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stubbornjerk · 3 years

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Why people keep telling you to block them if you support Pholo (Penumbra Edition)

Or: why jitterbug-juno really deactivated

I love when people categorize this as fandom wank. Really makes you feel like you’re putting the onus on either side of the conversation.

I’m making this post not because I want to stir up spoiled milk, but because I want it out there that this wasn’t a purity culture war.

The TL;DR version of this is that fans of color tried to tell Rab (prev. jitterbug-juno) not to post her Omegaverse (or A/B/O) fic. And instead of taking the L, she posted it on Ao3 and deactivated.

But, if you want context, well, buckle in. CW for mentions of racism and transphobia.

What did jitterbug-juno do?

Before I get into this I do want it out there that I will not be linking Rab’s fic, but I will show you this screenshot of the summary of it.

[ID: It is a screenshot of a fic, “As You Are” by Pholo.

Summary: Peter can hide his scent glands behind cologne; makeup; concealer pads. He can quash his heats with suppressants. He can divert the urge to nest and fawn.

But he can’t feign another gender’s subvocals. He lacks the anatomical capacity. Mag taught him to distract from his silence with fast, flashy words. For longer heists he relies on social convention. Traumatic mutism is uncommon, but remarked upon by enough war vets and soap operas to be widely recognized. Peter’s marks assume he’s been harmed long before they assume he’s a closeted omega. It would take quite the backwater brute to ask why he doesn’t murmur or chuff or growl.

On the 'Blanche there are the usual furtive glances. Juno makes clear to Peter that should he ever want “to talk about what happened,” he’ll be there to listen. The gesture annoys Peter more than comforts him.

‘Nothing happened,’ he wants to scream. ‘There’s nothing to talk about!’

There are 14 comments, 85 kudos, and 11 bookmarks /end]

You decide what you’re doing with that information, but honestly, I’d rather you don’t give it anymore engagement than it deserves.

There was a period earlier this June (yes, even though it’s only the 10th, at time of writing) when Rab was posting snippets of the aforementioned fic on her blog and tagging it appropriately, putting it in the attention of pretty much the entire Penumbra fandom.

What’s Omegaverse or a/b/o and why is everyone so against Rab for it

If you know what Omegaverse is, I don’t have to tell you why it’s controversial. If you don’t know what Omegaverse is, well, Fanlore said it best:

a kink trope wherein some or all people have defined biological roles based on a hierarchical system, with the terms originating from animal behaviour research. There may be werewolf, knotting, or other animalistic elements involved, or the characters may be otherwise purely human.

The term is generally written with slashes (a/b/o). Many fans, particularly ones from Australia and New Zealand, are uncomfortable seeing the term without slashes because it is also an Australian slur for aboriginal people.

I won’t get into the history or the heaps and tons of other discourses (mostly about fictional male pregnancy, homophobia, transphobia, sexual assault, etc.) that go on within that. We’re here specifically on Rab v. Penumbra fans of color and we’re staying there.

Anyone who’s been in Penumbra enough to realize that everyone draws the Junoverse characters in a certain way knows that a) Juno is black, b) Nureyev is Asian, and c) as a fan you have to be aware of what you’re subjecting or saying about either of them because of the political repercussions that come with it.

And despite that, Rab proceeded to write Peter Nureyev, a gender nonconforming gay Asian male character that is widely headcanon’d as trans, into a fic using a kink trope that relies heavily on animal behavior.

Unlike most people new to fandom, Rab is aware of what Omegaverse is and is very much white. She is (and if she isn’t, should be) aware of the racist undertones that writing him in would get.

I couldn’t get a screenshot of what snippets Rab was sending out into the ether, seeing as a majority of my friends would rather not have seen any at all (I have all of the usual tags blocked so I wouldn’t have seen it either way), but needless to say, Rab got attention for it. Both positive and negative.

Anne (@hopeless-eccentric) even posted a satirical fic, in the odds that Rab was just writing this thing to be “the first” to write Omegaverse fic in the Penumbra tags.

But, I’m assuming more than one fan of color came into Rab’s inbox and messaged her about it, but someone I know (who would like to remain anonymous) was gracious enough to take a screenshot before he sent his in and let me use it for this post:

[ID: A message to jitterbug-juno about to be sent by a sender whose name is censored with a black bar. His messages says:

“as someone who is a person of color i think the nature of the fic you are writing right now is extremely racist and attributing animal characteristics to lgbt people of color is not at all appropriate, especially when you are someone who is white. i have to ask you to not publish this fic and to reflect as to why you would want to write this in the first place, these tropes are extremely harmful and”

There are 33 characters left to write into the message. /end]

I can’t speak for whoever else sent asks about the fic she was writing. If anyone was actually not-so-gentle with her, well, minorities don’t really owe it to you to be gentle about what they can tell is bigotry-tinged behavior.

But, the message was clear: this is different from your garden variety, lily white straight male character m/m kink fantasy. This is an actual queer Asian character that a lot of queer Asian people feel attached do. Do not post the fic.

What happened next: the beginning of the end

The next morning, I woke up to most of my friends being frustrated by this post on Rab’s account:

[ID: Dated 5 June, a post by jitterbug-juno:

“Gonna leave the fandom for a while. Wishing you all well.”

The tags say the following: not sure if i’ll be back, thank you so much to everybody who’s read my fics, and who’s sent asks or engaged with my art or any of that, you’re amazing and I’m sending love /end]

That... was not what fans of color wanted, but it was definitely an action they took. Some celebrated, as they were very much wary of Rab for having caused much of the same category of drama in fandoms like Voltron: Legendary Defenders and Warrior Cats. This also meant that she was probably not going to post the fic either.

Some, myself included, were relatively pissed, as they’d wanted even just the measly bit of accountability. An apology or an acknowledgement of having been called out in private and that they’ll take time to consider why. But instead we got Rab leaving in the face of fans of color telling her not to post her Omegaverse fic.

Well. The next day...

[ID: Dated 6 June. A post by jitterbug-juno titled, “Well... that was short-lived”

“I gave the situation a lot of thought yesterday. The reaction to my omegaverse previews made me figure I should leave the fandom. It seemed like the safest option.

But you know what?

Hell.

I don’t want to leave. The fic discusses the tropes of omegaverse and I spoke to several POC on Twitter, and I’m going to post it with plenty of tags so people can avoid it if they wish. I’m not going to be chased out of this space.

Thank you to everyone who sent messages yesterday. I shouldn’t have made that post about leaving. It was really reactionary. I’m okay and I appreciate your support so much.

(bolded on the post) To those who are angry and uncomfortable with me: Please block me. If you’re going to talk about this fic on Tumblr and Twitter– and this may sound odd– PLEASE NAME ME as Jitterbug-juno or Pholo. Don’t vague me. That way people who don’t want to see this discourse can add my name to their block lists.“ /end]

That certainly was short-lived, she wasn’t kidding.

This got a lot of outrage. Again, the fic is up on Ao3 and she has not taken it down. A lot of POC were pissed and I didn’t see a single fan of color actively support what she was doing, at least, not in my friend group. Everyone started making those posts to block them if you liked the fic or Rab’s content in general, in accordance to what Rab wanted.

Perseus (@mraudiodrama) noticed/pointed out that Rab deleted the part where she said she spoke to several POC about releasing her fic, as well as the part where she said she refused to be chased out of the fandom. This was an incredibly pointed detail to edit out, according to some.

[ID: A screenshot of jitterbug-juno's last post taken 11:00PM. Much of it is the same except the following bolded words are removed: "The fic discusses the tropes of omegaverse and I spoke to several POC on Twitter, and I’m going to post it with plenty of tags so people can avoid it if they wish. I’m not going to be chased out of this space." /end]

That same day, Rab deleted her blog. I actually caught this one on tape, believe it or not.

[ID: A screen recording taken at 12:01 PM of someone scrolling down jitterbug-juno's account. The posts and asks about Omegaverse and her post about leaving and coming back are conspicuously absent. /end]

Initially, I thought she deleted all mentions of it. I wanted to see firsthand if the rumors about her deleting portions of it were true. If she added things where she was saying that she wanted to write it because she was autistic and wanted Nureyev to be autistic too, regardless of the numerous QPOC telling her not to do it.

Instead, it turned out, she deleted her blog.

And now, we're here. The fic is still up. Her blog is down. Rab's public Twitter account @nataclinn is quiet about this. Her @cushfuddled Twitter account is on private after her run-in with the Warrior Cats fandom, according to a friend. And her Tumblr @cushfuddled account has nothing but memes.

Again, I didn't make this post to stir up drama. I wasn't even obsessively making this post as a call-out because she isn't in the fandom anymore. I just want it out there that this isn't a purity culture thing that got out of hand in a fandom as niche as Penumbra. This was a case of someone being called out and failing to acknowledge it before running away. And I want all that out of the way before I say:

If you are on Rab's side of this debacle, I, a queer person of color, want nothing to do with you either.

#the penumbra fandom #jitterbug-juno #pholo #racism #white drama #im not tagging this as fandom drama or fandom wank because that erases the fact #that this was legitimate criticism of a white person #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #i put it in a readmore so its not gonna clog up much #but if anyone doesnt want me to tag this w the fandom tags i'll remove it #once again though this is the furthest thing from anti/proship discourse

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spookyheaad · 3 years

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Haphephobia talk

BIG TRIGGER WARNING: brief mentions of rape/coercion, mentions of suicidal ideation, self harm, physical and mental abuse, as well as dehumanization. This one is kinda heavy.

Hi again! Currently horizontal on my couch because I have full body aches from the second covid shot and my head is killing me, but I expected this to happen as it’s normal for the second vaccine to knock you out for a day or two.

Anyway, I had a realization earlier that I write both Gild Tesoro of “One Piece”, as well as Death from “Darksiders” with Haphephobia - which is “a fear of touching or being touched”. While I write them with this phobia, it manifests within them differently, and I figured I would share some differences, and headcanons for both characters (it’s been so long since I’ve talked about my sassy depressed Nephilim husband; I miss you, Death ❤️❤️). Also with Death, I ship him with an OC I created, named Zemira. I don’t think I’ve shared a lot about her on tumblr, but I’ll be making a whole post about her another time; just know I’ll be mentioning her occasionally.

So I’ll be talking about Death’s haphephobia first, it’s a little more heavy (deadass trigger warning here for the brief mentions of rape. Skip this part if you need to):

So I must start out with the obligatory mentioning of that accursed chapter from The Abomination Vault:

Death and War have to seek out Lilith and gain information from her. Death is viciously adamant for War to stay outside & away from that woman, but war protests and wishes to come in with him. Death, nearly resorting to beating his brother into submission, demands him to stay outside, and War finally relents.

When the eldest Horseman goes in to see Lilith, one of the first things she says to him is something along the lines of “this isn’t a social call, is it?”. I truly forget what else is mentioned, but there are a few times where Lilith tries to mention things of a (supposed) sexual nature towards Death, and he abruptly and angrily cuts her off. The one thing I remember Lilith saying to Death was her saying that Death was always a “sensitive boy” which makes my stomach fucking churn.

What is heavily implied in this scene, to me, is that Death and Lilith at some point in the past, had sexual encounters with one another that Death is very much extremely embarrassed and ashamed of, and with Lilith’s ability to seduce any being regardless if they want to partake or not, it’s safe to say that Death could have possibly been coerced into said sexual activity. Lilith’s ability to seduce is described almost like a date-rape drug to me, it causes people to fall under some kind of spell or go into a trance; what is a big uh-oh to me is when Death describes that War would be weak to Lilith’s wiles, or her tricks. So she is definitely capable of coercing people in any way to get what she wants. Also fucking keep in mind that Lilith refers to Death as her SON, which adds a whole new level of “what the fuck” to that situation; it’s just icky.

I feel that Death, because of this run in (or run-ins) with Lilith, developed a massive fear of being touched, which is backed up in canon in Darksiders 2. He does not allow anyone to physically touch him under any circumstance; when Death arrived in the Makers’ realm, Eideard touched his chest where the amulet pieces are embedded. Death recoils quickly and with a venomous growl, states: “Don’t touch me!”

Then of course when he goes to visit Lilith, she touches his chest as well, and he physically pushes her hand away from his body. She also refers to herself as Death’s mother, and Death angrily states: “You are not my mother!” Also from the moment Death sets foot in Lilith’s domain, he is not thrilled to be there, and acts very different towards her; more defensive, more on guard it seems.

So this headcanon stems from all of that; he will not let anyone touch him, it’s just that severe. Where my OC comes in, I actually have a story on AO3 titled “Haphephobia” and it shows how Death & Zemira try to get past this aversion to touch, so 1.) Zemira can give him affection and 2.) Death can allow himself to be loved. I’ll link it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860320/chapters/73476759

Death cannot even bring himself to hold her hand in the very beginning. So Zemira started there, holding his hand, physical closeness, and very slowly, started working to larger forms of touch. Obviously this gave Death massive amounts of anxiety, so this is why the process is extremely slow. It makes it even more important to go slow because Death tries to hide any weak emotions, so the physical and mental stress he puts himself under is tenfold.

I think that’s all for Death. His Haphephobia is extremely severe, from the specific traumas he has experienced, possibly being forced into sexual activity with his god damn “”mother””, as well as hiding his sensitivity and kindness (my headcanons for why he does that is a whole other post waiting to be written) and just not believing he is deserving of such love and care.

Ok, now for Tesoro (specific Trigger warnings here for mentions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, physical/mental abuse)

So I just recently realized that I wrote Tesoro with symptoms of Haphephobia; also compared to Death, it isn’t as severe or debilitating, but no less harmful to the person going through it.

For Tesoro I think it was sparked by a mix of guilt and insecurity, obviously as well as his past abuse from both his mother and the Celestial Dragons. But in Film Gold it’s obvious that he doesn’t have an issue with being touched, I’m referencing the scene with the pool girls. I think in canon, he’s on high alert when someone goes to touch him, especially if it’s someone he is not familiar with, or does not like. It’s more of an automatic thing that he learned to suppress over time, especially because he absolutely craves attention and affection, and his fear of touch gets in the way of that.

So in a way, he did learn how to work through it, but it wasn’t proper or healthy, and because of that it’s still there in the back of his mind. I also believe that he doesn’t like people pinning him by the wrists/hands/arms or holding him down in any way, or being bound (sexual or non sexual, he does not like it). It triggers severe panic and flashbacks, so, it’s a big no.

In terms of if he were to be around Stella, it becomes heightened. It’s not that he’s afraid of her; he knows her well. He is afraid for her sake, that he would hurt her in some way simply by allowing her to touch him. All through his life, Tesoro was made to feel like he wasn’t worth the space he took up in his existence. His mother did not love him, the one person that could have given him some form of gentle gesture. She instead hurt him, screamed at him, made him feel worthless. Then we all know about the celestial dragons; they didn’t even see Tesoro as a human, and that mixed with the beatings from both the celestial dragons and his mother, he is weary to allow others to get close.

After Stella died, In his heart of hearts Tesoro genuinely thought that he was unloveable, mainly because of his mother. The one woman who brought him into this world didn’t care about his dreams or his well-being, so then how can anyone else? Then, when he found the single person that cared about him, she was whisked away from him without a second thought. Tesoro feels doomed to observe yet never experience the love and kindness that the world had to offer.

That mixed with Haphephobia makes him very cautious of others, and in the case of Stella, vehemently afraid. He loves her, and she loves him in return; Tesoro knows this full well, (we’re headed to the “if Stella survived” AU) after they reunite he is so afraid to touch her and it’s painful to him when she touches his body. It’s another source of frustration and anger because he knows that he is still in love with her, but his own body is trying to push her away. He would tear open his body for the apprehension to leave, to finally feel the comfort he yearned for within Stella’s embrace. No more fear, no more being brought to tears because he felt he didn’t deserve her kindness, no more guilt.

Both he & Death feel unloveable but for different reasons:

Death feels unloveable because of the atrocities he has committed, specifically the Nephilim Genocide & the creation of the Grand Abominations. He feels knee-crushing amounts of guilt for taking part in such events, and he puts up a facade of being an uncaring monster, when he is very much the opposite. He has kindness to give, yet is afraid to show it because of that idea that he is to be seen as nothing but an attack dog for the Charred Council. But this is also the same Nephilim who was so tired of making things that took life, and chose to make something that gave life instead, and gifted said item to his sister, Fury. This is the same Nephilim who took his own life to prove that his youngest brother War did not start the apocalypse. He cares so deeply, has insurmountable love to give, yet feels incapable of doing so.

Tesoro thinks he is unloveable because the world conditioned him to view himself as such. The extreme abuse he suffered told him that he is trash; an afterthought whose only use is as a punching bag or a wasted body to rend flesh from. Ants had more worth in this world than he, and Tesoro knew it. All it took was Stella, one person, for him to see that he is worthy of such a thing, that nothing that went on in their pasts was his fault, and that he does deserve to be given gentle touches, soft reassuring hugs, feather-light kisses, and that he is able to be loved.

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years

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sometime in this last week, or this week coming, my blog has turned/turns 10. god. a decade old. a whole ass chunk of my life i’ve spent on this hellsite. when i began on here, i was a kid. a lost, lonely, depressed and anxious 15/16 year old kid. a kid scared of her future. a kid confused about her future. what to do for uni. to change schools or not??? to do drama/acting at uni or english/philosophy or to move 8hrs away to another regional uni to “escape” her “washed up, dead end hometown” that was so typical of all the pop-punk music that she was listening to at the time.

she was a tad overdramatic, loud, “funny” (as described by her school friends) and terribly forgetful in regards to homework and school assignments. she was angry at the world, most especially the catholic school she was fucking sick and tired of attending. but she was convinced that since she was the so-called “funny girl”, that she simply couldn’t be depressed or anxious. she believed herself unloveable because she didn’t look like a weird mixture of hayley williams and emo-pop queen lights. but now, i no longer believe that i have to look like the women that i looked up to in the ~emo scene~. fuck beauty standards. i am loveable.

in the years since joining tumblr, i’ve managed to get through business college, my undergrad degree and, well, failed out of postgrad due to obvious burnout and health issues amongst other things. although i’ve lost many friends irl and many followers/mutuals online on here. for those who’ve stuck around to see me get through all of this, thank you. to all the friends/casual mutuals that have since deactivated or only followed me for a short time then unfollowed; thank you.

like obviously i was never/have never been a massive popular blog on here, like thebootydiaries or vampireapologist (who has since deactivated a couple of months ago) with tens of thousands of followers. my follower count is still close to the 8,000 range at 7,892. obviously that’s still a lot of people (and of course, porn bots lmao and many, many non-active blogs), enough like one super old post from like 2012 tumblr pointed out, enough for a small to medium sized city or town, or something like that. i don’t know how many people i’ve really reached. i really don’t know how i actually amassed this small army of people.

i am aware though, that on other platforms like snapchat (lmao does anyone even use it anymore in 2021???)/instagram/youtube/tiktok etc, i’d PROBABLY be considered as some type of ~micro influencer (🤮🤮)~. hell, i actually had a bot slide into my notes about being one on here on this hellsite back in 2019. i don’t know if i’ve ever actually ~influenced~ anyone on here with my shitposts (when i started making some) or my personal posts. i don’t know my reach. even though, now, i do occasionally get featured on buzzfeed listicles (although pay me buzzfeed along with the OPs of those original embedded posts), i still don’t know how many people i’ve reached… and even with my very occasional checks of google analytics lmao. on top of this, grappling with the loss of followers at times is much, much easier than it was when i began on here and the first few years following that. i know that my follower count doesn’t determine my worth and stuff.

but over these 10 years, i have grown. i turn 26 this year. back in 2011, 15/16yo me never thought she’d be here. she was partially down the suicidal thoughts hole, with things about ~picturing her funeral and wondering who’d bother to turn up. if only she could pretend to be dead for a day to see who’d give a fuck~ and 16-18yo me was defs down it with her HSC hellscape thoughts in 2012/2013. that 3rd floor tafe/tech women’s bathroom window drop and the thought of scarring her class for life (and that cool dude from catholic school that she crushed on who ended up at tafe with her) with jumping out of it onto the concrete below. instead, she just posted on fb about ~being a failure~ etc which ultimately did lose her a bunch of facebook friends lmao. it was practically the same thing. her mental breakdown after the end of her hsc, where she let her earrings go green and get infected in her ears because “fuck self care, bc what the fuck is it??? i’ll never get better! let me fucking wallow in my self loathing bc it’s the only thing that i’m fucking good at!!!” so i no longer have my ears pierced. oh! it was just all too fucking much!!

i am happier today. i no longer have those semi-suicidal thoughts. hell, i almost died in 2020 from a fucking bowel aneurysm, after my stomach tumour excision surgery. that forced me to put things into perspective. i appreciate the little things . i appreciate the very few friends that i actually have. yes. i’m still depressed and anxious. some days are still shitty and hard. but nowhere as hard and shitty as they were back when i began on here 10 years ago.

how the fuck last 10 years have gone past, with my ass on here; clearing out my blog and caring more about doing that than my uni work (lmao whoops); having made some lifelong friends both internationally (from the US) and long distance domestically in australia, it’s been a long ride; i honestly have no fucking idea. obviously over these past 10 years, i’ve debated with myself over and over and over again whether i should delete/deactivate this account or not. would it make me healthier??? more than likely. but then when i have meltdowns or just inner ramblings i have to get out somewhere, where else to post??? on fb?? obvs not. it’s “attention seeking” or the like on there. no one will read them. no one will resonate. but on here??? even if i got/get one “like” in the notes or one “yo i feel this” response in the tags or replies, it feels like i’ve reached someone??? okay yeah. i know this place IS NOT therapy and i’m not using my followers as amateur (or probs even actual professional) armchair psychologists…. which is a thing i think people need to stop doing internet-wide: but that’s a whole other post that i reblogged a few days ago lmao. i really need to get another therapist, actually lmao.

but it’s the community i’ve found hard to leave. i have what feel like friends, when i’ve never been employed (still as of yet); and when all of my irl friends/acquaintances are working and doing the whole ~adulting~ and ~grown up life~ thing right. it’s also the frenzied rabidness of spite with hating staff’s godawful ideas. the memes. oh the memes. and also the RaWrInG 20s XD emo scene reemergence on here that’s kept me here. the messy petty drama from time to time of big blogs fighting it out.

this place really is bizarre and fun sometimes. and also the fact that i can still hide behind the ridiculous “roaring pikachu” URL that i made all those years ago. i am anonymous. it’s freeing. but on fb it’s all like “WHY WONT YOU ADD A BANNER IMAGE AND TELL US 20 FUN FACTS ABOUT YOU!!!!!???? LET PEOPLE WHO HAVENT SPOKEN TO YOU IN 10 YEARS KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE!!!” and the same goes for Corporate Hellscape Facebook™️ (linkedin) but in the professional sense instead. y’all know fuck all about me really. besides my posts. and i love that and live for that. okay yeah. y’all know more about my mental health than my fb feed obvs… which is probably a terribly unfortunate thing. but still.

over the last 10 years then, my superiority complex for being ~so original and intelligent~ or whatever the fuck i had in high school, has all but ebbed away. i’m not that smart just because i went to uni. hell, i literally did NONE of my in-class work and none of my philosophy readings in uni….. so i have fuck all idea of how i got through undergrad like that lmao. i’m not original when so many people can articulate the same thoughts that i have, but like, sometimes better, on a post (even though sometimes/most of the time the Tumblr User Hot Takes Tuesday™️ takes on here are fucking awful lmao). but still. originality is not something i really have anymore. or really had in the first place lmao.

so will i deactivate after these 10 years, like i’ve been saying for so, so long??? i honestly have no idea. but just know. thanks guise. have a nice gpoy selfie day XD. grab your wands. your tardises. grab your war paint. grab your whatever the fuck other fandom specific stuff that was one that hella cringe post from 2011 til 2015 random tumblr. that relic is as old as time itself. just as this mysterious roaring pikachu is for someone whose too loyal to leave this W E B B E D H E L L S I T E that’s just as much of a train wreck as she is. lmao.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #tumblr is legit my fucking life now #motivate me to deactivate this blog to leave the hellsite forever 2021 #trigger warning: suicide mention #tw: suicide mention

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valaks · 3 years

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Hey Valaks! I love your blog and your writing!

Please could you do 1, 10 and 18 for the writing asks?? 🌺

Thank you for the ask! I have added a cut to hopefully not be that person clogging up the feed XD

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

I have a few collabs outstanding like Gemini and a Kabir/Alex sequel to Reunion (It’s rated T at the most so still kid friendly) with Lupin and Devil Went Down to Georgia with Galimau. My utter love for both of my collab partners for pulling me through at a time when I’ve been really struggling. I have a WIPs List but I’ll confess to not having touched most of them in quite sometime (partly from life, partly because I’m not sure how interesting they’d be to anyone else other than me which influences my writing more than I would like to admit):

Good Intentions: Smithers never thought he’d be anyone’s moral compass, he was no angel to sit in anyone’s shoulder but trying to keep Alex Rider from following in the ruthless footsteps of his father or worse his former handler, Alan Blunt is as close to hell as he can imagine. (Wherein Alex becomes head of MI6 we watch his morality slip away form the eyes of an increasingly frustrated and heartbroken Smithers - it all culminates when Alex uses a child “just as an informant, simple information gathering” but hidden behind the charming smile of John Rider and the brutal coldness of Alan Blunt’s words is Alex Rider dying as he says them (Smithers just hopes there’s still a part of the boy he once knew in there to mourn)

Walk the Line: Alex thought he was done with SCORPIA. But they kept creeping back into his life in the most unexpected of ways. He thought he could at least count on it being on the other side until he gets teamed up with Walker, his former classmate and current CIA spy. Unfortunately he still hasn’t been able to figure out whose side Walker is really on - attempted deep cover op like his dad, repatriated rogue spy back on the “good” side, or SCORPIA double agent? He doesn’t know but at least he’s nice....in that obnoxious American way.

Temperamental: (Sequel to Sentimental which isn’t all that popular and you would need to read it for the sequel but basically amnesiac Yassen whose memories stop pre John’s betrayal set during the Stormbreaker mission and features him trying to come to grips with the use of chemical weapons against children and how to handle Alex once he snaps back to reality which is where this starts) Yassen had promised Alex Rider that he would be safe from the world of spying but fate had other ideas. In the days after Sarov’s failed plan, Yassen scrambles to find where MI6 have hidden his wayward charge without drawing Rothman’s attention. A request from one of their existing clients to look into suspicious activity at his son’s former school prompts Yassen to investigate under the guise of offering security. He should have known where there was trouble there would be Alex.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Lordy do I ever not have a good answer for this. Typically it involves an idea hitting me and then the determination: would this idea work better as a short to post on tumblr (because the set up would take away the tension or would require a multi chapter which is not really my strength), as a prompt to lob out into the ether for someone better and brighter to touch on, or a fic. Once fic is decided I determine whose perspective the fic would be the most interesting from either because it would create the most tension or their internal monologue/background knowledge would add the most to it. Then the summary is written and a title is chosen. If it’s something I’m really passionate about and I already have it in my head I tend to write it all in one go, if there’s more I need to chew on then it’s a series of dates with the Evil Writing App. The final determination is whether it’s good enough for Valaks or if it gets sent to an alt account.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Allegedly. I’ll try to go in order of posting -

Ruthless has a sequel where Alex just goes *quiet* once the initial dust as settled it’s unnerving to everyone because they’re not used to having to wonder just what Alex is thinking, at least not behind closed doors but what happened isn’t exactly something that can be recovered from easily, not when Alex isn’t sure who all’s in on it no matter what they’ve told him. Failure is the AU where I considered what would happen to Alex to make him want to torture.

Alibi was originally going to have Yassen show up in the end but I found it far more fascinating if MI6 was just testing Alex so out went Yassen and in went Ben. The sequel to it was torn apart and turned into Warm Reception because I wanted to trope flip SCORPIA comes to Brooklands and decided that it was more logical to have a small fight in Mrs. Bedfordshire’s lobby than anywhere else and I wanted to explore some side characters instead of Ben.

Providence’s sequel thoughts ended up inspiring Gentleman’s Agreement but I did write a small short for it “Yassen and Alex encounter each other on mission. Surprisingly they are working to mostly the same goal - Yassen needs to kill the millionaire who Alex needs to get information from. “I suppose I could answer some questions for you, Sasha. /In Russian/“ “Is now really the time for a language lesson?” he ground out in frustration but the man pointedly ignored him “/Fine but I don’t know some of the words/“ “/Then there is no better way to learn/“

I mentioned the Sentimental sequel but changing Sarov to come first and probable for almost a month before Yassen figures out he’s missing made the most sense. It was also a bit of fun at the Yassen would absolutely take Alex away from MI6....just to throw him in a school and throw away the key. Almost had him send him to Point Blanc but decided that wouldn’t quite fit all that well and wouldn’t be as interesting as if Alex had already gotten his feet back under him with MI6 and now sees that Yassen was right that MI6 would just use him until he’s dead but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to be anywhere near Yassen. Julia Rothman might have other ideas when she finds out what her newest second in command is hiding.

Gentleman’s Agreement.....there’s a lot of thoughts on Sequels and AUs, a lot of them have been written by better people, but that fic was written in 45 minutes so there wasn’t much time to recharacterize or change scenes. It did get Turncoat aka the Alex saves Yassen fic I wanted so badly.

Blood Brothers is a fic I really worked hard on considering how John would feel about his son being thrown into SCORPIA assuming Alex was of age. A rocky marriage was characterization that didn’t quite fit what I imagined would have happened but did fit the story so it stayed in. It was a fic that was supposed to get expanded on - the competition between Hunter and Yassen and Nile and Alex who is desperate to beat his Dad and his “apprentice”. I think two teenagers thrown against each other with a bit of a bone to pick, especially Yassen and Alex who can both hold a grudge even if one runs hot and the other runs cold, would have been compelling and a little fun but the premise and specifically John’s characterization doesn’t quite work out to me.

Found and Legends both have their plotting done but it’ll never see the light of day

Little Moments and Sweetest Thing were my guilty pleasure writing pieces for a while and I have about 1000 DMs of scenes for both of them that are lost to the sands of time and an embarrassing amount of self indulgence

Mates has a follow up ending for those who needed resolution in the comments of it. I’m not sure I did a good job of showing that Tom was in a semi abusive relationship since a lot of people seemed to blame him for him and Alex’s breakup. Most of my headcanons for how their relationship goes have them splitting much sooner just because of Tom’s own home life and either being unable to relate/talk to Alex and drifting away because his Mom throwing a plate at his head isn’t being hung over crocodiles but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or because Alex is just too dangerous/jumpy to be thrown back into a school environment and lashes out even unintentionally especially not under the pressure of being seen as a failure. School is also a barometer of just how much he’s lost of himself and his childhood, bonus points for Alex being completely upfront with Tom about everything he’s done

In My Sights has an AU where this is all post Christmas at Gunpoint and Yassen is there because he knows Ian is already at Sayle’s factory and will have to be...handled. So two weeks of just getting Alex trained for the protection he might need, connecting him to resources, etc. Ian finding out that Yassen had been there was part of a draft at one point which was included Alex wondering about an all too sincere goodbye from Ian “who never hugged him” but I can’t find the snippet anymore ;__;

A Warm Reception was an alternate version. Originally I wanted it to be Alex watching his last chance at normality slip from his fingers and then the crushing realization that it was something that was his own doing, not even MI6 but Skoda who he had picked a fight with and the accompanying breakdown but then decided that Mrs. Bedfordshire was the right way to go upon writing the summary. Because everyone loves some Outsider POV

Adopted was supposed to be a one chapter throw away trope flip of K Unit adopts Alex. I kept it pretty consistent with Amitai and Lil Lupin’s K Units, tried to add in some more characterization just in how they treated some of the details. It has an alt ending/chapter where they find out Alex is Cub when they pull him from Three’s tender mercies almost by accident. I was persuaded into light humored fluff via guilt trip.

The Truth and Other Deadly Weapons has Ben acting exactly like he think he would in front of everyone but my AU was that this interaction happened in the field and absolutely shattered Ben’s trust in him partly because he had worked for the other side and partly because even if it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looks’ it showed a severe lack of judgment. It also featured several chapters of Alex running into the glass ceiling that is having “Member Malogosto Class of 2004” on your resume. Was going to feature Alex running into Walker as well and into problems within MI6 and the CIA but that was eventually cut and it was kept to one chapter.

Guardian....Guardian holds a very special place in my heart. I was given the prompt of a Monster Fic and I wrote what I knew but the interesting parts were all the ones that come after the story but might come across to a general audience as Hogwarts School of Prayers and Miracles. The plotting done post this was going to feature baby Angel Alex reuniting with his parents but...they were strangers to him and so he stayed with Yassen more and more, followed him, learned from him....it encompassed everything from the dynamics of broken families to reflections on theology and references from the Good Book....which is why it’ll never see the fandom but has a very special place in my heart.

In another, more perfect world Glocking Around the Christmas Tree is the Die hard fic this fandom deserves but as Lupin and I untangled the plot of the movie more and more we just couldn’t make it into anything that would be coherent on paper so it was changed and changed and is now a half finished sad abomination that sits on my works list only because Lupin would kill me if I took it down.

Hot Shot was supposed to feature my current favorite character that is not Nile Abara, John Crawley but I wimped out and changed it at the end because I swore I would write the Crawley fic that we all need. Hear me out: John Crawley knew and worked with John and Ian Rider, was respected by both of them, was recruited by SCORPIA within one year in the field, is the Chief of Staff of MI6, the man who “no one gets a knife in the back without him signing off” and is also the man who walks his dog to check on Alex. There’s a mentorship waiting to happen there, preferably in a nice work study program during college where Alex finally gets to see the repercussions of his missions and Crawley helps try and pull him back from the black mark that SCORPIA would have put on him.

My personal fluffy favorite is the spinoff of Devil Went Down to Georgia where Joe Byrne did pull Alex out post Skeleton Key and brought him home. There’s a pretty extended one about where Tom ends up after Mates. There’s also an actual sequel but ask me no questions and all.

Skipping a few collabs and Febuwhump fics but Burning Questions was just supposed to be Branded - a fic where upon being captured by Razim he is brought in and forcibly branded to differentiate the appearances of Alex and Julius (since Razim has decided to have him killed after shooting the Secretary of State). As a result of the pain levels spiking when Alex actually sees that the SCORPIA logo is branded onto his cheek Razim considers that emotional pain might be something to investigate. There’s a couple thousand words on it, one day I might polish it up.

First Impressions is supposed to be a mirror verse of Alex working for MI6 which includes Three as Blunt, Rothman as Jones and of course Sagitta as K Unit while he’s up against his father as Yassen and Yassen as Crawley. But it was cut down significantly even if the ideas are pretty fun to consider.

Sorry this was probably more than you bargained for but it was fun to get everything out there so thank you for asking

#alex rider #alex rider fanfiction #Im so sorry #I just have a lot

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raven-moon33 · 3 years

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Agh, sorry this is so late! I was planning on posting at least two more stories for #jttwfestival2020, so naturally my computer decided to break down the last few weeks of December. ;;

So, here is my exceedingly late contribution for Day #6: Make Your Own Bizarre AU! I will be cross-posting this on my AO3 profile, RavenMoon33, so feel free to check it out there as well.

This is a superhero AU (because I’m just a sucker for those tbh), so for some basic information:

Guanyin is a director/supervisor (think Nick Fury but better) working for the Lotus Syndicate (superhero agency) who goes under the codename Bodhisattva, Sanzang is one of her tech guys (think Q) whose codename is Monk, while the rest of the pilgrims are miscellaneous superheroes put together to be one of the Lotus Syndicates best superhero teams.

I’m already building up a bigger story and world for this (because I can’t seem to help myself apparently) and I do plan on continuing it with at least a few more parts/chapters. I’m not sure yet if I’ll be posting subsequent parts on Tumblr or if I’ll just keep them all on AO3 in a single story/series (purely out of laziness lmao) so keep an eye out for updates there if you like it.

Alright, ramble over. Please enjoy and let me know what you guys think!

“Monk, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, take a seat.” Sanzang took a deep breath to hide his nerves and did as Guanyin bid him, sinking into the comfortable cushioned chair opposite her desk as well as he could with prickles of anxiety keeping his body tense and alert. He kept his briefcase clutched tightly to his chest as if it could be a barrier between them.

“There’s no need to be so anxious,” she laughed, “I promise I didn’t call you here for anything bad.” He gave a pointed look to the tea set and trays of cookies and sweets positioned strategically on the desk, an obvious bribe if ever he saw one.

“Bodhisattva, the last time you called me in here like this you assigned me to the Five Finger Mountain case.”

“Which turned out well, didn’t it?” She replied, sipping serenely at her tea. He blinked at her, flabbergasted, for a moment.

“I nearly died at least three times, nearly got fired, and spent a full month surviving in the woods on my own!” He stood up angrily when she just continued to stir her tea, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I’m just a tech guy, I wasn’t even supposed to be out on the field! What part of that is good?”

“The part where you rooted out dozens of spies in our network, exposed one of our highest-ranking members for corruption, and got half a dozen of our operatives out of enemy territory after they’d been held prisoner for years, all from your computer in the middle of a run-down shack in the woods?”

He opened his mouth to protest, he had just been doing his job after all, but she cut him off before he could even start.

“Or perhaps before that, when you helped save countless civilian lives by actively going out to the mountain site yourself and manually disabling the satellite gun before it could wipe out a quarter of the population, because no one else would listen to you and I was busy being framed for everything going wrong?” He sheepishly sunk down into his seat at her firm look, fighting the urge to hide his very red face in his hands.

He couldn’t exactly brush the whole thing off as nothing with her sitting right there in front of him, knowing more about what exactly those two months had been like for him than anyone else did. She didn’t seem angry at least, the same as she had when he refused a promotion and the rewarded recognition the higher-ups offered him after it was all said and done.

(He didn’t want the glory of being the person who wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough to save the seventeen people who died between the time he figured out what was really going on and the time he finally gave up on The Lotus Syndicate getting anything done and going rogue. Three days, seventeen people- he should’ve been better. He didn’t want the operatives who made it out of there trying to thank him when they’d been stuck in a dark basement for months, some years, while he’d been off doing who knows what. He should’ve been better. He didn’t want the glory).

But she at least understood, later, when he explained it to her, so she wasn’t angry anymore. He still couldn’t bear to meet her eyes though. Eventually, she took pity on him, handing him a steaming cup of tea. An olive branch.

A few moments of silence passed.

“I was just doing my job.” He muttered at last, sullenly stirring sugar into his tea, accepting the silent apology for what it was. Neither of them liked to think too deeply about that time. She smiled gently at him, the warmth of it easing the tension out of his muscles. The tense air around them cleared.

“And you performed admirably. You are one of the best tech operatives in the business after all, if not the best.” He shook his head slightly, but didn’t try to protest. Questionable heroics aside, he was good at what he did, and they both knew it. “Which is why I’ve called you in here today. I have a new assignment for you.”

He perked up when she placed a folder on the desk between them, eager to leave the shadowy confines of the past behind. Besides, he’d been stuck on filing duty for the past month thanks to Guanyin’s momentary absence and his temporary supervisor hating his guts for whatever reason, and he was bored.

“What is it?” He asked, even as he reached forward and plucked the folder off the desk.

“Have you heard of the Nomads?” He snorted and gave her a disbelieving look.

“No,” he drawled sarcastically, “I can’t say I’ve heard of our most powerful superhero team, the ones who have racked up almost half a trillion dollars in damages in the last year alone and who have single handedly caused the PR department to go on strike no less than three times in the last two years.” Her mouth twisted into a wry yet fond smile.

“They are a handful, but their results more than make up for their more… unique methods.”

“Reckless methods, more like it.” He muttered, starting to flip through the file when she only nodded serenely at him. “What about them?”

“I want you to be their new tech.” He nearly choked on his tea.

“You want me to what?!”

“Be their new tech.” She repeated firmly, setting down her teacup and fixing him with the no-nonsense look he knew better than to ignore. “They’ve become one of our most powerful assets in only two years, but any team without a good tech is basically flying blind. They’ve been doing good out on the field, but they’re not as new as they used to be. The enemy will start to figure out their weaknesses soon, and without a good operative they can trust to lead them well when they’re in dangerous situations, they have a pretty glaring one.”

“You’re not telling me they’ve been operating for two years without a tech?!” He asked incredulously.

“Of course not! I make sure they have a tech for every mission, but,” here she sighed and rubbed at her temple, and she must’ve been exceedingly stressed out if she was actually showing physical signs of it, “they’ve also managed to drive away every tech I’ve assigned to them within a month or flat out refuse to work with the ones who don’t run. They need a good operative, someone competent who won’t run away when the going gets tough, until I can find a more permanent replacement. The pickings are slim, and I want to avoid having to start poaching techs from other departments if I can help it.”

She looked at him then, her eyes beseeching him in the way they only did when she was asking for a favor as a friend, and not as his boss.

“You’re the best pick for the job, because you know what you’re doing and I know I can count on you to do it well.” He could feel himself wavering now, and he could tell she knew it too. “Please Sanzang, you’re the only person I can trust with this right now.” He sighed and slumped back in his chair, defeated.

“How long do you want me on this then?”

“Seventeen months.”

“Seventeen-?!”

“Just until my assistant, Novice, gets back from his mission with the Jade Apprentices,” she interrupted, a hand raised in a plea for civility, “then you can have any position or assignment you want as thanks for taking this one on.”

He paused, considering.

“Even at Thunderclap? You know I don’t like working on the field.” And a position at Thunderclap would practically guarantee he’d never have to go on the field again.

“Yes,” she nodded after a significant pause, though she didn’t seem particularly happy about it, “even at Thunderclap. You’ve more than earned it, if that’s what you truly want.” He sighed in relief and nodded.

“Alright then. Seventeen months.”

“Seventeen months.” She agreed. “You can have the rest of today off, but you’ll be flying out to their main base in Beijing tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the relevant details tonight, but until then try to get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Sanzang did not rest. Once he got home (or rather, the hotel room he’d been living out of for the past few weeks- staying in the same place for too long made him nervous nowadays) he hunkered down in front of his computer monitors and spent the night doing research on the group he’d be spending the next year and a half babysitting.

The Nomads were made up of four members, each more powerful and dangerous than the next.

Freefall, Red Sand, Nine-Toothed Boar, and last but certainly not least, their leader Great Sage.

With the notable exception of Great Sage, each member of the group had been employed by the Lotus Syndicate for at least a few years before falling out of grace in one way or another, whether through an excessive amount of public damage getting them demoted to less than stellar positions in the Syndicate (Freefall and Red Sand) or the sheer amount of HR complaints getting them flat-out fired (Nine-Toothed Boar).

The three of them were only reinstated as high-ranking superheroes after the Five Finger Mountain incident revealed a distressing amount of Lotus’ heroes to be corrupt, severely depleting the Syndicate’s fighting force and requiring many previously fired or demoted heroes to be reinstated (even if only temporarily).

The three were put on a team with one of the Syndicate’s newest and most powerful superheroes (Great Sage, who as far as Sanzang could tell seemed to have popped up out of nowhere) both as a PR stunt (public damage and HR complaints or not, the three were still public favorites and no one was more popular in the public eye than the Great Sage himself) and as a way to keep a close eye on all of them, just in case.

Regardless of their rocky relationship with the Lotus Syndicate however, no one could deny they did amazing work.

It seemed every week there was a new story popping up in headlines about their latest accomplishment in making the world a safer place; stopping bank robberies, rescuing hostages, uncovering shady gang operations, saving the entire world from some type of otherworldly threat, fetching cats stuck in trees- you name it, they’ve done it at least twice in the past six months alone.

Sanzang couldn’t deny they did a lot of good, helped a lot of people, but even just looking at the reports on the damages left over from their altercations with criminals made a headache start throbbing behind his eyes. And he wasn’t even technically responsible for them yet!

He sighed and started compiling folders on all four of them; their powers, their personalities, their greatest successes, their worst failures, every scrap of a clue to each one’s backstory.

Forewarned is forearmed after all, and dammit, Sanzang was nothing if not prepared.

(Sanzang would soon come to learn that when it came to dealing with the Nomads, there was, in fact, no way to be prepared.)

#jttwfestival2020 #jttw #journey to the west #sun wukong #Tang Sanzang #Bodhisattva Guanyin #My writing #yes I had way too much fun coming up with all the names #even though it should've taken me like #five minutes max #but we're going to ignore that because #SECRET IDENTITIES AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS ARE MY BREAD AND BUTTER #bring all the wacky hijinks and hilarious miscommunication #it shall be amazingly cringe don't worry guys

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pjstafford · 3 years

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Contemplations on “negative or weak” emotions

When I was young my father’s advice was to not cry so frequently. He said that I was “giving them what they wanted”. I don’t remember the circumstance. Were my older siblings picking on me or were my grievances something larger? Who were the them? I can think of multiple times when my father made me cry. Is that what he wanted? If so, I would gladly shared all my tears to save him any pain he experienced. As I remember this now I could be remembering it poorly. Was it upon the announcement of my parents’ divorce? Did he bring us together to give us advice before he left the house? No, it doesn’t sound like him. Still I remember it as being advice about the future and for my grown up self. Today I know I have interacted with people for whom the ability to make me cry, sad, angry was a power on which they thrived. My father was afraid for my softness. He was basically telling me to toughen up. His negative emotions were bottled up until they came out as rage. My father’s advice was wrong and right. I have trusted the wrong people. I have been lonely and desperate. I have been taken advantage of by people who saw me as an easy mark. If I had been tougher and more worldly wise my life would have been different. My tears though kept me from breaking. The ability to “cry it out” doesn’t mean you don’t have the pain any longer, but it is a release. You are going to feel the physical impact of emotional pain. You might feel it in your gut or your muscles or in the fist you punched through the wall or when you’ve hurt someone you love. Tears seem the better way to me.

An ex once told me I was too public. I understood it from his perspective. When you have convinced three separate women that they are the love of your life and you are deeply committed to each of them in a monogamous relationship, it is useful if none of the women are too “public”. Still, in this occasion I had cried while packing belongings in a car. I gave the neighbors something to talk about. At sixty years old I can say I slapped someone twice (two different people decades apart the extent of my physical “fighting”) risen my voice in anger loud enough for the neighbors to hear possibly six times. I can remember twice and so I will multiply if by three to be safe. I have cried in public settings even professionally more than all of that combined. I guess we all define what is a show of strength differently.

In my twenties and thirties, I was a fairly open and trusting human. These days not so much. I have arranged my life to protect myself from feelings I don’t want to experience. The worst feelings are those of hating myself for being stupid enough to believe or trust someone whose intention was to harm or take advantage. I should know better than that by now. Yet, truly I don’t how to differentiate people who are nice to you because they want to get to know you and people who are nice to you with intention to cause you harm. It’s hard for me to distinguish. I know, then, that I close myself off to feelings I want to have. I am often lonely. You can’t have the love without the risk, but ecstasy and rage are opposing face coins of madness.

Yet, my ex was right about being public in terms of I am who I am. Trying to pretend to be someone else and wearing masks doesn’t work for me. However, I do contain multitudes. I can on any given day be competent or a mess, articulate or quiet, active or lazy. My personal life and my professional life are separate. I am more competent at one than another. So I wear many faces but each one is an authentic face to the time and circumstance. Pretension is too exhausting. I tell the story of me pretty freely. I engage in public social media as a way to tell my stories of me. Is there any body interested? I don’t know. Are we all too public in this age? Maybe, but, maybe, not enough. Not authentically.

When I have a post traumatic stress “event”; I spiral. I have a flight response. I hate myself and assume everyone hates me. I try to actively disassociate with everyone I care about. I want to be small, like Alice hiding in a teacup, if no one can see me no one can hurt me. Only afterwards must I add the caveat but myself and realize I have done just that. My memories of my surroundings, the shapes of doorways and rooms, change in my memories even if it is a room with which I am real familiar. These incidents are few and far between. Whatever my PTS was from my childhood, it has become layered by additional trauma as an adult. Despite being extremely resilient to life circumstances I am not resilient to new trauma. Processing through my trauma through therapy and self reflection has only brought them to the surface and made it easier to be triggered. Is it healthier in the long run? I do not know. I do not want to try EMDR. I want to stay healthy through being in healthy situations and environments.

While I live a day to day life of some fear, due to PTS, I have, in my life, had five major incidents where I’ve experienced PTS. The first time was simply that seeing something caused me to remember something. Three times I was triggered because I was, in fact either in physical danger at the moment or in other danger by being in some sort of relationship where I was being taken advantage of or mistreated. I could have handled the situations differently without the reaction, but I might not have left or kept myself safe and so....in retrospect, PTS might not be a bad thing always.

I am still trying to understand my response from last week which was one of the most challenging and long spirals I have ever experienced and the first without any major provocation. I am going to put some of the blame on the year, the pandemic, the stress I, and all of us, have so bravely tried to face pretending we are all ok. With a vaccination scheduled and everything opening up, was that a trigger of emotions I kept bottled up too long? Did I have to “ respond” to the pandemic before I could move on? The last week was a a sign that I have become very dependent on social media in the last year for my interactions and socialization. I know social media is not a safe place. There are predators and fakes. Yet another Bob Dylan fake account messaged me today. I guess I don’t think of separating social media from real life. They are all real life. There are dangers and joy to be had and little corners of contentment to find. I do know last week my happy place felt dangerous but it had been coming for a while before. I had already begun to try and make myself smaller for protection. The mean girls of tumblr are exactly who my father meant when he said they want to see you cry. Having said that, and knowing I don’t want to amplify their voices, I, also, don’t want to “give in”. I don’t want to leave social media. Surely I have the right to tell the story of me, don’t I, and clarify on my account when my viewpoints are misrepresented? There are real dangers, though, to real human beings when there are zero checks on accounts from the people who run social media platforms. Away from tumblr and back to Twitter, I know, in my spiral I misread things others said the way I sometime experience a room differently in the midst of an event. I might have hurt innocent others by my attempts to flee, to make myself smaller, by my beliefs that the only way to protect myself was to hurt myself by excising those with whom I am the closest and most vulnerable.

So here I am telling the story of me. Does it have merit? Does it in some way help someone to understand more the human condition? I can’t say for sure. I can only say it is an authentic tale.

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Red and Gold (Ch1)

(Absolutely incredible cover art by _xstylyricax_ on instagram!! I’ll put a link to her profile in a reblog!!)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Memories of a strange music box in Ada's occult shop intertwine with a present where she meets the equally mysterious pirate Vincent Nightray...

Notes: Originally written for phsecretsanta2018 for tumblr user @endoreon!!

I'll put chapter 2 in a reblog, and links to both chapters in a reblog too!

Chapter 1: Whispers

Ada placed an old compass on the shelf, between an antique sextant and a dull crystal.

She turned to face the rest of the shop, smiling and putting her hands on her hips, proud of her work; she had just finished tidying up the place, putting everything in order, and could finally have a moment to relax, and admire the way everything gleamed.

Outside the sun always shone bright, reflecting off the white sand, sending green shadows onto the ground as it sifted through the palm leaves. Inside, the low light that filled the shop, emanating from candles, lanterns, as well as a few crystals hanging from nets, (and the occasional mysterious object), bouncing off the wooden walls, creating an atmosphere of dormant animation in the darkened place. Almost like the shop itself was lying in wait for something to happen, like if you broke a single object, all the spirits would come spilling out, and the place would live.

“Mew!”

Ada knelt down to scratch her cats’ ears.

She had had this shop for a few years now; for a long time, she had tried to learn about the occult, in attempts to bring her brother back from the Abyss, and in the midst of her research, had become a bit of an enthusiast, and had collected too many occult artifacts for the spare Vessalius house to hold. She didn’t use all of them, so she decided to start selling them to interested parties. From there she started collecting things just to sell. When she was at school, or otherwise couldn’t man the shop, she had servants watch over the place, (she warned them not to tell her uncle, or anyone who might not approve, or start spreading rumors). She had also hired someone to find more artifacts—(at sea, buried beneath the sand, anything)—both for her own fascination, as well as the shop.

Those who knew of her knew that she wasn’t just some collector, she was very knowledgeable in the ways of the occult, and novice practitioners, or fanatics, would come to her for advice on spells, or the authenticity of the objects they had found on their own. Some of them genuinely shared her interests—(she could talk to them for hours if she didn’t curb her excitement)—but sometimes people came in who were more…creepy than anything. Of course, by the nature of her hobby, often she herself couldn’t tell the difference.

“Now, now, you’ll have to wait outside. You’re not old enough to take part in the ceremony yet.”

Ada gasped, spinning around wildly. “Who’s there?!”

“Mew!” Snowdrop responded.

She petted her cat once more, looking around.

No one. Wooden walls and a breeze.

She breathed out. It wasn’t exactly unheard of that objects such as these could give off strange visions, or spill voices into one’s ears, and she was no stranger to the dark and the dangerous. It was surely just a particularly powerful object, which was simply doing its job, and someone would buy it soon enough.

Despite her mind’s attempts to reassure her, she probably should have been listening more carefully.

For the next few weeks, intermittently when she was in her shop, whispers would tread the air around her. Simple words, cries, accusations, voices that—dare she admit it?—she recognized.

Her brother’s, her uncle’s, her father’s, and—somehow worst of all—her own.

Her own voice, sounding so pitiful, so lost, and tiny.

Did she still sound like that?

After a while, it wasn’t hard to recognize what they were: memories. Memories of a past calling back to her. A sad and empty past that she had tried to forget. A past in which the Baskervilles threw her brother into the Abyss, and that place kept him from her for ten years.

Was this just her mind playing tricks on her? Was it all in her head? Nothing real?

But, of course, these memories were real. She just didn’t think of them too often, because she didn’t quite like that fact.

What kind of an object could do this? Why would someone create such an object in the first place? What should she even be looking for?

She tried to block them, to find something else that would drown them out, to cover her ears, but the whispers seeped in through the boards she nailed over her mind’s doors, and the cracks between her fingers.

The murmurs followed her. They pooled in her brain when she left the shop, and didn’t drain away. They grew louder. There came a point when she tore apart her neatly polished shop in search of the offender, and found…nothing.

But as she turned to leave one day, she saw her reflection in the door window, and behind herself, the curtain to the back…She turned, and did something dangerous:

She started thinking.

Hidden away, back there, like a caged beast, was in an old chest, and within it, something she had been warned about, but whose purpose had never quite been explained to her.

Her hand shaking ever so slightly, she fingered the necklace she was wearing, pulling it from beneath her shirt, holding the end up before her eyes, twinkling in the low light; a tiny, old silver key.

*****

Ada walked out into the darkened school grounds. There was something about the cool night air that made everything seem less inviting, less pure. The person waiting for her, during the day, would—(if a little odd)—have been an ordinary student, but in the dark he was a figure, a mystery, harbinger of more mystic nights to come.

They weren’t supposed to be out after dark—and she was one of those adamant rule-followers—but there had been something about the plea to his voice earlier…

“Good evening, Leo-kun.” Her small, but strong, voice broke the silence.

Leo turned to her, half moonlight reflecting off his glasses, and bowed.

“Yes, Good evening, Miss Vessalius.” He smiled, though there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth that betrayed its reality.

“If I may, can I ask how you found out about my shop?”

He scratched his chin, looking around as if the courtyard had suddenly become more interesting. “I simply heard about it from some of our fellow students. You know how they can be prone to gossiping.”

Who knew about her? And why they wouldn’t say anything about it to her? How did they find out? How many people knew by now? Or, what if he was lying? If so, why didn’t he want her to know how he knew?

“Ah, I see.” She didn’t press the issue, but wasn’t completely satisfied with the explanation either.

She was surprised that Leo would even come to her in the first place; he only ever spoke to her through Elliot—and was always with Elliot in general—so she didn’t want to scare him off with extra, unnecessary questions. This was already the longest conversation they ever had. Though the question of who knew about her shop, and how, troubled her, what was important was this object he was giving to her. It was the reason for their meeting, after all. If she badgered him too much, he might decide not give it to her at all. Nevertheless, the simple fact that he had arranged this late-night meeting, alone with her—without Elliot—in the first place, meant that whatever he was trying to give to her was affecting him deeply.

Or maybe it was affecting Elliot.

“So…you have something for me?”

“Right.” He seemed relieved she wasn’t going to ask any more questions. He set his bag on the ground, and knelt down to fish something from it.

But once he retrieved it, the cloth-covered object gave her few more answers than questions.

She cocked her head to the side, leaning forward, puzzled, but intrigued, trying to keep her excitement from bubbling over.

Leo breathed out the answer to her unasked question. “It’s a music box.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of enchanted music boxes before!” her obsession started to peak through, “What’s this one called?”

She reached out her hand towards it, but he jerked it away from her.

He seemed to realize the suddenness of the action, and relaxed a little. “I…Sorry, I just…” the veiled agitation bled out from behind the curtain.

What was it that made him so jumpy? Usually he was quiet, but confident. Was it this object? Or could it be her? He didn’t seem very comfortable around most people who weren’t Elliot, so maybe her sudden movement just startled him a little? Although…if it was the object itself… should she be scared too?

She decided not to let it bother her. Once again, this wasn’t exactly the first time someone had acted strangely when trying to get an occult object off their hands.

“So…might I ask what its purpose is?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m…afraid I’d rather not say.”

“Eh? It’s going to be rather hard for me to sell if I don’t know what it does, you know.”

“Sell it?” fear came to the surface. “No, no, no, no, you can’t sell this! You can’t even open it!”

She blinked.

“So…you’re giving me something; you wouldn’t like to tell me what it does, and you…don’t want me to sell or use it? Forgive my rudeness, but why don’t you simply hide it yourself? Or destroy it?”

“I’ve,” he cleared his throat, “tried both.” He looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck, and she often wished she could see the look in his eyes behind those glasses.

“And?”

He stayed silent, but it was obvious both had failed.

“But you’re used to dealing with these sorts of things, right?” he spoke up again, “So I thought you might have methods of keeping it from…activating. Or be better be able to,” he mumbled the next few words, “tune it out.”

“I’m sure I can handle it!” She smiled, though she was losing confidence the more they spoke.

The same phenomenon seemed to be happening to him.

“Please listen to me, Miss Vessalius;” he placed a hand on her shoulder—and how afraid, how insistent, would the look in his eyes have been, if she could have seen it?—“I can’t force you to accept this, or teach you how to stop it. All I can do is give you a warning; do not open this. For whatever reason, if you start to hear things, cover your ears, if you see anything, cover your eyes.”

“Huh? But why?”

What exactly did all that mean? What sorts of things would she hear or see? Just how powerful was this thing?

He rubbed his temple as if that would keep his aggravation from spilling out.

“This is…dangerous. Maybe the most dangerous thing you’ve ever handled.”

“Well, I have handled—”

His expression shut her up.

“So…” She cleared her throat, trying to keep from getting annoyed herself. “Why do you have it in the first place?”

He shook his head, looking at the veiled box. “Just a mistake.”

He proceeded to pull on a chain around his neck, which ended in a small silver key. He pulled it over his head, pooling it in his hand, holding it out to her his head bowed (out of respect, or a desire not to look at it, she didn’t know)—though he did so as if it were a gun—“Please keep this with you at all times.”

This was more than she bargained for, or guessed the care of this object would entail. Usually if she got a call, even if it was something dangerous, they wouldn’t be so cryptic, and they often just wanted to get rid of it, they didn’t bother with warnings and precautions.

Still, nothing she couldn’t handle.

She nodded, taking it and slipping it around her neck.

He bit his lip, his grip tight around the box, his hands shaking a little.

“Please hide this in the most secure location you can find.”

He thrust the box towards her, though his death grip made it clear he didn’t really want entrust it to her. She wrapped her fingers around it, looking curiously at him as she felt his resistance, before tugging it away from him.

“I promise to take care of it.” she tried to reassure him.

“Promise me you won’t open it.” His voice was the most serious she’d ever heard of it.

She smiled, giving a curt nod.

“Promise.”

But what do people do when presented with a mystery, a curious object, and an unshakable warning about it’s volatility?

They do the very thing they’re commanded not to do.

*****

It was a few days later still, when she gave in.

She knelt on the floorboards in her back room, a battered chest before her, its hinges rusty, its wood splintering. The rug was folded back, and the trap door the chest had been heaved out of propped open.

Did Leo know, then, about the whispers? About how they nagged and poked and prodded at one’s mind? How they staked themselves there, laying claim to her heart? Did he know how powerful it would be? How much it would affect her life?

She told herself he didn’t.

When she knew full well he did; otherwise he wouldn’t have been so adamant, so tense.

The chest’s maw, creaking as she lifted the lid, revealed the veiled oddity sitting at the bottom. Waiting, like a black bride, for her groom.

Surely it wasn’t this object, so small and unassuming, that was capable of invading her thoughts so entirely?

It wasn’t such a big deal. Just one peak. Listen to a few notes. Keep the whispers at bay.

“Come on, Ada!”

She drew in a breath, and lowered her hands into the depths, as if into murky waters, and gently took the dark bride’s hand, pulling her from the waves.

It was light, as if she was holding the whispers themselves. Yet the longer the bride held her hand, the tighter her grip, the heavier the weight of their vows.

“Say, what’s Abyss?”

The voice was louder this time.

Just breathe.

It’ll all be over soon.

She pulled the cloth, unveiling the wretched face she was destined to kiss.

“Well it’s a sort of prison…”

The box was black, ornate silver designs, curls and borders on the sides and top. Other than that it was relatively plain. But holding it made her breath catch, and the room darker.

She told herself it was just her own fear.

Letting it sit in her hands for a moment, she weighed it, along with Leo’s words. Part of her brain begged her to listen to him, screamed at her to return it to its place in the ground.

But it was too alive to bury.

“for bad guys…”

A lump grew in her throat as she tugged on the chord to the key around her neck.

As curiosity often bids us, she did the very thing he demanded she never do. For the simplest reason as a few whispers, and a rickety past.

“Please, let me in! My brother’s in trouble!!”

She gasped, reaching her fingers gently to her lips, as if not quite sure if she had said it herself. The shout had sounded so real, less ephemeral, less there, more here…

Shaking, her hands sweating, glancing around as if someone would see her breaking into something that belonged to her, she fit the key into the lock.

Though the weather was perfectly calm outside, she could hear rain beginning to pound.

“Oz Vessalius, your sin is…”

The pronunciation felt like it was coming down on her own head, like the past-born rain.

She was that little girl again, soaked through with water and fear, begging to be let in. The rain breathed; it was talking to her with the fluttery voices of those she loved, and those she had grown to hate. Some words broke through the crowd—brushing shoulders and pushing others down, louder, stronger—but the memories were so many by now that the whispers seemed like a mob.

Hands shivering, shutting her eyes tight, she turned the key,

—It clicked—

Placed her fingers on the wood of the lid—

The rain was so loud….

“Your very—“

And lifted it.

The action was like a conductor bringing down his baton; those whispers, the breath of the wind and rain, were all simultaneously silenced.

She glanced around, as if she would be able to see their smoke dissipating in the air.

The silence was almost worse…Almost.

Because silence is empty, and can be filled.

When she tipped it open, no tiny dancer twirled around. No frilly art or pretty words decorated the inside. She could see the cogs beneath, like if a ship’s deck were glass, and you could see the rudders, all the working parts and windswept waves that kept it going.

Though the look of it was plain, and rather unexciting, the inside of the lid held a peculiar inscription:

To he who dares play this song

You may yet still know it wrong

If it’s for redemption that you’ve asked

And the answer, you believe, in long awaited past

Without map, without wind, in the end, no sign of treasure

Too late, the hands of time will show you your own measure.

Upon seeing the words, questions boiled in her thoughts. What could this mean? What was she looking for in opening it? If she wasn’t looking for redemption, did that mean it was safe to listen? What about the past? Why would she want to hear whispers of, look into, the past? But if she didn’t…what was she doing here? Could this be more than simple attempts to shut the whispers up? Was there real temptation behind her current actions?

Then, without warning, or winding, the music began to play.

Though the notes were slow and few, they plucked at her heart. They tugged on her veins and sent vibrations through her, like she was their true instrument.

She slammed both the lid and her eyes shut, breath heavy.

She peeked open an eye.

Just a music box. Nothing strange. Nothing to tell her it was capable of great and terrible things. Just an ordinary music box. No notes fell out unannounced.

Taking up the key to lock it again, she felt another presence in the room.

She turned to see—

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may8344 · 4 years

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The Journey of a Forgotten Soldier (Levi x OC)

This is a story I’m in the process of posting on both AO3 and Wattpad, though I decided to add it to Tumblr as well. However, since I’ll be behind on Tumblr comparing to AO3 and Wattpad, this may remain behind or I might bulk post.

Relationships:

Alana Frey (OC)Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s)Levi Ackerman/Alana FreyFurlan Church/Original Character(s)Furlan Church/Alana Frey

Characters:

Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)Furlan ChurchIsabel MagnoliaAlana Frey (OC) - CharacterErwin SmithHange ZoëPetra RalGunther SchultzEld JinnOluo BozadoKeith ShadisSpecial Operations Squad | Squad Levi

Additional Tags:

Graphic Description of CorpsesBlood and InjuryViolenceMurder

Summary:

Alana Frey, a girl born in the Underground City, longed to see the true sunlight every morning that she would wake up. Alongside her comrades: Furlan Church, Isabel Magnolia, and Levi, Alana’s life as a thug continued with no way around it; until the sudden day she and her companions were offered the deal of a lifetime.

“Once you complete this job, not only will you be generously compensated for your work,

but you will also earn the right to live above ground.”

Word Count: 2.2k

---

CHAPTER 2: Omni-Directional Maneuver Gear

With soft, and expertly maneuvering hands, the wings of the bird were soon wrapped in bandages handled by the smiling blond. As he finished up, he cradled the small creature in his hand, admiring his own work.

“You’re something else.” With pure emerald eyes, the redhead looked up to the blond. “Oh, right. What’s your name? I’m Isabel.”

“I’m Furlan and that’s Levi,” he responded, tilting his head towards the scowling raven haired boy, who sat back on his wooden chair. His gaze moved to the short, braided haired girl who was cleaning out an empty pot in the open kitchen area. “And that’s Alana.”

“Furlan, Alana, and… Big Bro?” She repeated their respective names while stealing a glance at each. However, when her eyes landed on Levi, she beamed at his new nickname.

That caught Levi's attention, and he turned to the excited redhead. His gaze hardened as he looked at her, a bit creeped out. “Big bro?”

At first, Isabel had looked discouraged. Even so, she spoke quickly and with determination, “Please let me join you!”

“Huh?”

“You guys use ODM Gears, right? I’ve seen you in action. Seeing you guys fly free like birds made me jealous.” Courage replaced her earlier discouragement as she begged, “I want to try out a Gear too!”

Furlan’s eyes turned to Levi’s—the obvious leader of the group—while he wondered out loud. “What should we do?”

Levi’s line of sight shifted to the floor, but instead of answering, he stood up from his chair. His heavy footsteps were the only noise in the room, suspension growing. Isabel kept her gaze forward, not sparing the moving boy a glance. She was obviously nervous, but refused to show it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Once Isabel had had enough, she turned to her right—where Levi was standing—, and pried for an answer. “Hey!”

“If you’re going to stay here, learn how to clean first before learning the ODM Gear.”

This had caught the attention of the remaining three immediately. Especially Isabel. “Huh?” She turned towards Levi, whose figure left the residence with a quiet click of the door. Swiveling her head back towards Furlan, she gave a questioning look for whether or not she had gotten approval.

Furlan gave a soft smile to the girl and nodded. That simple movement brightened up Isabel’s face immensely. She turned over on her chair, looking to where Levi had left, and gripped onto the top of the piece of furniture while a large smile covered the most of her face.

“Thank you, Big Bro!”

[~]

Die Stühle liegen sehr eng

Wir reden die ganze Nacht lang

With Alana’s help, Isabel learned how to correctly buckle the leather straps to the gray gear around her waist. Already finished tying them around her legs and upper body, she had no problem staring Isabel directly in the eyes. “Remember, Izzy, the key to Omni-Directional Maneuver Gear is to be able to balance. Otherwise, you can fall and get hurt, so be careful,” The ravenette scolded. She was already aware that Isabel was probably too excited to listen to any of the words that left her mouth.

“I know, I know!” And with that, Isabel hurried over to the two men awaiting her arrival. They decided to teach Isabel how to balance herself inside of a little cavern area known only to them.

The quartet had agreed to help Isabel learn how to use the gear, but Furlan had been a little worried. Even if it was just a practice, he did not want the energetic girl to get too hyper and injure herself. They had only known each other for a short period of time, but that didn’t change the caring boy’s attitude.

Without glancing at the anxious blond, Levi grumbled under his breath. “She’ll be fine. If she can’t do it, then she can’t.”

Suddenly, Isabel’s voice cut through their conversation with a tone of pride, “I can do it, Big Bro! I know I can!”

“Then show me.”

She was taken aback by his sudden command, but readily agreed. Holding the two handles on the gear in her strong grip, she aimed and launched the wires, with the pull-down triggers that were centered on the handles, to the top of the cavern. As the piston-shot grappling-hooks on the ends latched onto the rocks, she knew that she was steady. Slowly inching herself off of the ground by activating the gas mechanism on her backside with the second trigger, she focused hard on keeping upright between the two wires.

“Look! I’m doing it, Big Bro!” Unfortunately, she had celebrated a bit too early. Isabel’s weight shifted too far to the right, which caused her to lose her balance. The poor ginger ended up hanging upside down with her arms and legs sprawled out.

Dieser niedrige Raum ist nicht schlecht

Wir können uns gut verstehen

While Furlan and Alana rushed over to the struggling girl, Levi stood his ground, almost smirking. He was well aware that ODM Gear was difficult to work with. Nobody, no matter how talented, was able to pick it up right away; not even him.

“I told you to be careful, Izzy!” Alana frowned as she helped untangle the dangling mess in front of her. “You could’ve hurt your head, or broke something.” Not once had the blue eyed girl’s motherly side disappeared during situations like this. Once she finally got the younger down from the air, she checked for any bruises or cuts.

“I’m fine, Lana! Besides, I was doing fine, so I know I can do it again!”

“If you say so…”

[~]

So ist es immer, unser Licht ist nur das Trinken und singen wir, begrüßen morgen

After a couple of long hours of practicing, just as every other day before, the group arrived back at their home. Alana had no problem heading towards the kitchen area—her favorite—to prep their small dinner. It was quite difficult to have anything exotic for food, so she worked with the small portions she had. Furlan layed out the dishes, but not before he made sure to clean off his shoes well. He didn’t want to get on Levi’s bad side by making the house a mess.

Isabel, on the other hand, collapsed on the couch, happy to be back. It had been a month since the others had allowed her to stay with them. Glancing at the small bird she had carried that first day, who sat on the chair next to her, she was reassured by it’s content look.

“Hey, take off your dirty boots. You’ll make the couch filthy.” Levi had no issue speaking up with a clear annoyance in his voice. Though he had a harsh tone—and terrifying face at times—he wasn’t as bad once he showed his caring side.

“Yeah, yeah.” She replied in a sing-song voice while taking off her muddy, ankle high boots and tossing them onto the floor.

The clean-freak’s eyes immediately twitched as he grabbed a broom that leaned on the side of the wall. Stomping over, he shoved it in front of her face. “Clean it, brat.”

“C’mon, guys,” Furlan whined, “let’s not fight before we eat.”

There was an obvious glare between Levi and Isabel, but they grumbled and sat down at the set table. It was not new for them to get into small arguments that either Alana or Furlan would have to resolve. As Furlan took his spot at the table, Alana came with four dishes balanced on her hands and arms.

“You know, Lana, if we get to the surface, you should become a waitress. You’d be good at it,” the blond commented.

“Oh shush, you.” She playfully nudged him and laid out the plates in front of each person before taking her spot next to the blue eyed boy. “Even if we get out of here, there’s no guarantee I could do something like that.”

So ist es immer, unterm riesigen Himmel

Leben wir zusammen, die Nacht ist lang

Isabel was quick to start eating her portion, not caring for the mess she made on her face. If you could get food in the first place, you were considered lucky; if you could get time to eat it in peace, you were even luckier. Though no one had asked her, it was evident that Isabel hadn’t had the luxury of the time on her side.

What she did next surprised everyone.

Taking the small loaf of bread she had, she handed it to Levi. Whether that was considered a peace offering or plain bribing to get out of cleaning, nobody knew. Maybe she had done it just out of kindness.

However, Levi didn’t accept the food. Instead, he ruffled Isabel’s hair and turned his face away. “I don’t need it. Besides, your face looks like shit.” Pulling out one of his white cleaning cloths from his pockets, he started rubbing down the messy girl’s face.

At the opposite side of the table, Furlan and Alana tried to hide their smiles at the sweet act from their cold looking friend.

[~]

Da die Sterne nicht leuchten

Kann der Mond auf diese Stadt nicht scheinen

“And then the guy came out of nowhere! It was as if he was watching me the entire time and trailing me. But no worries. I wouldn’t let someone who is all bark and no bite kill me.” Furlan explained his recent experience from on the streets. He sat down and positioned himself next to Alana, who laid down on her torn mattress happily listening.

Almost every night, Furlan kept Alana company as she fell asleep. Sometimes he’d tell his past stories, new stories, or just anything. She would be attentive, even though she was slowly falling asleep. The pair would normally fall asleep together in the same room while Levi had his own until Isabel arrived.

Tonight was different. Levi sat on the opposite side of the mattress from Furlan, cleaning off his knife once more. Even though this wasn’t his respective room, he decided to listen in on the conversation as he kept his hands busy. Due to him being on guard constantly, the ravenette had suffered heavy insomnia—unlike Isabel, who often fell asleep instantly. He had left the redhead to sleep in their room.

“Ah, right, Lana. I wanted to give you this.” Furlan smiled as he held out a small piece of jewelry. It was a black, leather cord necklace with a blue raindrop shaped charm in the middle. “It’s not much, but I was able to buy it.”

Alana sat up quickly. Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she looked at the necklace with awe. “It’s so beautiful!” Her face turned a bit somber as she remembered their situation. “But wouldn’t it have been better if we saved the money to go to the surface?”

“Nah. I want you to have it. Besides, it’s your twenty-fourth birthday today, isn’t it?” Furlan asked with a grin. Careful not to hurt her, he calmly hooked the jewelry around her neck. “There you go.”

A soft, visible blush painted Alana’s face as she looked down in embarrassment. “Thank you,” she mumbled quietly. She lightly touched the charm, smiling softly.

A soft pattering echoed in the next room, and then, seconds later, light flowed into the dimly-lit bedroom. The silhouette outlined the younger ginger, who tiredly rubbed at her eyes. “Where’s Big Bro?”

“I’m right here, brat.”

“Oh… why are you in here?” She made her way over and sat in between Levi and Alana. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He only grumbled in response.

“Hey, I have an idea! Why don’t we all sleep together in one room?” Isabel offered happily, seeming completely awake at this point.

The other three looked at her with shock. Though they had lived together for years, it wasn’t common for them to sleep together. Before Levi could blatantly reject, Furlan gave her a happy smile. “That sounds like a great idea.”

After an hour of convincing the two raven haired roommates, Isabel nuzzled up on her back between Levi and Alana on the extra mattress she brought in. Almost instantly, she was asleep and snoring away. Alana took out her braid and let her hair fall down onto her lower back. Then, she placed the large blanket on top of Isabel.

“Let’s get some sleep, you two.” Furlan spoke up as he made himself comfortable on Alana’s right side. She complied, but Levi sat just as stubborn as before. He didn’t want anything to do with sleeping so close to any of them.

“C’mon... Big… Bro,” Isabel mumbled in her sleep. It was almost as if she listened to the entire conversation.

With one more grumble, Levi slid himself across the floor to Isabel’s left side and laid down. Putting his head on his toned arm, he rested on his side, facing away from the rest. While he looked distant, he was secretly smiling to himself.

The quiet air around them was filled with the snores of Isabel, the hushed whispers and chuckling between Alana and Furlan, and even the faint strumming of a guitar playing outside.

Schauten wir das Licht selbst an

Singen wir unter dem Sternenmeer

---

(A/N) This was a very fun fluff chapter to write. Hopefully, it's easier to bond with the characters by having scenes such as these. As I write more and more, the characters really grew on me as their personalities differ, but they all end up getting along like a family. Isabel is like the energetic little sister who is the opposite of the quiet, stoic Levi. Their bickering has to be handled by the caring, motherly Alana and the calm, level-headed Furlan.

Thank you for reading. And once again, thank you to Brianna for editing.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman #fanfic #levi x oc #OC #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman x oc #furlan church #isabel magnolia #alana frey

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haich-slash-cee · 4 years

Text

Is the print publishing world picking up online/fandom terms? How they are using them? How do we feel about this?

So this is... attention-getting, for folks who like to follow publishing and meta stuff.

https://twitter.com/sapphicxrey/status/1215065948677443584

https://twitter.com/TorDotComPub/status/1233391556750647299

(2nd tweet -- TW, mentions of non-con)

Are we seeing the beginnings of book publishers directly borrowing from online/fandom culture in promoting their books? How do we feel about these examples?

More below cut.

Exhibit #1: screenshots of Bonds of Brass promo from Jan 8 2020. (Which is probably going to have reactions of “haha, cute” at most.)

Transcript of blurb:

“If you like...

forbidden romances, “there’s only one bed”, cityships, weaponized umbrellas, powersuits, secret princes, best friends, best friends PINING, fake dating between PINING best friends, tactical streaking, the minivan of starships, cigar-chomping cyborg ladies, scary empress moms, galactic-level bisexual disasters, LEGACY (WHAT IS A LEGACY?), rooftop hopping, golden trios, rumblin’ drums, bootleg fireworks, BIG SPACE BATTLES PEW PEW, a surprisingly functional public transit system, mob trouble, one hell of a pilot, the inherent DRAMA of empire, a nice interlude in a river, smoking a joint that’s been on the floor, sick stunts, slick grifts, hiding in a dumpster, or any combination of the above,

Then you might like

BONDS OF BRASS”

The Twitter responses seem to be generally enthusiastic. (And also, “FinnPoe! FinnPoe!”)

Personally, I’m intrigued from a meta-view of “oh so that’s definitely pulling from online world and fanfiction world, interesting. I wonder how much fanfiction culture is starting to influence print book culture and promotion.” Maybe I’ve got some questions like, “Ok so moneymaking companies such as Penguin are now using culture developed by the not-moneymaking-world of fanfiction? How do we feel about this?” Anyway, the book looks cute, I’m interested enough and I might get it from the library.

I suspect many people’s reactions are along the lines of “hm, interesting”, “sounds like a lark”, or “haha they’re using AO3 tags as promo”, etc.

Exhibit #2, screenshots of DOCILE promo, from Feb 28 2020 (today is March 1 2020), and screenshots of Twitter responses so far:

(*CW, non-con discussion)

Tweet transcript:

“DOCILE by @KMSzpara:

-Dubcon/Noncon

-Dramatic Trillionaire Content

-BDSM and then some more BDSM and then a lot more BDSM

-Hurt/comfort and hurt/no comfort

-Cinnamon roll of steel

-The most scandalous kink: love

-Courtroom, bedroom, & Preakness drama

[Tor book website link]”

So this is getting mixed reactions on Twitter. All dozen or so reactions, so far. Here’s text transcripts and bio info from repliers, below. I’m being a little obsessive, mostly to show that there’s a mix of queer, book-ish people in the replies (including the author).)

Noncon is nonconsentual sex, rape. Even in fandom it's a content tag, not a promotional term. I can't imagine being a rape survivor and seeing this come across my TL. -- @WriteSomeGood [queer rainbow] [Cis queer homemaker, aspiring author, maker of incredible cinnamon buns. She/her] [has a Tumblr page]

I’m not a survivor but it was an instant “no thank you” from me. And I was sincerely looking forward to this prior to. This is the most immediately off-putting marketing push I’ve seen for a book in a long damn time. -- @AGAWilmot [Author, editor, artist. Co-EIC of @anathemaspec. @SFU alum. The Death Scene Artist/W&W 2018. Ace/enby. They/them. Horror is my comfort food.]

Whichever intern wrote this tweet, deserves a full time job. With benefits. -- @simeontsanev [Aspiring writer, post-aspiring musician, and overall geek He/Him /[queer rainbow]/ To the world we dream about, and the one we live in now! http://simeontsanev.com]

Idk why everyone thinks it’s always an intern writing copy and not a team comprised of extremely skilled social media experts, editors, publicists and marketers, and their assistants I worked on those tags with my editor and a good friend!! -- @KMSzpara [Kellan. [queer rainbow] Speculative fiction writer. Queer agenda. Hugo & Nebula finalist. DOCILE 3/3/20 from Tor Dot Com Publishing. He/him. Rep @suddenlyjen] *The author, bio page and twitter page.

this is CUTE! -- @MSSciarappa [queer rainbow] I do books. he/him.

I am Extremely Ready for this content thank u -- @JessicaBCooper [Journo ☽ Writer of faerie, villain fuckery & cruel desires ☽ Lestat & Loki's love child ☽ Aleksander Morozova's side-hoe ☽ Rep'd by Kate Testerman @ktliterary]

I’m listening -- @MerynLobb [Government worker. Weightlifter. Nihilist. Aspiring cult leader. Avid user of words, often bad ones. #AMM R6 Mentee. she/her]

Soon! Soon!! -- @castrophony [Geek. Gamer. Cosplayer. Bibliophile. Scientist. She/Her.]

[happy reaction gif] -- @TorDotComPub [Providing a home for writers to tell SFF stories in exactly the number of words they choose. All our titles are available globally in print and DRM-free ebook.]

[throwing stuff in dumpster, unhappy reaction gif] -- @cursedgravy [name's xavi, im a transman and i like to daydream about making content]

For more context, here’s the blurb from the author website. Below is the blurb from the publisher’s site:

“Docile

K.M. Szpara

K. M. Szpara's Docile is a science fiction parable about love and sex, wealth and debt, abuse and power, a challenging tour de force that at turns seduces and startles.

There is no consent under capitalism.

To be a Docile is to be kept, body and soul, for the uses of the owner of your contract. To be a Docile is to forget, to disappear, to hide inside your body from the horrors of your service. To be a Docile is to sell yourself to pay your parents' debts and buy your children's future.

Elisha Wilder’s family has been ruined by debt, handed down to them from previous generations. His mother never recovered from the Dociline she took during her term as a Docile, so when Elisha decides to try and erase the family’s debt himself, he swears he will never take the drug that took his mother from him.

Too bad his contract has been purchased by Alexander Bishop III, whose ultra-rich family is the brains (and money) behind Dociline and the entire Office of Debt Resolution. When Elisha refuses Dociline, Alex refuses to believe that his family’s crowning achievement could have any negative side effects—and is determined to turn Elisha into the perfect Docile without it.

Content warning: Docile contains forthright depictions and discussions of rape and sexual abuse.”

So that’s a lot of info and reactions.

Personally: at first glance, I absently skimmed the tweet and “hurt/comfort” popped out, and I was like “What? Mainstream publishing is cool with this now? I was wondering if ‘hurt/comfort’ would one day become commonly used in publishing [related post]. But this is way sooner than I thought.” And then I read the rest of of the tweet and thought, “Wait, what?”

And then I started reading through the tweet replies and thought, “OK, at the risk of getting a bunch of Tumblr drama, I want to bring this to the whump community and see how people feel."

As for myself, one of my squicks is non-con, and I’m not really interested in hurt/no comfort. So just from the tweet, I know the book is not for me. The official blurbs confirmed that. In this sense, this is like skimming Ao3 tags on a fic and saying “pass” on a story.

However, I have questions about the specific promotion of the book. So the official blurbs are pretty standard. What about that tweet, which Tor (and the author, who helped put it together) put out? Because I think an official publisher’s Tweet comes with different context than Ao3 tags.

First, the different internet spaces. You can filter tags on Ao3 and Tumblr. I know you can mute words on Twitter, but is that the same thing? Also, would people be expecting these tags on Twitter? Compared to Ao3 or Tumblr or Tumblr Whump spaces?

Within the Tumblr Whump community, from what I’ve browsed, the community attitude (guidelines?) seem to be “Write and discuss what you want. Be sure to tag it, use content warnings, or otherwise clearly communicate if you have things that may be triggering. Respect people’s squicks/triggers. Walk away from what you don’t like.” Like, tumblr whump has a very specific culture of trying to balance discourse/stories about potentially very dark stuff, but also wanting to make sure the IRL people and Tumblr users are okay. There’s always posts going around about how to do this, are we doing this in the right way, ethics, so on. Also -- and people can correct me -- the whump tumblr space might be where tags are content warnings for people to stay away, and also what people might actively look for. So if any space is going to discuss if this promotional tweet checks out, I feel like it’s this space.

Also, to note again, Tor Tweets are in the money-official-publisher-world, not unpaid-tumblr-people or unpaid-fanfiction-fandom-world.

Maybe I just want to ask, “Hey those first two tweet responses, does they have a point? Tor using ‘noncon’ as official promotion? On Twitter?” I mean, I’ve previously written, “The CW and TW tags that Ao3 writers use, I really wish those were used with published books as well.” But somehow, the Tor tweet was not quite what I was expecting. Maybe for reasons similar to that first tweet response. (I guess one could debate if a tweet is really promotion or just information... you know what someone can correct me, but I’m gonna say that a Tor.com tweet is promotion, compared to information like Ao3, and that tweet was there for promotion.)

Those tags operate within specific Ao3 and Tumblr cultures and infrastructure. I don’t hang around Twitter for whump stuff, IDK what the culture is. Anyway, does dropping these tags into a promotional tweet from Tor.... translate?

The tweet is evidently gathering the people who are there for it, and the people who aren’t there for it are quickly realizing that they are not there for it. But personally, the Tor website blurb does a better job at that, using writing that I’d expect from a publisher for communicating fictional non-con situations. (Maybe the blurb content warnings are what I wanted more of, when I said I wished for CW and TW in books.)

Anyway, there’s no huge drama about that Docile book promo on Twitter, as far as I can tell. So this is a niche thing, right now. But. The promo for Bonds of Brass and for Docile might be the beginnings of a trend of well-known book publishers borrowing from online writing / fandom culture and terminology in order to promote or categorize their books. These two promos might set a precedent or have other significance.

So if anyone has discourse on the tweets or potential future trends...

#meta #discourse #publishing #bonds of brass #Docile #publishers #future trends #maybe #non-con #trigger warnings #content warnings #fanfiction #ao3 #tumblr #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt/no comfort #books

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lesbianlibrariansinfrillyhats · 4 years

Text

Okay so if I don't post something here I'm going to give up in despair. So here's the start of my lightly lewd KoakumaXPatchouli fic, because why not add another onto the pile? Also please Ao3, get back to me. I don't want to burden Tumblr with this. But I also like the idea of writing the early days of Patchouli and Koa.

The Journal of a Sleepy Magician

Day 1:

People get so upset when you mention summoning demons, it’s really tiresome. People forget that demons can be helpful if you know what you’re doing and set proper boundaries with them, especially if you’re a powerful mage. I don’t get the taboo, but I understand the risks involved. It’s just such a bother to try and keep a library clean all by yourself though, and even though Sakuya tells me I don’t have to, I hate having to put books back on shelves. It messes with my workflow. Same thing with having to eat. Sakuya says she can handle that too, but she works hard and I want her to take it easy. So I decided to “hire” some outside help.

The thing every power drunk mage forgets is that you don’t want to summon a major demon. They’re just too much hassle and they’ll break through any bindings you put in place after a while. Plus they always want to make deals and change the original terms of your summoning contract. Minor demons though, most of them are just happy for a break from getting bullied by other demons, I’ve summoned some of the smaller imps to help clean on occasion. But today, today is different, which is why I am making this journal. Today I am going to attempt to bind a minor demon to me, so I can keep the library clean. Also to help with workflow. Also also, to keep Marissa from stealing so many of my tomes.

I feel the journal is required, more for observation purposes than anything. Also in case the worst happens and Remi needs to find out what went wrong. It would be unfair to make my friends clean up my mess, since I’m summoning a demon to prevent that from ever happening again. The demon I have chosen to summon’s name is Koakuma. They’re something of a mystery though, I had assumed I was going to bind an imp to my service, but instead I summoned a...very pretty girl. Her hair is red, and her face is delightfully delicate, her high cheekbones made soft by full rosy cheeks. It’s...heart shaped? Her eyes are a stereotypical red, and he has...4 sets of wings? I think. Two are small and are on either side of her head, and the other two are more natural and are on her back. She also has a tail, which she enthusiastically wags whenever she is happy or excited. It’s quite disarming, which makes me wonder if this might be a part of some ploy to make me underestimate her. I can’t know for sure, especially not after one day of observation. I hope she can make good tea.

Day 2:

I wish there was more to report, but as it stands Koakuma seems to do her job well enough. She’s klutzy and has a tendency to trip while carrying large stacks of books, but apart from that she seems to be the perfect assistant. She’s already taken to calling me Patchy rather than Patchouli, but I don’t mind it that much. It might be overly familiar, but she isn’t saying my full name all the time, which is always a warning sign. Demons can be known to steal someone’s name simply by repeating it enough, often enslaving the person whose name they steal.

Koakuma seems happiest when I praise her for something, which I try to do whenever she accomplishes something difficult like cross-referencing multiple texts for me or when she makes tea. I was hoping she’d make decent tea, and while it’s still not as good as when Sakuya makes it, Koakuma always gets the water temperature just right, which is impressive even for a demon. When I asked her about where she learned how to boil water so efficiently, she just said her “Uncle Asag” taught her. When pressed, she giggles about how “my good natured beauty encourages the water to stay warm enough to boil the leaves without spoiling them” and will not elaborate further. Which makes me suspicious. She is...pretty, and I wonder if that’s not on purpose. Maybe she’s a succubus, but so far the only thing she’s seduced me to do was to take a shower.

She made cute faces and pleaded with me, saying: “It’s no good to sit in your pajamas all day, getting sweaty and smelly! You need to keep clean, Ms. Patchy, oils from your skin might damage the books you love so dearly!”

Appealing to my love of books was the right call, and I wonder how she got that information. It could have been from simple observation, since we talked about books at length while I did light researching. I’ve kept my activities very basic for the time being, until I get a better picture of what this demon is capable of. Which means not being able to indulge in most of my magic activities, but I don’t want to be using anything that might tire me out around a demon I barely know. Her entire demeanor has been very “disarming”, and just putting those words to paper makes me wonder if that’s not her first goal. She seems like a little demon, but that could lead to big problems if not kept in check.

Day 4:

I stayed up for 2 whole days, almost on accident, but mostly on purpose to see how Koakuma would react. She was placidly supportive for the first day, and helped me with a fair amount of astrological research. We spent hours upon hours pouring over star charts looking for the ideal day to cast a cleansing spell on the library. Ko said the place was too stuffy, and I remembered that there were a couple of half-eaten plates of food lost in the mess of the library. Which is becoming clean relatively quickly, thanks almost entirely to Ko. I’ve taken to shortening her name, just so I don’t have to spend so much time saying it, which flusters and upsets her all at once. Which is cute, but also a good sign. When I rile her up, the most she’ll do is hit me with a small stack of paper.

This can mean one of two things: either she is too weak to physically harm even someone as sickly as me, or her long con somehow involves hiding her power level to a ridiculous amount. My “Ko is secretly an Arch-Fiend pretending to be a cute and klutzy demon” theory is slowly disproving itself, which is a welcome relief. I like being proven wrong when it means I can relax, but I plan to keep a healthy air of suspicion for at least another week or so. But bleh, I haven’t written down...words are hard to keep track of. Ko bullied me into bed, but she doesn’t know that I keep my journal next to my bedside. I might try and stay up for 3 days at some point, just to see what she’d do.

Day 5: Ko witnessed an asthma attack today when I went to go and reference one of the older spellbooks Remi owned back in her life before becoming a vampire. I almost want to get mad at Sakuya for not dusting properly, but I did ask her to let me have control of what happens in this library. Ko quickly figured out what was wrong and got my inhaler, but then I was subjected to a lecture about my health. “You have to be more careful, Ms. Patchouli! What if I wasn’t here? You would have choked! We’re going to have to make a project of cleaning up all the dust here. It’s not safe for you otherwise!”

Words I’ve heard before, but never delivered with such urgency and passion. Sakuya always brings it up in a much more measured tone, and Meiling will just sneeze loudly and ask “How d’ya not choke ev’ry time ya open a book?” as is her way. I could brush both of them off with a simple “yeah yeah” and a promise to do better that I’d soon forget; but Ko is tenacious in getting me to take care of myself, which is troublesome. But this “project” of her’s is as good a time as any to practice smaller-scale spells. I’m thinking of casting two spells to help keep the library free of dust, a Fire and Moon spell to try and move the dust and a Water and Metal spell to purify as much of the dust as possible without opening a window and inviting all kinds of pollen in. Ko is at least amenable to the idea, but she balks at the idea of “an ignition source in the library”.

I’m debating telling her how my particular brand of magic works, but she’s a Western demon, and I’m not sure how well she can grasp the principles behind Wu Xing; or if I’m even fine with a demon knowing how I do my magic. Staying up for so long seems to have affected my writing some, I notice I’ve been writing in fragments. I also should try to keep my journal on hand so I can write observations of Ko’s behavior as it happens. I think having time to rationalize her behavior is coloring my opinion. She’s so cute, there has to be something I’m missing. Hopefully reporting on her actions in the moment will disabuse myself of this notion. She’s a demon, demons are dangerous, not cute.

#patchouli knowledge #koakuma #fluff #slow burn

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aeide-thea · 4 years

Text

tagged by @crushcandles in a beautiful circle of reciprocal memery!

birthday: august

zodiac: virgo sun / taurus moon / cancer rising; i don’t, like, Believe in astrology except in the way that some of tumblr did, for a while, which is to say, as a sort of mystical lens through which to focus one’s self-examination, but i’m told the above triad translates into ‘is a perfectionist who tries to hide eir own messiness, values stability and security and beautiful material things, has a lot of Feelings,’ which sounds about right!

last song listened to: i’ve had the amazing devil’s the horror and the wild on repeat for the last... many days, as i know many of us have, but for some reason tonight i got to thinking, all sweetly-nostalgic, about the music an almost-lover shared with me in 2014, and so the answer to this question is actually, a little anachronistically, dave carter & tracy grammer’s ‘tanglewood tree’ (i yearn away, i burn away, i turn away the fairest flower of love, which, oof is that triad painfully on point).

hobbies: …does blogging count as a hobby? i’ve loved and left a lot of art forms in my time, including poetry and classical singing; i really enjoy bicycling, and rock climbing although i haven’t been in ages, and figuring out how to use the largely exorsexist language of fashion to represent my nonbinary gender, which if not a hobby as such is definitely a project! would love to incorporate some more Making of Things into my life, though, particularly in this next housebound stretch of time—might work on turning that fannish ~queer persistence~ design concept into an actual patch or shirt or something, maybe?

last movie you watched: babel (2006), with the fam, which i wouldn’t say was exactly a Representative Viewing Choice—that said, i liked it a little more than i’d necessarily expected, although i kind of felt as though the film, idk, gestured grandly in the direction of some ideas that it wasn’t ultimately quite deep enough to fully encompass?

dream job: lmao that sure is a question! teaching, maybe? i used to tutor and i loved that to bits. previous, mostly-given-up-on answers to this question have included: classics professor; poet (not, as it turns out, actually a Job); carpenter à la @carpentrix; and just, like, being ian bostridge.

meaning behind url: any classicists reading this have already rolled their eyes and skipped to the next question, because wow did i make a basic-bitch choice of url when i made this blog, but! it’s from the iliad, whose first line in greek is μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος (mēnin aeide thea pēlēiadeō akhilēos), or in english ‘sing, goddess, the wrath of peleus’ son achilles,’ though why i felt, twelve years ago, that my perblog needed an ~invocation to the muse~ (since the two words i pulled are specifically the ‘sing, goddess’ bit), i cannot for the life of me tell you. tl;dr the sporadic firing of my so-called synapses is actually the ragged fusillade of the western canon.

top 4 ships: god, never ask me my favorite anything, i invariably stall out through a combination of ‘i’ve suddenly blanked on everything i’ve ever liked in my life’ and ‘are these really the most representative options out of Literally Every Possibility Ever, please hold while i do this optimization problem…’ having said that, one possible answer is something like: rms carpathia; the dawn treader; eärendil’s ship vingilótë; and then maybe skíðblaðnir from the eddas, for all your edc needs (since it folds up so it’s pocket-sized)? with honorable mentions going to the argo and to arthur’s ship prydwen from the preiddeu annwn, because i do love me some welsh-flavored arthuriana. but that response is admittedly something of a jade’s trick!

reading: uh, mostly a whole lot of geralt/jaskier fanfiction, lately! and then also the romans: from village to empire, for my sins. (the last Published Fiction i read, since i think that’s what this question is angling for, was ben aaronovitch’s false value, which—spoilers or whatever—i personally found to be much less fun than any of its predecessors, for a number of reasons including (1) insufficient nightingale (and therefore insufficient opportunity for generation gap banter, which has historically been the engine powering these books), not to mention (2) a disconcerting choice wrt how to present a trans character in text, namely ‘having the POV character actively misgender said character in their head until he introduces himself, at which time the narrative switches pronouns’: my personal feeling on this was, why not just skip straight to the introductions, and leave out the mental misgendering altogether? happy to hear out differing reactions, though.)

what food are you craving right now? not super-hungry just at the mo, but i’d take some kind of fancy sweet bun situation—a kardemummabulle, maybe, or else a yeasted bun swirled with, idk, orange and pistachio and some sort of light floral honey? or, ooh, speaking of pistachio, i could totally go for a pistachio financier, maison kayser makes a pretty great one if ‘going outside for frivolities’ is ever a tenable course of action again…

tagging: god, i don’t know, who are new people/people with urls i want explained/people i didn’t tag in the last meme? @oatplant? @giantsquidastern? @the-mirador? @designatedloveinterest? @raisedbyhyenas? @leighway? @pinehutch? @reinvent-and-believe? @obstinatecondolement? anyway no pressure, obviously, do the thing if you want and don’t if you don’t! <3

#memes #things people have tagged me in #music #tolkienarium #arthuriana #bookblogging #false value spoilers #food cw

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is0gild · 4 years

Text

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 10

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 7,783

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

It’s times like these that I really do wonder which is more nerve-racking: being thrust into a social interaction unwillingly with a whole bunch of people? Or unwittingly with just one single, solitary person?

With the large group, it was definitely and without a doubt overwhelming. Just finding the strength alone to speak up and join in the conversation was a skill that still escaped me. And even if you did manage to get so much as two words out, that meant all eyes were suddenly on you. What if you talked too much? Or too little? What if you forgot what you were saying at all? Or worse, what if you said something stupid? What if you embarrassed yourself so bad that there’d be no showing your face ever again in the light of day, much less to another human being?

Which, if I’m being totally honest, I would probably find kind of amazing.

Hermit for life, yo.

But then, there were also advantages to the crowd. The biggest one being that an antisocial, cave-dwelling troll like me? More often than not could get away with saying nothing at all. Everyone else could handle all the chit-chat while I simply faded into the background and soaked up the ambiance. That way, I could just make an appearance and give the illusion of being socially active without actually being socially active.

One-on-one exchanges, on the other hand? Now those were a whole other beast. No, make that whole other species.

There was no fading into the background here. There wasn’t even a background to fade into. All there was was you and the other person. A person you were expected to carry half of the conversation with. When put on the spot like that with someone I barely knew, forget having a back-and-forth dialogue like a normal and well-adjusted friggin’ adult, I was lucky if I got anything out of my mouth more sophisticated than “uh” or “um.” Then there were the awkward silences where I’d frantically try to come up with something, anything to say only to have my useless lump of a brain play possum and draw a total blank. I died a thousand and one deaths in those damn silences.

And okay, sure, this was Lea we were talking about. An individual who by now I’d shockingly, and on more than one occasion no less, made reasonably successful small talk with. But a few minutes of a lunch break here or some brief, friendly banter while I was taking his order as my customer there was completely different than now finding myself alone with him in a booth at some random pub on a Friday night.

And besides, it was Lea. Lea, who I’d seen shirtless and slathered in ice cream. Lea, whose lips my lips had thrown themselves at within the first five minutes of meeting him. Lea, who-

Damn it, brain, really? Was now really the best time to be playing the highlight reel of Elsa’s Greatest Embarrassing Hits?

Needless to say?

Was.

Terrified.

Anna Fryse, if you could please report to the table in the back right corner, your older sister is waiting for you and is in desperate need of someone to hide behind right about now.

Also, Anna, if you were ever planning on developing the ability to psychically read thoughts, particularly mine, now would be the time to do it.

...of course, for her to hear that message, she’d need to already be psychic.

And if she was, that meant she was ignoring me.

Which she totally would do.

Brat.

Checking back into reality momentarily, it was in this second that it came to my attention that I was staring at Lea without realizing it. Well now I realized it. Particularly because he was looking back at me with a smile. My heart flatlined, my face paled and my eyes darted away.

Oh god, I had been staring. Did he know I’d been staring? ...of course he did, Elsa you dope! That’s generally what two people do when they're sitting together at a table talking.

Talking. Right. That was a thing I should be doing.

Alright, brain, I know you’re doing your best impersonation of the sound of a mime convention in there right now, but I’m going to need you to work with me here. Think of a word. Any word. Just something to get the conversation rolling. Oh yes. I can feel it. Here it comes. And that word is…

Flamingo.

...seriously, brain? Hadn’t we already said all that there was to say on the subject of flamingos earlier during the little palm notes debacle? Need we bring that back up again? I mean, I do see where you’re coming from - once you ask a man what he does in his flamingo, what else more is there to discuss with him, really? Might as well just-

“Fabracadabra?”

Lea’s voice broke through my thoughts, drawing my eyes back to him.

Wow. Now that was a really good word.

Way better than my lame word. Pssh, flamingo? What was that even about?

Wait… his word was also the name of another one of our ice cream flavors.

He took a swig from his ale as he studied me for a second, cocking his head before at last shaking it. “Nope. Too fruity sweet. You’re the type o’ gal who likes something with a lil more...” he clicked his teeth together with a smirk, “...bite to it.”

I blinked, some of my tension relaxing. Then my lips were doing something strange. Was it that crazy thing all the kids were doing nowadays, what’s it called? I believe the term was… grinning? “You’re… still trying to guess which one is my favorite?”

“Just you wait and see,” he scooched around the booth to sit closer to me, sliding the Ifrit bottle along the table with him, “I’m gonna get it. Mark my word.”

Turning my head slightly, I gave him some side-eye. “...you seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“With good reason! I’m twelve-and-oh, baby. Haven’t been wrong yet. Trust me, your top pick off the Ice Palace menu is as good as called.”

“Who ever said it was an Ice Palace signature flavor?”

His head rocked back at that, then he narrowed his eyes, “You play dirty.”

I hid a smile behind my fingers. “Want a hint?”

“Nah,” he leaned back, propping his elbows on the high back rim of the booth and stretching his long legs out under the table, crossed at the ankles. “Hints are for game show contestants and lame-os who lack self-confidence.”

“And you certainly have no shortage of confidence.”

He beamed, closing his eyes. “Nope! Who has two thumbs and is one cocky ass mofo?” Said two thumbs pointed at himself. “This guy.”

A soft snort escaped me and I shook my head. “No doubt about that,” I murmured as I looked away.

You know what? Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad afterall. Actually, it was turning out kind of... nice.

My gaze settled on Anna and Kristoff out there. It was all the poor boy could do to keep up with my sister on the dance floor. She even tossed him out into a spin at one point, much to his surprise if the face he made was any clue. But he seemed to be coming around to the whole experience. It even looked like he might be, dare I say it, having fun. They both did. Watching the two of them had me feeling an upward tug at one corner of my lips.

“So how ‘bout it?” I heard Lea ask.

I looked back at him, quirking an eyebrow. “How about what?”

His eyes crinkled as he nodded towards an open spot out in the middle of the pub. “Wanna dance?”

Cue sound of shattering glass.

“Ack! My drink!” Rayne yelped from the booth behind me. “Sorry, I’ll pay to replace the cup!”

As for me? I’d choked. On what? My heart launching itself up into my throat would be my guess.

“W-with you?” my mouth blurted out without consulting me first.

“No, with Grand High King Fuddy-Duddy over there sporting the scar,” he tapped a finger to the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, with me.”

Why? Why would he ask-? What could he possibly be- Oh! Oh I get it now! He was just being nice! Yeah, that had to be it. He just wanted to make sure I had fun tonight. That I felt included. He was being a good friend. He really was a very sweet guy.

But me? Dance with Lea? Me? Who cowered and fled at the first sign of any form of human contact? Nope. Couldn’t do it. Quite simply no way, no how. Dancing with Lea meant I’d have to get close to him. That I’d have to touch him. Er… not to say that there was anything wrong with touching him! I mean, it actually might be quite pleasant to-

Wait, what?

Uh… let’s just put a pin in that wayward thought there and come back to it later, like say, oh I don’t know… never. In the meantime, Lea was still waiting on my answer.

I opened my mouth to give it.

All that came out was a squeak.

...let’s try that again, shall we?

Clearing my throat and snatching a wisp of my hair to tangle around my fingers, I at last got out a hasty, “No, I don’t think so.”

Was that harsh? It sounded harsh. Ugh, this is why I don’t do people!

He tsked and sighed. “It’s cuz I’m ugly, isn’t it?”

“What?!” I blanched before quickly shaking my head. “No! No, no, no! That’s not it! Not because you’re ugly! I mean, you’re not! Ugly, that is! Not at all! Far from it, you’re very-” I slapped both hands over my mouth, face roasting.

Shut up. Shut up right now.

I watched him bend forward, planting one elbow on the table and chin in his palm as he now eyed me with a wide, cheshire grin. “Do go on, I’m all ears. I’m very…?”

Oh this smug, son of a…

My eyelids drooped and I lowered my hands. “...very manipulative in fishing for compliments.”

“Guilty,” he snerked, leaning back once more and slouching a bit into the cushions. His grin twitched wider, “So, that’s a hard no then?”

I couldn’t help a tiny smile of my own. “Sorry. I... just don’t dance.”

“No worries. Figured you might say something like that. But couldn’t pass up the chance to ask either,” he winked, taking another sip of his drink. Then he paused, pursing his lips to one side and rubbing the nape of his neck. “...so what is your story anyway?”

Brow furrowing, I asked, “My story?”

He struck up a finger, “You’re twenty-two. Fresh outta college. Guessing Ivy League no less just by the look of you, but total shot in the dark there. And you just got your first job… in a mall food court. Which, ya know, absolutely nothing wrong with that, but it’s the type of gig that only teens, university students, and college dropouts go for. Take it from me, a dropout twice over now, but back at it again for round three hoping it sticks this time,” up the hand went again, now with index and middle digits crossed.

“Why didn’t it the first couple times?” my head tipped to one side.

Who, me? Trying to take focus off myself? Deflecting? Psssh, I would never!

He splayed a hand out over his chest, “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always the well-adjusted, level-headed and responsible individual that you see before you today.”

“Really?” I snorted, squinting at him. “Is that what I’m seeing before me? I hadn’t realized.”

“Shush, you. Trust me, six, seven years ago? I was a real punkass troublemaker. The kind of boy you don’t bring home to your parents, all about the sex, drugs and rock-n-roll scene, ya know? That whole college thing sounded lame to me, but all my friends were doing it, so figured hell,” he shrugged, “why not give it a shot? But me and college didn’t really play well together. I didn’t take it seriously, not really. So eventually decided it wasn’t for me and kicked it to the curb. Few years later? Thought myself older, wiser, ready to give the big ol’ four years and a diploma deal a second chance. But I was just fooling myself, I hadn’t changed one bit. Wasn’t long before we were parting ways once again.”

I folded my arms on the table, “So what’s changed? Why is try number three going to be different?”

Lea frowned up at the ceiling. “I guess you just hit a point in your life when you realize you don’t want to be slinging pizza dough at minimum wage forever. Even a screwup like me’s got dreams. Nothing too fancy... just maybe something like owning and operating my own place. Maybe a lil ice cream parlour by the beach, a real mom and pop kind of store.

“Ah, it’s silly,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “but either way, I know jackshit about running a business. And that’s why I’m back to hitting those books once again and this time I’m doing my damnedest to hammer some knowledge into this thick skull of mine,” he pointed to his temple. “I’ve really buckled down and, uh…” his eyes darted away, “...shall we say, kicked some old habits.”

“You sound like you really want to make it work this time.” I propped one elbow next to the Shiva, leaning my cheek into my hand. “I haven’t known you that long, but based on what I do know about you, I’m guessing there isn’t much you can’t do once you’ve really set your mind to it.”

“Thanks!” he laughed. Then his smile turned a shade wry, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to change the subject on me.”

...fudge.

He went on, “You got my story, now I’d love to hear yours.”

“I told you already,” I frowned, my hands reaching for a napkin to start twisting between them. “My, er… my major didn’t work out. This job… it’s temporary and-”

Lea cut me off with a wave of his hand, “Yeah, yeah, I know what ya said. I’m more interested in what wasn’t said.”

I grimaced, my fingers strangling the poor paper napkin harder. “It’s… a long story.”

“I got time. Loads of it. Only if you want to talk about it though. No pressure, it just looks like you need it.”

Did I? What was that supposed to mean anyway? “...It’s kind of personal. I’m not even sure if it’s something I really should be talking about.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What, like it’s a secret?” Then his face brightened. “I love a good secret! Okay, how about this. Let’s do a trade. I’ll give you one of my secrets, you give me one of yours. Could be anything, big or small, just whatever you want.”

I blinked at him.

Apparently, he took that as a yes, for now he was hunching forward, bringing his face closer to mine and whispering, “So here’s one that only one other person knows and only cuz he’s known me since he and I were in diapers. Not even the kiddos are in on it. Okay, so, my first name?” He gave one more quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear before lowering his voice even further, “Not actually Lea.”

My eyebrows knit together. “It’s not?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Middle name. Go by it cuz I hate my first name.”

“Which is?”

His face pinched. “Axel.”

“...Axel,” I repeated flatly, one eyebrow arching.

“Yup. Apparently, my folks were total diehards for Guns n’ Roses. But the real kicker? The couple o’ useless junkies that gave me life were apparently too high off whatever drug o’ the week they were on to even make sure the name was spelled right on the birth certificate. So instead of having a rockstar singer for a namesake, I’m named after a goddamn skateboard trick all thanks to one stupid E that wasn’t s’posed to be there,” he grumbled, throwing himself back into his seat and slumping down, crossing his arms.

I just stared at him for a second, silence stretching. Then I spluttered and burst out in laughter, trying to smother it behind my hands.

“Wow, rude much?” he deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, I really am! It’s just, with the name and that whole story and your pout…” Oh gosh, that pout! I thought he was supposed to be twenty-five, not five. Still giggling but sobering somewhat, I continued, “I just couldn’t help myself. I really am sorry though, I know I shouldn’t have found it funny.”

“Bah, it’s fine,” he brushed off with a grin. “I’ve had my whole life to get over it and yeah, it’s a lil funny. But now it’s your turn, Missy. Gimme a secret. Anything’ll do. And don’t worry, I’ll be a lot nicer about it than some insensitive clods at the table,” he gave me a pointed look, smirk still in place to show he was only teasing.

Oh. Right. That. I’d almost forgotten. Though technically, I’d never agreed to anything. Then again, he did just kind of bare his soul to me. And I did just kind of ridicule him when he did. So maybe… in a way, I sort of owed it to him?

“I…” My voice wavered as I hesitated, hands mangling the napkin again. I gnawed my lower lip, looking down, hearing the thudding in my ribcage get louder. Finally, I squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth, not fully sure what was going to come out. “My parents… have no idea where I am right now. They haven’t for a while.”

His eyes widened slightly at that. Whatever he’d be expecting, apparently it hadn’t been that.

Hey, same boat here, buddy.

“Oh… I see,” was all he said at first, taking another slow pull from his drink now as he turned this new little tidbit over in his head.

And that wasn’t even the half of it. I hadn’t mentioned the type of family I was from. Or that’d I’d been in a relationship, no, engaged with a fiancé. Or that’d I’d left him at the altar on my wedding day. Or that when I had, I’d made the split second decision to abandon the only existence I’d ever known and was now stumbling through life with absolutely zero clue as to what the frick I was actually doing.

...yeah, that would have been a lot. Perhaps a bit too much for sharing time. I think I’d made the right call with dropping only this one tiny piece of the puzzle. At least for now. And who knows? He seemed pretty perceptive, maybe it’d be enough for him to read between the lines and answer some of his questions about me. Then again, maybe not.

At last he leaned forwarded onto his elbows, one arm tucked behind the other, and said, “Alright, I’m gonna take a crack at this and you can let me know if I’m right. Or not. You don’t even have to say jackshit, you can just let me blather on like the big lunkhead that I am who likes the sound of his own voice too much, which I’m used to so no worries, totally your call.” He paused, steepling his fingers to his lips as he seemingly gathered his thoughts. Then, “Up ‘til now, I’m guessing you’ve probably led a pretty sheltered life. One where you were maybe used to having all the decisions made for you. But then, for whatever reason or other, you recently decided to cut the cord. So now you find yourself out in the big, bad world that no one really prepared you for, scrambling to find a foothold, scared shitless and just trying to figure out what the hell to do with yourself, let alone with your future.”

Holy… how on earth did he…?

Swallowing hard, I fiddled with the straw in my cocktail and mumbled, “Wow, you are good. Ever consider becoming one of those windup psychics in a box that spits out fortunes on little cards?”

He snorted. “Sure did, but was too dang tall to fit into the glass case. Too bad, those lil dudes have it made.” Then he tilted his head. “...want some unsolicited advice?”

I shrugged, now absently stirring the blue liquid of my drink. “Sure, why not.”

“Get out there. Explore. Try new things. Right now, I’m guessing your worldview is very small, so you need to expand it. It’s the only way you’ll figure out what to make of your life. Cuz as glamorous as it is, I suspect you’re like me and don’t exactly want to be working the food court all the way up into your golden years.”

Now I looked up at him, a crease forming between my eyebrows. “...are you telling me to get out of my comfort zone?”

Lea chuckled, scratching his cheek, “Sure, I guess that’d be one of way of putting it.”

“That’s actually something I’ve been hearing a lot lately,” I sighed, sinking further down into my seat. Sure, it sounded good in theory. But in practice? Easier said than done. “...any suggestions on where to start?”

He gave a low hum, rubbing a curled knuckle to his chin. Then his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. “Got just the thing! Be back in a jiff!” Then he sprung up to his feet, one hand on top the table to catapult himself over it and out the booth. As soon as his shoes hit the floor, he raced off, disappearing into the bar crowd.

...okay?

Should I be afraid? Yes, I think I should be afraid. Very, very afraid.

My eyes squinted, scanning the crush of soberly-challenged people out there, searching for that distinctive fiery head of hair. Should have been easy given Lea was a living embodiment of Mount Fuji, but even so, I was having trouble spotting him.

A sudden blur darted out of the throng and landed hard on the cushion beside me, crashing into my side and distracting me from my hunt.

Said blur was Anna. Surprise, surprise.

“Whew!” she puffed out happily, sweating and fanning herself with one hand while the other crammed fries into her mouth. “That boy… Kristoff, was it? Man oh man, would he be in trouble if I didn’t already have a boyfriend!”

Both eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Boyfriend?” That was news to me. “Since when?”

She froze mid-bite, shoulders stiffening and eyes going round. Then she snatched up her drink, slurping it down as her eyes shifted rapidly about. Then with a loud gulp, she at last let out a weak laugh, “It, uh… it’s new! Yeah, we… met… at the wedding! Sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t want to say anything because I, er… felt bad! With, ya know, your love life all in the toilet and the bombed engagement and whatnot, so… heh…”

“Oh,” I averted my gaze with a tiny frown. At the wedding, huh? Was it someone from his side of the family? Or maybe a friend of his? Regardless, it didn’t really matter I supposed. I directed a soft smile her way, “I’m fine, really. There was no need for you to hold back. You know you can always tell me anything.”

“I know that!” she laughed, flicking one hand dismissively. “But please, it’s me. I have a new beau like every other week, so it’s hardly anything to stop the presses over! No, the real scoop here is what’s the deal with you and Lea? I wanna know everything!”

“Lea?” I creased my brow, making another quick visual sweep for the guy in question. Still no dice, but I did see Yuffie across the way playing a game of Darts with Meg and Terra. Though… could it still really be called Darts when the projectiles being used were more of those little ninja stars? Either way, it came as little to no shock when next a scowling Leon could be glimpsed making a beeline for the trio. “What about Lea?”

“Don’t play coy! I saw you two getting all cozy-like in this booth here all by yourselves just a minute ago!” her eyebrows waggled.

I scoffed. “There was nothing cozy about it. We were just talking.”

“And smiling. Like, a lot.”

“So? People smile when they talk.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, people. You don’t. Except for with me and Ray-Ray. Plus,” and here she got in my face, jabbed a finger into my collarbone and paused with all the drama of Sherlock Holmes about to reveal the key piece of evidence at the climax of an epic murder mystery. “...you laughed.”

Eyelids drooping, I grumbled, “I laugh all the time.”

“Nu-uh! And not like this, you don’t! Gawd, it’s been… I don’t even know how long since I heard a noise like that out of you. You can’t fool me, there’s definitely something between you two. A… a spark!”

A half groan, half huff escaped me. Anna was always like this. She’d binged one too many romantic comedies in her as of yet short existence on this earth. I’d been considering telling her about the Kissident, but now? Bad idea. Like, in all the history of bad ideas, it would just be the absolute worst. She’d have a field day with that one. Better to keep it on the hush-hush for the time being. “There is no spark! There’s not even a… a flicker! Or a glimmer! Or a glint! Not even a fizzle, okay? We’re just friends. Besides, I just broke up with a fiancé not even a month ago, so alleged sparks are the furthest thing from my mind, understand?

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” she slyly brought the Golden Chocobo back up to her lips.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, I cracked my knuckles, “Methinks if the little sister doth enjoy breathing, she’ll knoweth when to zip it.”

“Methinks the little sister is zipping it forthwith!” Anna chirped with a two finger salute. There was a lull as she plucked another fry to give it a nibble. Then, “Sis, can I just tell you how amazing this is?”

My head dipped to one side. “What is?”

“This!” Her arms spread out wide before bringing both hands in to gesture at me, “You! Being out in the real world! Making it on your own! Meeting new people! Having a job! All of it! You’re different! It’s a good different! And this is just the start too, I can already see it, you’re gonna do great things. I’m so proud of you,” she cooed, pinching my cheek.

I swat her hand away, “Great things? Please, Anna… I scoop ice cream at a mall.”

“Yeah, for now! But that alone was a huge step for you. I mean, c’mon, if someone had told you a year ago that you’d be out from under Mom and Dad’s tyrannical thumbs and doing the whole independent thing, you’d probably would’ve just thought that person was spouting crazy talk.”

“I suppose that’s true,” I murmured, feeling the hint of a grin pulling at one side of my mouth. “I guess… I never knew what I was really capable of.”

“Well, now you’ve had just the kick in the rear you needed to find out!” Her smirk then slowly faded into a tiny grimace. “Listen… I’m so sorry about what happened. If I’d known how unhappy you were, I never would’ve let you get all the way up to the day of wedding bells before-”

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize,” I shook my head, putting my hand on top of hers. “It wasn’t your job to save me, it was mine. I just… should have done something about it sooner. Then maybe things wouldn’t be the disaster zone I imagine they are now back at home,” I puffed out a heavy sigh.

Anna laughed, “You got that right! Mom and Dad? Still hella pissed! So any thoughts on when you’re gonna talk to them?” I winced, looking away. She hastily tacked on, “No rush or anything! And you don’t have to worry about me spilling the beans to them either about where you’re laying low! Take all the time you need. I just think-”

“Sorry to interrupt ladies!” We both jumped slightly in our seats as Lea made a sudden reappearance, skidding to a stop beside our table, eyes bright and ear-to-ear grin splitting his face in two. “But I’m gonna need to borrow El here for a minute!”

“Of course!” Anna giggled, standing up from the booth to clear a path out for me. “She’s all yours!”

Um… excuse me?

Don’t I get a say in this?

“Thank you!” he singsonged before snatching my hands in his and yanking me up out of the booth and onto my feet. “Come on, we’re up next!”

Up? Up where?

He started to turn but stopped, tapping a finger to his pursed lips. Then the smile was back with a vengeance as he picked up the Shiva and shoved it into my hand. “Lil liquid courage never hurt!” he gave a firm nod before taking my other hand in his once again and sprinting off, me doing my best not to spill the drink as I stumbled and tripped after him.

I had a bad feeling about this.

“Where are we going?” I called out as we weaved a path through the crush of people, ignoring the soft, weird buzz I was feeling where my fingers were interlaced with his.

Not breaking stride, he turned his head just enough to glance at me out of the corner of his gaze, eyes crinkled. “You’ll see.”

My bad feeling now had an added side of gut-wrenching dread thrown in on the house.

Particularly because I was pretty sure we were heading straight for the-

“Next up on the karaoke stage,” a female voice suddenly rang out over the speakers high above while the music coming from the jukebox faded away, “we have Elsa and Lea here to sing a duet for us! Please welcome them with a round of applause, everyone!”

The room erupted in cheers and clapping as we at last broke out of the dense crowd to find ourselves directly in front of the stage.

Aka my worst nightmare.

Well… at least at the moment.

My nightmares had a tendency to pass around the highly coveted and sought after “Worst” title, depending on which one was most pressing at any given second of the day.

There wasn’t that much to it. The stage was made of dark, polished hardwood with maroon, heavy velvet curtains hanging behind it to decorate the back wall. There were a couple of stands for the cordless mics accompanied by a lone barstool between them. And of course, the karaoke machine itself, front and center with a large screen on top of it for displaying the lyrics. As a whole, it was almost deceptively innocent looking in its simplicity.

But I knew better.

I’m on to you, you miniature torture chamber cleverly disguised as fun for the whole family.

“Surprise!” Lea beamed down at me. Then another tug at my arm and I was staggering to keep up once more as he brought me around to one side of the stage and up its stairs. I tried to put on the brakes, but my legs had turned to jelly, rendering them useless. Instead, it was all I could to stammer and splutter as he chipperly explained, “So as far as available songs go, it was slim pickings when it came to duets, nothing but cheesy love songs. But I think I picked the best one of the bunch, super energetic, should be loads of fun and-”

“No!” I at last managed to get out, jerking my hand free, whirling on my heel and marching back down those steps at warp speed.

He was quick to follow, grab me by my shoulders, spin me back around and guide me up again, still with that stupid grin in place. “Aw, c’mon! You asked me for ideas on new things for you to try! So here you go!”

“Who says I haven’t done this before?” I hissed, feet now scraping across the stage as he slid me along it.

Lea snerked through his nose. “I took a wild guess.”

“That was awfully presumptuous of you.”

“So what, you telling me you’ve sung karaoke?”

“No, but that doesn’t make you any less presumptuous!”

We came to a stop now next to the mics. He stepped in front of me and bent down to my eye level, his hands still firmly gripping my upper arms to keep me from bolting. “Come on, El! Do it for me! As a favor to a friend!”

I shot him a deadpan look. “Fun fact: we’re no longer friends.”

“Since when?”

“Since ten seconds ago when you dragged me up here against my will.”

“Pfft, you don’t mean that,” he finally released me, ruffling my bangs and rolling his eyes before stepping over to the mics, unblocking my field of vision. That’s when I saw it.

All.

Those.

People.

Watching. Murmuring. Waiting. I’d already known the bar was packed, but now, up here, sensing every single last one of those eyes on me, the place seemed to be all but bursting. There were just… just so many! I-

Wait, was the crowd shrinking? And not as is thinning out, but were the people actually getting... smaller?

“Oof!” I wheezed out a surprised grunt as my back collided with something.

Oh.

That’d explain it.

Apparently without me even realizing it, my feet had taken it upon themselves to back me away from the edge of the stage, away from the people and straight into the curtained wall behind me. My hand started groping about, looking for the edge of said curtain, latching on when I found it and sweeping it out for me to hide behind. Everything went dark.

I am stealth.

A ghost.

A ninja.

Sneakiness personified.

Unseeable, unknowable, and-

The curtain whipped away and I winced as light returned, revealing Lea standing before me. He laughed, “There you are!”

I squeaked, grabbed the curtains and yanked them in front of me once more.

Now where was I? Ah, that’s right… ahem! Unseeable, un-

The velvet curtain flew to the side once more and Lea hooked his hand in my elbow, pulling me out and back towards the karaoke machine. “Trust me, you’ll be fine! You got nothing to worry about! I’ll be there the whole time, hamming it up and just in general making a big idiot outta myself, so no one's even gonna be looking at you. All you gotta do is stand there and sing your parts when they come up, 'kay? Song’s super short too, so it’ll be over before ya know it!”

My lips parted to tell him exactly where he could take his “super short song” and stick it, but was interrupted by the spotlights suddenly flicking on. One zeroed in on Lea, the other blasted me like a paralyzing ray and I just stood there, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth hanging open and alcoholic beverage still in hand.

Another wave of applause went up for us as Lea tossed me a mic. Frozen stiff, I made no move to catch it, instead just watching it dumbly as it arced up through the air before streaking straight down in front of me to clatter against the stage. He snorted, bent down to pick it up and put it in my free hand, pressing my numb fingers to close around it before he moved to stand in front of the other mic.

My breathing was shallow, my heart was a jackhammer and my feet no longer seemed to work, now just glued to this spot.

Oh god, was this really happening?

That’s when the music started.

Apparently, yes. Yes it was.

The tune was led in by a quirky, rubbery bassline and a playful piano. Wait… I knew this song. Yeah, it was from a musical. The one full of leather jackets, summer lovin’ and grease lightning. Musicals were a good thing. Musicals were a thing I knew. Kind of a guilty pleasure of mine. Used to sing along with them all when I was little. It could actually be considered kind of pathetic, the sheer percentage of my brain that was still to this day crammed full of all the words to famous Broadway hits.

All that said though… it did absolute friggin’ zilch to calm me down.

“I got chills, they’re multiplying,” Lea started off, dipping his mic stand dangerously low and giving it a wide sweep around before straightening back up and removing the mic from the base. He was no Travolta, but his voice actually wasn’t half bad. “And I’m losing control,” he sang on, spinning on one foot once, twice, three times before abruptly stopping to point at me with a smirk, working some hip action. “Cuz the power you’re supplying… it’s electrifying!” His whole body spasmed from head to toe as he fell to his knees then full on faceplanted at my feet, causing me to jolt back a step.

...hamming it up? Please, more like going whole hog! Jeez!

My part was coming up in about five seconds. I could hardly hear the music anymore over the thundering of my heart or the hiss of breath hyperventilating in and out of my nose. That’s when it happened again.

Everyone and everything around me was suddenly in slo-mo.

Man, I really needed to get a handle over my powers of time control!

It was in this uncanny second of my wildly burgeoning mutant ability (ha, if only) that I spotted them. Rayne and Anna, in the front row of the crowd with big smiles to root me on. As I locked eyes with one then the other, my sister gave me an excited nod of encouragement while my roommate was mouthing something to me. Couldn’t be sure, but it looked suspiciously like the words ‘comfort zone.’

Then I looked down at my hand holding the Shiva.

...liquid courage, huh?

...fine. Let’s do this.

Nostrils flaring, I raised the drink to my mouth, knocking back several gulps before slamming the glass down on top of the barstool. Still shaking, I jerked the mic up to my lips, knuckles white around the handle. Like a dam bursting, the words started flooding out before I could even think them. “You better shape up,” oh gosh, was that a quiver I heard in my voice? My free hand down by my hip clenched tightly. “Cuz I need a man, and my heart is set on you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lea still flat on the floor but now propped up on his elbows and gawking at me. I looked away, heat flooding my face. Come on now, I know it’d been a while since I last sang so I was rusty, but I couldn’t be that bad. Stubbornness flaring, I took a deep breath and continued, words stronger now, “You better shape up! You better understand to my heart I must be true…”

“Nothing left, nothing left for me to do,” Lea came back in with a fierce grin as he scrambled up onto his feet. “You’re the one that I want!” we both sang the chorus as he landed to my right, doing the iconic dance from the scene in the movie, with a thumb hooked in the waist of his pants and swinging his hips to and fro. “Oo-oo-oo, honey, the one that I want!” In a shuffling side-gallop, he passed by in front of me to my other side and repeated the move. “Oo-oo-oo, honey, the one that I want!” Again with the side-gallop, this time behind me, and again with the little jig. I was biting back a smile. Well, at least he was true to his word… he really was making a big idiot out of himself. It was getting harder to stay mad at him. Harder… but not impossible. “Oo-oo-oo, the one I need, oh yes indeed!”

Lea now moved several steps over to his side of the stage, giving me room as the song shifted in preparation for the second verse that I was going to be starting off. I tensed, spine ramrod straight as I recalled what the next lines out of my mouth were going to be. Feeling my blush creeping all the way down to my toes, I wrung the mic in both my hands now as I stiffly brought it back up and squeezed my eyes shut. “If you’re feeling affection,” I wasn’t here, I wasn’t me, “you’re too shy to convey.” No, I was Olivia Newton-John at the school carnival, oozing confidence in a smoking, skin-tight outfit showing off her killer bod. “Meditate in my direction.” Oof, the next part. How did Olivia pull off that breathy purr? Maybe something like, “Feel your way.”

Harsh feedback screeched through the speakers, making my eyes snap back open. Apparently it had come from Lea’s mic, which he was clumsily fumbling to keep from dropping it. Now having it firmly back in grip, he brought it back up in time to croak out, “I better shape up!” He cleared his throat, banging a fist to his chest and now looking a little red in the face. I guess all that prancing around must have been catching up to him. “Cuz you need a man…”

“I need a man who can keep me satisfied,” I sang back, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Whatever his malfunction had been, he was now bouncing back, face brightening as he ran into a knee-slide, stretching a hand up towards me, “I better shape up if I’m gonna prove-”

“You better prove,” I rolled my eyes and shook my head at his antics, “that my faith is justified.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, hopping back up before my voice joined with his, “Yes, I’m sure deep down inside! You’re the one that I want!” The chorus started again and Lea grabbed my hand, catching me off guard and twirling me into a spin. “Oo-oo-oo, honey, the one that I want!” Now he pulled me up against him, flashing me a cheeky grin as one hand wrapped around my waist and the other took hold of mine, mic sandwiched between them. “Oo-oo-oo, honey, the one that I want!” Unable to resist any longer, a laugh bubbled out of me as he swept us around in circles in time with the upbeat music, bringing his mic up between our lips whenever we needed to sing the next line. “Oo-oo-oo, the one I need, oh yes indeed!”

The chorus repeated a couple more times, Lea continuing to dance us about the stage the whole time. Once when I was able to catch a glimpse out into the audience, I even spotted Rayne and Anna busting a move themselves on top of one of the tables, Riku on the ground frantically gesturing for his wife to get down. When the song finally started to fade, the room erupted in applause and whistles. Lea released my waist, but didn’t let go of my hand, instead tugging me towards the edge of the stage. There he raised my arm up high before he bent into a flourishing bow for the adoring fans, pulling me down into one as well. As we both straightened back up, a smile tugged at my lips and I breathed a sigh of relief as my heart rate finally began to calm down.

I’d done it. I’d actually sung in front of all those people and lived to tell the tale. And oddly, I was even... almost kind of giddy about it? It couldn’t be that I’d actually enjoyed that? No. No way. That was just the adrenaline talking as it still coursed through my body which was finally getting to relax now that the danger had passed. I was just happy it was over with! Yeah, that’s all it was. It had to be.

As the bar quieted down once more, Lea returned the mics to their holders before jumping down off the front of the stage and pivoting around to smirk up at me, “Damn, El, why didn’t you tell me you were packing a gorgeous set o’ pipes on you?”

There that blush was again, creeping back up my neck. I gave a soft harrumph, “Stop, I do n-”

I was startled into silence as he picked me up by the waist, my hands hastily going to his shoulders as he lowered me down off the stage and deposited me on the floor beside him.

Okay… so that happened.

“I’m serious!” he pulled his hands back, planting them on his own hips as he hunched forward slightly. “You’re trying to figure out what to do with your life, right? Well, I think we hit a ringer here! Ever consider being a singer?”

I turned my back on him with a snort and walked away, heading towards our booth. “Oh, sure. I’ll just have to hire professional wranglers to drag me kicking and screaming up to the mic for every performance.”

“Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” he caught up and fell into step beside me. “You had fun and really got into it, I could tell!”

Only because Lea had been distracting me the whole time. “It doesn’t matter either way, only fools try to make a career out of singing. Do you know how hard it is for most people to make it big in the music industry?”

“Yeah, but most people don’t have a voice like yours.”

I groaned, “Please, can we just drop it?”

“Fine, fine, dropping it,” he raised his hands in surrender. Then, “So… are we friends again?”

I side-eyed him, wrinkling my nose. “...probationally.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward and he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’ll take it! And hey, at least something good came outta our lil musical adventure.”

I gave him a questioning look, to which he grinned wider.

“I got to dance with you after all.”

Author's Note: For those who don't know it, the song they sang is called "You're the One That I Want" from the musical "Grease" - a rather problematic musical at that (as I discovered from rewatching the movie while writing this chapter after not having seen the movie in over a decade) but I still love this song and you can pry it from my cold, dead hands xD Also I may or may not have watched 50 (thousand) youtube videos of couples singing this song at karaoke for IMPORTANT RESEARCH reasons before writing up this chapter. I must say, just simply writing the karaoke scene felt almost as mortifying as if I'd actually had to go up on stage and physically sing the damn song myself! I don't normally write songs lyric for lyric in my stories, but I just figured with what an anxious bundle of nerves Elsa is in this story, it was kind of important not to just gloss over and hand-wavy the karaoke. So yeah, I don't usually write singing scenes, but hopefully this one turned out halfway okay? Anyhoo, on another note, Elsa is a lot better at this whole holding-a-conversation thing than she gives herself credit for… once she gets over her crippling anxiety at the very idea of stringing more than two words together! And lastly, I found a way to give Lea both his names in this fic, woooooooo!

Next chapter, this thrilling night out continues! What further adventures in Friday night drinks await our hermit heroine? Is a career in singing ACTUALLY on the table for consideration or will it forever remain a pipe dream? Will Elsa ever perfect her ninja skills, which seriously leave something to be desired currently? Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you hit that like button last chapter, seeing that always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

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akumadeshitsumon · 5 years

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The legend of the headless horseman (part 1)

[[So, here is the first part of my attempt at a topical Halloween fic - a short drabble on how the demon currently known as Sebastian Michaelis came to be a headless horseman in the English countryside (VERY loosely inspired by the 14th century poem “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”). I’ve got an idea for a connecting short story in Sebastian’s current time, which I hope to get around to this weekend. Mobile users, if you want to read this, I encourage you to read it on AO3 instead - I’ve seen what mobile tumblr does to my formatting, but I have no idea how to fix it. (If you do know (and the answer is something other than ‘format everything on your phone’) PLEASE let me know. There’s virtual cookies in it for you.)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124445/chapters/50657459 ]]

The legend of the headless horseman

The Dark Ages, somewhere in the English countryside.

There is an air of beauty to Autumn, especially in the countryside. By day there are gorgeous displays of autumn colours on the trees, fallen leaves dancing in the wind, and golden sunlight filtering through the morning mist and spilling into windows like liquid honey. In the fields, the crops that represent a year's worth of hard labour await the harvest, and in the orchards fruit hides coyly between the leaves, waiting to be picked. In the evening mist swirls over the fields and roads, and warm lights in the windows welcome the farmers home.

But Autumn's beauty is deceptive. Nightfall comes earlier every day, and the air turns bitterly cold. The leaves that danced merrily by day now rustle menacingly in the shadows, and warm sunlight is replaced by the silvery cold light of the moon earlier every passing day. As the light fades from the world and nature gives up her fight against the cold reality of the approaching winter, the darkness of night starts to feel more and more oppressive, like a dark force closing in on the little towns scattered around the countryside. By day, one can see the threads that bind these places together - dirt roads and tree-lined paths, the fields and the workers in them. But by night, these connections disappear into darkness, cutting the villages off from each other. Such nights made humans feel... unwelcome. Those who had to be out at night walked quickly, their shoulders hunched against more than just cold, hurrying to get home.

It is on such dark and cold autumn nights, when the wind howls in the trees and darkness flows through the streets and coats the world like tar, that fear takes hold of human hearts and takes root in the depths of human minds.

And this was exactly what the demon was counting on.

In this contract it had not been named, but it had been given a task: to spread terror across the countryside and strike fear into the hearts of the peasants living there by any means necessary. Demands for tax and supplies had been high, and the locals were becoming restless, so the lord of the local castle had tasked the demon to clear up his mess while he continued to enjoy the fruits of his unbridled greed. Personally, the demon did not see how this behaviour could continue without consequence, but it had not been summoned for its piercing insights into the clearly unsustainable nature of its master's practices. It had been summoned for the power it wielded, and tonight it was meant to put this power to good use.

There were always whispers of ghostly forces at work in Autumn; strange shapes hiding in the mist over the fields, impossibly large animals stalking the woods at night, the cackling laughter of witches on the wind when the moon was full and bright. But lately a more tangible story had been added to the pile: the story of the headless horseman.

It was the miller who saw the knight first, though at first everyone thought he'd been drinking too much, as he'd been known to do. But the miller stuck to his story, and became very agitated when people did not believe him.

On his way home from the tavern one night he had heard hooves on the road ahead, and saw a horseman coming towards him. It was unusual in itself to be riding a horse out at night, though not particularly alarming. However, as the horseman drew close the miller started to suspect that something was wrong. The first thing he noticed was that both man and horse were very large; unusually large for any human or animal he'd ever laid eyes upon. Both horse and man were in full armour; the miller could hear the sound of metal hitting metal every time the horse's hooves hit the ground. This was highly unexpected, as there had not been war in these parts for as long as the miller had been alive. And there was something off about the rider's torch, as well; the light from it was not orange or yellow, as one might expect of a torch, but a sickly green, such as a smith's fire might be if metal shavings fell into it. Put together it was enough to make the miller feel uneasy. As the rider approached the miller's sense of unease increased. The rider was getting close now, but he showed no sign of slowing down, even though he must have spotted the miller on the road in this bright moonlit night. From his position on horseback the knight towered over the miller, but the miller could discern no eyes behind the helmet, no sign of recognition. Thoroughly spooked he leaped aside to avoid being trampled, and in that moment, he noticed that what he had taken to be a torch was not, in fact, a torch at all, but a sword; a flaming sword the size of a scythe, with green flames streaming off it like liquid. Most knights around these parts would have trouble lifting this sword with both hands, and yet the rider held it effortlessly in one hand, as though it was light as a feather. The flames seemed not to hurt him; they danced on his armour, which was also green, and then harmlessly winked out.

As the miller scrabbled up from the mud beside the road he heard the horse pull to a halt; perhaps the knight was feeling guilty for almost hitting him. The knight had stopped and raised his hand to his helmet, and for a moment the miller thought he was going to lift up his visor to speak. But instead the knight grabbed the helmet and lifted it away from his shoulders completely, revealing... nothing. There was no head on his shoulders, just the stump of a neck, dried blood coating it thickly. The knight lifted his helmet high above his head, and a booming laugh echoed through the air.

The miller felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. As the knight's horse reared the miller was already moving - he sprinted through the fields towards the woods, away from the road and the knight in green, whose laughter followed him all the way to the trees.

When he finally stopped to look back, the knight and his horse were gone.

As mentioned, the miller’s story was laughed off at first. After all, it was impossible for a man to ride around without a head. But soon more people reported seeing the spectral figure of the knight, often from further away, silhouetted against the sky with his head lifted high above his shoulders. The stories spread outwards in ripples; soon the knight was known across all of the region - and more crucially, all of the lord’s domain.

Before long, even those who had never seen the knight feared his presence at night. Going out after dark became a hazardous activity, and after the first few victims were found with their heads missing no one dared attempt such a feat at all. Rumours spread among the peasants like wildfire, and by the time the lord of the castle started his ‘investigation’ into the problem people were more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The lord’s heroic ‘battle’ against the knight would be passed along the families of the region for generations - how he confronted the green knight one night and chased him into the woods, only to return at sunrise carrying the flaming sword, which evaporated when touched by the morning light.

It was all suitably dramatic… and a load of old hogwash, of course. The demon was quite adept at creating illusions, and this one had been a masterpiece, if it did say so itself. In reality, all that had happened was its master chasing it into the woods, then waiting a suitable amount of time to build up suspense before returning to announce his glorious victory. The trick worked wonderfully well - the demon’s master saw his power over the peasants living on his lands redoubled, all ideas of dissent stripped from their minds. And when the lord later mysteriously vanished from his castle… well, that only added to the mythos of it all.

Over time humans gained more knowledge of the world around them, and slowly the belief in ghosts and legends dwindled. The headless horseman faded into legend, until he was nothing more than a story to scare kids into going to bed.

And yet... those cold autumn nights never stopped making people feel uneasy.

And there would always be those who knew how to make use of that.

#akumadeshitsumon #ask sebastian michaelis #ask sebastian #sebastian michaelis #black butler #kuroshitsuji #Sebastian's past #headless horseman #halloween #halloween fic #Part 1

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