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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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extra 1 for Tedious Joys, with thanks to all the suggestions from people engaged in the discussion on tumblr, your ideas were fantastic and I used all that I could fit in!

Before Lan Qiren left to attend the first discussion conference held after Nie Mingjue’s ascension to the position of Nie sect leader – a notion that still gave Lan Qiren a stomachache merely to think of it – Lao Nie made him promise three times over that he would keep an eye on his painfully earnest, straightforward eldest son and keep him from doing anything foolish.

“Of course I will,” Lan Qiren finally said, exasperated: any more nagging, and he was going to be late. When he’d thought to himself that he’d picked up a wife, he hadn’t really expected this part of it; if anything, he assumed he’d be the one doing the nagging. “You know perfectly well that he’s as dear to me as my nephews! I don’t know why you feel the need to even ask.”

“Your nephews have good self-control, a trait my Nie sect most definitively lacks,” Lao Nie said. “We’re all in agreement that it’s not yet time to challenge Hanhan. What if A-Jue forgets that and, I don’t know, punches him in the face?”

“He won’t,” Lan Qiren said. “He’s a good boy, your son; you’ve told him not to, so he won’t. Anyway, if it really comes to it, I won’t let him.”

Finally, Lao Nie let him leave, and Lan Qiren made his way to the Lotus Pier for the discussion conference. Nie Mingjue and his retinue had arrived shortly before he did, the circles under his eyes and the small signs of mourning he still wore making him look older than he ought to be; there was a scowl fixed on his face that did not disappear entirely even when he nodded to Lan Qiren, although it did soften a little.

Lan Qiren’s heart hurt for him. To manage an entire sect at fifteen – even with support, the pressures of it must be well-nigh unbearable, and it looked as though Nie Mingjue had started using his cultivation to get him through all the nights of missed sleep, as unwise as that approach was in the long term.

It was strange to go to the habitual meeting of the Great Sect leaders, the one they had with each other before they mixed with all the other sect leaders, and bow to Nie Mingjue as if to a peer, rather than to a junior.

Stranger still to see Wen Ruohan do the same, a mocking smile on his lips as he raised his head from the greeting.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, and there was almost some sense of satisfaction as he said the unfamiliar words – no one had had to use them when it was Lao Nie, of course. “I bid you welcome, as the newest member to the ranks of leadership among our Great Sects.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond with words the way he had when similar sentiments had been offered by others – no Please give me guidance here, though that was understandable given what the entire cultivation world knew he believed about Wen Ruohan – and contented himself by merely jerking his head again in a nod.

“Your father was a very involved member of our little group,” Wen Ruohan continued, and was he really going to offer Nie Mingjue his condolences for Lao Nie’s death? Propriety demanded he do so, but he’d never cared much for propriety, and given his actions it would be an offense to all sensibility. “One could hardly hope to match him in his passion and enthusiasm in all that he did. I look forward to seeing you...take his place.”

His eyes flickered over Nie Mingjue from head to toe, blatant in its unspoken unspeakable implication, even as Nie Mingjue’s eyes went round with disbelief.

A moment later, it ended up being Lan Qiren’s fist that found its way to Wen Ruohan’s face.

Luckily, Wen Ruohan found it funny - laughing at how he’d managed to break Lan sect discipline, rather than taking offense - and no war was started.

Whether that would last once Lan Qiren reported the substance of the conversation back to Lao Nie, however...

“You know,” Lan Qiren said, staring at the ceiling and wishing it would come down on top of him. “It’s very nice that you’re all such good friends.”

His nephews both bobbed their heads in a polite nod.

“I’m sure Mingjue and Huaisang greatly appreciate it.”

Another nod.

“However, they are now sect leader and sect heir, and we must treat them with the dignity that those positions require.”

A third nod. He was starting to wonder if they’d been replaced by dolls with loose necks.

“This is why they were assigned their very own rooms in our guest quarters, rather than spending their nights in yours.”

“Nie Huaisang will be lonely if he sleeps by himself,” Lan Wangji said, stubborn as ever. “My room is better.”

��Wangji. Yesterday, you chased Huaisang up two separate hills with your sword, sat on him, made him cry, and then wouldn’t let him up until he admitted you were superior in every respect.”

Lan Wangji smiled briefly, a rare and beautiful sight that warmed the heart. “Mm. Deserved it.”

Lan Qiren flailed a little. “Wangji, do you even like him?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care where he sleeps?”

“If he sleeps badly, he will do even worse than he already does,” Lan Wangji said. “Someone might make fun of him.”

“…and what happens then?”

“Bite.”

“Wangji! We’ve discussed this, no biting people. Not even if they’re making fun of your friend!”

Lan Wangji nodded in a way that suggested he was only being agreeable so that Lan Qiren stopped insisting on silly things like Nie Huaisang getting his own bedroom instead of sleeping on the spare bed in Lan Wangji’s and not actually agreeing in the slightest.

They were still working on the biting thing.

Giving up, Lan Qiren turned his gaze to his older nephew.

Lan Xichen squirmed. “…sometimes I go to stay in his rooms instead?”

“You’re not even planning on coming up with an excuse?”

“Lying is forbidden, uncle.”

Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose.

“For this sort of thing, you go to your eldest uncle,” Lan Qiren said flatly, and after a moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji conceded that he had a point.

After all, Lao Nie had been married several times, presumably intentionally, whereas Lan Qiren had ended up with a wife through circumstance and luck.

Lao Nie was a very good wife, though, even if for some reason Lan Wangji was required to refer to him as eldest uncle rather than calling him aunt – though that was mostly his uncle’s preference. Lao Nie thought being called auntie was hilarious.

In retrospect, though, Lao Nie’s tendency to think things were hilarious was a lot less endearing when it was aimed at him.

“Just tell him you like him,” Lao Nie suggested, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous Nie sect style advice possible. “Tell him you want to spend more time with him.”

Lan Wangji shook his head firmly.

“How is this Wei Wuxian supposed to figure it out, then?”

He wouldn’t. Obviously. The question was how to get rid of the feelings, not how to actually let Wei Wuxian know that they existed.

“I don’t know, I find sex works really well to deal with repressed emotions associated with pining.”

Lan Wangji wanted to die.

Or possibly find and bully Nie Huaisang the way he used to when he was a kid. Not that he would, of course, he was above that, and also Nie Huaisang was really good at getting revenge and he couldn’t risk that happening where Wei Wuxian might see.

“Sex is not a valid solution in all cases,” Lan Wangji’s uncle interjected.

“Ah, Qiren, Qiren. Are you still holding Hanhan against me?”

“Yes, I am. He tried to kill you.”

“So?” Lao Nie shrugged. “That describes basically everyone I ever slept with.”

“Have you ever considered that that may be part of your problem?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one! Look at Wangji here; the first thing he noticed about this Wei Wuxian character was his excellent fighting skills – a moonlight duel on the rooftops, how romantic –”

“You don’t know what romance is –”

Lan Wangji was just going to go back to his unrequited pining.

It couldn’t be worse than having to listen to this argument again.

Lan Wangji was fighting frantically, but he already knew his sword would not be sufficient.

They were going to burn the library.

All those precious books..!

His uncle had already sent Lan Xichen away with the most important ones, but Lan Wangji didn’t want to lose any of them. These books had been his friends growing up, the source of his strength and the consolation in his loneliness – their pages bore silent witness to his childish tears, the imprints of his dirty fingerprints, the good times and the bad. There were books he had thumbed through a thousand times until he knew them down to the last idiosyncratic quiver in their calligraphy and books he had not yet acquainted himself with, had only seen on the shelves and thought one day. To lose them now, old friend and future friend alike, would be to break his heart.

There was a sound behind him and he spun, already tired, exhausted, and it was Wen Xu behind him, the leader of the invading Wen sect cultivators himself. He was smiling so cruelly, holding a fire talisman aloft like a flare, knowing that Lan Wangji wouldn’t make it in time to stop him –

A hand wrapped itself around Wen Xu’s wrist from behind, freezing the motion.

Freezing not just him, but all the Wen cultivators around him, each one of their faces twisting in horror as they realized that a cultivator dressed in astere mourning white that might be mistaken for the colors of the Lan sect had managed to get through their forces to stand at their master’s side, even if his hands were empty of any weapon.

Their horror quickly turned to agony, and then nothing at all, as the reconstituted Jiwei flew through the air, battering through their swords with overwhelming force and piercing their bodies, as vicious and free as if she were alive – there was nothing that quite compared to the Nie sect’s fierce sabers when unleashed at the beck and call of their masters, a weapon against which regular spiritual weapons had difficulty holding up.

With their bodies fell their fire talismans, their flares, and suddenly Lan Wangji felt hope thudding in his chest: one man could not change the tide of war, but he could change the course of a single battle, especially if he could convince Wen Xu to order a retreat.

If Wen Xu ordered a retreat now –

The library would survive.

“Tell Hanhan that Lao Nie said ‘hello’,” Lao Nie said in Wen Xu’s ear – his face was as pale as a ghost in the fire and moonlight, his lips red as blood and his smile full of viciousness like a slash across his face –and with a single twist he snapped the bone of Wen Xu’s wrist.

“It really isn’t me!” Wei Wuxian protested. “For one thing, didn’t the sightings of old Sect Leader Nie start before I took up demonic cultivation?”

“I don’t think it was you that did it,” Nie Mingjue said, not for the first time. His eyes kept flickering around the room as if seeking help, and his expression, to those that did not know him well, was stormy; Wei Wuxian saw this and clearly panicked, continuing to try to explain.

To those that did know Nie Mingjue well, it was immediately obvious that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lan Xichen sympathized.

It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that it served their purposes for the moment to have it be thought that Lao Nie was a spectre arisen from his grave in search of personal vengeance on Wen Ruohan – it was certainly causing Wen Ruohan no end of agony, judging by the way his strategy got a lot less rational and a lot more frenzied whenever Lao Nie put in an appearance – and if he was even slightly more discreet a personality, they would have simply brought him in on the secret already.

They were planning to – Lan Wangji had insisted, looking pained on his secret beloved’s behalf (secret in the sense that Wei Wuxian didn’t know about it, not secret in the sense that everyone else in their small family knew about it) – but they hadn’t had a chance. Lao Nie had insisted on being there to make things clear, since apparently he’d accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Wei Wuxian a few times in the Cloud Recesses while masquerading as a Lan sect elder so that he could evaluate his nephew-by-proxy’s crush, and he hadn’t yet arrived.

Which led to the current situation of Wei Wuxian being earnest and Nie Mingjue attempting to send mental smoke signals to Nie Huaisang in an effort to have the latter rescue him.

To no one’s surprise, Nie Huaisang was being no help at all.

In fact, his occasional well-timed sobs of “Wei-xiong! I thought we were friends! My father’s corpse! How could you?!” were in fact making things notably worse.

“I didn’t! I really didn’t!” Wei Wuxian yowled.

Lan Xichen was not going to laugh.

He wasn’t.

“And who’s to say the Yiling Patriarch won’t try to take charge of the Nie sect, too..?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m actually alive,” Lao Nie said loudly, and Lan Xichen flinched at first before relaxing. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Lao Nie had been the most shameless member of the last generation; it was no surprise that he, who could be as blunt as his son when he wanted to be, would address the whispered rumors drifting around them directly and without pretense. “Wei Wuxian may be a demonic cultivator who created a conscious fierce corpse, but no one has yet suggested with any plausibility that his abilities extend to living people who were just in hiding – which is a good thing, given how many people here would fall into that categorization.”

There was an awkward silence.

Sect Leader Jin coughed. “No one is suggesting that you’re Wei Wuxian’s puppet, Lao Nie,” he said, even though someone had very clearly been suggesting exactly that and if anyone believed that they had done so within Sect Leader Jin’s home without his knowledge then Lan Xichen was worried about what else they’d be willing to believe. “We’re merely expressing concern regarding his increasingly reckless actions – and on behalf of the Wen sect, no less! Especially with him having custody of such a powerful tool as the Tiger Seal, it is a little suspicious…”

“Wait, are you suggesting that you think Wei Wuxian has been possessed?” Lao Nie said. “By Hanhan? That’s ridiculous; they’re nothing alike. Wei Wuxian attended the hunt at Phoenix Mountain and didn’t hit on me once, there’s no way Hanhan is possessing him.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eye twitched.

Lan Xichen did not smile, but it was a challenge. Truly there was no one quite like Lao Nie when he was in full swing.

“Still, if people are having that sort of nonsense float around, I think it makes perfect sense for me to go check up on him to see how he’s doing,” Lao Nie continued. “I’m a respected member of the previous generation, and no one knows Hanhan better than me. Better still, I’ll take Qiren with me; we’ll make a holiday of it – it’s the least we deserve, really, now that we’re both retired sect leaders.”

“I suppose it would be more appropriate to send someone removed from active politics,” Lan Qiren said, voice a little toneless and neutral as always. “That would allow us to avoid any unfortunate implications that other sects were seeking to utilize the bad reputation of demonic cultivation to extract the Tiger Seal for their own purposes.”

Lan Xichen’s uncle was a renowned teacher, but equally well known for his inability to read the subtle nuances in social situations – no one else could have gotten away with just saying that when everyone was painfully aware that it was the subtext of Sect Leader Jin’s actions.

Though, actually, it was possible his uncle just hadn’t realized it was, in fact, meant to be subtext.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Lan Xichen interjected before Sect Leader Jin – or Jin Guangyao, for that matter – could say anything. His sworn brother had never entirely forgiven Lao Nie for showing up at the last possible moment to murder Wen Ruohan personally before he could claim his head himself, even though the fame he had won for being their spy had still been sufficient to get him a spot in the Jin family, and as a result he was inclined to use his clever tongue to oppose Lao Nie just because he could. “Sect Leader Jiang, Wei Wuxian is a member of your sect, and therefore you have primary charge of him. Would you be willing to take Lao Nie and my uncle with you when you go to see him to act as impartial judges?”

“But I don’t want to be a third wheel on their old people sex honeymoon!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

There was another moment of silence, and then Lao Nie burst out in howling laughter.

Nie Mingjue followed suit only an instant behind him, and of course once Nie Mingjue was laughing then there was no hope for Lan Xichen; he’d never been able to resist Nie Mingjue’s laughter, so rare after he’d become sect leader. Within moments, the tense atmosphere Sect Leader Jin had so carefully cultivated had been utterly shattered and the entire room was sobbing with hilarity, excluding only Lan Qiren who was scowling at all of them and Lan Wangji whose laughter was entirely in the way his eyes were crinkled in the corners.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Qiren said icily as his former student cowered in front of him. “I will have you know that Lao Nie and I are not in a sexual relationship –”

“Wait, you’re not?” Sect Leader Jin blurted out, clearly despite himself, and that just set the whole room off again.

“Welcome to the Unclean Realm,” Lao Nie said.

“Since when do former sect leaders act to greet people at the door?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning at him: they had gotten on splendidly ever since the whole ‘did I resurrect you from the dead by accident’ question had resolved, and Lao Nie helping him out of the tough spot with the Wen sect by arranging his marriage to Lan Wangji had sealed his approval of him forever.

That was why he was arriving with the Lan sect delegation, after all, although Jiang Cheng had kicked his heels around at the entrance in order to ambush him – he wanted to ask some questions about Jiang Yanli’s upcoming wedding plans – and of course the Jin sect had gotten suspicious that they were up to something and waited as well so they were now coming in as one big group.

At least it gave Lan Xichen some time to chat with Jin Guangyao, who seemed much happier to be spending time away from the rest of his family; based on what he’d overheard of their conversation, they were scheming to get Nie Mingjue to relax a bit more and let his father temporarily take up sect leader duties again now that he and Lan Qiren were spending half the year at the Unclean Realm.

“I’m on punishment duty,” Lao Nie said, looking delighted by it.

Which, hey, seemed weird, but based on everything Lan Wangji had told him about the former sect leader Nie (and his own mysterious ‘eldest uncle’, as he’d been known while he was at the Lan sect) and his former exploits, it seemed very in character for the man. And, well, Wei Wuxian wasn’t really in any position to throw stones…

“Eldest Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, looking over. “Did you do something to irritate Uncle again?”

“I didn’t! It was something different, actually, which I’m not at liberty to disclose to you.”

Oh, now Wei Wuxian was curious, and so was everyone else – Jiang Cheng sent him a ‘you don’t have shame, why don’t you ask’ sort of look at once – and since he did not, in fact, have shame, he asked, “Are you sure? What could it possibly be that you did?”

“Oh, Xiao Nie knows what he did,” an old woman in Nie sect colors said as she passed by. “And he’s going to stand there until he admits that he was wrong.”

“I’ll be here until I collapse,” Lao Nie explained proudly, but by that point everyone had stopped caring about whatever new thing he’d done in light of the newest twist.

“Did she just call you Xiao Nie?” Jiang Cheng said, sounding betrayed.

“…yes? She’s my great-grandaunt, she can call me anything she likes?”

“It’s just wrong,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Isn’t it just wrong?”

“It is a bit wrong,” Jin Zixuan said, looking perturbed.

“Very wrong, even,” Lan Xichen said. “I didn’t know anyone did that.”

“No one does,” Lao Nie said. “Now stop gossiping and go inside already!”

“They say married couples start to act like each other,” Wei Wuxian said to Lan Wangji, who looked amused. “There really seems to be some truth to it – do you think he’ll start reciting Lan sect rules next? Ooh, or musical cultivation?”

Finding out that Lan Qiren was apparently the musical cultivation equivalent of a mad scientist in his spare time had been the happiest moment in Wei Wuxian’s life.

“Just wait until you see what Uncle is like when he’s drunk,” Lan Wangji said, and stop. What?

That was a thing?

Wei Wuxian had to make that happen right away.

#mdzs #lan qiren #sect leader nie #lan xichen #lan wangji #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #tedious joys #extras #yes it's extra no 1 #because there is a second extra #with a very different tone #also to be posted today but later in the afternoon

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ultradoux · 4 years ago

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I have a (not so hidden) passion for minority languages, in particular the Celtic languages. I also have a rather unhealthy tendency to jump straight to the comments section of articles I know are going to attract certain fine specimens of brain rot (if you're ever looking for a cheap thrill, type "Irish language" into the news section of whatever browser you use and feel your blood pressure rise 10 points). I went down this rabbit hole just yesterday, and of course the same tired tropes we're all familiar with were there in full force.

Now, analyzing the real, underlying structures for this particular branch of bad faith reasoning, while ultimately the actual issue here, is just too complex and too deeply rooted in systems of colonialism and imperialism to handle in a Tumblr post. What I'd like to focus on instead, however, is one particularly insidious argument that pops up again, and again, and again, so much so that it's managed to position itself at the center of the debate despite being based on a false premise.

Go to any article and you’ll see it. “Why are we teaching our children Irish/Welsh/Basque?” UKBrexit_rule_britannia@BorisJ1945 will bemoan. “There isn’t any money at all in it!” This is the Bloody Mary of language articles; write “Gaeilge” three times and it’ll appear, smelling of roast beef and unwashed ears.

The problem with this question is that at face value, it’s hard to answer. That’s because without a bit of reflection it seems to be true. After all, learning a Celtic, or an Iroquoian, or a Siberian, or what-have-you language likely won’t ever land you a job in sales; no one’s going to be interviewing for Google using Breton (for now, at least [Hep brezhoneg Breizh epet!]). The same bad faith commenters will also argue that the opportunities that do exist (translation, teaching, careers in the media, etc.) are those meant to propagate the language, a linguistic pyramid scheme of sorts. If taken as a rational position, it is hard to argue that any of these languages are as economically viable as their more dominant counterparts.

Yet still, this still feels wrong, and if we look more closely at what these people are saying we start to see why. Basically, language is being boiled down to its economic utility. Why learn something that won’t earn you money down the line? It’s common sense, right?

Now, you could respond to this with socialist ideals; believe me, I’m all for socialist ideals. Yet instead, I’m reminded of a conversation I once had in college, and what went wrong in that conversation seems to apply here as well. At that time, I lived in a close-knit dorm with a group of math majors, which was just as unfortunate as it sounds. These math majors, who to me at least seemed to act in a sort of hive mind, once said that global linguistic diversity was more of a hindrance than anything else, and that it would make more sense (or at least be more efficient) to eliminate all the world’s languages and replace them with one, international language. That language, of course, just happened to be English.

And there’s the rub, isn’t it? When asked if they would theoretically consider switching to languages like Esperanto or Mandarin Chinese, their response was that that would be impractical, that English was the dominant language and that it was going to stay that way. The idea that their language, their way of thinking, could one day become extinct was too frightening, too unthinkable for them to even humor. Even if they had answered yes for the sake of the argument, I think in a real world scenario their response would have been a little less motivated by efficiency and reason.

Rationally, the idea of replacing one language with another should not be a scary thought. Yet it is a deeply unsettling idea, one that often bring out the worst impulses in people and cultures. It is also a concept that most English speakers rarely have to consider. Not that the idea is completely foreign to them; for example, look at the horrible racism speakers of Mandarin and Spanish face across the English-speaking world, partly because their language (and therefore their way of life) is perceived as a threat. Economically, both Mandarin and Spanish could make more sense as the international language of business; they are the two languages with the most native speakers in the world, both represent economies that are playing larger and larger roles across the globe, and in the case of Spanish, its pronunciation is more accessible than other European languages (certainly more than English). Yet the vitriolic, racist “great replacement” theories that these language communities are met with act as grim proof that issues of language strike nerves that run far deeper than its use in commerce.

This is because language is so much more than just a tool. Trying to make rational, economic decisions about a community language will not work because language exists outside of these metrics. Language is as mundane, crass, and mercenary as it is beautiful, sophisticated, and sacred, and our relationships to our languages, be they our native tongues or ones we’ve picked up along the way, are so intricately tied to our relationships with ourselves and our surroundings that it is impossible to distinguish one from the other. The thought that the languages we speak in, think in, love in could one day disappear is enough to make most of us begin to shudder. People still study Latin in high school; maybe 500 years from now, niche groups will speak what we now know as English together over card games. The minority languages being targeted now, however, are living, community languages, languages that people use daily and want to pass on to their children to secure their future. It is an insult, and a gross misunderstanding of the role language plays, to try and put a price on them.

The Breton phrase I gratuitously quoted above (Hep brezhoneg, Breizh epet) translates to “without Breton, there is no Brittany.” In Ireland, a phrase commonly used at language rights events is “tír gan teanga, tír gan anam” — a land without a language is a land without a soul. Language is our soul — and what, exactly, is the cost of that?

#language #minority languages #language rights #irish #breton #gaeilge #brezhoneg #my two cents

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bjy-on-ao3 · 4 years ago

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Fic Friday: Relaxation

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Turns out there are character’s besides Adachi from the Persona series I like, so figured I’d write a little something with one of them, starting with Dojima.

Summary Dojima has had a long day at work. Reader helps him unwind with a couple beers and some TLC.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Consensual Sex, Couch Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff And Smut, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex

Relaxation (F! Reader/Ryotaro Dojima)

Sitting beside the table, leaning casually on your palm, you paid only half attention to the drone of the late night news anchor and flashy headers filling the screen. You cast a lazy glance at the time glaring at you from the corner of the screen. It only reinforced the obvious: it was late. Yet you had a feeling Dojima would run late again when he had asked you to watch Nanako - more like to keep her company, given how capable the young girl was for her age - and had no qualms about it. Yet it still surprised you, even with your past experiences, just how late Dojima’s work kept him from home some evenings. One would think they couldn’t function for even a scant amount of time without him.

Though, Dojima had only requested you to keep an eye on Nanako until she had gone off to bed, so, really, you were the reason for staying so late. The little girl, like all children, seemed to vastly underestimate how long she could stay awake, and had gone to sleep several hours before. But you preferred sticking around until Dojima came back. It put you at ease seeing him return safely, not to mention it gave you an excuse to spend a few fleeting moments with him, though he was often rather exhausted after his shift at the station. He had never complained about the habit either, if anything he seemed to gather a little cheer despite his fatigued state at the sight of a familiar, friendly face greeting him. So you stayed, waiting much longer than necessary, while time and television programs slowly ticked on and away.

The sound of the entryway door opening and closing from the foyer broke through the dull, fake cheery drone of the latest repetition of the week’s expected weather. You glanced away from the TV set when the second door slid open, and you spied Dojima standing in the doorway. He looked tired as always, though happy to be home. When he noticed you were waiting for him again, you spotted a tiny, pleased spark to his expression and your lips twitched up at the corners.

The twitch bloomed into a full, warm smile of greeting as you got to your feet. “Oh, you’re back,” you noted cheerily, though kept your voice level and quiet. “Long day it seems like?”

Dojima didn’t chastise you for stating the obvious. He only sighed and nodded before responding. “You have no idea,” he confirmed, shutting the door behind him and making a beeline to the kitchen. “Half the station’s out sick. It’s a miracle they didn’t keep me all night,” he grumbled, opening the fridge.

“I’ll get out of your hair then,” you said, moving to his side and touching a hand to his shoulder. “I bet you want to get some shuteye before they call you back again, right?”

Ordinarily, now was the time when Dojima would nod in agreement, give you a parting peck on the cheek or lips, thank you for watching Nanako again, and apologize for how long his arriving home had been, all before bidding you goodbye and to stay safe. But tonight he seemed more needy for company, lonely almost. “I know you already stayed late watching Nanako,” Dojima began, though he knew very well you could have left earlier, “but would you mind staying a bit longer?” he asked tentatively, and your heart fluttered in response warmly.

“Sure, I’d be glad to, if you want me to,” you agreed. You leaned into give him a quick kiss on his cheek before returning to your previous seat on the cushion beside the table.

You were a little sleepy yourself by now, but you wouldn’t pass the opportunity to spend more time with him if you had the choice. Of anyone you had ever dated, Ryotaro Dojima was the one hardest to get free time with, especially alone time, given his additional responsibilities as a father on top of being a police detective. Neither of which you faulted him for though. To you, he was worth the effort, even if he was a little rough around the edges, and not the greatest with expression himself.

Dojima rummaged through the fridge’s contents for a few seconds, pulling out two cans of beer and closing the door. He made his way to the living room, setting down of can in front of you on that table, before sitting on the adjacent side of the table in front of the sofa.

“Thanks.” Dojima hadn’t asked you whether you wanted the drink, but you knew he wouldn’t have been upset if you had declined either.

You cracked opened the beer and took a small drink, wrinkling your nose slightly at the taste. Dojima repeated your actions, though he took a larger gulp from his can, and the room lapsed into silence. Though, as you continued to watch the droning news stories and the peppy commercials pepper in between, it was a pleasant silence. Lacking the heavy, awkward atmosphere silence sometimes possessed, or any of the pressure to frantically search for a conversation topic. One another’s presence was enough to make you comfortable, the company nearly therapeutic on its own. You were content to simply satisfy whatever need for quiet company Dojima had for however long he wanted it.

Out of the corner of your eye while you sipped the contents of your can, you noticed Dojima shift awkwardly, tensely, rolling his shoulders or stretching his back and rubbing his neck and wincing. When he rose at one point to retrieve a second beer, he even made a soft sound, something like displeasure or irritation. Another casualty of a long day at work, you imagined, especially the more sedentary parts. Dojima’s long shift had done more than drain him physically and mentally it seemed.

“Do you shoulders hurt?” you prompted curiously.

Dojima’s eyebrows knit together and up in surprise, as if he hadn’t realized what he had been doing or that you might even notice. “Ah, just a little stiff. Fewer people sure doesn’t mean less paperwork,” he groused, and you saw him grimace again at another twinge of obviously sore muscles.

“Let me help,” you offered, though it was more question than anything.

“Ah, no, you don’t need to go to any trouble,” he dismissed quickly.

“Really, it’s fine, it’s no trouble,” you assured him.

Dojima sighed, as if your persistence vexed him, though it was a sigh of defeat. You knew he was prone to brush things off, and sometimes it took a little convincing tor him to accept an offer of help. He nodded, wordless agreement to your insistence.

You stood up, moving to Dojima’s side of the table and crouching down close behind him. He returned to his drink, focus seemingly turned back to the news. You didn’t waste time, quickly getting to work and placing your hands on his shoulders and starting to knead. Your touch was gentle at first, carefully prodding here or there to map out the state of his sore shoulders. Dojima was tense as well, some of it beyond just the stiffness of his muscles, like always, but that tension evaporated soon enough. Feeling him relax, and having more of an idea on what to work through, you added more strength to your massage.

“You’re really knotted up to hell and back,” you pointed out, running across a knot of muscle that was extra hard and tight. Dojima released a sound that was a mix of a hiss and a groan when you applied a little more pressure to the stubborn knot..

He said nothing to you, though. And once more the comfortable silence took over the living, the only true noises the distant drone of the television and the small sounds Dojima continued to make while you tried to soothe his soreness. By the time you had gotten his shoulder satisfactorily loose, Dojima had finished his second beer, but didn’t rise yet for another. You weren’t sure if he had decided two was enough for the late night or if he was enjoying your massage.

His neck was your neck target, not strung nearly so tense as his shoulders and back, but still obviously sore. When you pressed your fingers into the muscles of his neck, it elicited much more pleasant sounding noises, less like the almost relieved pain when you had massaged his shoulders. The familiar tone of them made you grin, and you bent your lips to his ear.

“You know, Ryotaro, all this stress building up isn’t very good for you,” you murmured, shattering the silence.

“I’m used to it. It’s nothing,” he brushed off again, and you frowned.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t so tense,” you countered. A thought had come to you as you massaged the kinks from his neck. “You know, I can think of something that might relieve some of that stress,” you drawled, the kneading of your fingers morphing into featherlight touches on his skin, and you placed a few soft kisses following the path of your fingers.

Dojima hesitated, but seemed to follow the subtle hint well enough. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve got the energy,” he wavered.

“Don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, planting a few more kisses and gentle touches on his neck. You smiled when a tiny shudder rolled through him. “I’ll handle everything. I just want to help you unwind and relax, I promise. They work you so hard you deserve it, after all.”

He gave a deep hum of consideration. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment of thought.

You got to your feet, helping Dojima to his own, abandoning your empty cans and moving toward the couch. Dojima sat down and you straddled him languidly, gently pushing him back to relax against the cushions completely. He slipped his finger through the knot of his tie, loosing it and the letting the collar fall a bit before relaxing completely. “Now, just lie back and relax, okay?” you insisted, one hand splayed flat over his shoulder.

“If you say so.”

Once Dojima was completely settled, you bent forward, kissing lightly along his jaw, his stubble scratching at your lips. You trailed slowly across his skin, down his neck and back up. Rewarded with a couple of pleasant, quiet hums, you moved to his lips, pressing yours to them. As you began to kiss him, Dojima’s initial response was slow, tired. But a subdued enthusiasm welled up in the kiss the longer it went on, moving to match the sensual pace you dictated. A muffled, satisfied sigh escaped him, and you took it as your cue to carry on further.

Brushing both hands down the front of Dojima’s shirt, you worked the buckle of his belt nimbly, slipping the leather loose and discarding it. You lay a palm on the crotch of his slacks, the beginnings of an erection rising beneath your touch. You rubbed your hand against it gingerly, coaxingly. Feeling the slight bulge grow beneath your fingers, you set to undoing the catch of his pants with your spare hand. The hand stroking him through the cloth moved swiftly, dipping past his waistband and the line of his underwear to caress him more directly.

You broke away temporarily from the kiss to allow the pair of you to catch your breath, just in time for a gruff, but suppressed groan to drift from Dojima’s mouth. There was an exhausted hint to the noise, though his pleasure was plain as well. His dark eyes were closed when you looked at him, basking in the sensation, and the hints of a blissful expression had painted themselves across his weary features. When you returned to his lips, you were smiling, delighted to see some of the day’s stress already melting away.

Pushing his pants and underwear down more until his cock stood free and half-hard beneath your hand, you grabbed it in a surer grip. Dojima inhaled sharply, and you flanked down, feeling him twitch and harden further. You drew your hand up and down, again starting slow, gaining momentum and stroking faster until he was at full mast from your touch. You teased the head for a bare moment, before moving your hand away and pulling back, admiring the sight of him lying practically boneless against the cushions. A delightful flush of color dusted his cheeks and his collarbones where they peeked out from his dress shirt, and when he opened his gray eyes they were half-lidded. You tore yourself from your reverie quickly; you weren’t doing this simply for the pretty picture.

You climbed off of him for a time, and he eyed you curiously, as if wondering what had stopped you. Dipping your hands up beneath the hem of your skirt, you hooked your thumbs under your panties and tugged them down, letting them fall onto the floor. Gathering the ends of your skirt in one hand, you clambered back onto his lap, settling yourself more comfortably over him.

Reaching beneath you, you took his shaft in your hand again, guiding it your lips and sliding it between them to lubricate it with the wetness had pooled between your legs while you touched him. When he was coated well enough, you brought the head of him to your entrance, slowly easing yourself onto him. Another gruff sighed escaped Dojima, and you returned to his lips to kiss a third time.

This time the kiss was deeper, more passionate, and a little sloppy as you took more and more of his length into you, stifling tiny sounds from you both. When your hips pressed flush, and all of him was sheathed inside of you, you stopped, savoring the ache of him stretching you, a small gasp disappearing into his mouth when his length twitched again. His hands made their way to your hips, fingers absently kneading your curves through your clothes.

You leaned forward, pressing yourself more closely to Dojima, chest crushed against his, feeling the rumble of his chest as more muted sounds rolled through him, dying on your tongue. Your eyes met his gray ones again, half-lidded still, hazy with his fatigue, but also with a lusty quality that made you clench around him unbidden. Spurred on by the alluring expression in his eyes and the delightful hardness filling you up, you shifted your hips. Rocking them slowly, you allowed Dojima to relish in the tight, soft heat, and letting you feel every inch of him.

Your pace remained slow and steady, almost lazy, though the muffled noises coming from your throat and his own spoke of how much you both enjoyed it. As you had promised him, you were more than happy to do the work, letting Dojima relax and lose himself in the pleasurable sensations. His touch through clothes, while light, was pleasant and soft, encouraging you to stop now and then and grind your hips against his and kiss him a little harder, a little more ardently. Though the pace was languid, it was sure, building a low, simmering fire in your belly and a tension you tried to shove to the back of your mind in favor of focusing on Dojima.

Though he was tired, concerned he would have been too drained to be very involved, Dojima’s hips rocked up to meet yours gently, the motion almost involuntary and instinctive, rather than a concentrated effort. It only added to the pressure and the heat. You fisted your hands in the collar of his shirt, driving your hips more firmly against his and feeling the rumble in his chest intensify.

When the kiss parted for the third time, it was of Dojima’s accord. He buried his face in the hollow of your throat, panting hotly against your skin there, his small noises as muffled by your skin as they had been by your mouth. With his lips no longer around to stifle you though, you clapped a hand to your mouth in their place. Dojima’s fingers grew still, becoming a tight grip, digging into your skin through the fabric, tightening a little more each time your heat swallowed him up again, pushing him closer to the edge.

You whimpered and winced at how tight his hold became, hearing his breathing, ragged and heavy, become more labored in time with the strength of his grip and the rhythm of your hips. You thought you heard him growl something gruff and unintelligible into your neck, but in the moment you very well could have imagined it. You were far too distracted to pursue that train of thought though, choosing to rut against Dojima’ more desperately.

All of it, the vice grip of his hands, the labored breathing, and the gruff sounds smothered by your skin, was the precursor to Dojima reaching his climax. Still squelching any stray noises, he finished a low, rumbling groan that made you shiver. His hands held you so tightly as he filled you, they nearly interrupted the slow buck of your hips, and you rocked them with a bit more force.

Everything combined, with the aid of some friction from clever angling of your hips, had put you so to your own release, too. Dojima’s climax was enough to drag you over with him. Your walls fluttered around his length, milking him for all he had left, and making his hips jerk against yours spasmodically for an instant.

A thick silence followed when both of you were spent, falling back into the couch. Again it was the welcoming, almost soothing silence though that added to the moment. Dojima’s head lolled back against the cushions, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, his shirt crumpled from your grasp. You stayed that way for what felt like a long time, your bodies still joined, hot and tired, basking in the afterglow until your breathing returned to normal and your hearts stopped pounding.

You finally eased yourself off him tentatively, feeling overly sensitive, but pleased, hoping he felt the same. “Feel any better?” you whispered in his ear, moving a hand to toy with the short-cropped strands of his graying hair.

His answer was gruff and drained, but not unpleasant. “Exhausted… but better,” he admitted, not bothering to lift his head, his eyes closed.

“Good,” you said, smiling and placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and then another. “I’m gonna get going then, let you get some well-deserved rest. Just make sure you make it to your bed, alright?” you teased, knowing it wouldn’t have been the first time Dojima passed out on the couch; though this in particular was not a proper way to fall asleep there.

You got to your feet, gathering your underwear from the ground and shimmying back into them, smoothing your skirt down. “Call me if you need me to watch Nanako again, alright? Or, you know, if you just want me around,” you said, giving him a joking when he opened his tired eyes and fixed them on you.

“Wait,” Dojima shot up from his boneless position, tucking himself back into his underwear and redoing the catch on his pants. He rose to his feet as well/ “You don’t have to go. You could…” His words lapsed low, muttering almost, as if he were hesitant to speak them loud enough for you to hear, and a cute new flush decorated his cheeks.

“What was that?” you pressed.

“Uh, why don’t you stay the night? With me. It’s late and…” He paused, searching for the words, “I’d appreciate the company.”

The feeling of warmth that welled up in your chest at his hesitant, almost shy request was enough to make you blush, too. “All you had to do was ask,” you confessed, grinning and moving to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pressed a much more chaste kiss to his lips, which he returned just as sweetly. “And I promise I’ll behave and let you sleep,” you joked, sealing your teasing with another kiss.

With that decided, Dojima grabbed the remote off the table, turning off the tv for the evening and tossing it back down, while you grabbed the empty beer cans and moved them to the kitchen. You followed him then to his room, feeling warm and nearly giddy, or as giddy as you could be when you craved sleep.

When the bedroom door closed, you both tiredly discarded most of your clothing, leaving you both in your underthings. Climbing into the bed, you curled up against Dojima, and he draped an arm over your after pulling up the sheets. Snuggled against one another so warmly, made weary from a long day and from the strenuous end to it, the alcohol an extra tip to the scales, it didn’t take long before sleep claimed you, heavy and comforting.

#Writing #Fanfiction #Persona 4 #Ryotaro Dojima #Reader-Insert #Ao3 #Archive of our Own #Fic Friday #NSFT #N/S/F/W

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thedistantstorm · 5 years ago

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Project Compass 31

Read along on AO3 here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Eli is pissed.

Next time: Ar'alani and Vah'nya conduct an interrogation.

Note: this chapter through the end of the story will contain violent scenes. I don't feel that they're out of line with what's been seen in SW content on screen (or in this fic previously), but it doesn't hurt to mention it since tumblr doesn’t do fic warnings/ratings like AO3.

For a long while, the hum of the small ship's engines had been the only accompaniment to either Chiss's thoughts. Un'hee, head bowed, allowed herself to sink into the trance-like state required of her to safely navigate them toward the Compass. She could feel Thrawn beside her all the while, like a greyish presence at the edges of her vision despite her eyes remaining closed as she deftly made the micro-adjustments necessary to keep them from sinking too far into any gravity wells created by planets they streaked by at lightspeed.

She could sense his disquiet. He wasn’t nervous - if he was anyone else, she’d say it was nerves, but she felt like he was more irritated than anything. A nudge of the controls had them avoiding an asteroid cluster in the dark depths of their current system. Thrawn hadn’t noticed. It was impossible for anyone who wasn’t actively in the Navigator’s trance to notice the tiny adjustments necessary to pilot a ship through the Unknown Regions.

Except, that wasn’t quite right. Lately Un’hee had noticed herself more aware of the subtle adjustments when she wasn’t at the helm, like her mind had unfurled like a flower, extending out toward her surroundings. Ever since she’d healed Thrawn, she’d been different somehow. The same - it wasn’t like she was a different person, but using her Sight felt second nature. She felt like she was capable of steering the ship without needing the deep pool she’d been trained to wade in when steering the ships of the Ascendancy.

Her skin prickled a little, charged and alert. She remained calm both inside and out, despite her fear. She knew what was coming. Thrawn’s frustration, afterall, was because she’d forced herself on his plans. She was a variable he hadn’t planned for. Thus, she could feel the swirling pressure of his thoughts, their cool, silky texture as he tried to determine the best course of action to secure her safety while still achieving his goals.

It was why she volunteered. They would both be taken captive. Volunteering, foisting herself upon him absolved him of blame within the Ascendancy. Or, at least, it would, once she explained herself. Ultimately, she knew that didn’t change his perspective. He would bear any harm that befell her as a badge of his own failure. And unfortunately, there was little chance of either of them escaping unscathed. She did not doubt they would be rescued. She was too valuable to the Ascendancy - she and her rare abilities. She would exploit herself in this way, if only to make sure she was able to keep both Thrawn and their remaining allies safe.

When he inevitably toggled the comms sometime later - time seemed to lose meaning in the depths of hyperspace travel, though a quick reach with her Sight told her they were a little more than two hours away - Un’hee allowed herself to devote some of her energy to listening even as she continued to guide the ship.

It was a Chiss that answered Thrawn’s hail. A Chiss that Un’hee didn’t recognize by voice. If they were a member of the Compass’s crew, they were new. She nudged the controls to the right, careful to avoid a planet’s field of gravity, then back to the left, feeling an obstruction in her path that needed to be shaken loose. Thrawn spoke slowly, confidently but without pride or arrogance.

He offered himself as a prize. His surrender in exchange for the Navigators, alive and unharmed. It was not much of a trade, but it was all he was willing to offer.

“Your surrender will be unconditional,” The Chiss said. Un’hee dared to open her eyes even as she continued to divert her mind’s eye to her task of piloting the ship. Looking up through her lashes, she saw the pale blue holo of the Chiss speaking with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. The holo was not colorized, so she wasn’t able to tell for sure, but the uniform he wore looked strange. Pale. Not the deep space gray-black color of the CDF. “Or we will execute those aboard the ship, beginning with the Navigators.”

“You are easily manipulated by your overseers that you would commit the highest crime against your people?” Thrawn’s voice almost seemed small, but no, she realized, it was rage. Violent and turbulent and sealed away so firmly as not to be allowed to escape, Thrawn’s rage made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

This wasn’t the way to negotiate with them, she thought, and refused to think about it too hard, trusting her intuition as she made arrangements to intervene.

“Prepare for real-space reversion,” She murmured, lifting her head entirely and allowing him just enough time to look at her from the pilot’s chair in a cross between concern and fury before the stars stuttered to a stop. The ship’s drop out of hyperspace was rather calm, all things considered.

She regarded the Chiss projected above the center console with an unimpressed look. “I wish to speak to your superior,” She said, ignoring Thrawn’s twitch of disapproval. She knew he did not like

“You will speak to me,” The Chiss replied stoically.

Un’hee pursed her lips, closed her eyes and clenched her fists tight enough to draw blood. When she opened them again, Thrawn was watching her with a guarded expression, no doubt aware of her discomfort. She looked at their enemy and spoke once more. The sounds that came out were not Cheunh or Meese Calf.

Thrawn didn’t know what it meant. She could see that on his face.

Then, suddenly, an armored arm threw the Chiss on the other end of the comms device out of range of the projector with a violent swing. “To whom do I speak?” The Grysk asked in Meese Calf, voice low and dangerous. He did not respond in kind.

Un’hee bowed her head in servitude. “I am called Un’hee,” She responded in Meese Calf this time. “I served your Hegemony before being retrieved by the Chiss Ascendancy.” The Navigator chose her words carefully.

“I will not negotiate with your Defense Fleet,” The Grysk said. “You will surrender.”

“Admiral Ar’alani of the Defense Fleet has not authorized our actions,” She said. “She does not know of our plans. The Ascendancy was unwilling to part with Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” She added, “Thus we were forced to act.”

To Thrawn, the Grysk tittered scathingly, “Is this true?”

Thrawn nodded once, sharply enough to indicate that it was in fact the truth.

“I do not trust you,” They responded.

“You have the means to communicate with them,” Un’hee pressed. “Ask them.”

Thrawn reached out, pushing down on her shoulder to stop her from speaking. “You wish to send me to the Galactic Empire in exchange for the Emperor’s favor in the future,” He said. “I am proof that Emperor Palpatine does not value his allies.”

The Grysk growled, “You know nothing of Palpatine.” It stroked its armored face with long, skeletal fingers. “And you underestimate your value,” He said. “You are a gift,” He sneered, “Nothing more.” They studied Thrawn through the projection. “Though I appreciate your selection of Navigator. The young one will reprise her role as a hireling with less effort than it would require to train a new one.”

“Our people will not stand for this,” Un’hee declared, shaking Thrawn’s hand from her shoulder. “They will not be enslaved by your will.”

“They already have been. You will remember your place soon enough.” The Grysk gestured to someone outside of the scope of the projection, when suddenly the projection itself changed to show the expanse of the room. “Since you seem so unconvinced,” The Grysks’s voice held something like amusement. Glee.

Thrawn hissed and swore. “Do not look,” He murmured to her, feeling Un’hee’s entire being freeze with the knowledge of what would happen thanks to her Sight.

Shaking her head even as tears leaked from her eyes, she kept her gaze level with the display of the scene before her. Even as a Chiss - a different one, still wearing that strange, too-pale uniform - dragged a Navigator to stand before the Grysk. “I have to,” She said, even as her lower lip wobbled and the young Navigator on the display was murdered brutally, screaming and crying until life fled her entirely. Her execution was committed by a Chiss.

“It is a high crime for a Chiss to kill a Navigator.” The Grysk cast the murdered Navigator’s body to the side without concern. “And yet you are tools to your Ascendancy, the same as you once were to our Hegemony.”

“We are not tools,” She snarled. “We are warriors.” There was a bright spark in Un’hee’s eyes. To Thrawn’s surprise, her anger far outweighed her fear. “If you continue to kill my sisters, the CDF forces will annihilate the warship Compass,” She said vehemently. “Whether we are aboard or not.”

“We shall see,” The Grysk said. “Consider this your incentive to arrive promptly,” They barked. “Perhaps it persuade me to be merciful towards the rest of your… ‘sisters.’” The last word was said with such contempt that it made the shuttle craft’s speakers crackle.

“They were not the commander,” Thrawn said slowly, once the communications device ceased transmitting and the connection was severed on their enemy’s end.

Un’hee swallowed hard and nodded. “There is more than one aboard,” She said shakily. “They must not have the number of allies required aboard the Compass to hold the ship.”

Thrawn considered that for a moment. “Do you believe they will execute those who refuse to surrender?”

“Not all of them,” She supposed. “But many of them will die. They will use those deaths to inspire hopelessness. And those who are already their clients-”

“Which?” Turning to her, Thrawn eyed her warily. “Explain.”

“Their uniforms were different. More like coveralls. It is hard to tell the difference over the holo but I remember the type. They aren’t the same between client species, but they are duller than the color of cour uniforms. I think those were what the Chiss we spoke to was wearing.”

“It will not be universal,” He speculated cautiously. “But it is worth our consideration.” Then, he returned his hand to her shoulder, patting it gently. “You must continue our course,” He urged her. “I do not wish to ask it of you,” He said, his words infused with honesty, “But there are lives at stake.”

Un’hee nodded. “I understand the gravity of our situation now, Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” She whispered, steeling herself. “I will not serve another Grysk, nor any of their clients,” She uttered vehemently, clenching her fists. “They will have to kill me, and I will not give in without a fight.”

Karyn Faro was mostly trained in Imperial protocol and procedure, but some skills were more or less universal - like this one, she thought, locked in with the bridge crew, openly interviewing the officers presently in command of the Steadfast. Ar’alani was an impressive - and arguably frightening - commanding officer when furious, assuming she allowed it to show. She was far more terrifying when she did not.

The sensor officer was not impressed with her pointed personal questions or the level of disbelief she let drip into her tone. No matter. She was hardly an interrogator, the Empire had had ISB for that, but she could hold her own, and she’d gone toe-to-toe with Thrawn. He was far more frightening than any of the officers aboard Aralani’s bridge.

There was, of course, a method to the madness. She’d retained the information after only a cursory glance on her datapad, deleting the message she’d received moments before the Admiral had been called to the Hangar.

She wasn’t particularly keen on asking officers whom they spent their spare time with, or what familial obligations - off the records, of course - each officer upheld, be it due to some social obligation or simply political beliefs. And, worse of all, that it was a lowly human questioning them, well - Faro spoke more than enough Cheunh to know just what they thought of her. Frankly, she just didn’t care.

It was the younger officers that gave her the hardest time. The sensor officer she’d just finished up with, the petty officer overseeing two weapons terminals that were running diagnostics just in case they’d be needed later. The older officers - the first officers and mid-commanders were far calmer, understanding of the questioning.

Faro went lighter on them, per Ar’alani’s instructions. Of course, they had far more to say, speculations and fingers to point. Such was their way. Pride, arrogance, a flair for the dramatic… she laughed at herself, remembering the days when she assumed Thrawn was a representative of his people. He was just as much of an outsider as she was.

She’d made it a point to give away little, though she worded her commentary to the senior staff with specific phrasing, allowing keen ears to monitor who spoke to whom, and which stories would get back to her. None of the staff made it a point to speak to her, or actively sought her out.

Except one.

“Commander Faro,” Mid-Commander Tanik, who oversaw the bridge with Eli and Thrawn both away from the command walk, greeted her as she paused to key a few notes on her datapad.

“Mid-Commander Tanik,” She returned, stiffening ever-so-slightly to indicate that she respected him as the senior officer. She doubted he had more experience than she did, but she’d been instructed to get along with the crew in all things, whenever possible. Ar’alani might find her perspective… amusing, but right now she was gathering intel.

From her experience, Faro had a feeling she was onto something. She also had a feeling that Ar’alani had positioned her to spring the trap. Tanik did not have an excellent facade, but he did have a wide, disarming smile. She nodded curtly in response to it.

“Have your interviews borne any suspicions?” He asked her.

“Some,” She admitted thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I cannot speak to them. The admiral was very specific about not speaking to anyone regarding the results of the questioning, despite the need for them to occur in such an open space.”

Tanik hummed thoughtfully. “Well, the Admiral would not lead us astray,” He said, and looked around the bridge, gaze sweeping over his subordinates with a sternness she was almost surprised to see. He shrugged, reverting to his usual passive demeanor, lips tilted upwards ever-so-slightly in what was nearly a smile. “If there is anything I can do, or any other questions you need to ask, just let me know, yes?”

“I appreciate it, Mid-Commander,” While blunt and businesslike, Faro spared a glance around, checking to make sure no one was obviously listening to her, then added, “I don’t believe I’ll have any more questions for you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Admiral believes it is one of the sensor or weapons officers. She knows her senior staff would never betray her.”

Tanik tutted, sounding almost like a disappointed parent. His voice held an edge of placation, as if trying to soothe some invisible hurt he believed the human to have. “I shall keep my eyes and ears open to what is happening around me. Just let me know when you go to give your report.

“Yes, Sir,” Faro said, then waved with one hand in the direction of the helm. “I appreciate your assistance.”

She felt bad for the weapons officer she was about to pressure - and likely embarrass. However, it was better that she do this than allow the Mid-Commander to gain any sort of insight about just how much Ar’alani and Faro were onto him.

After all, he was a good actor when he knew he was being watched. What he did not know was that Ar’alani had caught a flash of unmistakable glee during their enemy’s missive earlier, reflected opaquely in the mirrored transparisteel of the ship’s windows. Faro was content to look like an idiot for now.

Both Ar’alani and Faro would enjoy watching his downfall.

Upon awakening, Eli was granted exactly ninety-six seconds of carrying on in his native tongue, a language Admiral Ar’alani understood very little of. Not that translation was necessary, some things transcended language. The set of his jaw, the way his lips twisted over his teeth in a snarl, how his chest heaved for breath because his rage seemed to punch it all from his lungs, these were all universal indicators of his mood, of the heat behind his words.

Beside the cot Eli'van'to was now sitting up on and standing to Ar’alani’s right was Vah'nya. She kept her mouth in a straight line, but her eyes danced, finding some of this amusing. To Ar'alani's left was the young Jedi, and his face and ears glowed like a beacon. Perhaps her Senior Navigator was correct, no doubt Ivant had some colorful words to describe his feelings about things. Ar'alani certainly didn't regret her lack of fluency, but she couldn't help but wonder about the specifics.

When she held up a hand, Ivant cut himself off. He went entirely silent, closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. Centered when he opened them again, he spoke in Cheunh. "Apologies, Admiral," He began, and she heard the anger coiled just beneath the surface barely contained,"It's just," He exhaled, and exclaimed, more than a little surprised and definitely furious, "That - he - he shot me."

"It was a stun bolt," Vah'nya said dubiously, as if he were being overly dramatic. Perhaps his rambling had been, but Ar'alani was content to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. "It's not like you have been harmed. I don't think he has it in him to actually hurt you, at least, not physically."

Eli opened his mouth, no doubt to press something else just as emotional, but Ar'alani interrupted. "Mitth'raw'nuruodo was not the one to stun you. I reviewed the security holos of the incident. It was Navigator Un'hee."

“Un’hee?” The startled yelp from Eli would have been comical in other circumstances, but the lack of denial was the only confirmation Eli was given. The human smoothed a hand down his face and sighed. "They've gone off on their own, haven't they?"

"Yes." Ar'alani was frowning. "I have questioned Navigator Mi'yaric about the events leading up to this. She believes that Un'hee pressured Mitth'raw'nuruodo. He did not coerce her." Something sharpened in the elder Chiss's expression. "He is very lucky I am inclined to believe that, given her actions towards you, lest he inspire my ire in addition to yours.” She retained eye-contact for another two seconds, just enough to let him know that she’d seen what had happened in the hangar. She knew all that happened aboard her ship. He didn’t flinch away, even though his anger had receded beneath his impassive command facade. Good, the admiral thought. There would be time for his arguably well-deserved fury later. For now, they had work to do.

At that, the Jedi turned his head, looking up to her as Eli swung his legs over the cot, satisfied that he did not feel any of the residual tingling or vertigo associated with being stunned. "Admiral?" The young man asked, wincing at her reproach for her first officer gone rogue.

"I am accustomed to Mitth'raw'nuruodo making a mess of our plans," She said, her heavy gaze sliding to the left to regard him. "Make no mistake," She added, "He is a fool and he will be dealt with." She nodded to Eli. "But we have other matters to attend to. Things have changed."

Before the admiral could ask if he was fit to leave, Ivant was on his feet, steady. He turned to Vah'nya. "Do you have their trajectory?"

"Trackers were disabled on the shuttle."

"And on Thrawn?"

Vah'nya smirked. "I cannot believe you got away with that, but yes. The micro-tracker will work so long as he's in the shuttle. If they meet up with another ship, it will not communicate wirelessly with its interface unless it's the Compass.

Ezra looked horrified. “You think she’d actually take him there? She’s terrified of the Grysks and she wouldn’t want Thrawn to just give himself up to them,” He pressed.

Eli frowned, then looked to Vah’nya. “What do you think?”

The Senior Navigator shrugged, almost imperceptibly as she replied. “I was surprised she volunteered herself.”

Eli shook his head. “I’m not. She’s far braver than she lets on. She just doesn’t realize it.”

“Even so, Navigator Mi’yaric’s recount of their conversation was concerning. When we spoke to Ezra,” Vah’nya added, nodding in the Jedi’s direction. “He indicated that Un’hee was not acting strangely, but in hindsight he was able to recognize her words as suggesting she was preparing to do something incredibly dangerous that she felt ‘only she could do.’ I would hope she does not deviate from the plan, but,” She exhaled softly. “I think it may be a possibility.”

A grim smile coveted Ivant’s features. “If there is one Grysk aboard the Compass, they’ll have a warship nearby. Deviation probably won’t be possible, but...”

Ar’alani regarded Eli with sharp skepticism. “You have a plan?”

He exhaled slowly, the motion of his diaphragm controlled. Ar’alani could see him organizing his thoughts, fitting them together into something more cohesive. “I might.”

A smirk crossed her features, like a predator scenting prey. “That makes two of us,” She mused. “Come. Let us see what opportunity we can make from our comrades’ poor decisions.”

Ezra stood one step behind Admiral Ar’alani and to her right. Commander Faro waited for them at the blast doors that opened up to the bridge. They both seemed strangely calm. He had been instructed to go with the admiral following their impromptu strategy meeting and that he’d know what he’d be needed for. It didn’t take an idiot to know that meant that Ezra would be expected to use the Force in some capacity.

Which was fine, he didn’t mind, but nobody was telling him what was going on. If there was someone who was a danger to the crew, a little warning - or even a direction in which to focus his attention - would be nice. The Force usually gave him a nudge in the right direction, but he was far from all-knowing.

The Chiss were like that. They spoke in these riddles that only made Ezra have more questions, until the very last second when he realized what had been so infuriatingly obvious to them the whole time. Usually Thrawn took a teaching approach, guiding Ezra to make the connections necessary. He noticed that Captain Ivant had done the same for him at least once, as well.

But Ezra didn't dare question Admiral Ar'alani at this point. Her shoulders were tight. He considered Faro. She stood in parade rest, a gentle, moderately disinterested look upon her face that reminded him that she had most definitely been an imperial.

"Which officer," Ar'alani began, not needing to complete her question before Faro was indicating an officer over by one of the weapons consoles. Said officer was tense, well aware of the eyes on him, but Ezra sensed only a flicker of nervousness. He didn't think the officer was guilty of anything besides the lack of enjoyment of all the negative attention he was receiving.

Ar'alani didn't even pause in her sedate walk onto the bridge, continuing down into the crew pit and approaching the officer's station. By the looks of it, Ezra realized he was a lieutenant, and probably a newly promoted one if the way he trembled under the admiral’s gaze was any indication.

The weapons officer straightened to attention, rising hastily from his seat in front of his console. Ar’alani’s eyebrow went up, an action Ezra could only see via her reflection in the gleaming viewport to their left, looking out amongst the stars. She did not say anything, only looked at the officer for a long, inscrutable moment.

“Treason is unbecoming of you,” Ar’alani said, almost gently. There was an undercurrent to her voice, indicative of looming danger. Whatever happened now would ultimately change the tone of this entire encounter. Ezra tensed, waiting in anticipation for when he would be needed. He had no doubt it would be soon.

The entire bridge seemed to be holding its breath, just waiting, waiting for the lieutenant paralyzed under the weight of his admiral's gaze to buckle under the strain, for the admiral to put him in his place, to finish her accusation and have Faro usher him away.

None of that happened, though. Instead, Ar'alani's eyes shifted up toward the command walk, disregarding the terrified officer entirely.

"Mid Commander Tanik," Ar'alani said, sounding almost disinterested.

Tanik was not a large man, of average build for a Chiss. Tall and lean, but not wiry. He swallowed hard, no doubt feeling the strange tension, before his eyes focused and he stood at attention, ready to serve. "Yes, Admiral?"

"I said," She annunciated, turning now to face him directly, "'Treason is unbecoming of you.'"

Ezra saw what was happening in his mind's eye with stark clarity, the Force whispering in his ear, alerting him to the imminent danger about to present itself with seconds to spare. Seconds that allowed him the intervention necessary to reclaim the vial in Tanik's hands, the one he had been about to throw at his admiral hard enough to break and that Ezra caught with an invisible hand. He did not need to see the vial to know what it was.

Still with that unimpressed air to her, Ar’alani retrieved the vial where it hovered in front of her by Ezra’s intervention. No one moved, but Ezra felt the shock of fear, the electricity of it as it coursed through the rest of the bridge crew. They all knew what it was, too.

“Do you know why our enemies carry poison like this, why they kill themselves before they can be detained and questioned?” The crooning tone to her voice gave Ezra gooseflesh, made his hair stand on end a sort of sympathetic terror. Tanik made an abrupt about-face and headed toward the door.

Faro stood in front of him, her face slack and stoic, but her eyes alight with fury akin to her admiral’s. Tanik made to shove past her but she dropped quickly, tripping the Chiss with her lower center of gravity and sending him sprawling onto the durasteel walkway. Her show of strength as she hoisted him back up to his feet, his arms twisted painfully behind his back was impressive.

And yet, Faro whirled him around to face Admiral Ar’alani, forcing him to look up into her ruthless eyes. “Our enemies do not wish for their secrets to escape them,” She said, her voice as cold as the vacuum of space. “Your selfishness will be their undoing.”

“I will not tell you anything,” Tanik said.

“No?” She supposed, and a grim smile curved her lips. “I disagree.”

#thranto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #eli vanto #vah'nya #un'hee #ar'alani #my writing #sw fanfiction #ezra bridger

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renorasims · 5 years ago

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Hiya!

So its been pretty quiet these past few weeks over here, as some of you might have noticed. Here’s a small update under the cut on what I’m up to these days, if you like to know!

I already mentioned it shortly a 2 weeks ago, we bought a new home (a few weeks ago) after looking for a new one for lots of years. Which of course is a joyous event especially since i’ve been in a toxic relationship with one of my neighbors due to their chihuahua’s causing lots of noise through the entire day/night.

It does mean that besides my work, personal life and this blog/patreon I have another extra thingy to take care of. Which means I won’t be as active is a before, I will however keep on creating and releasing CC here and Patreon in the meantime. But temporarily won’t be around for other stuff unfortunately.

Now, a less joyous event is my anxiety which isn’t in a good place atm. While I was preparing to create content for DU (CC and GC posts) I got so overwhelmed by everything both work, personal and sims/blog stuff, I suffered a major panic attack. I take full responsibility for my own partaking in this; I should’ve stepped away sooner from the pressure of keeping up with my Patreon, GC posts, etc. If that wasn’t bad enough I also suffered a nasty flu after that. All this ended up in me being literally scared shitless for my own PC/Blog, etc. I felt so insecure about everything; my cc, the looks of my posts, uggh every damn thing on my Tumblr/Patreon. Feeling so insignificant which sparked the voices in my head (yes, I have “voices” in my head) kicked me down to a level where I basically believed it was would be better to just disappear from the community, etc. Which is of course not true (i think) but those voices can be quite persuasive.

It made me super sad because this blog/creating cc is such an outlet for me when i’m having stress or feeling depressed. The realization that it became something that caused depressed/stressed thoughts rather than joy was a pretty big hit. Luckily, I was able to slowly get back to my PC and into creating turning it around back to a fun hobby once again. Courtesy to some lovely people at Patreon who send me encouraging words during this time.

Now... I’m super super sorry that i’m that behind on ask messages again. Just know I read them all and keep them close! <333 I will respond to them as soon as i’m able to do so. Mostly private for now because of anxiety reasons.

Custom Content I will still be making new CC and will also try to update some of mine that was broken with the latest patch. I’m currently working on a big project to celebrate the 250 patron’s milestone I hit 1,5 months back and hopefully can finish it before the end of 2019. I might have to take a small break all together once i’m going to move. If that’s indeed the case, I will notify you guys over here and on Patreon beforehand + pause billing for a month if need be! But looking at the schedule now I might be able to just keep going.

Lots of love,

Renora.

#not feeling comfortable to clog everyone's dash with a big *ss post atm #normally i wouldn't think twice about it #XD #since i don't do it that often #non-sims #ohh well a little sims related stuff too

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ayy-spec · 4 years ago

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Anything to Add?

The final question in this survey was a write-in section for people to leave any additional comments. 113 people responded.

Important/Particularly Interesting Comments

• I hope this goes well for you because you seem nice and if you have any advice for new to the community 15 year olds like me, don't be afraid to share because I'm trying to embrace my sexuality as much as possible but it can be hard when I don't know where to go or turn to to find what I'm supposed to do and where to ask questions and just fully embrass this part of me and it can be hard when I don't even know many if any aspecs so representation is great and it is helpful to hear your experiences and how you handle certain parts, so just keep doing what your doing because it is making a difference [note: 🥺🥺😭]

• i often consider myself more as just aroace rather than aro and ace seperately so i prefer seeing the blue and orange aroace flag over the individual aro and ace flags

• I don't really shorten my identity often with aroace, only when im feeling very romance repulsed and its been a while since I felt romantic attraction. I am a pan-demiromantic asexual. My pan label makes me feel more connected to the lgbt+ community bc it feels like my nonbinary and intersex status doesn't count either. I know I belong in the queer community, but the lgbt+ community is so sexual orientation focused.

• Thank you for having a wide variety of labels to choose from in the options!! I don't see the term aegoromantic very often on things, it feels nice to be known I guess haha

• Thank you for this, i recently started thinking about being in arospec and it was so relieving, all this time i thought something was wrong or maybe i was broken. I'm still trying to learn more about it, and I'm grateful for people willing to teach and help

• didn't realize I hadn't experienced sexual attraction until I finally did and was like "OH, no wonder all my other relationships felt like I was playing pretend"

• I dont often tell people I'm gray aroace. Not because of shame or it not being "as important" (I'm a gay trans dude) but I think because I just feel its a very intimate part of myself, as well as my romanticism and sexuality (in terms of like asexuality) feeling as though it doesn't always need a label. I'm fine just being myself most of the time, a lot of labels can be tricky for myself I think. I'm happy the label exists nonetheless though because Its nice to know I'm not the only one who feels like this.

• I'm queer! But if I'm getting down to the bones of it, I'm pan/ace. Still relearning how to be proud of that, after The Grand Clusterfuck years back.

• even though I would be considered to have an alloromantic orientation, alloace isn't really a term I feel any strong connection or attachment to

• i'd like to add that i do consider myself alloaro and use that label openly but i'd also not consider myself 100% allosexual. i'm questioning my sexuality but even if i do end up feeling more solidly ace-spec i'd still use the alloaro label

• Idk who else does this or if this is interesting enough to write down, but I thought I would! I use Aroace as a label. Other, smaller labels inside that would probably fit me better! Aroace feels too big, like it doesn't *really* define exactly who I am. But at the same time, I prefer using it because more people know what Aroace means (at least compared to myrromantic and myrsexual). I use Aroace so the public can define me. I don't typically use it around my close friends 'cause they already know my idiosyncrasies and where I really am. They already made their own definitions for me, so I don't have to make one for them!

• I'm still figuring myself out, so I leave myself at the blanket terms and hopefully everything'll work out in the end

The rest of the responses are below:

Comments Alerting Me About Typos (that I was then able to resolve)

• There's a typo in your "sexual orientation labels" question, because you have Aroflux listed and not Aceflux, but I didn't want to confuse things so I put Aceflux (which I do use) under Other. I also am polysexual (I flux between polysexual and asexual but I am always aegosexual) but didn't know if I should but it under Other anywhere since it's not an acespec label. I consider my polysexuality tied to me being aego/aceflux though, which is why I mention it here.

• the sexual orientations options are the same of the romantic ones ( for example, there's arovague and arospike in the sexual cathegory)

People Clarifying/Expounding Upon Their Own Identity/Experiences

· to clarify: i'm unsure whether or not i am demi or aceflux; so i use graysexual since both labels technically fall under that as an umbrella term.

• I’m still a confused gorl and I really only know that I don’t like sex it sexual acts but I do like romantic and sensual acts

• Sex/romance repulsed and I have aesthetic attraction

• I'm also animesexual and fictosexual (and romantic I guess but I don't like using the SAM for myself).

• I have never seen most of these labels, haha, I expect one of them is the one I always forget that's for being aro due to past trauma but people always assume it's romantic/sexual trauma so I don't use it and thus have forgotten it...but that's the essay I'm not usually up for writing: was biromantic but then had several awful life events on top of each other and had a complete breakdown and have been aro since. Unclear if it's permanent but it's been 14 years now. [note: I believe this person is thinking of caedromantic]

• I tend to use the word ace more than asexual because it's shorter, but I don't feel more favorably about one than the other.

• i can't tell the difference between platonic vs romantic attraction, and am unsure if people i have "liked" in the past was romantic, platonic, or a fake stemming from peer pressure.

• Also Gender-Neutral/Agender

• I’m gray-aro but identify more with being biromantic even though I know I’m aro-spec. As for sexual orientation, I’m just completely ace xD

• The fact I'm still trying to figure out my gender makes it harder to pinpoint exactly what my orientations are :( but I usually say I'm queer, and if it's safe: Bi Ace, and if I can get more specific: biromantic grey-asexual

• I also use a platonic label (biplatonic). I use it not in a friendship way, but more like in a QPR way.

• Thank you for doing this! My identity on the aro/ace spectrums has shifted a lot over the years and while I’ve just settled on aroace and queer for the most part, this community is so diverse and under appreciated. People who find joy in/identify with micro-identities are valid and deserve representation!

• I'm still figuring out my romantic orientation but it's looking less allo by the day lmao

• My romantic label is very fluid, but in terms of sexual labels, very sex repulsed Asexual

• Content with just Aspec cause it's difficult to pinpoint anything but cool with both asexual/ace and aromantic/aro

• I think of my romantic orientation as halfway between aromantic and homoromantic

• I'm a polyamorous ace, if there'd be a way to include that sometimes that'd be neat :)

• I am still questioning my identity

• I used to identify as 100% ace but now I have no idea other than that I seem to be pan-ace in some way shape or form so my identity is ???people???

• Sex/romance repulsed and I have aesthetic attraction

• to clarify: i'm unsure whether or not i am demi or aceflux; so i use graysexual since both labels technically fall under that as an umbrella term.

Queer Rights

• Trans rights, baybee 🤠🦂

• I just hope a-spec and aro-spec people will experience less negativity and hate this year <3

• Aspec rights!!

• aspec rights, baby

People Being Nice to Me (I appreciated this thank you everyone!!)

· :)

• Have a good day

• Uhhh, cool survey, nice to see a lot of labels.... good job! Nothing I have to add, it was great

• Have fun chief, thank you for your work

• Thank you for creating!

• thanks for the survey! I don't know too many aspec in person so I love participating in things like this about the ace/aro community!

• Thank you for what you’re doing

• just hi :)

• thanks!!

• I really love your blog! Reading your posts always makes me happy :) [note: thank you!]

• Good luck, have a nice day !

• I hope you're having a good day :)

• you're lived and valid af!! have a great day!!!

• Thank you for all your hard work i really appreciate it ☺️

• Drink some water Right Now OP

• Nope, :> hope the best for you.

• Cool survey, 10/10 would survey again.

• 💛

• Have a nice day uwu

• Nope! Have a nice day!

• Thank you for making pride flag edits! They're really nice! [note: thank you!!]

• nope, but this is really cool!!

• ❤️

• Have a good day.

• I think this survey idea is super cool! Definitely a great way to see what sort of aspec people are on tumblr :)

• You are doing the lords work

• Thank you for asking us.

• good luck!

• This is really cute idea :)

• I hope you're having a nice day!

• Good luck in your endevours!

• Thank you for making our community visible!

• Have a good day :3

• Have a good day!!

• Keep doing great stuff!

• Thank you for all the positivity I get from your blog! It's super helpful, keep it up :) [note: thank you!!]

• thanks for doing this. recognition is always nice

• Have fun <3

• Lots of love 💛

• This is a cool project, thanks for doing it and good luck! :)

People Saying They Love Me (and I love you, random a-specs)

· i love you OP!!!!!

• love you, hope you have a great day

An A-Spec Person Being Rude to Other A-Specs

• If you enjoy sex with your romantic partner then you are not asexual

A Person Who Is Not A-Spec Being Rude To A-Specs

• sweetie im sorry that you're so insecure that you feel like you have to make up new identities to feel better about yourself. if you are a lesbian or bisexual please know that you are welcome in the community, but other than that making thousands of microlabels like this makes a huge joke out of what was once an important and respected group. nobody takes us seriously anymore because of this shit. does labelling your identity like this really help you with anything? demisexual and fraysexual and all this are just fancy words for normal human feelings that everyone has. there is no need to microlabel it.

Other

· [variations of “no” (12)]

• not sure that helps lmao but still hope it does. all the best

• Axolotls (or as I like to call them, asexulotls) are amazing and I love them [Note: the man in question]

• Sorry, I can't remember the names of any blogs that do edits

• Ok random but the colors of the aro/ace flag? The blue and orange one? They’re gorgeous.

• I'm not so sure if I should use the aroace flag, I feel comfortable using both aro and ace flags, but I don't like the colors for the aroace flag :c [note: these are in chronological order, it’s a total coincidence that these comments are together]

• Curious to see where the survey goes

• It would be cool if you could also do some aplatonic-spectrum edits!

• there were fully half of the terms on that list that i had never even seen before. like, everything below litho down to no label was entirely new to me. at some point i will look into those! (but not right now, my brain is full enough at the moment)

• actually had to look up the majority of these orientations. Thank you for the opportunity to learn!

• Gonna reblog and follow and hopefully learn a bit more, about others and myself

Note: The only comment that is not listed in order is the first comment, which I put at the top because I found it the most important. It’s so important that kids and teens have space to explore their identity and learn about themselves. The reason I made this blog in the first place was because I was 19 and working on figuring out my gender and sexuality. Now that I’m a bit older and understand things better, I’m so glad that I’m able to help people in this way.

I make it a point to be very openly queer in my life and at work because I need LGBTQ+ people, especially youths, to know that we’re here. I’m lucky that I live somewhere that I can be visibly queer and speak about it openly. We are everywhere, and there’s more of us than you think!

Something that I really like about the comments at the top is that they show how diverse we are, and how people use words differently. Some people feel like they’re more aroace than aromantic and asexual separately, and others consider their romantic and sexual orientations to be completely different things.

I definitely relate to the person who identifies are myrromantic and myrsexual with their friends but just says aroace when speaking with people they don’t know as well. I believe a lot of people use different words depending on who they’re speaking with.

#survey results #aphobia cw

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karmangierr · 6 years ago

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Too Bright It Hurts My Eyes

A fanfic speculation about what happened after Banana Fish anime version ending

By Karmangier

Betas: Charlie, @fatwithoutkatsudon

***

Notes:

My first fanfiction ever!!! This is my speculation about things happened after the anime ending, so SPOILER WARNING! Also in my speculation it should be an ending different from the manga one :) I know this is probably a little bit too long (~2200 words) for typical tumblr ficlets, but I’m still waiting for my AO3 account to be approved. Hope it’s still enjoyable to read :)

Shoutout to my awesome betas @fatwithoutkatsudon and Charlie (who’s not on tumblr)!

***

“It must be a good dream.”

It was an unfamiliar woman’s voice. And it was odd, not only because the voice was from a stranger, but also because it was speaking in Ash’s head.

Ash tried to open his eyes but he failed, nor could he move or even sense the rest of his body. His ears were filled with silence. It felt like blood had filled his whole head and was pressuring out his eardrum, making any outside sound impossible to enter his sensation system. He tried to get his brain functioning.

Ash Lynx had never had any good dreams, not that he could remember. There were countless nights that he jolted from lucid, dreadful nightmares, with tears and sweat everywhere. As if waking up and going back to real life could stop those scenes from haunting him. Nevertheless, the dream he just had was possibly the worst that he had ever experienced.

Or rather, it was more like, reality?

***

Ash was standing in a rye field. The rye was golden in color. It was hard to tell where its border was. Eventually the golden blanket of rye touched the same gold-colored sky somewhere very far away, Ash thought. No wind, just silence. How odd. As far as he could remember, a second ago he was sitting in the public library, in his spot, reading Eiji’s letter with very blurred vision, bleeding heavily from the wound on his stomach. That was painful. The pain was so extreme that it blocked him from understanding words in that letter. However he did not feel any pain now. His body felt normal, or even better than normal, lighter and swifter than in his peak time. He ran a few feet then slowed down. The rye plants opened in front of him and closed seamlessly as he passed, with no sound made by the plants or his own steps.

He stopped, only then he discovered a figure, not too far away, running away from where he stood. He ran up. The distance between them shortened and he could finally see. It was a child, dark curly hair and dark skin, almost shining under the golden sky.

“Skip!” Ash cried unbelievably, slowing down in great shock.

The boy turned back. They were close enough that Ash could tell he broke into a big smile, the exact bright and innocent smile as in Ash’s memory. But Skip did not stop, instead he sped up, disappearing in the color of gold.

Ash ran in full speed in the direction Skip went. To his surprise, after a while he was able to see the end of the rye field. Skip was standing still at the edge, waving to him.

With Skip there were two others. Without a millisecond of thought, Ash heard himself crying out loud, with all the happiness in the whole world: “Shorter! Griffin!”

All three of them were smiling and waving to him. Shorter was wearing his sunglasses, and Griffin was standing. They stood on the edge of the land, all shining from the golden sky in the back. Ash realized it was a cliff.

He slowed down again, and eventually stopped, looking at them with wide eyes.

So this is death. Ash had imagined what hell looked like in countless nights where he lost sleep from haunting nightmares. He had never thought death as a golden rye field, reuniting with his loved ones. He smiled to himself. He made it. He himself had made the decision. He chose his death, not under control by anyone else.

Does he deserve a beautiful death like this? A thought flashed by, and his heart ached sharply. He thought of the smile, the smile of the whole universe’s warmness and comfort, the Japanese boy’s smile. Eiji would miss him.

But it had always been impossible to be with him. When Ash was holding the plane ticket, he thought he finally saw hope in a light color beaming through a long dark tunnel, so tender and so tempting, making him want to reach out his palm and touch. But the stab by Lao pulled him to reality. He actually felt grateful to Lao, who pulled Ash soaring in illusion down to the ground, and more importantly, gave him the chance to choose his own death. A murderer could never escape from his own destiny. After killing the first person when he was a child, what was left in his life was only killing others, and eventually, being killed by someone else. Eiji tore a slip on Ash’s world to let light beam in, but Ash had no right, even just for a second, to dream about being in Eiji’s world. A safe and sound life with Eiji was too bright. It would hurt Ash’s eyes.

Being able to decide to bleed to death, in the only spot that granted Ash some peace in his world, on the other hand, was the best thing he could think of.

***

Ash resumed his steps, running towards the edge of the cliff. All three people were waiting for him peacefully. He would be with them forever --

Without warning, he was hit heavily by something, no, someone. He stopped abruptly, a sharp knife stabbed into his stomach. He looked down at the knife with widened eyes, then his sight reached the stabber. Blonde hair, fair skin, jade colored eyes looking straight into his soul, it was Ash Lynx.

The other Ash Lynx pulled out the knife with a low groan. A faint smile flashed on the corner of his mouth. “Caught you.” He whispered.

Then the world disappeared. The other Ash, Skip, Shorter, Griffin, the rye and sky, all were engulfed by the malleable darkness that was permeating in every direction.

“Nooooooo!” Ash howled with agony that exploded, but at the same time he kneeled down to the ground. Unbearable pain burst from the wound like a sharp fire alarm with flashing lights. His body went back to the clumsy and almost uncontrollable mess as before when he managed to make it to the library. He tried to raise his head but could not see anything but impenetrable darkness. Tears everywhere. Where, where to go --

A pair of soft hands covered and pressed his wound, though not helping with the pain, Ash could feel the hands being gentle but steady. Ash widened his eyes but still could not see anything. Someone was holding him, wrapping arms around his shoulder.

Ash collapsed against the person’s chest. Don’t go… He cried in his mind. “Stay with me…” He panicked. “At least... just for now...” he murmured, like a snobbing child. A hand was gently patting his back.

“My soul will be with you, forever.”

***

Pain. Ash lifted up his eyelids that weighed a ton for a little bit. The blood that was previously filling his head seemed to slowly ebb away. His vision was still blurry, but was clear enough for him to recognize the desk in the library. He looked down -- shit, blood had soaked his coat and had been dripping to form a pool on the floor.

He managed to raise up his head using all his strength. The library was empty, even more spacious than before. It was already dark outside, with lights of the city glimmering through the windows.

That was indeed a bad dream. Or was that really what death would be like? Then why the hell did he come back now? He gave himself a lifeless wry smile. In the end, he still had no right to choose for himself.

Or what if, deep in his heart, though reluctant to admit, he had a different choice that he wanted to make, so badly that even death could not pull him away?

Ash reached for his phone in his pocket. Every movement he made worsened the pain. He called the only person that he could think of.

Max Lobo was not answering.

Ash hung up, then called the same number again. The ringing tone sounded loud and desperate in the empty hall.

“Shitty old man --” Ash could not even finish his swear but inhaled. The pain was real. He needed to get out of here.

***

He had no memory of how he managed to get out of the library. He was on the street, bending his body while both hands pressing on his bleeding wound. It was snowing, and snow had piled up a thin layer on the sidewalk. Had it started snowing when he got into the library? He could not remember.

He moved awkwardly in the same posture. With each step he moved less than a foot. He had been short of breath. Like a ninety-year-old ancient old fuck. He thought, even with a lifeless smile. Will I have that day?

He stopped constantly with the excuse of calling Max, but none of the calls were picked up. He had no strength to curse. After stumbling through a hundred or one and half blocks, he landed on his knees and his vision blacked out again…

***

Ash Lynx woke up. It was too bright that his eyes hurt. He spent some time to realize that he was staring at a very white ceiling. As soon as he gained enough consciousness to realize that he was in a hospital ward, he heard the door cracking open.

He still had no control over his limbs so he could not respond with any reaction. He screamed but only heard himself making a low, almost funny noise. He smelled medical disinfectant.

“Oh my goodness, he is awake!” He saw a middle aged woman’s face lighting up with surprise. “I should call his family!” She shouted to herself, ran out, closed the door with almost a slam.

Family? Ash was more than confused. But that was not the most important thing for now. He tried to move his right arm a little bit. It felt so numb. He was furiously battling with his own body.

The door was opened again, this time rudely. A tall and strong figure walked in. “Ash!” The man cried with happiness.

“Max!” Ash shouted with hoarse voice. Before he realized, Max had gave him a big hug, pinning him in the bed, almost making the right arm that he just managed to move numb again.

“Ash you don’t know how much I have been worried about you!”

“Hold on--” Ash was almost screaming. Max let Ash free, regaining some calmness. “Guess how long you have been in a coma? Two weeks! It was not even anything major, definitely not as bad as last time. You were just losing too much blood… Look at what you did… Why didn’t you--”

“Wait!” Ash interrupted Max’s dramatic speech. “How did I get here?”

Max hestatited for a second, but still began to speak: “Sing’s people found you. Sing discovered Lao’s plan not too long after Lao was found missing. But it was - it was still a bit too late… They only found Lao’s body and the knife, apparently you had been stabbed...”

“They kept searching for you for a few hours in that area. When they were about to give up, someone found you two blocks away from the public library. Gosh how did you get that far with that wound…”

“Sing…” Ash sighed. How should he feel right now?

“They saved you.” Max gave him a steady look. “Sent you to the hospital and when I called in, they picked up your phone and told me everything.”

Ash felt his blood suddenly traveled to his head again. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer my calls?!”

Max gave him an apologizing look: “You know, an old man does not always carry his phone around. When I saw your 6 missed calls, I knew something had happened, so I immediately called back…”

Ash had a thousand curses in his throat. But instead of letting them all go, he had something more important to say. “I want to --”

Max pat his shoulder, then turned back to his bag. He handed Ash an envelope. “Let this be my apology to missing your calls”.

Ash frowned, and opened the envelope with confusion.

A plane ticket, and a passport.

Ash looked at Max with wide, shining eyes that had never been greener. His mouth was forever open --

“The flight is in 10 days. Just bought it. To Tokyo, of course. And your new identity --” He opened the passport in Ash’s hands.

“Aslan -- Lobo???”

Max Lobo broke into a big smile and opened his arms again towards Ash.

“Good luck in Japan, son!”

***

Ash walked along the linking bridge. When he reached the airport hall, everything was so bright that it almost hurt his eyes. It felt so unreal that he flew out when it was evening, and now when he touched the ground again, it was already noon.

He reached for his sunglasses hanging on the collar of his shirt. The cool hard metal frame reminded him that it was so real in reality. He put down his hand, decided not to wear them, and sped up his steps.

Suddenly, something, no, someone hit him heavily. Ash stopped abruptly, so in shock that he thought he was stabbed again.

But this time instead of a cold hard blade, he felt warm arms circling around his shoulder, pressing gently but steadily.

“Welcome, Ash!” Eiji said, with a smile that lighted up everything.

#banana fish #fanfiction #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura #max lobo #please MAPPA let this happen

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sorbriquette · 6 years ago

Text

Fixing Simon Snow: Ch 1-2

Would you believe less than a week after getting an affirmative to the question “should I post fics on tumblr as well as AO3″ I forgot???

So here’s chapter 1 and 2 -

Summary:

Simon Snow, an orphan taken into the guardianship of Davy Mage, has, without his knowledge or consent, been promised to Basilton Pitch. With a catch, if Baz can't fix Simon's behavioural issues and general lack of class, the deal's off. Simon being unwilling and difficult turns out to be a small obstacle in comparison to Baz slowly discovering he doesn't want Simon to change at all.

Note: This is not a historical fiction, it’s an AU of my own creation w/ a lil historic flare

Word Count: 5720

AO3 Link: One || Two

Baz

I was, to say the least, shocked when Father finally relented and found me a male to marry. I was more shocked when I found out who it was.

Heir to the House of Mage. Long-standing enemies of my own family. It must be quite the dowry. And from what I hear it ought to be. Simon Snow is well known to be something of a disaster amongst the nobility. No manners, a terrible conversationalist and far more interested in swordsmanship than any kind of intellectual pursuits.

Davy Mage apparently plucked him out of some orphanage, that's the story he tells people anyway. I've heard more than a few rumours that he's actually Mage's bastard son. I wouldn't be surprised. The man was always more self-righteous than actually righteous and there is something of a resemblance between the two of them.

Frankly though, disaster, bastard, whatever he is, at least he is a he . Last time Father told me he'd organised a possible partner for me he'd brought back Agatha Wellbelove and neither of us were particularly happy with that arrangement. So obviously it didn't work out.

"What's the catch?" I ask my father because he wouldn't fold this easily, not after being so adamant for so long.

I see something tug at the corner of my father's perpetually pursed lips and think maybe I've impressed him. "His father won’t give him away unless you can straighten him out."

I raise an eyebrow at my father. He seems to take my meaning and elaborate.

"I mean, Basilton, that if you want to wed him, you'll have to fix his behavioural issues."

I scoff, "I won't wish to wed him if I can't."

It hangs unspoken between us. My father doesn't think I can manage it. He thinks Snow is just going to press on being trouble and when this falls through that I'll finally accept marriage with a woman.

He's wrong. On both accounts.

I will fix Snow. And if I somehow fail? I don't want him specifically, but I'll still want a him.

But of course, my father thinks it's that simple to just become interested in women. He thinks there's a way that I'll ever be interested in women at all. He's wrong about that too.

I pull myself from the plush chair in my father's office. It's late, I should be turning in. "Anything else Father?"

"He'll be on his way tomorrow," my Father comments, swirling a glass of what I think is wine in one hand as he gazes into the fireplace, "you'll only have a few months, so I wish you luck."

I don't respond. I just nod and leave, wondering if I can keep myself awake long enough that I should get Vera to run a bath.

Simon

I'm not sure what's happening exactly. Just that Mage told me I'm going to spend a few months at Pitch Manor.

Frankly, I don't relish the idea. Mage is always going on about how the Pitches are awful, the absolute embodiment of everything wrong with the world, everything he's trying to fix.

Taxes and associations and secret meetings. That's how he's apparently fixing things, the wealth gap and such. I'm not sure how him owning half the countryside helps fix that. Or how using the taxes to build a militia helps. But that is information that isn't really my business.

This is my business though. Me being shipped halfway across the country into the waiting arms of our enemy. So why didn't he tell me about this?

Just tossed me in a carriage first thing, having some servants tote the few things I own out after me.

A carriage which is now pulling up outside of Pitch Manor.

I'm not scared of them, despite how Mage goes on about them being evil incarnate. I am uneasy though. He didn't even let me grab my sword. Something about not wanting to be seen as sending them a threat. Which if anything, only serves to make this more confusing.

I wonder if I can convince the Pitches to give me a sword? They're probably worried I'd slit their throats in the night. I don't see why I'd need a sword for that though, I could just nick a knife from the kitchens.

The carriage pulls up before I can work out the details of that particular plan.

Just as I reach for the door handle, the carriage door swings open of its own accord. Or it seems someone has opened it for me. Maybe they are the posh gits Mage makes them out to be.

I only become surer of that when I spot them. Malcolm and Basilton Pitch, standing there with twin expressions of apathy. I wonder if it's just some kind of hereditary facial structure or if the whole family gets together to practice those.

Basilton doesn’t look like his father, not completely. His skin is several shades darker and his eyes are a deep grey. Where his hair is stark raven, his father’s is tinged with grey though that’s probably more to do with age than anything. Still, they bear the same sharp features, all edges and lines.

Natasha Pitch was the last line of defence against Mage. The last proper one at least. He talks about it all the time. Though I don’t know the circumstances of her death, we can barely get a few weeks without Mage bringing it up.

Both Pitches seem to examine me, though somehow the younger's gaze is more harrowing than his father's. But maybe that's just because Malcolm Pitch steps forward first.

"Master Snow," he greets offering me a hand.

I reach out and shake it. "Uh, hey," I give him a somewhat weak smile.

Basilton looks like he's just been punched in the gut at that, though his father doesn't seem phased or surprised. My lack of etiquette isn't exactly a secret. There's so many rules and no sense behind any of them. I don't get why anyone would bother with any of that.

I wasn't raised nobility and Mage never took it upon himself to teach me. Just hiring subpar tutors who gave up easily, not used to dealing with quite my calibre of uncouth.

"A pleasure," Malcolm says, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I'll leave Basilton to show you around, I suppose it's important to let you two get acquainted first."

I'm not quite sure what he means by that but I don't question it. It's not like anyone ever answers my questions . Basilton, sullen as he is, is about my age though, so maybe I could get something out of him.

I don't even remember my suitcase until I see a couple of servants carrying it up the steps. I don't ask. No one else seems interested in commenting.

Malcolm retreats, as do basically all of the servants.

Mage always made sure I had a few people with me at all times. I never quite understood why. I never really even saw it as odd, I just assumed it was what nobility did. But they all trickle away back into the manor until it's just me and Basilton.

He holds his arm out at a weird angle, looking pointedly at me for a few moments. I look back, not breaking eye contact but also terribly confused as to what he's doing.

Eventually, he drops his arm and just motions for me to follow him inside. "The grounds are extensive, if I show them to you it will have to be on horseback. So we'll leave that for another day. You are permitted to explore them of course, just don't go too far without someone, we wouldn't want you getting lost or hurt."

Is that a threat? I'm genuinely unsure if he's threatening me or not. I suppose I'll find out in good time. I'd ask now but he's already barrelling on. "The south wing is for leisure," he tells me, holding a door off to the side of a rather expansive main hall open for me. "Music room, library, ballroom," he lists off, leading me through each and giving me some commentary as he does.

It doesn't help, not really. And frankly, I don't really listen. We're on our way back to the entrance hall when I finally ask my question. "It's lovely and all, really," I open with because I'm not great at these things but I don't try to be rude, "but why am I here."

A crack appears in Basilton's uncaring mask for but a moment. Eyes widening and mouth falling open for the shortest time before he gathers himself, brushing a few errant strands of hair back out of his face. "Mage didn't tell you?"

I just shake my head. He seems to know at least, whether or not he'll tell me is a different story.

Basilton pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, inhaling slowly, "Even when he's cooperating, he's an annoyance." Usually, I'd object, stand up for Mage, he gave me a home after all. But right now, it is annoying and I think Basilton might give me answers so I keep my mouth shut. "We are to be wed," he explains.

"Who?"

I thought that perhaps his exasperation was at its peak, but apparently, that's the one emotion he doesn't mind showing. "You and I, Snow."

I do a double take, staring at Basilton as I process what he's saying. The longer it goes on the higher his eyebrow rises and the more pressured I feel to say something, but all I can articulate is, "no."

Basilton seems unphased and shrugs, "somehow I doubt you have a say in the matter."

"Do you?" I ask, still, completely aghast Mage has delivered into the midst of our enemy and now wants me to marry one of them.

He exhales, his head tilting side to side, "somewhat."

"Do you even want to marry me?"

"Not as you are."

I don't try to stop my face from contorting into a scowl, "as I am?" I press.

He raises a hand between us before gesturing to all of me. "Boorish," he supplies.

Boorish. What a prat. I want to hit him but I'm worried that will only prove his point. "So we're calling this off then?"

It's a relief, really, I didn't want to marry him when he wasn't being an arse, I want to even less now.

But he shakes his head and ushers me along into another wing of the house. "Definitely not, I just have a couple of months to fix you."

"Fix me?" It basically comes out as a hiss. I'm not sure I've ever sounded so annoyed before. But I'm also not sure I've ever been this insulted.

"Yes," he says, casually, callously and with that same bored expression across his face, "I will not take a husband who acts like a brute."

"I won’t be taking you as a husband at all," I snap back, his calm only stoking my rage.

Basilton scoffs merely walking me through rooms now instead of explaining them. Dining room, kitchen, a stupidly fancy lounge and down a corridor to what I think is bedrooms. "Then you'll have to discuss it with your father. Besides, it's not like anyone else would want you."

For every ounce of anger in me, he seems twice as stoic and I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face. So, I do it the only way I know how. I draw my arm back and swing at him.

I don't think he was expecting it because I clock him right in the nose and he stumbles back, blood dripping down his front to stain his shirt and his waistcoat. Maybe I'll regret that later. Maybe I should feel bad. Right now, though I'm just glad to have shut him up.

I don't think anyone’s ever hit him before because he blinks a few times before regathering his composition.

I expect him to come back at me with a sneer and some biting words. Maybe I've misjudged him though because instead a fist connects with my jaw and it's my turn to stumble back.

"Fuck," I curse, rubbing my face and gearing up to jump at him again.

Someone interrupts us though.

"Well that didn't take long, what did you say to him, Baz," a voice pipes up from beside us.

I'm so used to being chastised that it takes me a moment to realise she's not talking to me.

"The truth," Basilton- Baz- says as he draws a handkerchief from his waistcoat and uses it to wipe the blood from his face, "that he's unrefined and unwanted."

The girl, (woman?) steps in between us. She's shorter than me and rounder than most but she seems to be trying to size Baz up and I feel immediately fond of her for it. Her hair is a strikingly unnatural blue (I didn't even know hair came in blue) and her glasses are thick both in terms of lenses and the way they curve out past the edges of her face at a point.

"Snow, this is Bunce, she helps along the wear and tear on our library as well doing countless other useless and annoying things," Baz says, still pinching the bridge of his nose but aside from that, you'd think he was in perfect health.

The girl holds out a hand to me and I take it, "Penelope," she corrects, "anyone who's not an utter prick can call me Penelope, or Penny."

For all the words laden with insult, neither Baz nor Penny seems particularly annoyed at the other. If anything, I think I see the corner of Baz's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, but I'm probably just imagining things.

"Uh, Simon," I manage, letting my hand fall from rubbing my jaw to clasp hers.

"Oh, I know, my parents tutor the Pitches, so they'll be giving you lessons too." She doesn't let go of my hand, pulling me off down the corridor. "I show him to his room, Baz."

Baz doesn't protest, just waves her off with his free hand and turns around.

"What's his problem?" I ask Penny before Baz is entirely out of earshot.

"You'll need to be more specific."

That makes me laugh, but laughter only serves to reignite the pain in my jaw. "What's his problem with me?"

Penny shrugs, "I don't think you were what he's been hoping for."

For all his faults (and I've only known him less than an hour but I know they are many) he's still attractive and he has money and status, so I'm not sure why he isn't just getting whomever he wants. It's not like it would be hard for him.

"What is he hoping for?"

Penny looks me up and down for a moment, dropping my hand when she seems confident that I'm going to follow. "I'm not sure. I don't think he's sure either, really."

I don't press her further, I'm not even sure what question to ask.

"This is your room," she tells me pushing open a door to reveal a room far larger and more elaborately decorated than any room has a right to be. "Someone's already brought your things up though somehow I doubt the Pitches will let you wear them," she nods to a trunk at the foot of the stupidly large four-poster bed, "I can only assume there's still hope for you to escape if Baz hasn't just burnt them."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?"

Penny gives me a once over. I follow her gaze over my patched tunic, loose pants and worn boots. Admittedly, I probably did look like a servant standing next to Baz earlier. Or maybe someone else's servants, because all his have waistcoats and cravats as well.

"Where do all those taxes Mage demands go if none is left over to buy you new clothes," she says reaching out and tugging at a piece of tunic that's been sewn closed where it tore.

I try not to pout. "I don't know, you think he tells me?"

She shrugs, "well he certainly doesn't tell us," she smiles at me a moment, genuinely, everything about her feels genuine. "Baz will probably have someone summon you for lunch soon, so best of luck."

I don't need to ask her why she's wishing me luck. I had little more than a few moments with Basilton Pitch and I feel like all the luck in the world will be little help against him.

I don't ask why she's leaving or try to stop her. I need the time alone to prepare for this. To figure out what in the hell is going on here and how to put an end to it.

Chapter 2

Simon

Baz does summon me for lunch maybe he expected me to change because he looks me up and down with the same judgement as Penny but tenfold.

He's changed, but I suppose he had to since his last lot of clothes got covered in blood. Somehow his waistcoat has only gotten more extravagant though, embroidered with gold thread and fabric the same black as his hair.

He's so fucking pretentious.

The rest of his family does not join us to eat. When I mention it he just brushes me off with something about me not being fit to eat with his family. Or him. But apparently, I'm his 'responsibility' or something equally annoying.

So, we eat in the garden, which isn't altogether unpleasant. It's not raining but it's not exactly sunny either. Still, the plants are well tended and the patio we eat on is nestled between hedges and feels oddly private. I'm not even sure I'd be able to find my way here if not for the servant who led me.

Baz sits opposite me, on a cushioned chair with one leg crossed over the other, seemingly more interested in me than the food.

I mightn't like Baz but this food is amazing. There are roast beef sandwiches and pastries and some of the nicest tea I've ever had. Baz wrinkles his nose when I sully it with loads of milk but I pay him no heed, dumping several spoons of sugar in after and looking him dead in the eye as I do it.

And the scones.

The scones .

They're amazing. Probably the best thing I've ever eaten and I'm sure they're freshly baked because when I spread butter over them it melts until they're soaked through and butter starts trickling down the sides.

Baz looks less impressed. Maybe because this is regular for him or maybe just because he enjoys looking unimpressed. It's hard to tell. He just pokes food around his plate and every time he eats something he does so with knife and fork, even the bloody sandwiches.

It's unsettling. Him giving me all this food. Nice even.

"Do you like it?" he asks me, obviously doing his best to make it seem like he doesn't care to hear my answer. He waits for it anyway.

I nod vigorously, crumbs flying across the table as I say, "Yeah, it's amazing."

I see his mouth twitch up into a sneer, looking positively disgusted by me. "Well enjoy it, because until we teach you some proper manners, this is the last time you'll be enjoying anything other than roasts and gruel."

My mouth clacks shut though the noise is largely muffled by the food I have to bite through to make the gesture. Does he really think that a roast is the kind of food you serve as punishment?

"You seem to particularly like the scones, so I think we'll give you those back last."

He's evil. Actually, properly evil. The kind of evil you get hired to put a sword through, not forced to marry.

"That's bullshit," I snap at him when I finally manage to swallow my food. Or mostly swallow it. I can feel it slowly moving down my throat and it hurts but I try not to let it show.

Baz leans forward, not in interest but to rest his elbow on the table and perch his chin in his hand. Certainly not proper etiquette but I doubt he'd bother with it around me. He certainly seems more 'do as I say not as I do'. "And yet every time you open your mouth, either to speak or to shovel food into it, you make me more sure it's a necessity."

I gulp down tea, trying to make it seem like I just need a drink and not letting him know I'm trying to wash down the brick of food slowly making its way down my oesophagus.

"Enjoy it while you can Snow," he tells me, still watching me like he knows exactly how much I'm suffering right now, "it will be the last time you get scones. But do hurry up, I need to show you the stables."

Baz

When I was younger, I was more idealistic about the man I would end up with. And when I was much younger, I thought it would be a woman but that's beside the point.

With each potential wife my father tried to pitch me, and every girl he tried to make me talk to at a ball, I slowly started hacking away at that ideal. Settling for less. Just wanting a man instead of the perfect one.

I was not, however, expecting my standards to sink so low as Simon Snow.

He's the opposite of everything I'd always dreamed of.

I want someone who'll debate me and he didn't so much as look up in the library, so he's obviously not intellectual.

It was always a long shot but I wanted another musician, piano maybe, so we could play a duet. Snow seems minimally interested in music as well.

Obviously, he'd have been well mannered and clean cut and charming. Not charming to me, I don't particularly care about that, but charismatic certainly. Enough to engage with the other nobility with me. Enough to offset my sour disposition. Enough to convince my father that this hypothetical man was truly as perfect as I thought. So, my father would like him. So, my father would let me keep him.

Snow though?

Snow can barely string a sentence together and even then, it's littered with 'uhm's and 'ah's.

General attractiveness was important but less essential to the rest I suppose. That is the one category in which Snow excels though.

He's gorgeous.

Bronze curls I want to run my fingers through. They look so soft and they bounce a little when he walks, turning almost golden when the light catches them at the right angle. Making my breath catch when that happens.

And tawny skin spattered with moles and freckles. I want to trace my fingertips from dot to dot along his skin. I want to trace the same lines with my lips. And my tongue.

His blue eyes are so very plain but if they weren’t, I think it would all be a bit much. Too much going on, nothing to focus it. They add balance, like he's a work of fucking art specifically designed to ruin me.

I can only see so much of it under ill-fitting clothing but his body seems nice too. Broad shouldered and tall (but importantly, not taller than me). He seems a bit on the slim side but that won’t be an issue with the way he eats. I mightn't be inclined to give him decadent things just yet, but they will be plentiful.

I suppose that's part of all this though. I can take the stupid, uncultured, stunning, catastrophe that Snow is and shape him into what I want. Exactly what I want. Books, piano, polite conversation and all.

Maybe.

If I can pull this off.

We walk in silence to the stables. Well, it would be silent if not for Snow's insistence that he breathe through his mouth. I comment on it multiple times but he just brushes me off.

I think he's still mad about the scones.

Simon

I'm still mad about the scones.

I stay mad about the scones all through the walk to the stables.

I think I'll stay mad about the scones forever maybe.

It is a long trek to the stables. They're on the other side of the house from the garden where we ate and the walk there gives me time to appreciate how truly massive Pitch Manor is. Not even the estate, which sprawls on further than the eye can see, just the house itself is enormous.

Enormous but far from empty.

From what I can gather the servants live on the premises, as do the staff. Penelope and her parents (and people I think might be her siblings that I've passed in the halls). I wouldn't be surprised if the stable hands live here too. There's certainly the space for it.

Baz keeps making snippy comments. About my breathing, about my posture, about the way I walk.

I do my best to ignore him. Because I think maybe he just wants a rise. But also, because I know I won’t get a proper retort out and will just end up taking another swing at him.

I don't know what I expected when we got to the stables. A load of horses being doted on. And while there is certainly that, I did not expect a pretty young girl to be tending to them.

"Wellbelove," Baz greets with a nod as we approach.

The girl starts some, appearing completely enamoured with the horse she's brushing. "Basilton," she offers a sweet smile, blonde hair fluttering through the air around her as she turns. Her eyes rest on me for a moment and I start to wish that I had changed before coming here. "Finally got one you want then?"

It's more statement than a question but Baz still replies, "Unfortunately not."

Wellbelove seems to look confused for a moment but she still affixes me with a smile and offers me a delicate hand. I shake it, unsurely, and she and Baz exchange a glance.

"Agatha Wellbelove," she introduces herself with what I think is a curtsey.

"Uh- Simon Snow," I return with a nod.

She and Baz exchange another glance.

"I need you to teach him to ride."

I swivel to look at Baz, unlike him, I don't have to fake my emotions as I look completely affronted. "What?"

Baz completely ignores me, keeping his gaze trained on Agatha and not even giving me a sideways glance, "You have him for two hours then I'll come back and get him."

"What?" My words are more outraged then and joined by an exclamation of Agatha's.

Baz just turns on his heel and walks away from both of us after a bored, "thank you, Wellbelove."

"Basil." Agatha makes a noise something like an irritated snap but far more elegant.

I square my shoulders and set off after Baz, causing Agatha to protest again, "Simon."

"Oi," I snap, grabbing at his shoulder but perhaps hitting him before has set him on edge because he sidesteps me.

Baz spins back around to face me, still just looking bored. "What?"

Honestly, I hadn't planned this far, so I stand there sputtering for a few moments, "I just- I don't - why-"

Baz groans and puts a hand to his forehead like I've somehow disappointed him yet again. "Surely you can manage a sentence, come on Snow, just one."

I effectively growl, "I can't ride."

"Well, Wellbelove will teach you, now go." He points a finger over my shoulder, looking far too much like someone trying to direct a disobedient dog for my liking.

I stand a little taller and affix him with a glare, "Fuck off, I'm not your pet."

"No, I'm sure most pets are much smarter than you."

"I'm sure there are plenty that are less of a bitch than you." I snap back and Baz just raises an eyebrow, "dogs, I'm talking about literal bitches."

Baz gives me a long slow look, pursing his lips, eyebrow still raised. "I got it, it just wasn't very good. Now go get on a horse and hopefully you'll have something better in two hours."

"But-"

Baz just turns away again and I feel a hand on my elbow as Agatha appears beside me. It makes me jump but her touch is light and gentle so I don't flinch away.

"Trust me, the horses have much better manners, come on," she pulls me in the opposite direction as Baz either ignores or doesn't hear us.

As it happens, Agatha is great.

Horses, I don't like. But Agatha is great. Even if she does give me a withering look every few minutes that stings as badly as Baz's insults. She doesn't make me ride around or anything, takes her sweet time introducing me to all the horses, I forget nearly all their names but I savour not having to ride any of them for a while.

Then she makes me lead one them around, which is also not awful.

But then she makes me ride one. Not properly, I just sit on it and she leads the horse around. She seems more interested in the horses than me but we still chat, if only because it helps distract me.

"So, do you live here?" I ask hesitantly.

Agatha makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "God no, my family has an estate an hour's ride away, I'm just here for the stables." She enunciates her point by giving the horse I'm atop a gentle pet. If the way it jostled me as it walked wasn't enough to prevent me blocking out the horse, then that brings me sharply back to reality.

"You don't have horses?"

Really the words estate combined with Agatha's frankly upper-class demeanour make me wonder why she wouldn't.

Agatha gives a heavy sigh, "Mage took them for his military."

She seems disappointed, annoyed, a little hurt even, it makes me feel bad. I know I shouldn't, what Mage does isn't my problem, but still.

"And he didn't take Baz's?"

"He tried," Agatha mutters, "Malcolm threw a fit, or as much of one as he can manage without seeming upset or making any facial expressions. And Fiona said she'd burn down the barn and slit all the horses’ throats before she let Mage take them." She grimaces as she speaks, "They don't even like them, they just don't want Mage to have them."

"Fiona?" I ask, pulling Agatha from her thoughts and the frown across her face.

"Baz's aunt, on his mother's side," she explains, obviously seeing the frown on my face and continuing, “she lives in town, not here, prefers to be able to get to the tavern easily. Prefers ale and drunkards to champagne and nobles."

Honestly, compared to everyone here and their perpetual sneers, she sounds like a breath of fresh air. But Agatha crinkles her nose as she speaks, obviously not particularly fond of this Fiona.

Agatha leads my horse back into the stable. I don't so much get off as fall off, landing on my arse on the stable floor, my only solace being that I don't land in a pile of horse shit. Agatha keeps it quite clean in here, not herself of course, mainly by snapping or batting her eyes at stable hands.

I hear laughter, with a snort in its midst and then faux coughing as Baz tries to cover it up. Not so perfect after all I suppose.

"Does me learning to be a fancy prick involve having to laugh like that?"

Baz's expression quickly contorts back into a glower, banishing the thought that he's capable of feeling any kind of positive emotions. "Step one is teaching you how to stand, instead of rolling around on the floor like an infant." He snaps back, tilting his head to the side and giving me the most condescending look I've ever seen.

Before I can respond Agatha cuts in, "You two are acting like you're married already," she sighs, leading the horse away, shooting me an unconcerned look at where I'm still laying on the floor.

If the glare I give her is annoyed, Baz's is downright livid. She doesn't pay much heed to either.

"Snow," Baz says, getting my attention back and giving me a pointed look.

"What now?"

"Get off the ground the horses defecate on and go get changed for dinner."

I frown at him, getting to my feet. "Are we eating with your parents?"

"No, we've been through this, you are far from ready for that."

We have been through that, but it doesn't really make sense. "Then why do I have to change?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because I don't want a dinner companion who smells like horse."

Agatha sticks her head out of the stable, glowering at Baz, "there is nothing wrong with horses."

"Not if they're the main course, certainly not," Baz says and Agatha looks like she may hit him, "but if Snow smells like one, with the way he eats, he would be indistinguishable. If perhaps less well-groomed than your horses Wellbelove."

"Fuck off," I snap at Baz, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit him again. Really that is the main emotion Baz makes me feel it seems.

Baz seems amused at my response but Agatha crinkles her nose in distaste at my language, "I concur, both of you please-" she hesitates obviously hesitant to choose the same phrase as me, "leave."

"Gladly," Baz sighs, turning away and walking off again, beckoning me to follow over his shoulder.

I stand my ground out of pure spite.

It takes him a moment to realise and then rounds on me arms folded, "Snow, let me be clear, unless you bathe and change, you aren't getting dinner. I don't care if it happens now, or tonight or not for a week, I'm not eating with you unless you're clean and you're not eating unless it's with me."

I groan and trudge on after him, wondering if there will be any knives at dinner sharp enough to end him.

#Carry on #my fics #Imma make a tag so i can find this shit later #sorry for the lack of tumblr post and slow updates?

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dorms-fic-archive · 6 years ago

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EreAni 30 Day OTP Challenge - NOT SFW REBOOT [2/30, trial and error in miniature]

Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin, because I hadn’t seen anyone else attempt this with the pairing. [Ao3 | FFNet.]

a/n: I literally only did this to see if I could make it feasible. I’m not sure whether it was a mistake, but it was pretty fun to write. Titan!Eren is a nightmarish monstrosity, so turning him into something more familiar was the challenge here.

edit: changed rating on tumblr to mature to fight the tumblr bots. This does not mean the chapter is anything below a pretty hard r. Tread lightly.

.02 – Half-Dressed, New Position

Rating: Mature

The fight has ended, and Annie Leonhardt claws her way from the remnants of her own crumbling shell into silvery light. The morning sky is a gloomy grey where it's not obscured above the mesh of gigantic trees, and the air carries a chill; ideal conditions for a Titan transformation.

Stumbling to her feet is an act that rends countless threads of reddish sinew, quickly disintegrating. Her head tilts back as rain impacts in little pinpricks up and down her skin. Steam emits from the body discarded and permeates beneath her clothes, drawn into her lungs with each breath.

She's left a boot and her jacket behind—a rookie mistake—and she scowls; but these are replaceable.

She is not alone for long. The shadow of the beast looms overhead, offering a hand. Annie clambers into the outstretched palm without hesitation or fear, lifted up to eye-level, shielded from the elements by a mass of dark, shaggy hair.

"I can get out on my own, you know."

Though her voice is stable, she's shivering involuntarily from exposure, and quick to collapse.

The Titan makes a worried noise. Its fingers close beneath her, like cupping water.

"I'm fine, Eren," she insists, hand raised in an attempt to dissuade him. "Just—give me a moment."

The Titan's expression has taken on something like concern. When you've hung around a bunch of Shifters for years, emotion becomes easier to discern—never-mind the fact that Eren couldn't be more obvious if he tried, Titan or not.

"How are you holding up?" she calls. The Titan huffs, emitting a little puff of steam through flat teeth. Annie allows herself a tiny smile, but he probably can't see from here.

She makes an effort to relax as they start moving. That's never something she's managed to get used to—at twelve or sixteen, it still unnerves her to feel the weight of each thunderous footstep, lurch by lurch. She draws her knees up to her chest and bows her head, breathing in, out.

The Titan's skin is like a pyre that does not burn. Her manoeuvre gear weighs on her frame, the metal shockingly cold, the straps digging into flesh, and the pallor of the sky and the verdant trees contrast visually, disorienting her further.

But Annie isn't in any immediate distress, merely incommoded. (There is some vague recollection in her mind that Reiner and Bertholdt would oftentimes look out for one another after their transformations, but they were already close; she would never tolerate that nonsense….)

Her grip on her sleeve tightens. Through the thin cover of her rain-drenched clothes, there is a misconception of nudity; the harness constrains her while heat spills out beneath the skin. Unable to stand it any longer, she unbuckles her remaining boot before making an effort to remove the harness.

This is hardly simple, given the constant movement, compromising her dexterity. She grits her teeth, searching for the buckles. Her fingers scrap leather, then the metal framework, and in about a minute she has managed to free her arm, only to be thrown off-balance by the ODM gear weighing her down. Annie refuses to be discouraged, and sets about unbuckling the other arm. She's gotten all the way down to her abdomen before she realises they've stopped moving.

When she raises her head, the Titan is watching her curiously. It makes another sound, like a croon, lower than animal or human.

"It's hot," she says bluntly, but her voice comes out uneven. "I can't stand it."

Annie is aware she has never complained about this before. She must sound idiotic, and besides, the Titan holding her is not truly Eren. But Titans don't look at people the way it—he?—is looking at her; alarm giving way to puzzlement, perhaps intrigue.

(Commander Hanji would probably have a field day with this notion, but Annie decides to stop reflecting what Hanji would or would not do from this point onward, before she completely loses her nerve.)

She's already freed from her shirt, currently working her trousers down her legs until the straps impede her progress. Annie curses, trying to pull them back on, but between her soggy clothes and the restriction of the half-discarded harness she can only really reach her knees. She's not going anywhere.

"I guess I'm stuck for a bit," she admits, slightly abashed. Then she looks up at the Titan, smirking, and adds, "Don't take that the wrong way."

The Titan continues to gaze at her steadily. Relax, she tells herself. He's not an Aberrant, he's just….

Abruptly, he tilts his hand just-so and she finds herself curled on her back, still tangled up. The metal canister and its framework dig uncomfortably into her shins.

"The hell are you doing?" she spits out, trembling for a couple reasons.

The Titan grunts, the expression on its face somewhere between abashment and concern. Perhaps he's forgotten his strength? That seems unlikely.

Annie tries to regain her composure. "I don't suppose you're going to take advantage of this situation?"

The Titan snorts as though offended. Annie relaxes, though she doesn't show it.

"That's good." She pauses. "But… we don't have to go back yet, you know."

The Titan blinks. Suddenly Annie is far too aware of how vulnerable she has made herself.

"I mean, you're—" she exhales, flustered. "Maybe I want you to take an advantage sometimes, you know?"

There is a period of silence where Annie sorely wishes Eren was not currently fifteen metres tall, and he could respond verbally rather than watch her stumble around words, self-conscious.

She's about to call her own bluff when the pad of a massive finger ghosts over her abdomen with far less pressure than she was anticipating. Trying to vocalise her terror, she can only emit a muted gasp.

A telling glint affects the Titan's eyes. Pressing her down again with the same finger—demonstrating a disconcerting amount of control—only to travel up her belly and breasts, stopping just short of her chin. She tilts her head away with a shudder, utterly confused when he draws back.

"Have you changed your mind?" she grouses.

Titan makes that crooning noise again and Annie remembers whom she is dealing with.

"Fine…" she mutters, laying down in an effort to quell the jumble of emotions building inside of her, "I guess I trust you not to kill me."

There is a pause, while Eren studies her with an indiscernible expression.

"Just—just bring me over to you," she continues, sitting up and reaching for him.

The Titan emits another plume of steam, thicker than before. It presses its head forth slightly, like a great cat, and descends. Annie jolts at the movement, catching hold of its face. Tentatively she leans up, pressing a kiss to his nose.

"I'm not sure what you're waiting for…" she says, falling prone against his palm, "unless—" she smirks despite the nerves, "—you'd like to watch?"

His attention comes back to her face, albeit a little hazily. It's bizarre to recognise these familiar quirks upon the Titan's otherwise grisly features.

Killing faceless soldiers seems like a much easier task to what she's about to do. Yet Annie's fearless—ostensibly—as her legs fall open and her hands wander. Already slick to the touch, unsure what she wants from him. The eyes are more like twin searchlights, and it's a little unsettling; but as she arches up, head lolling, the Titan makes a strange keening sound, like a groan.

The sound reverberates through the air and within her chest, her bones. She figures it must be torture to be stuck in there, wrapped-up seamlessly inside layers of stifling, bloody tissue, maybe with a hard-on and nothing to do about it; the idea is so ludicrous that Annie wants to laugh. She instead offers a rare grin, drawling: "Did you need something else?"

The Titan growls, eyes narrowing. About half-a-metre's worth of tongue unfurls from the flat and lipless maw, closer to grey than pink. Annie stops, unable to breathe.

"Jesus. A-are you—?" She can't finish the thought. The Titan draws back slightly as though gauging her reaction. Without taking her eyes off his mouth, she stresses: "Come here. Slowly."

The Titan bows and extends a few more metres of tongue. Instinctually Annie shies away, but there's really no-where for her to go. She reaches out in a panic and touches the thing. It's slimy, hot in the tolerable sense—probably too large to offer anything besides messy frotting.

This relieves her, somehow. Annie sits back, legs folded, and fingers herself for a bit, morbidly intrigued at how wet she is.

The Titan gets her attention with another low noise, closer to a growl.

She looks up at it and reminds herself that it's only Eren in there, and yes, this is probably a little fucked up, and never mind that an ordinary human would be lucky to walk away from this with severe burns, let alone survive—

"So, what are you going to do with that?" she blurts before she can think twice.

The Titan's ears perk. But he does not advance until she bids him to. Contact is searing and sinuous, causing Annie to yelp. The tongue moves like it's got a mind of its own, frighteningly powerful. He somehow misses her face—trying to be careful, she's sure—and the rest of her front is quickly daubed in saliva, which is… not as appealing as she thought it would be half a second ago.

A frustrated groan escapes her throat, and then his finger pushes her down and she prays to God he doesn't accidentally kill her before he eases her legs apart.

Annie knows in her head what he's about to do without fully accepting it, petrified until they lock eyes and the intent, the eagerness, is unmistakeable in his expression. Her cunt throbs. She bites back a groan.

"O.K. Let me—" fumbling at her chinos again.

All of a sudden he dips his head and there are teeth snapping a hair's breadth from her body, and before she can ask what the hell he thinks he's doing he draws away, baring her to the elements. Well, one leg is bared, anyway.

"Goddam it, Jaeger," she hisses, because she only has a couple pairs of trousers and one harness, but at least she's free, and the Titan is remarkably content as it lowers its head again.

The heat alone is almost too much stimulation to process, and there is so much of him, all-at-once against her legs and belly and—she mangles a cry, hips jolting pre-emptively; he pins her without effort. Before he can pull away a third time, she gets fists in his shaggy hair.

"No," she groans stubbornly. "Don't leave me like this…."

The Titan emits a new sound, jagged and chirpy. Laughter?

Annie tugs at him, every inch of her fraught with tension. "Just do somethi—ah!"

Her voice cracks. Eren merely rumbles as though amused, or aroused. It's a little hard to discern. Annie feels it reverberate all the way up her spine from the point of contact and almost comes despite her lingering terror.

"Fucking hell," she hisses, fist rapping clumsily on his head with nowhere near enough force to harm him. "Be careful with that—" cutting off once a good half-foot of muscle surges against her. Shaking, she closes her legs around it in the vain hope of regaining control.

Eren must sense her unease, because he pauses before retreating. Annie whines at the loss, but he huffs, prodding her cunt again.

"Don't fuck with me," she growls, having somehow surpassed fear and now just exasperated.

The Titan grunts, muffled by trailing tongue, and jerks its head slightly, pointing first to her and then beckoning upward. Light-headed, Annie tries to stand and nearly falls on-all-fours, catching herself upon his palm in the nick of time.

The Titan makes a concerned noise. She bites her lip, face-to-face with the beast. This is like trying to fuck a wall. Or being fucked by—why is she trying to rationalise this?

Annie pushes her forehead against him, convinced she's going to fall again before he slips between her knees. In a fleeting moment of weakness she begs: "Slowly."

He obeys, but he won't let up with her, manipulating the organ so she's perched on her toes to remain upright, slanted against the face.

Then he starts to undulate. She cannot stop trembling even as he croons against her, trying to keep some sort of pace with her hips, fist pressed hastily to her mouth while the other hand curls against the plane of skin that is his cheek.

"E-Eren!" she gasps, shocked at how close she is already. "I—" Her fist impacts him without harm and she cries out hoarsely.

Half a minute later she's still coming down; her nerves are frayed, and the Titan is the only thing keeping her upright.

She feels the tip of the tongue shift under her knee, realises with a start that Eren's turning her around, perhaps trying to accommodate her. She panics, slouching back, her elbows knocking his teeth as he starts to push.

He can't get inside, but it soon becomes apparent he isn't trying to once the tip of the tongue slips upside her belly, poking at her breasts. Annie is emotionally overwhelmed, already sensitive to the point of overstimulation. She can't speak and instead bucks against the muscle, gets two fists in his hair as he meets her halfway.

"Fuck, that's it," she grits, shaky on her feet, "that's a good boy…."

The Titan makes an elongated, jagged noise like a sigh, panting with her.

Pretty soon her legs give out. He's still pushing her, and Annie reckons that maybe he aims to make her bend before she breaks.

"Jaeger," she shudders. "I can't. Not again."

The Titan laughs, slowing pace, propping her up with a swell of the tongue as if to say: Once more.

"You're goddam stubborn, d'you know that?" she breathes.

The Titan snorts, blasting her with breath that is torrid and scentless, making her whimper involuntarily.

"Prove—prove me wrong, then," she croaks, wriggling about in his clutches, "make me come for you."

The tongue flicks and they're back at square one. He's hardly precise, but he doesn't need to be when she's doing most of the work.

It takes twice as long for her to come. She's built up a tolerance to the sheer heat of him; even so, it's a fine line between pleasure and discomfort after a couple rounds, but Annie is unable to articulate much past helpless little noises.

It's a violent sort of relief when she finally does spend, mewling hoarsely, dizzy with heat. As soon as the Titan revokes its tongue Annie crumples to the ground, and Eren is there to hold her.

She's drifting now, the air full of steam, rain-fall a perpetual, subtle hiss in her head. Delirious, Annie raises the back of her hand to brush his jaw. "Said I trusted you," she mumbles.

Relief floods its grim visage. Annie can't help but laugh.

"Oi," she breaks off somnolently, almost shy, "d'you think you can come out of there now?"

The Titan blinks. She grins sleepily.

"Put me up somewhere," she mutters. "I'll wait."

He puts her up in one of the nearby trees. She's cognisant enough to gather what remains of her gear and clothes before settling against the rough bark. Her heart is still thudding along, but her limbs are lead-heavy.

She closes her eyes for a second, unable to fall asleep but still delirious, and concentrates on conserving energy. She can probably Shift one more time without fainting. They're not so far away from camp….

Abruptly, she feels a hand on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, Eren comes into her vision, wide-eyed and sticky with gore. "Oi. You awake?"

She blinks a few times, raising her head. He looks relieved, and says: "That was pretty dangerous, y'know." Annie nods vaguely to show she is listening. "You had me worried for a bit," he mutters, brushing her hair from her face. "Did it—I mean, did I hurt you at all?"

"No."

"O.K. And—shit, sorry about the mess, I…" he trails off as though flustered.

"I think I'll manage," says Annie evenly. "Besides, I didn't know you were so dexterous." Eren looks conflicted with himself. Annie snorts. "Anyways, I can't go back looking like this."

"Hunh? Oh, shit, your clothes!" As if just now realising their situation.

She'd be annoyed, any other day. But there's something so ridiculous about Eren fretting over her when he's covered in blood and clad in gear, as though on the battlefield.

"I guess you owe me, then." She catches his shoulder. "You can explain this—" she motions to herself "—to the other soldiers."

He shrugs. "Yeah, all right." His apparent lack of concern intrigues her. He backs away from her, peeling off his cloak, which is still warm, a little bloody (she's surprised he managed to preserve it), and offers it to her. "Put this on, for now. We can tell 'em you burnt through your clothes or something."

It's such a transparent lie that she chuckles before accepting the cloak. "You can tell them. I wasn't the one who took advantage of the situation."

Eren looks indignant. "You said you wanted me to!"

"Yeah. What about it?"

He shudders a little. "Can we get back to the base first?"

"Fine. But how do we get down from here?" She notes he still has his gear, and hers is right beside her. "Unless you plan to wait around for someone to come bring us down, I suppose one of us will have to transform again. I don't mind." She knows he's about to protest and catches his hands on her shoulders. "You can't carry two people with your ODM gear. I can handle this."

He searches her face for a long time, frowning. Annie remains stoic. Squeezing her lightly, he departs with a sigh. "All right. We'll go when you're ready."

a/n: I hope this wasn't too overboard. I'm not entirely convinced, but I did have a lot of fun seeing what I could touch on. Next chapter will be much less outlandish.

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dasklaus · 3 years ago

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These are preliminary results and an explanation for the Terribly Unscientific Survey, interspersed with responses I found interesting, entertaining or otherwise noteworthy. Fucked up formatting courtesy of tumblr, ignore it, please.

How are you feeling? - Pretty shitty Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Yes - ennui How do you know? - Dumb question - my emotions are direct reality

Despite the title, it's actually for science: I'm writing my BA thesis in philosophy on emotion and its relation to embodiment and cognition. Turns out there's no unified concept of emotion, just a whole bunch of components and a bunch of theories on which of these are constituting and which are related, but not part of the emotion itself. As is common for philosophy, a whole bunch of arguments boil down to arguments from intuition, with lots of claims about what emotions entail, how they feel, how we perceive them that aren't sourced. That's not to say there isn't empirical science out there, but philosophy isn't big on empirical science and anyway, there's lots of room in interpreting the science for "and obviously, that means x, because clearly the alternative y is wrong".

How are you feeling? - Bored, tired, a little pissed. I've got the flu and everything sucks. Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Yes although not a very strong one - neutral to bored/irritated. How do you know? - Good question. I ask myself 'what am i feeling' and what I turn up is: feeling of emptiness or low pressure in my chest + my mind looks blue and grey -> I am bored, and; restlessness in my legs + tensing of my facial muscles + some indescribable thing in my mind -> I am irritable.

I happen to think little about emotion is "clearly" and "obviously" anything, and that's not helped by the fact that all the introspecting for those intuitions is done by above-average introspective people with a special interest in emotion. So, I asked around how the people around me were feeling and how they could tell, and when I ran out of people to ask I asked the internet. It was only later that I got permission by my professor to use quotes from this in my thesis, or I would probably have approached this in a more scientific way - on the other hand, the not-so-scientific style might have helped collecting honest, impulsive responses, because it kept respondents out of a survey-taking mindset, and came from a position of interest rather than a need for data to finish a paper nobody cares about (the most uninspired answers came from Facebook groups for survey-sharing - answering other people's surveys in return for getting responses for your own, and let me tell you, I filled out a whole bunch of "which ad do you prefer" crap just to get "lol what" as an answer).

How are you feeling? - Good Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Boredok How do you know? - I feel?

Anyway, what did I do? I asked nearly a hundred people how they were feeling (a nice normal conversational question about feelings in general, evidenced by several people asking whether the survey has already begun or not), whether they were having an emotion right now (weirder, more pointed, forcing reflection on the difference, suggesting the answer isn't necessarily yes), and finally how they know (super weird, throwing everyone off and causing reflection on what they just did to answer the previous question). In personal interviews, I left off the second question when the first already produced an emotion, and continued the conversation after ending the survey, because it's rude to have someone unpack their current woes and worries, confuse them, and then leave it at that (in online surveys, this is expected and therefore less rude).

How are you feeling? - Ok Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Slight anxiety maybe How do you know? - My thoughts often come back to subjects that I consider anxiety-inducing, but not too often either

Who did I ask and how? First of all, friends and family (21). Some in person (2), some over the phone (3), most via chat (six different chat clients). The answers were all over the place, pleasing and intriguing me immensely. I wanted more. So I asked Tumblr (2), posted a link on an ACX open thread (67) and engaged in aforementioned survey sharing on Facebook in both an English (7) and German (7) group. I used copies (and in one case, a translation) of an otherwise identical Google Form, so I can tell where a response came from. ALL of these sources are, compared to the general population, highly educated, intelligent, and more introspective, so in no way can I use the resulting data to make claims about normal people, or do quantitative analysis. What I can show is the breadth of opinions, and give a voice to otherwise dry and abstract theory.

How are you feeling? - Eh Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - No How do you know? - Thought about it, started trying to identify emotion I was having then figured out that the very question somewhat implied that I should be having an emotion and that was the only reason I was trying to identify it, disregarded implication that an emotion existed.

What did I find? For every response there's one that says the opposite. Of course I have an emotion, how could I not? I don't usually feel anything. I'm in my neutral state. I have so many emotions at once. Some people go by bodily perception. Some by thoughts, or their reaction to thoughts. Some give their immediate emotive state, some an averaged mood of a longer period. Several people iterate through possible emotions they know and compare their current state with them, and conclude they don't have an emotion if they get no match. Many just know. Many aren't sure at all. But not all answers can be mapped to a theory, a conception of emotion in particular, by far the most common answer was some variation of "introspection".

How are you feeling? - Sleepy, happy, not looking forward to Monday but pretty satisfied with Sunday Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Small fragments of a few emotions: excitement, trepidation, frustration, happiness, sadness. All overshadowed by sleepy. How do you know? - I'm not sure. I think a combination of felt senses, and guesses from circumstance. But the raw info is usually quite far from my consciousness; unless I am deliberately introspecting, I usually "just know".

Overall, the main conclusion is that there is no single, coherent concept of emotion in colloquial language, that the degree to which people are aware of their emotions (and able to name them) varies greatly, and - this is from personal interviews, mostly - most of the people having an emotion readily available have had long-term formal training in emotion perception. I shit you not. Either through years of therapy, through mindfulness exercises, through regular meetings at work that start with everyone sharing their current feelings (really), or through an app that asks them multiple times a day to identify their emotional state (really).

How are you feeling? - Happy. Fulfilled. Optimistic. Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Yes. How do you know? - There is an internal voice in my head that says I am feeling those emotions. I am averaging over the last day or two, with most weight being given to the present moment. This is very hard to explain in words :)

Opinions: It seems to me that while some emotions can be overpowering and obvious to the emotion-haver, there's a threshold involved that you can lower with training. Differentiating and identifying which emotion in particular you are feeling is a different skill than perceiving it. While physical sensations like pain, hunger, freezing, tiredness (the most common feeling, btw) don't count as emotions in any theory I've seen so far, I cannot think of a good reason for that. All are associated with desires, dispose towards action to those desire's ends, have typical expressions (facial and body language), and have associated judgments (feeling cold is a judgment that it is cold like being afraid is a judgement that there is danger). I don't think there's a distinction beyond convention, that "emotion" is not a natural category, but a pretty vague concept we've drawn around some particular experiences and a whole lot of stuff associated with them.

How are you feeling? - Shit Are you experiencing an emotion right now? - Angst How do you know? - I feel it Additional notes? - Purple monkey dishwasher

These thoughts are, of course, currently in beta. Also, there's serious methodological concerns. The first question might have primed respondents towards physical sensations, rather than emotions, and towards small talk, a special way of framing one's experiences that isn't necessarily honest. Also, going into what participants knew was a survey, they might have intentionally adopted a "blank slate" mindset, causing more "neutral state" answers than a truly random snapshot would show. Some respondents clearly had preconceived notions about emotion, which may or may not have caused them to reframe or rephrase their experience to fit. Lots of things could make this survey (even more) unreliable, so none of it should be taken as proof of a particular experience.

Next post will be in-depth about the different answers to the third question, but no promise as to when. Thanks for everyone who took the survey, I have now closed it (because it's different when you know what it's for).

Continued at length here

If you have a few minutes for a terribly unscientific survey, please go here https://forms.gle/oj9EUZTpqGDcGCuZ6

It's really quick and it's not market research or some crap, it's genuine interest. Also don't spoil, please. And if you think other people's responses would be interesting to know, please consider sharing.

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heterokatedison · 7 years ago

Note

Look I'm absolutely not trying to hate or anything and really agree with your post about more representation in shows but something I don't quite understand is when I'm part of both the wayhaught and kadena fandom but am constantly being told I need to watch The Bold Type bc of its wlw poc rep which I totally agree with but I feel like a lot of the wayhaught fandom already watches The Bold Type, a lot of people I follow were wayhaught blogs and are now kadena blogs

ok so I accidentally wrote a super long winded response to this and it’s like four thirty in the morning so it probably doesn’t even make sense and I’m sorry and you definitely don’t need to feel obligated to read it all but first I want to say that you phrased this message really nicely and I appreciate it and everything else is under the break

there definitely is a big overlap which is great, but I wasn’t trying to say “every person who likes [x show] needs to be watching [y show] too” because I think people should watch what they’re interested in and not sacrifice their time/money/mental health to make other people happy but also because in the grand scheme of things the views from tumblr alone aren’t likely to save a show from cancellation. I just meant that our community as a whole should be examining how we interact with rep/shows with rep if that makes sense??? particularly when it comes to how willingly/quickly we’ll watch something. some people (but obviously not all) will drop everything and marathon a couple seasons of show to get to white gay content (which I understand, because I’ve done that too) and then pressure everyone else to do the same regardless of whether or not they’re interested in it, but, when presented with lgbt characters of color, respond with “idk it’s not really my thing” “I’ll watch it at some point” “it’s not explicit enough” (all real things things I’ve seen said about the bold type, one day at a time, and the get down, respectively). so these stories already aren’t being as highly prioritized, but then we’ll also demand more from them at the same time.

with the exception of sk*m I watch(ed) all the shows I listed in the post, so in a matter of the past few weeks I’ve seen the wayhaught cheating storyline (understandably) get a lot of negative feedback but most of it has been to the effect of “I don’t like the normalization of cheating/how tropey it is” rather than anger directed to the characters themselves, whereas with kadena there seems to be a lot of people calling it bad representation specifically because adena hadn’t broken up with coco before kissing kat (even though she admitted to it and broke up with her the next day) and demonizing adena especially, despite nikohl’s tweet suggesting that coco was potentially dangerous. I mean I’m super against cheating but I can understand both of those situations to some extent, but there are still other people holding kat and adena to a higher standard of what constitutes “good representation,” which is unfair, particularly when wlwoc are rarer to see.

another example is how people reacted to lexa’s death on the h*ndred vs poussey’s death on oitnb. and when I say this I’m honestly not trying to diminish how bad or painful the lexa situation was for people because it was absolutely disgusting and unacceptable (especially when you take the baiting and interactions with fans into account) and people had a right to react the way they did. and they took their righteous anger and turned it into a global movement, and charitable actions, and giant billboards calling the cw out, which is beyond incredible. but then just a couple months later, oitnb killed poussey, a black lesbian, and people were less angry with that than they were about being spoiled for the show. an all white group of writers chose to kill off a black lesbian in a way that deliberately paralleled the real life murder of eric garner in some hamfisted attempt at social commentary, after months of discussing the psychological toll of the byg trope, not even a week after a massive homophobic hate crime that primarily affected poc, and not only were people largely unbothered by it, they were actively DEFENDING IT because “it sent a message.” except people who don’t care about real police brutality aren’t going to care about fictional police brutality, and even if they did, representation shouldn’t be sacrificed to teach oppressors a lesson.

and then after lexa was killed how many of us followed alycia to fear the walking dead??? (I did) we’re willing to watch a show that perpetuated the byg trope spun off of a show that perpetuated the byg trope (and I’m not even going to get into the way women and poc are disproportionately killed off in that franchise) because we like this actress who played a lesbian in a different show. and that’s not an isolated incident: wlw flocked to supergirl during season 2 for gay content, accidentally discovered katie mcgrath in the process, and suddenly the merlin fandom saw a revival four years after its series finale. but we knew at least a couple months in advance that laverne cox would be playing a trans character on doubt, and people didn’t turn up in huge numbers to watch it, and it got canned after two episodes. TWO. cbs yanked it off the air and didn’t even burn off the rest of the season until six months later. and I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t a great show (I mostly watched it at first because I like laverne cox, but it did improve over the course of the season imo), but cancelling it after two episodes is outrageous. there was no outrage from tumblr, though. even now if you check the tags there’s like two or three posts about it. and a trans woc in a main role on network television was so important!!! and laverne deserved so much better!!!

personally I blame a lack of support from the network more than anything: cbs didn’t promote doubt like it should have and axed it before it could find an audience. netflix didn’t promote the get down like it should have and released it at bad times. and like I said earlier, views from tumblr most likely won’t save a show in the long run. eyewitness and in the flesh prove that. but at least with them there were real genuine efforts to extend/revive them. it’s been three years since itf was cancelled and people are STILL petitioning to bring it back. and we showed that tumblr campaigns actually CAN have an impact: that’s why sense8 is getting a two-hour finale!!! between that and the “lgbt fans deserve better” project our community has shown that we’re relentless and stubborn and dedicated when we want to be. but the fact that we don’t always want to be is really sad.

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dawnfelagund · 8 years ago

Photo

This essay was written for @backtomiddleearthmonth for the orange/nonfiction path prompts “Meta about Fandom” and “Multimedia.”

“Review Plz?” Feedback Behavior in the Tolkien Fanfic Community

A little over a year ago, I ran an online survey about Tolkien fan fiction as part of my ongoing research on the history and culture of the Tolkien fan fiction community. (Read more about the Tolkien Fan Fiction survey here.) I have been slowly posting the results of the survey over the last year or so. For the orange/nonfiction path prompt "Meta on Fandom," I decided to dig into a topic from the survey based on what other B2MeM participants would like to know more about. People who answer my poll wanted to know more about, "How many readers comment or give feedback on stories? Why do they do this?" I will eventually investigate the other topics as well, most likely over the summer while I'm on break from school.

This essay seeks to answer some basic questions on feedback behavior in the Tolkien fanfic community. Who leaves feedback? How often? I will also begin to look at why people leave feedback, specifically at social pressure to do so. This will be the first post in a series looking at feedback behavior; the series will in all likelihood extent beyond B2MeM; follow my Twitter or the Tumblr tag #tolkien fan fiction survey for updates related to the survey.

Probably the first question to answer when thinking about commenting is: How often do people comment? I asked the question, "Do you leave comments or other feedback on Tolkien-based fan fiction stories?" Of the 1040 people who answered that question, 75.9% of them said YES.

Now it's important to note the "or other feedback" in the statement. This didn't ask just about comments or reviews; it could have included one-click feedback like kudos or likes as well. If I could go back and do this survey over, I'd likely change this question to distinguish between the two. For now, though, it's what I have to work with.

Who Leaves Feedback?

When we break down this question by the participant's role, the results become more interesting. I looked at the responses of writers versus readers only to this question. Writers were far, far more likely to leave feedback on what they read: 86.5% of writers (n = 635) answered YES compared to 59.3% of readers-only (n = 393). My initial reaction to this information is, "Well, of course, writers would best understand how much feedback matters to other writers." I think that's part of it, but there are probably other factors involved as well.

Writers are more likely to belong to the sites where they read. Many sites (SWG and MPTT, for example) do not allow comments from anonymous users.

Writers are more likely to be comfortable enough with English (or the language the story is written in) to be able to write a comment. I can read tolerably in Spanish, for example, but would never dare attempt to comment on something written in Spanish.

Writers are more likely to simply know what to say in a comment. They know what they like to hear on their own stories. They know what goes into crafting a story and are possibly more accustomed to noticing a characterization detail or a particularly good turn of phrase: the kind of thing you'd mention in a comment.

Interestingly, 13.5% of writers responded that they did not leave feedback on stories that they read. I find this group intensely interesting, and a future post will look specifically at this group of participants.

How Often Do Readers Leave Feedback?

Of course, a participant could have left a single comment or liked one story posted on Tumblr and answered YES to the above. Any author can tell you that three-fourths of their readers do not leave feedback on a specific story; many of my stories, based on click counts, would have hundreds of comments, and it is rare for me to exceed ten comments, and I receive more comments than most authors. (The highest percentage of kudos-per-click on my AO3 stories is about 19%.) So what percentage of stories do readers leave comments on?

I asked participants to "Estimate the percentage of Tolkien-based fan fiction stories that you leave comments or other feedback on." Those who responded with a number greater than zero left comments on a median average of 30% of stories.

Breaking down the data a little further also shows that readers willing to leave feedback tend to leave it relatively infrequently. More than half of participants (54.7%) left feedback on one out of three stories, or less. The graph below shows the number of participants who left different amounts of feedback. The numbers drop steadily until spiking briefly around 50%--likely because someone is more likely to respond with 50% rather than dithering slightly to either side of that number; after the 50% mark, the numbers hang rather steadily. There is a small resurgence among the participants that, in my mind as I worked on these numbers, I termed "unicorns": those who left feedback on almost everything they read. The graph at the top of the post shows this data.

It's important to note that these numbers are likely slightly inflated. Even in anonymous surveys, like this one, there is a tendency to overstate positive behaviors, like one's habit of leaving feedback on the fiction one reads for free. To support this point in this particular survey, several participants left brief comments on their answers, suggesting that they'd recently increased their feedback due to growing awareness of its value to authors or that they felt they needed to do more; some participants offered excuses (such as English as a second language) or responded to a perceived low number with self-effacing humor (like a :P emoticon). In addition, numbers were potentially inflated because one is more likely to remember the stories one takes time to leave feedback on, especially comments. A ficlet skimmed quickly on Tumblr, for instance, is more likely to be forgotten than the same ficlet on AO3 where the reader leaves a one-sentence comment or even clicks a kudos; especially the comment requires more careful reading.

Looking at actual feedback numbers supports that 30% is likely inflated. I chose ten stories on AO3 from the section "The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-earth -- J.R.R. Tolkien." The stories had been posted just over a week ago and were on the sixth page of results, so they had likely received the first heavy wave of readership. Since most AO3 readers who leave comments, in my experience, also leave a kudos (and since comment counts on AO3 also include author replies and further conversation on a story), then I looked just at kudos. For those ten stories, the kudos-per-click percentage was a median average of 9.2%, spanning a range of 1.7% to 26.2%: nowhere near the self-reported 30% rate from the survey.

Do Readers Want to Leave More Feedback?

As implied above, there is a degree of social pressure to leave feedback on stories. I was curious if readers felt they needed to do this more, or if they were happy with the current amount of feedback they left, so I looked at responses to the statement "I want to leave comments and other feedback more often on the stories I read." Participants had five options to choose from: Strongly Agree, Agree, Disagree, Strongly Disagree, and No Opinion/Not Sure.

Overwhelmingly, participants wanted to leave more feedback: 77.6% agreed or strongly agreed with the statement. In other words, three out of four readers think they need to leave more feedback. Fewer than one in ten (8.89%) disagreed or strongly disagreed. Of the latter category, a mere eight participants chose this option.

I looked closer at that group: participants who strongly disagreed that they wanted to leave feedback more often. Of those eight participants, three were part of the unicorn group that left feedback on almost everything they read; it's understandable why they felt they didn't need to do more! One participant left feedback a reported 70% of the time--still a relatively high number--so about half responded with Strongly Disagree because they really can't do much more than they already are. One person did not provide a response for the amount of feedback they left but answered NO to the question "Do you leave comments or other feedback on Tolkien-based fan fiction stories?" Three entered "zero" for the amount of feedback they left; these four responses felt somewhat defiant to me given how contrary to correct fandom etiquette it was. (I would say that this etiquette demands that one either leave feedback or feel badly for not doing so.)

I was also curious about the unicorn group: those who left feedback a reported 90 to 100% of the time. Despite leaving feedback on just about everything they read, 65% still agreed or strongly agreed that they wanted to do more. (Including those who reported that they left feedback 100% of the time: 67% of these participants still wanted to do more, including five who strongly agreed with the statement.)

Of the unicorn group, 21.7% chose No Opinion/Not Sure, a percentage much higher than the 13.5% of all participants who chose this option for this statement. I generally avoid making inferences about the No Opinion/Not Sure participants--there are a lot of reasons why people might choose this option, including that they truly do not understand what the statement is asking--but this discrepancy is too interesting to pass up hypothesizing about a little. I suspect that these respondents know that they are going above and beyond the majority of fandom but still feel uncomfortable stating directly that they don't think they need to do more. Choosing No Opinion/Not Sure is quite possibly the more socially acceptable option: a way to circumspectly admit that one really can't do much more.

The unicorns are an interesting group. Why do so many of them--about two out of three--feel that they need to do more? It is possible that the feedback they are leaving is mostly or entirely kudos or other one-click feedback, and they feel they should be writing more comments. (Readers who leave kudos on everything they read are a well-reported phenomenon on AO3; one participant even commented that they "kudos" everything they read.) It is also possible that social norms in fandom dictate that one should always be striving to improve on how much feedback one leaves on stories, and these readers feel that guilty gnawing even though they already are leaving feedback on almost everything they pick up. Here, I can turn to personal experience: I am in the unicorn group myself, leaving feedback on everything I read (in the form of comments) except when I regularly have to skim stories as part of my mod duties on the sites I run. (Sometimes even then I get sucked into a story and comment.) Despite the number of comments I leave, despite the hours of work I do in the fandom each week, I still feel guilty over not commenting on more of those stories skimmed in the course of daily site business. (I also feel guilty for not reading more, period.)

Conclusion

From this data, it is possible to draw a few conclusions:

Most readers of Tolkien fan fiction leave feedback, but most readers leave feedback on a relatively low number of the stories they read.

Self reports of the number of stories a reader feedback on appear to be significantly inflated. This doesn't have to mean that participants wanted to deliberately mislead in their responses--there are a number of reasons why self reports might be inaccurate, discussed above--but it is worth keeping in mind for other items on the survey where self-reported and actual behavior are more difficult to compare.

Authors are significantly more likely than readers-only to leave feedback on a story.

The vast majority of readers express that they want to leave feedback more often on stories they read. This includes the so-called "unicorns": readers who leave feedback on almost everything they read. This suggests, to me, that there is enough social pressure to leave feedback that participants may have felt uncomfortable stating that they felt they were doing enough. If you have an alternate explanation, please share in the comments!

If you have a question you'd like to see data on, please do share! Next time, I will likely look at why readers decide to leave feedback on a story, but if there's a topic or question you're interested in seeing analyzed and discussed in greater depth, let me know!

#tolkien fan fiction survey #tolkien fan fiction #fan fiction #fan fiction feedback #fan fiction reviews #b2mem 2017

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theinvinciblenoob · 6 years ago

Link

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

TechCrunch is experimenting with new content forms. This is a rough draft of something new – provide your feedback directly to the author (Danny at [email protected]) if you like or hate something here.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

It goes without saying that this piece about my employer is my work alone, doesn’t reflect management’s views, and is done under the auspices of TechCrunch’s independent editorial voice. No usage of internal information is assumed or implied.

This is a piece about TechCrunch’s parent company, formerly known as “Oath:” (okay just Oath, but who am I to flout a mandatory colon?) and now ReBranded as Verizon Media Group / Oath (See what they did there? They literally slashed Oath. Poetic).

Oath is essentially the creature of Frankenstein, a middle-school corporate alchemy experiment to fuse the properties of the companies formerly known as AOL and Yahoo into the larger behemoth known as Verizon. You can feel the terrible synergy emanating from the multiple firewalls it takes to get to our corporate resources.

Oath has a problem:* it needs to grow for Wall Street to be happy and for Verizon not to neuter it, but it has an incredible penchant for making product decisions that basically tell users to fuck off. Oath’s year over year revenues last quarter were down 6.9%, driven by extreme competition from digital ad leaders Google and Facebook.

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

The kerfuffle is over Tumblr, which is among Oath’s most important brands, in that people actually know what it is and kind of still like it. Tumblr, which Yahoo notably acquired under Marissa Mayer back in 2013, has been something of a product orphan — one of the few true software platforms left in a world filled with editorial content like TechCrunch and HuffPost (Oath sold off Flickr earlier this year to SmugMug — which also seems to be going through its own boneheaded product decision phase).

All was well and good — well, at least quiet — in the Tumblr world until Apple pulled the plug on Tumblr’s app in the App Store a few weeks ago over claims of child porn. Now let’s be absolutely clear: child porn is abhorrent, and filtering it out of online photo sharing sites is a prime directive (and legally mandated).

But Oath has decided to do something equally obnoxious: it intends to ban anything that might be considered “adult content” starting December 17th, just in time for the holidays when purity around family gatherings is key.

In Tumblr’s policy, “Adult content primarily includes photos, videos, or GIFs that show real-life human genitals or female-presenting nipples, and any content—including photos, videos, GIFs and illustrations—that depicts sex acts.” You’ll notice the written legerdemain — “primarily” doesn’t exclude the wider world of adult-oriented content that almost invariably is going to be subsumed under this policy.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

Oath is attempting to compress the content moderation engineering and testing of Facebook down to a span of a few weeks. And Facebook hasn’t even figured this one out yet, which is why people are still being murdered across the world from viral messages and memes it hosts that incite ethnic hatred and genocide.

I get the pressure from Apple. I get the safety of saying “just ban all the images” à la Renaissance pope. I get the business decision of trying to maintain Tumblr’s clean image. These points are all reasonable, but they all are just useless without Tumblr’s core and long-time users.

What flummoxes me from a product perspective is that it’s not as if banning all adult content is the singular solution to the problem. There is an entire spectrum of product, policy, legal, and product cultural ingredients that could be drawn upon. There could be more age verification, better separation of “safe for children” and “meant for adults content,” and more focus on messaging to users that moderation was meant to help the product and focus audiences rather than to puritanically filter.

Or you can just kill the photos, the somehow still loyal core user base, a safe space for expression via nudity and sexuality and, well, traffic along with it. And then you look at -6.9% growth and think: huh, I wonder if there is a connection.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

Tencent Music Entertainment’s initial public offering is back in motion, two months after the company reportedly postponed it amid a global selloff. In a regulatory filing today, the company, China’s largest streaming music service, said it plans to offer 82 million American depositary shares (ADS), representing 164 million Class A ordinary shares, for between $13 to $15 each. That means the IPO will potentially raise up to $1.23 billion.

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

At its heart, Tencent Music is an interactive media company. Its business isn’t merely providing music, it’s getting people to engage around music. Given its parent company Tencent has become the leading force in global gaming—with control of League of Legends maker Riot Games and Clash of Clans maker Supercell, plus a 40 percent stake in Fortnite creator Epic Games, and role as the top mobile games publisher in China—its team is well-versed in the dynamics of in-game purchasing.

Tencent Music has staked out a very differentiated business model from Spotify, Pandora, Apple Music, etc. It has used an engagement-based product model to make live-streaming and virtual gifts huge business lines, without dealing with the product marketing logistics of subscription. Where the West always asks you to pay for access, Tencent is asking you essentially to pay to have fun and be part of an experience.

Eric asks I think a deep question: why hasn’t this model (which seems particularly obvious in music given the overall events component of that business) been back-ported from China to the Western world? He sees a world where Facebook buys Spotify (I don’t) but I think there is absolutely a gap in the market for a music platform to really own this model.

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

Wes McKinney is a major open-source star and the engineer behind pandas, which is one of the fundamental Python data libraries, as well as a founding engineer of Apache Arrow, which is an in-memory data structure specification.

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

I’ve increasingly felt that open source development is at odds with the values that are driving a large portion of the corporate world, particularly in the United States. Many companies won’t fund open source work because there is no “return on investment”. This is deeply frustrating, and being surrounded by people whose actions align with profit-motive can be pretty discouraging. It’s not necessarily that people who work in NYC or SF are greedy or amorally concerned with making money. In many cases they are just responding to incentives coming from pretty low on the hierarchy of needs.

And

Full-time open source developers in many cases will make less money than their peers who work at Google, Facebook, Microsoft, Apple, or another major tech company. If we are to enable more people to do open source development as a full-time vocation, we need to grow supportive tech communities in places that are more affordable. (emphasis his).

I think this is a very interesting trend to watch in the coming years. It’s not just the small business and art types who want to move to lower cost locales to match their lifestyle spending to the (economic) value of their work. Software developers who want to work on more meaningful projects outside of advertising and finance will also increasingly need to consider these sorts of geographical adjustments.

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

From cryptocurrency millionaires in Puerto Rico to digital nomads in hotspots like Thailand, Indonesia, and Colombia, there is increasingly a view that there is a marketplace for governance, and we hold the power as consumers. Much like choosing a cereal from the breakfast department of a supermarket, highly-skilled professionals are now comparing governments online — and making clear-headed choices based on which ones are most convenient and have the greatest amenities available.

Economic migration — whether from cost-of-living, ecosystem or governance culture, or just for new horizons — is the watchword of this century. It’s a huge loss for NYC that people like McKinney can no longer find their work compatible with the city.

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Imagined Communities – a major classic book of social science thought, it’s amazing how well it has held up, and the lessons it holds for us in the cyber age. Intending to write a review of it for this weekend, so expect more notes later.

Quietly, Japan has established itself as a power in the aerospace industry – I love industrial policy and national economic development, and Eric Berger has done a great job on both fronts with his dispatch in Ars Technica. Japan is roaring back into space, increasing its launch capabilities and also preparing to deploy its own GPS infrastructure. An important contextual read for those who follow SpaceX.

Why we stopped trusting elites — a compelling deep dive by William Davies in The Guardian into how populism is animated by the failures of elites. Couldn’t agree more that elites have lost significant trust over the last few decades, mostly from hubris, corruption, and outright fraud (the financial crisis being just the largest). Elites need to hold themselves to much higher standards if we want to ask our fellow citizens for their support.

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

via TechCrunch

#IFTTT #TechCrunch

0 notes

fmservers · 6 years ago

Text

Why Oath keeps Tumblring

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

And

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

Via Danny Crichton https://techcrunch.com

#TechCrunch

0 notes

biandaceconfessions · 6 years ago

Note

do you still respond to confessions? I guess im confessing anyway. I don't often talk about my sexuality because sex, being sexy, being hit on (which is rare, but has happened) makes me uncomfortable, especially from guys (im a 20 y/o girl). I've done very well closing myself up and shutting people down. I feel my unconscious mindset is I'd rather someone not get to know me than know me and reject me. However I feel my fear of rejection has also clouded my understanding of my own sexuality. 1/?

I assume I'm something fucking queer as I've been questioning my sexuality since 12 y/o or earlier. But, more along the lines of why do I lie about having crushes? If I dont have a crush on a boy I must like girls do I have a crush on my friends, no? So, wtf? Throughout teen years, a friend has a cursh, I'm like yeah they look hot but I don't want to pursue them. At the same time I'd be hot and heavy for Eric from True Blood. So then I feel strange because it's like I can't let real people 2/?

cont.- can't let real life people, be people and sexual/romantic partners, like I'm objectifying people only attracted to their appearance but then again I'm not so attracted that I'm like yeah I'd fuck them. I don't know. I'm confusing myself just typing this. I didn't even touch on how this makes me question if I'm bisexual or ace or both or am I just looking for a lgbt label so that I'm just edgy, different and not a boring white, cis-het girl. I think my biggest fear is saying I'm ace 3/?

cont.- without fully comprehending what that is or how others would read that. What if I'm not ace but then people beieve I am and then no ones is interested in me. But since I'm not interested in anyone do I care about that or not? Same thing for when I had an inkling that I might like girls but if I don't like girls then I just told everyone I did, then am I posing and will guys not like me. Because I don't get asked on dates I also thought what if I'm questioning my sexuality just because 4/?

cont.- just because guys don't like me, am I just thinking I might be into girls because rejection from girls hurt less than guys? because most girls I meet are straight so their no possibility that I could be rejected romantically for someone not seeking my gender. Ditto for my obsession with gay men in media such as films, stories and drag queens. Do I like them and want to be a part of that life just to get rid of the pressure of questioning if they're attracted to me. 5/?

cont.- So one again that all trickles back down to am I ace or bi? Neither or both? Do I want a relationship?-I'm not looking. Am I not looking because I do want a rom/sex relationship but fear rejection or because I genuinely don't want that because I don't feel that way about anyone? I've seen my sister literally cry over not having a boyfriend multiple times in adolescence and I'd be like "wtf. why does that feel so important to you?" So that's kept me thinking okay maybe it's not 6/?

cont.- not all influenced by my shyness, anxiety or the fear of rejection but that I genuinely do not feel the same way about people romantically/sexually than the "average" person (Gay, Les or Straight). I literally found this new word on your tumblr -squishes. Now it sounds so childish but the meaning of the word is how I feel about a girl right now. We are not friends, she's just beautiful and I wish I could become her close friend. However, this is clouded by the feeling of do I simply 7/?

simple have an interest in her (for a friendship or intimacy), simply because she's openly bi, but has a boyfriend and several other guys thirsting for her. So am I attracted to her or just because she's conventionally attractive and/or because guys are interested in her and I want her to be with a girl so boys can't have her because I'm so fucked up that I have some internal hatred towards men, which is possibly due to past sexual harrasment/abuse from men, so now they must all be shit... 8/?

cont.- so now here is my apology for such a long-winded, convoluted confession that likely just shows that I'm a crazy person overthinking and also just man-hating. But I do have male friends who I actually really hope find happiness and romantic relationships. So here I sit another year older and another year confused about what I feel and who I am in terms of sexuality. final part/?

(Yes we do still take confessions, it’s just been a while since one has come in.)

I’m going to do my best to parse though everything you’ve sent in because as you, yourself have already realized, there are a whole helluva lot of layers to this and what you’ve been questioning and thinking over.

The first thing that I kind of latched onto that you shared was that you don’t really have an interest in crushes and you can understand when your friends do, but it doesn’t hold any sway for you. I don’t know how much you know about aromantics, but that rang a bit of a bell for me since aromantics either don’t experience crushes or they take different forms so you could have no interest in that aspect of relationships.

Something else you mentioned was the attraction to fictional characters. Some people lose interest in sexual/romantic relationships when those feelings are reciprocated. So, being attracted to fictional characters could be your way to ensure there’s no discomfort of possibly being faced with someone having interest in you, since there is your internal struggle with men liking you.

I don’t know how much research you’ve done into asexuality and have read through accounts by other asexuals, but asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction to others. You can be ace and still be interested in sex and have sex. Asexual people can also most definitely have relationships. So if people are completely turned away from pursuing you because you might be ace, then that makes them an asshole who probably wasn’t interested in you for more than sex anyway and they deserve a kick in the groin for being an asshat.

As far as crying over not having a boyfriend as your sister has done, I think that can easily be tied to the heteroromantic pressure that exists in society. Social norms are constantly telling us that we should in heterosexual relationships and that we have to be in romantic relationships to have any form of fulfillment in our lives. Now that idea is all kinds of wrong and causes more pressure for everyone (especially aromantics) and negates any form of personal happiness or satisfaction that comes from platonic or familial relationships. And those are just as important as any sort of happiness that comes from romantic relationships. It just happens that not everyone needs romantic relationships in their lives to be happy and society is going to lash out at people who feel that way because of it and make the pressure worse for people who aren’t dating someone.

Squishes is a very important term for me and I’m so happy it exists and that you found it because to me it reflects a need to get to know someone and forma bond that doesn’t necessarily have any sexual or romantic ties. It’s a desire to share your life with someone else that is at its base really no different from romantic or sexual connection.

After reading all of this I just want you to know that you don’t have to find a label right away. Whether you settle on bi, ace, or something else entirely. Sexuality is confusing and the way society functions doesn’t help things at all. Figuring things out can take a while, especially when you’re sifting through so many layers like you have been. And it sucks that it can take so long, but it’s not an easy thing for some people to figure out. I didn’t figure out I was ace until I was in college.

If you’re afraid that testing out a label right now means you’re stuck with it for the rest of your life, let me reassure you that you’re not. Considering how much you’ve thought this over and recognized the different impacts it has on your life, I doubt you’re doing it to be “trendy” or “different” or special in some sort of way. It’s just as acceptable to think you fit one label right now and realize you’re something else later and that’s fine. You’re not going to get more brownie points or whatever for figuring it out faster because the whole process is really fucking difficult in itself.

And if you never find a label that really fits and can be at peace just going through life as who you are then that’s okay, too.

#mod ace #confessions #possible ace confessions #possible bi confessions #advice #lgbtq confessions #Anonymous

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