. Which, in a way, it felt that way for him. Have you ever been torn in two? Literally? It was an anguish that any amount of words regardless of language would fail to adequately capture.

It was a wound that wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever fully heal. There were some days, he wasn’t fully there, in mind or in body. Sometimes just a flash of needle-thin teeth. A warm breath behind your ears. A shadow in the corner of your eyes. 

But regardless of whatever remnant of him was coherent, he had a family who loved whichever remnant that was there. And for a long, long while, things were happyish. 

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #kat writes #split fic #not neccesarily #what i consider canon #just a fun what-if y'know?

[thatwritergirlsblog]

Killing off characters: the shoulds and shouldn’ts

1. Why you should

The death is a major plot point

It reveals some shocking plot twist

It supports your themes/what you’re trying to say with your book

Your novel explores the afterlife

You are George R.R Martin and the selling point of your work is that everybody dies

It suits the genre/mood of your novel

2. Why you shouldn’t

The character isn’t serving any purpose (this isn’t the Sims)

You want your readers to be shocked for the sake of being shocked

You want to be edgy

You think your MG story needs more gore

You want to romanticise grieving/loss

3. How you should

This really depends on your genre and target audience

If you’re writing something that isn’t intended to be graphic/traumatic, you can stick to the impact the death has on the other characters. If your novel explores illness, focus on that rather than on the disturbing death scene itself. Perhaps you’re writing a drama/tragic romance - you might want to ease up on the gore here. For these genres, I would suggest focusing on the emotional aspect of the death - the sobbing, the last words, the bright white lights (whatever floats your boat). Think of Mufasa in The Lion King - the actions are suspenseful, but we don’t see him being trampled with his guts spilling everywhere. But it’s still one of the most impactful deaths in fictional history.

If you’re writing in a more mature and gritty genre (like thriller, dark fantasy or crime), you can go all out. If there’s blood and guts, you readers probably want to see it in vivid detail to get their violence fix for the day.

Whichever genre your novel falls into, you should also go with what feels comfortable to you. Even if you’re writing adult dark fantasy, you don’t have to write graphic violence to make a character death impactful.

4. How you shouldn’t

Please don’t let your character have a three-pages-long monologue after they’ve been stabbed in the throat. It’s not realistic and it’s often very boring. Yes, a few well-written last words can have a great impact. Just make sure that your character would realistically be able to speak at that point and that it doesn’t become a cheese fest.

Unless you’re aiming for very dark/nihilistic humour, afford your characters some dignity in the way they kick the bucket. (e.g. don’t use the phrase “kick the bucket”). Having someone slip on a banana peel and then choke on a pretzel is a little ridiculous and will make the entire story seem silly. Once again, this really depends on what you’re going for. If your genre is serious and your character is important and beloved, try for emotion rather than whimsy.

Don’t let your characters die only to be resurrected again and again and again. Look, I love Supernatural (long may they reign), but even I have to admit that the Winchester brothers’ luck with death has become a bit ridiculous. Doing this takes away from the impact of the death - it removes the fear and suspense, and will leave your readers emotionally stunted.

5. Who you shouldn’t

Your only female character in a bid to make the male hero feel something and become a better person

Your only LGBTQIA+ character, who is just too pure to live in this terrible world

Your only character of colour, who dies to save the white hero

Your only disabled character, who can now finally find release from life with disability

The one character who has never experienced a sliver of joy and bears the brunt of the tragedy, right when happiness is finally within their reach

The main character in the middle of the story - unless you have a REALLY good plan for what happens next

Reblog if you found these tips useful. Comment with your own thoughts on killing off characters. Follow me for similar content.

#writing #write #writers #writing's hard #writeblr #writing tips #writing advice #writing community #writerblr

[eirian-houpe]

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Past Abuse, Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut

Summary: Ruby has a secret, even though she doesn't know she does, until one day she bumps into the one man who can carry the secret out of the cottage in the woods - though not literally. Now that he know the secret, however, what will Jefferson /do/ with it, and what would it mean for Storybrooke if he were to tell Gold? Is Gold even awake... And what might happen if the Dark One discovered the truth?

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - To Live the Lie...

“I’m going to follow this track,” Jefferson told her.  “Either you can come with me, or go home.  It’s your choice, but I’m going.”

Ruby stood, caught in indecision as she watched Jefferson’s retreating back, his coat almost flying out behind him as his strides grew longer; adopted his own, usual, gait. Something about his determination finally broke through the fog that was gathering in her mind. They’d been talking about something, hadn’t they… someone?

“Wait!” she called out; watched his steps slow again and found herself almost trotting to catch up to him.

When she reached his side, he turned to her with an expression of intense suspicion on his face, sparking in his eyes, then he asked, “So… Ruby… what will we find at the end of this track, pray tell?”

Ruby frowned.  Why was he so interested in reaching the end of the track? Why was he asking her what was at the end of it when she’d already told him she didn’t…

The track turned a bend, and Ruby felt a shiver go through her, and she tipped her head up, staring at the gap in the trees ahead where wisps of smoke were drifting through the air, from Belle’s fire.

Belle!

She would hate that Ruby had brought another person; never forgive her.

She suddenly hurried ahead of Jefferson and turned around, trotting backwards as he strode forwards, a sheepish look on her face as she said, “Actually, I’ve just remembered. Scatterbrain, me. There’s nothing at the end of this track except the creek, a-and… the path to the well, so—”

She stopped, as Jefferson abruptly stopped walking.

“You said,” he began, and then seemed to change his mind as he reached out to take her shoulders, gently, but his grip was uncompromising. He leaned down to look directly into her eyes and said, “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not, I—”

He moved her out of his path, and hurried on ahead, his strides long and determined.

“Oh,” Ruby grumbled, and hurried to try and catch up to him. “Please don’t.  She won’t want to see you, and… and she’ll think it’s my fault, and—”

They broke from the wooded pathway and into the clearing, occupied by the tiny cottage, with its fenced in garden, beautifully tended, and the figure kneeling in front of one of the flower beds, a tiny little hand rake in her hand.

As Jefferson came to a sudden halt again - and Ruby almost collided with him again - Belle leaped to her feet, a look of… Ruby couldn’t quite decide what exactly, surprise, horror, surprised horror at her friends betrayal?

“Belle, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— He… I… I bumped into him on the road, and he insisted.”

Belle shook her head, and then, first looking between them, she appeared to fix her gaze on the man that had put them both in this position.

“Jefferson!” Belle said, almost breathless.

He felt as though a giant fist had just gut punched him, and all the air flew from his lungs as Belle called his name. He had no idea what he expected to find as he followed Ruby along the track into the forest, but this was about as far from anything he could have imagined as anything in all of the realms.

“Belle,” he managed hoarsely when he had gathered enough of his senses to speak, by which time Belle had pulled off the gloves she was wearing, hurried to the gate and threw it open. She was running toward him with a mixed expression of disbelief and relief, and— 

“Jefferson,” she repeated, and threw herself at him so he had no choice but to catch her, wrap his arms around her and hold her almost as tightly as she was holding him. He realized then, as the tears gathered in his eyes, that he had never been so happy, and so angry both at the same time, as he was in that moment.

“I’m here,” he said, ridiculous even to his own ears, as his mind raced. He couldn’t imagine what lies Regina had put into Belle’s head, but he doubted it would be anything pleasant.

“I thought—” Belle began, drawing back but still clinging tightly to the lapels of his coat. “I never—” she drew a breath. “You’re… alive.”

Jefferson frowned, beginning to get a knotted, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Of course I’m alive,” he said softly, his voice full of his dread and confusion. “So this is where she’s been keeping you.”

“Keeping me? She?”

“Regina,” he all but spat the queen’s name.

“No, no Jefferson, you have it all wrong,” she all but sang, and his sinking feeling sank lower as she cupped his cheek in her hand and told him. “She saved me. She was the one who freed me, brought me here and gave me this cottage, a place to live.”

Jefferson felt as if the world were spinning sideways. He knew the truth of course - remembered as he remembered everything - well, almost everything - how Rumplestiltskin had sent her away, that part he didn’t understand, and how Regina had captured Belle just as she would have returned to the Dark Castle. It would have lifted the despair into which his friend - and sometime employer - had fallen. He knew that the queen had kept Belle in her tower until she had cast the curse, and then… then he’d lost track; tormented by more important, more personal, and painful things.

As if she were reading his mind, Belle sharpened his focus, but blurred some very intentional, very important lines, as she asked almost desperately, “Paige… is she here? Our little girl? Did she escape too?”

Jefferson’s gut lurched again as her question spoke volumes of the twisted, evil machinations of the queen. Worst even that he could ever have believed. He knew Belle couldn’t help it; what she believed was what Regina wanted her to believe, but it made him feel sick with worry, with confusion, with indecision and with anger. How dare she do this to them, to him.  Wasn’t Grace enough leverage to ensure he fulfilled her every wish and whimsy?

“Paige…” the name felt like ashes in his mouth, but he forced himself to go on - for now at least. There was no telling what else Regina had worked into the curse, that he might fall foul of triggering if he didn’t… play along. “…is fine. Living in town.”

Belle frowned, “With you?”

“No.”

The question, and his answer stabbed him like hot needles through his heart, and he fought the sob that caught in his chest, and not to lean in to the very real, human caress that Belle brushed against his cheek, where her thumb, her hand, still rested.

“Why not?” she asked softly.

“It’s… complicated,” he managed, and then reached up to lift her hand away from his face and hold it gently in his own. “When you’re… better,” he said, thinking there would be hell to pay when the curse broke and everyone awakened, “you’ll understand.”

“I… trust you,” she told him, “but… I… miss you.”

“I miss you too, Belle,” he told her, and that at least was true. He missed her smiling face, the way she would chuckle at his playful, only-half-serious antagonistic banter with Rumplestiltskin. He missed the cold nights when he and Grace would stay warm within the castle. Missed teasing her about her love for her ‘beast.’ If only he could somehow awaken Rumplestiltskin, bring the truth to him. He would know what to do. Oh, how he would turn the tables on Regina then; hoist her with her own petard.

“But… darling,” if he were going to do that, he would have to keep it as much of a secret as Belle’s presence here in the woods that he and she had met, had spoken; that he knew Regina’s sick and twisted truth. So, he tried the endearment, tried to imagine what he might have called her, if she had truly been his love, “you must tell no one that you’ve seen me. I wasn’t supposed to come, and they’ll be angry.”

“But—” she said and he face creased in sadness.

“They warned me that it might hamper your recovery,” he told the lie that he imagined might be the truth if this madness were truly the circumstances in which they found themselves. “Too much, too soon.”

She took a deep breath then, and he could see her push back her sadness and gather her resolve even as she lifted their joined hands to her cheek, and nuzzled at his fingers. He fought not to snatch his hand away, instead he lifted their hands to his lips and bestowed a chaste - and appropriate to their friendship - kiss to her knuckles.

“I have to go,” he told her.

“I won’t tell,” she assured him. “I want to get well, so that we can be together again… all of us.”

“I want that too,” he said, and it was truthful. He wanted nothing more than for Belle and Rumplestiltskin to be reunited, and for him and Grace to once again spend evenings by the fire with their dearest friends. “More than you can know.”

#Rumbelle #AU #cursed storybrooke #past abuse #angst #romance #eventual smut #Storybrooke's best kept secret #i will always write jefferson