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enchantinglyjade · 3 years ago

Text

Milk & Honey - Ch. 1

Austin!Elvis x Black!OC

Masterlist

Prologue | Next

Summary: After a few weeks of working at her new job at Club Handy, Honey meets someone new, or does she?

Warning: Swearing, racial issues(you know just cute 1950′s stuff),

Note: I’ve watched at least 30 hours worth of 50’s movies this week specifically for writing this story, so if you need any recs I gotchu. Anyways, lets dive in!

Ma and I moved to Memphis a few months back, Tupelo just wasn’t putting food on the table anymore. Ma’s getting older and I don’t have any other friends or family, so it’s on me to take care of us. I know I have to be a pillar of strength and support for Ma, but I still have dreams of my own that I’m determined not to give up on.

Elvis and his family left Tupelo the summer after I turned 11, Thomas following suit shortly after. Thomas’ family moved to Atlanta after his dad found himself a nice job of some kind, but Elvis never told me where he was going.

Elvis grew shy and more distant towards me the older we got, causing that connection we once had to slowly slip away. Of course, I still missed him when he left, but things didn’t leave off how I had expected them to when we were growing up.

I always took it as him finally trying to learn how to fit in with his own people. Can’t blame him. I would have too, if I could have.

In fact, Ma used to teach me how to talk, going as far as scolding me for using slang in her company. She told me I needed to act more ‘proper’ and ‘educated’, which was her way of saying ‘white’. She’d dress me in the most ordinary clothes and wrap my curls up and away from other’s eyes, anything to keep me from standing out. When the boys would run around and ride bikes or play sports, she’d keep me back in the shade, hoping if I dodged the sun enough my skin would lighten over time and help me pass as a white woman.

It didn’t.

Of course, she never directly told me these were the reasons behind her actions because I was only a child, but I knew.

It all made sense.

Honestly, I’m not mad.

Though, I never understood why she tried so hard. It don’t take a genius to know I was born to stand out. Just a glance in the mirror is enough to see the obvious. But all the world wanted to do was hide me.

After the youngest boys left, it was just me and Michael. We’d hang out sometimes, but- it wasn’t the same.

Michael and I were both awkward teens that didn’t really have nothing in common to begin with. He was difficult to talk to, and I always found myself cutting our meetings short. But honestly, it was because I missed Elvis.

Micheal didn’t see art and music that same way Elvis and I did, he didn’t feel it.

But, it didn’t matter anyways, because one day he up and left too.

I hated the growing feeling of isolation in that small, ghetto town of ours, not to mention the lack of excitement and money. So, I talked Ma into moving to the closest, job filled city. Memphis. I told her I wanted to start working so I could afford a proper education one day, but she never saw all the newspapers I hid under my pillow.

“Free-rolling, new race records corrupt our youth as a new sound sweeps over the South. One thing these rising artists have in common: Beale Street.”

It sounded exhilarating.

Wasn’t too hard to convince her. She would have taken anything over finding me working a plantation like she did.

The population in Memphis was mostly black, which made Ma feel comfortable. However, this did not make it any easier for me.

Jobs.

They like representation. The ‘right’ kind of representation.

Diners were filled and busy, and as desperate as I was, I’d be damned before I became a nurse or washed white folks dirty drawers as a laundress. Not that they accepted my request to work there anyways. Didn’t like that I was mixed white. Told me they couldn’t get caught representing all that nonsense.

But then I found Club Handy. On accident actually.

You see, Ma doesn’t like me walking around during the day, too many people to see me, and if I do decide to show myself in the sun, she’d always put me in a headscarf and make me promise to never look people in the eyes.

Being mixed left me with some… unconventional features.

She had me do this since I was little so people would never see my differences. The awareness that mixed kids were even being born was enough to make the right person go mad, Ma feared those people would find me one day.

But anyways, back to Club Handy. I was out for a nightly stroll, thinking no one would be out to see me, but boy was I wrong. Most of the city was asleep except for one place it wasn’t. Instruments were blasting sound onto the streets that could be heard from miles away. I couldn’t help but follow it. In front of me was a small, baby blue building with a bright neon sign and shadowed figures dancing and playing together behind the curtains of the windows.

It was beautiful, it was new, it was exciting. It was exactly where I needed to be.

But I couldn’t get in.

Private property they told me. Had to be a real musician… and I wasn’t.

I begged them to let me play there just once, but I never even got past the bouncers. They were right though. Sure I had practiced, wrote a few lyrics here and there, but I was nothing compared to Big Mama Thornton or Tharpe like they had in there. But I knew I’d be better with just a little exposure and I was determined to get it.

I spent days learning how to set aside my dignity until I finally asked them for a job I knew they’d hire me as.

A cleaner.

Obviously, not what my heart wanted, but it was a start. It’d buy me time to learn more and develop my voice until I was really ready.

It was a risky job. Had to hide it from Ma. Pay was low too, but it was a colored bar, so it was expected. Nonetheless, I got food back on the table.

I felt bad for lying though. Technically, I told Ma the truth about coming here for better job opportunities. I just never told her which one. As far as she knows, I'm a waitress at a cute little restaurant on the blackest street of town where I serve milkshakes to Harriet Tubman and everyone shits out great moral values for our youth of today. I could never tell her I wanted to be a singer at a nightclub where everyone bumps and grinds till 3 in the morning.

However, even though I got the job, there were still some major complications. The owner, Sunbeam, as kind as he is, was still highly aware of my differences and their negative connotations, even in the black community. Therefore, I was stationed in the back, where I was never in the direct line of customers.

Busy days were becoming more and more frequent as the club only rose in popularity. Sunbeam was getting more strict on who he let play. Only the best of the best got in, and only the best of them actually got to perform. You had to be a creative, bold, visionary to make it here.

Luckily, I had the vision. Unfortunately, I lacked the action.

It’s a slow day today, so Sunbeam was comfortable allowing me out to clean tables every so often. I’d bring dirty dishes to the back, then come out to restock the bar area, trying my best to sneak peeks at the new acts.

Arms full of dishes, I excuse myself to Jackson, the bartender, and bend down to fill any empty slots on the shelf below the counter with freshly washed and warm cocktail glasses and beer mugs.

“Ah! There you are, man!” I hear a customer call from not too far to my left. I glance around the counter, watching as a man walks past the bar towards the doors of the nightclub.

“You know I’d never pass up some good music.” A deep southern accent responds.

A lump forms in my throat upon seeing the last person I had expected to walk through these doors. In the entrance stands a white man.

I hide further behind the counter, preparing myself in case things go south, but after seeing his youth, soft smile, and oversized, baggy tux, perhaps he was of no harm. Maybe having an identity crisis, but mostly harmless. Regardless of who he is, he’s still that last person here I want to run into. I could think he’s fine now, but who knows what he’ll do if he sees me.

I watch as the white man steps further into the club. The black couples seated near the door eye him til he and his friend sit at their own table. He sits, smiling at his friend, throwing his head back in laughter as they talk. He has a playful darkness in his eyes. They’re filled with mystery and wonder behind the few strands of blond hair that fell into his face.

Honestly, he’s kinda cute, but I shouldn’t think that way.

A new singer takes their place on stage, setting up their equipment. I take a glass from my arms and notice that it’s still wet. I grab the towel hanging from my apron and wipe off the few droplets while I study the music being played. I take in everything. They way they move. The way they sing. The way they flick their wrist.

It was inspiring, hypnotizing.

That’d be me one day. I just know it. I felt it inside of me; the passion to perform. One day all those years of watching, waiting, and daydreaming would go to use. One day.

“Hey there, sir. Could you fix me up a nice Pepsi-Cola, please?”

Shit. I jump, ducking further behind the counter. It’s him, right on the other side of the bar.

Jackson lets out a breathy laugh. “Easy enough,” he mumbles. He turns around to reach for a cola, popping off the lid and handing him the glass. “Here you go, sir.”

He tips the glass towards him as a thanks, before tilting his head back to take a sip. He hums in satisfaction, placing the bottle back down on the counter as he takes in the club once more.

Jackson glances down at me for a moment with an amused smirk. Luckily, Jackson’s one of the most kind and understanding people here, so he knows exactly why I’m basically hiding behind his legs like a scared puppy dog.

I wait a few moments longer, not even daring to peek and check if he’s still there. I hear someone step down from one of the stools and walk further away from the bar. I assume it was him, considering how close in proximity it sounded. I sigh in relief, starting to cramp up in my hunched position, finally standing, but not before completely missing Jackson’s silent warnings. I spin around only to come face to face with the very person I was hiding from.

“Well, hey there, little miss. Where’d you come from?” He says wide eyed with an amused laugh.

For a moment, I'm dumbstruck, absolutely wide eyed and frozen, unable to do anything but stare him right in those bright, baby blue eyes. And from the looks of it, he seems to be having a similar problem.

“My, you have you some beautiful eyes.” He compliments.

I can't tell if he's being serious. Technically, this is my first time speaking to a white man, besides Elvis and the occasional run in with his father, but that was different. This is a stranger. Sure, I had seen white people from afar, but to be this up close and personal with one of them is new. And now this guy's complimenting me? I've never been approached in this fashion… by anyone, really.

He chuckles at my lost gaze. “What’s your name, lil darlin?” He asks with his deep, southern drawl.

I feel a heavy blush rise to my cheeks. That's not supposed to happen.

I quickly snap out of my trance, realizing the man is still waiting for a response. “Um, Honey.” I answer, scratching the back of my neck.

He pauses to process, narrowing his eyes and studying me closely for some reason. “I used to have a friend with that name...” He states dubiously.

Now it’s my turn to squint at him. I take in his face, his features: blue eyes, blonde hair…

No, could be anyone.

I shrug off the thought, “Didn’t know there were any white girls named Honey.” I comment slyly, skeptically eyeing him over.

He chuckles, thumbing the sweat on his glassed cola. “There’s not. At least, that I know.”

I raise an eyebrow at this, curious. What kind of people is this kid hanging around? “You got a lot of black friends?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He grins.

I guess if he's up in a place like this I shouldn't be so surprised, but still. “Yes.”

Normally, I wouldn’t feel this comfortable talking to any kind of stranger, but something about this guy was just so… familiar– so comfortable.

He chuckles, “I guess it would be.” He props his head up, resting it on his knuckles. “I s’pose you didn’t grow up in ol’ Tupelo, Mississippi?” He takes another sip of his drink, looking off in the distance as if he’s not expecting a yes out of me. Little does he know.

Immediately upon hearing his question my face drops. Is it-? He couldn’t be-?

I shake my head in disbelief, a small smile creeping onto my lips as my heart immediately begins to recognize the boy in front of me despite what my eyes can barely grasp. He notices the change in my expression, letting his jaw drop. His eyes find mine as we both realize the other’s identity. “Uh uh, ain’t no way.” He mutters, running his hands through his hair while he shakes his head.

“Elvis…?” I just barely whisper.

A large grin appears on his face. He jumps over the bar, completely oblivious to the eyes on him, and pulls me into a big hug. I gasp, embracing him back. “God, I barely recognized you!” I exclaim, pulling back to look at him. “I’m surprised you ain’t forgotten me by now. I’m sure you have a whole posse of friends now. I mean… look at you!” I chuckle nervously. Lord. And I used to think he was cute when we were little.

He scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes at me. “You don’t forget a friend of that many years.” He leans to the side, resting his forearm on the wooden counter with a… mischievous smile. “ And trust me, darlin,” he begins. “I’m the one who’s really shocked here. I mean…” His eyes scan my body up and down. He takes a deep breath, cocking his head to the side with a shy, yet suggestive chuckle. “You’re definitely a woman now.”

My heart thumps ferociously in my chest, hands sweating nervously as my former best friend begins to notice me in a way I had only once dreamed of.

He pulls at the collar of his button up, clearing his throat. “Well, I oughta get back, but uh, I’ll be back to you later.” I nod, still too embarrassed to say anything. He backs away, eyeing me with that dumb grin of his that I used to hate and love so much as a kid. He turns back to his friend but not before shooting me one last flirtatious smirk and wink before sitting down.

I can’t help but giggle as my blush darkens. I turn back to the bar, unable to stop myself from smiling like a gummy idiot. Jackson raises his eyebrow at me, chuckling to himself as he sees my flusteredness. I flash him a quick and embarrassed grin, before scurrying back to the kitchen.

The rest of the night goes by painfully slow. My previous ear for music now directed to the sound of my heart, though I try my best to focus on my work in front of me. Eventually, the club drains out as closing time nears, Elvis and his friend being the last left. I take the time to wipe down tables and flip chairs, prepping the area for sweeping and mopping.

I glance over at Elvis for the nth time tonight. I can’t believe I’m seeing my childhood best friend again, all grown up and a man now no less. It warms my heart seeing as his open and playful personality hasn’t diminished over the many years and that he never lost touch of our roots.

He started doing his hair differently. All pushed back and messy.

It looks good on him.

As I take in his new look, I find myself pathetically oblivious to the fact that I’m fully staring at him, and that he’s aware that I’m doing so. He lets out a laugh as he excuses himself to his friend, who takes the time to go over and speak with Jackson.

Oh, Lord. I’ve gone and invited him over now. What do I say? Maybe I’ll just play off the fact that I was looking at him all night, make it into some small joke. Oh, he’s gonna know I’ve been all goo goo eyes for him since the day we were born. Maybe I should just walk out. ‘Sorry, busy,’ I’ll tell him. Is that rude? Oh! Maybe I’ll-

“I didn’t forget about you, if that’s what’s troublin’ you.” He teases with an annoyingly cocky grin.

I snap my head up towards him with wide eyes, before quickly snapping it back down in embarrassment to look at the table I was cleaning before he had come over. I narrow my eyes, attempting to play it off. “Nothin’s troublin’ me, Elvis.” I assure him.

He hums, not at all convinced as his cocky grins turns into a prideful one. “Really? ‘Cause from where I was standing, you were looking pretty troubled to me.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t fight the smile on my face. “What do you want, Elvis?” A defeated sigh heavy in my voice.

He shrugs bashfully, looking down at his feet. “I wanted to catch up with you. Been a while.” He says softly.

My eyes fall guilty to the floor. “Well,” I begin. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid much ain’t changed.” I say with a sigh. It was true. New city. Same problems.

He scoffs. “That ain’t true, otherwise you’d still be down there, wouldn’t you? What brought you up to Memphis?”

“Money.” I say bluntly.

He lets out a chuckle. “How’s Ma?” A softer look in his eyes.

I sigh once more, dropping my shoulders. “Lonely.”

He looks down at me with an empathetic look, knowing she still misses my dad.

Ma and Dad met in Alabama. Dad was the son of a plantation owner and Mom was the maid. They spent so much time together that eventually they fell in love. They started fooling around, got caught by his folks. They thought something was wrong with his head and called the cops on him. Ma found out she was pregnant, ran to Mississippi and Daddy got locked up. Elvis and I had that little bit in common.

I never met my dad. In fact, he had no idea I even exist. Other than that, she never really told me nothing about my dad.

“Yeah, it be like that…” Elvis says, trailing off as he stares at nothing in particular on the floor.”

I clear my throat, attempting to change the subject. “Well, what have you been up to then?”

A small smile returns to his face. “Oh, you know, school. Been going around as a truck driver.” He shrugs his shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant about his recent activities.

I nod slowly. A young truck driver hanging around these parts. I’m sure he gets by well in his community. “How’d you come by Club Handy? Most people like you don’t come around here…”

He laughs, amusedly smiling at me as he leans against the nearest table. “I assume you mean white?” He chuckles when he sees my eyes guiltily look away. "I just really like the music. Can't find it nowhere else."

My smile widens. "S'good to hear you still like music so much."

"You have no idea." He says with a hint of mischief in his eyes. Our eye lock onto each other's. I try my best not to let his gaze get to me, but my lips betray me, forming into a flustered smile which causes me to break our little staring contest out of shyness.

I watch in my peripheral view as he bites his lips, letting it curl into a devilish smirk. I shake my head. “Mama always warned me about you.” I say with a chuckle, looking back up at him.

He stares at me, taken aback, but still amused. “Oh, did she now?” He raises a brow at me.

I nod matter-of-factly. “Mhmm. Said you was all kinds of trouble.”

He takes big nods as he very obviously processes this new information. He accepts it. “I guess I am.” I raise an eyebrow, not expecting him to answer in such a way.

He glances down at me with a new found sense of confidence.

“How bout you?”

-Tag List-

@mirandastuckinthe80s @queenslandlover-93

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis biopic #austin butler #austin butler x reader #elvis presley x reader #fanfic #oc fanfiction #black fanfiction #black reader #fanfiction #oc

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madfantasy · 3 years ago

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I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

#ask #text #diary #personal #my art #miss

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tenthgrove · 4 years ago

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More yandere Tiziano can't squalo plz

Squalo and Tiziano- The Escape

Yandere Squalo and Tiziano x Reader (GN)

Content Warnings: Coerced Relationships, dub-con kissing, manipulation

(A/N: Since this request was quite open-ended I decided to take my own approach and write a short fic about what happens when you try to escape from them. This scenario is set in the same canon as the previous post on yandere Squalo and Tiziano, about a month after Reader is forced to move in.)

This house is uncanny in its shallow attractiveness. A wonderful meditteranean retreat, spacious bedrooms and sprawling gardens, two beautiful men who fawn and wait on you constantly.

It would be the stuff of dreams, had you not been forced to be here.

You awake to Squalo and Tiziano's voices calling you from the hall. You should have figured that your insistence on sleeping in the spare room last night would leave them extra clingy all morning. Every time you manage to get away from them for a bit, they always bring their affections back 10-fold the next time you're forced to wallow in their presence. Maybe it was a mistake, in retrospect, to insist on such a thing when all it ever achieves is putting off the innevitable, but on the other hand if you had agreed to one more night pressed between them like some wrangled stuffed toy you think you might have screamed.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that this will all be behind you in a few hours.

Your first port of call is to throw some clothes on and check the bags hidden away down the side of the wardrobe. You've been carefully shifting all your more important belongings into them for the best part of the week. God knows if they find them, no excuse in the world will conceal what your plan was.

::::::::::::

Breakfast is as you expect. Tiziano cooks for the three of you while Squalo whines about how much he missed holding you last night. You force yourself not to lash out at him since you know your plan depends on keeping them happy for the next hour or so. You smile, and nod, and indulge their petty conversation while you eat, before heading back to the spare room to finish getting dressed.

You see, the best part of your plan is that they know you're leaving today. You have their permission to go shopping and, with some convincing, to go alone. The 'escape' part is simply that you have no intention to come back.

You wheel your suitcase quietly down to the front room, clutching your handbag tightly. Inside is 300 euros that Tiziano willingly gave you, after you mentioned that a shopping trip might lift your spirits.

How kind of him to fund your breakout.

Your heart rises with hope as you fiddle the key into the lock, only to sink down again as you hear a voice behind you.

"You're not leaving without saying goodbye, are you Tesoro?" Squalo calls. Shit, he heard you. You quickly shove your suitcase behind a plant pot and put your hands behind your back before the pair join you in the front room. They smile, and you fight the urge to scowl.

"Are you sure we can't come with you, love?" Tiziano pleads.

"No. It's nice of you to offer but I'd really like to do this by myself," you insist, adding a curt smile.

"Alright beautiful, we understand," Tiziano sighs, tracing his fingertips up your arm in a way that makes your skin twitch. "Now, how about a kiss goodbye?" he requests. Your insides curl. This is the part you were hoping to avoid. Still, no point in dragging it out or you might never leave.

You take a sharp breath and lean forward, eyes closed. Tiziano's kiss is bearable enough, tender and gentle so that it's easy enough to ignore the sensation. That comes to a screeching halt when Squalo yanks you from his arms, smashing his mouth against yours like his life depends on it. You push him off in revulsion, but it seems he's satisfied enough.

"Alright beautiful, off you go," Squalo chuckles.

"Yes, thank you," you say. There's an awkward pause as they smile at you, waiting for you to leave. You'd hoped they would bugger off so you could get your suitcase back but that doesn't seem to be the case.

"Well, aren't you going to go?" Tiziano prompts you. You exhale.

"Yes, goodbye," you concede, walking out the door sans-suitcase. Damn, you really wanted to take your stuff with you but you guess you'll have to manage. As long as you've got your money and documents, you'll be fine.

You look back blankly at Squalo and Tiziano as they wave you off from the window. You won't miss those two.

::::::::::::

Your feet feel like stone. Walking for an hour was fine, two was uncomfortable, three was tiring and nine is getting downright unbearable. Barring your quick stop for lunch you've been walking non-stop and you're really starting to think you won't be able to make it.

Your original plan was to walk to your friend's house and plead for shelter, hence avoiding a risky phone call that might be traced by the mysterious syndicate Squalo and Tizianio claim to work for. You have high-confidence in the viability of this idea- your friend is hardly the sort to refuse to rescue you from a situation like this and they weren't on the list of relatives the pair used to threaten you when they first made themselves known to you. That means they don't know where this person lives.

But, all that's for nought if you can't actually get to the place.

In Squalo and Tiziano's house, control was always achieved through the fear of the power they might possess. Never once did they threaten to hit, starve, isolate or deprive you. And yet, every time they would passingly mention how their syndicate had eyes in every town and village, you felt yourself shiver.

You don't want to stop at a hotel. You don't want to stop anywhere run by people you don't know, just go straight from A to B. But this doesn't look anything like the area your friend lives in, and your feet are ready to give out on you.

Worse, the sun is starting to set.

Damn it all, you think. You make a B-line for the nearest hotel and force your fears to the back of your mind.

You know it's stupid, but you half expected a squadron of armed mobsters to burst out of the staffroom the second you approached the receptionist. Of course, Squalo and Tiziano have probably only just realised you aren't coming back and even then, there's no way they'd have found you this quickly. You remain calm as you ask for a room, even as the receptionist makes clear you aren't getting it without showing your i.d. No matter, you think. You'll only be here for one night.

::::::::::::

Dawn brings with it a new sense of optimism when you awake to find your hotel room as you last saw it. You're not in the trunk of the car, bound or threatened at gun-point, and there certainly isn't anyone clinging onto you in the bed. It would seem that you've made it through the night undetected.

In other words, you've made it through the hardest part.

You dress quickly and gather your things. You don't think you'll stay around for breakfast; it would be better to just pick something up from the shops and eat as you go. You found a hotel leaflet with a map of the local area, and it seems you're less far from your friend's house than you thought you were yesterday. With any luck, you'll have reached it by the next day.

And thus, your freedom begins.

You check out at the reception without issue and begin the final stretch of your journey. That's when you get the distinct feeling you're being watched.

You're not even at the end of the street when a car pulls up beside you, the voice within stopping you dead in your tracks.

"You know darling, it isn't usually typical to go shopping for 22 hours straight, but we're glad you enjoyed yourself," Tiziano cajoles. You snap around to meet eyes with him, sitting in his car with Squalo at his side, both smiling gleefully. They're enjoying this.

You look around, your ankles shaking as though you aren't sure what direction to take. The locals clearly take no notice to the sight of someone being hollered at on the street, and given how deep syndicate control supposedly runs in this area, you doubt they'd care much more if you were to be dragged in.

You could run, you could always run, but they've got a car and you're willing to bet quite a few weapons. Even if you gave them the slip, you're now close enough to your final destination that tracking you down would be a piece of cake.

Shit, shit, shit. You guess you don't have much of a choice.

Fists clenched, you avoid eye contact as you approach the car, climbing into the back with your head bowed in defeat. Squalo chuckles lightly.

"You're really too cruel, love. Forcing me to spend two nights without your embrace in a row," he chides you.

"Not to worry, we kept ourselves busy. Registering at a hotel in your own name? Really darling, how amateur!" Tiziano remarks. You growl lowly. That's it. Consequences be damned.

"How about you two just fuck right off to hell!?" you explode. "Damn the both of you! I was doing just fine until you waltzed on over and decided you fancied having me for yourselves! Fuck you! Fuck you both!"

Tiziano laughs.

"Oh darling, do you really expect us to believe you hate us so strongly when you were so quick to get into this car?"

"What?! That doesn't- You would have chased after me if I didn't!" you protest.

"Oh, definitely," Tiziano concurs. "But don't you think you would have at least tried to flee if being with us was such a horrible fate?"

"You threatened my family! You threatened me!"

"We did no such thing. All we did was politely remind you we're aware of your addresses," Tiziano reiterates.

"Like I don't know what that's meant to imply!" you fume.

"Alright, we'll play along. Maybe we were a bit pushy in making you ours," Squalo admits teasingly. "But I honestly can't remember the last time I saw you look afraid. Angry, yes. So attractively angry..."

"...But the fear your words would imply you feel for us simply isn't there, Amore," Tiziano agrees with him. He finds a suitable spot and pulls the car to a halt, turning to you fully. He takes your chin in his hand as Squalo brings a hand to your shoulder.

"Can you truly, honestly claim to despise being with us as much as you'd assert?" Tiziano presses you. You go quiet.

"Just as we thought," Squalo scoffs. "Now, I'd say we've both earned another kiss."

#squalo and tiziano #squalo and tiziano x reader #yandere cw #dubcon kissing cw #manipulation cw

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c4rr10n · 3 years ago

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I know this is kind of crazy but I love to talk into the void. I’m almost 30 now and the last decade (to say the least) has been extremely difficult for me, not just emotionally, physically, and financially, but socially. My last “falling out” hit me so hard that I literally moved 3 hours out to a town where I knew one person. And then I proceeded to isolate myself for 6 whole months. Entirely. Like, I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t post on social media, and I didn’t leave my house. If I needed food or house stuff I ordered it to my door. I just went completely off the radar, radio silent and entirely isolated for 6 whole months.

Well, it’s been… I dunno, 9 months now that I’ve been here, maybe. And a month or so ago I finally let the one friend I have here introduce me to their friends. And a few days ago it was my birthday, so I went out to dinner with a few of them, and they had me come over after. I’d bought a cake, and knowing I’d never eat all of it I brought it with me. One of them hopped out of their seat so I wouldn’t put it in the fridge myself and another put a candle on it for me. Both of these instances shocked me silent and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I literally almost cried at the candle thing, lol. But idk, I’m just kind of sitting here at 4am in my bed like. Damn. I’ve been treated like such shit for so long, that the first time someone did something genuinely thoughtful and caring, I was just… literally shocked. And while that’s sad, yeah, I’m honestly just… really happy. I’ve had such a hard time for so long, and while I got myself through it all just fine, it’s crazy nice to just… have some folks like… actually, genuinely, give a shit. Not just being nice or polite, but doing nice things because they want to make me feel good about myself. It’s just really nice and I wanted to share that with the void

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sunsetcurve · 4 years ago

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learn to love without consuming (1/4)

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc / ciara, minor or one-sided arc / oc and ciara / oc word count: 4,603

a/n: eek. it's finally here. if you follow me here you know that i've been working on this for a few weeks (months?), but the idea has been sitting in my drafts for basically forever. almost since i watched the show to begin with. the recent resurgence of the ks fandom prompted me to dig this back up and gave me the motivation to actually try and finish, because fuck it! i love my babes and i want more of them.

so quick note is that this picks up pretty soon after the season 1 finale but disregards basically,,, everything that happens in s2. s1 and the finale proceed the same way except prudy never finds out ciara's secret, so she and warwick don't know at the moment. this chapter was initially gonna have more scenes that drove the plot/romance arc but once i got upwards of 6k with a few major scenes left i decided it would be best if i split the chapter up, so for now it’s just a lot of me trying to work around the convoluted knight squad lore to establish my own. i know that's not exactly what everyone is here for, but i promise things on the romance/action front will pick up soon. i'll place warnings as detailed as i can get without spoiling in the tags and notes as i go, but just anticipate fairly significant violence by chapter 3.

anyway! i have talked enough. the title is from thus always to tyrants by the oh hellos, the rating is t for swearing/violence, there are three more chapters that are in the process of being written, and reviews are like crack as far as i'm concerned. i really hope you like this! thanks for reading <3

dedications: this fic is first and foremost for @ciara-knightly, who is not only my amazing beta but also the whole reason this fic exists. she helped me so so much with the development of the plot and worked through it with me even way before i decided to really start writing it, and i wouldn’t have been able to do this without her. all of the notes she left after beta-reading were so so helpful and really made this whole fic make sense so basically i owe her my entire life. she inspires me to be a better writer all the time and i love her. everyone say thank you shona!!! also tagging my lovely friends and some people who have expressed interest, who are in no way obligated to read this; @juliesdahlias @mistyskiesrambles @dr-rigatoni @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @julies-molinas @soni-dragon @yagorlemmalyn @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @onetwothreefarkle @bitchmilsky

summary: “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”

read it on ao3

The morning before training that day, Arc is testing his skills against a heavy bronze padlock when Ciara enters the squad room and drops a brown paper bag on the table in front of him.

“These,” she announces as he raises an eyebrow at her, “are for you.”

He pulls open the package and is instantly greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of vanilla. “Dragon puffs?” he says, half in awe. It’s a clear bribe, but he can’t help but shove a sugar-coated sweet in his mouth anyway. They’re an Astorian original and possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted; he’d tried them once at a bakery near the castle and hasn’t stopped thinking about them since.

“Okay, what do you want?” he says then, words muffled around the cream and pastry.

Ciara pulls a face at his manners, but still manages to blink innocently at him. “Can’t I just do something nice for a friend?” she tries, but it’s half-hearted.

He swallows and grins at her. “Nice try, Princess. Your dessert deliveries always come with an ulterior motive.”

Huffing a sigh, she sits down next to him. There’s this subtle air of anticipation lingering around her, one he can only sense based on how in tune they are after so long of being teammates. The two of them have this easy way of reading each other now; they’ve been spending more and more time together, something having shifted in their dynamic after the battle against Ryker. He can’t quite place what it is, but he knows it’s only brought them closer. “Do you know what the Council of the Five Kingdoms is?” she asks finally.

He shrugs. “Sure. Nobles from each kingdom used to have a big ball every year to talk trading and politics and other boring stuff…”

“Except there hasn’t been a council since Ryker’s invasion, because the kingdoms have been isolated and preoccupied with their own safety,” she finishes for him. Her fingers tug at the lacing of her leather gauntlets; she’s nervous, but he still isn’t sure why. “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Arc chokes on his second dragon puff. “You want me to be your escort,” he says flatly, once he’s finished coughing, “to the Council of the Five Kingdoms?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend a night dressing up and eating castle food. But the council is a decidedly different scene; there’s a set of formalities, politics underlying everything, and too many chances for him to expose his lack of knowledge when it comes to Astorian customs. Not to mention that Catalias’ royals will be there. He doesn’t know if he can stomach looking them in the face, knowing what they did to Seagate.

Ciara grimaces. “Look, I know it’s not exactly your thing, but my dad won’t let me go alone. And this really means a lot to me.” Her eyes are pleading, and Arc feels his resolve chipping away.

“Can’t one of your actual guards go with you?” he tries. “Or, Prudy or Warwick or someone?”

“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” she explains. “You’re the only Knight School student he’d let protect me, because you already proved you could when Ryker invaded. Besides, if something were to happen…you’re the one person who knows I can handle myself as Ciara.”

There’s this brief stretch of silence where Arc works his bottom lip, and Ciara looks as though she’s debating something. “Also,” she adds finally, with the soft flicker of a hesitant smile, “I thought it might be fun to go with you.”

Arc blinks at her, caught off guard by the admission. There’s this sudden buzz in his chest that he can’t push away; in truth, he doesn’t like the idea of her spending the night with someone else either. Maybe, by some miracle, this will actually be a good thing. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll be your escort.”

Ciara’s face breaks into a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he’s shock-stilled, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he hugs her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining with excitement. “Okay, I’ve gotta go tell my dad you said yes, and there’s a million things to do, but I’ll see you at training later. You are the best.”

“I expect dragon puffs for life!” Arc calls after her as she disappears through her passageway. He leans back into the couch, lightheaded, and in that moment, he realizes abruptly that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

And he is so completely screwed.

Two weeks later, Arc is standing outside Ciara’s bedroom, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

It feels odd to be out here in the open. Generally his visits to her chamber are accompanied by an air of secrecy, but tonight, he’s a guest in the castle. He’s dressed like it, too, decked out in the guards’ typical formal wear: pressed brown pants, a white shirt laced up the front, and a navy leather jacket trimmed in gold, with Astoria’s crest on one shoulder. He looks kind of dashing, honestly.

Despite the confidence boost his new look offers him, his hand keeps drifting to the hilt of his sword. It’s sheer force of habit; he only associates this brewing sense of apprehension with battle, and his muscles are responding in kind. He’s glad, at least, that he turned down the other guards’ offer to lend him one of their ceremonial blades and instead has the familiarity of his own. Hopefully he won’t need it, but it’s a steadying presence all the same.

“Almost ready!” Ciara calls from inside, and Arc carefully unclenches his fingers from around the leather grip of his sword. He has to keep it together tonight; she’s made it clear how much this means to her. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass her in front of nobles from all five kingdoms.

Well, four, he reminds himself. Seagate won’t be attending. There isn’t anyone left to represent them.

The thought makes his stomach twist.

He’s saved from having to dwell on it by the sound of Ciara’s door unlatching. “Better prepare yourself, Princess,” he teases, leaning against the wall, “I look pretty good, and the last thing we want is for you to get too smitten—”

He breaks off as she emerges from the doorway, all the air in his lungs leaving in a sudden rush. He’s trying hard not to be the cliche of a guy scraping his jaw off the floor at the sight of a pretty girl in a dress, especially not like this, with Ciara—but he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously unfair of her to come out looking like that. Her dress is a pale blue, falling gently off her shoulders and cinching at her waist, and her tight curls are weaved with strands of gold and tied into a low knot, some of them falling loose to frame her face. There’s a crown of gold leaves and rosebuds settled in her hair.

“You...um…” Arc searches for his voice, “you look amazing.” His mouth feels dry.

Ciara smirks and reaches up to adjust the collar of his uniform. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m definitely smitten,” she jokes, like it’s nothing for them to be flirting openly. It should be nothing. Except his skin burns where her fingers brush against his neck, and he suddenly wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.

He clears his throat. “We should probably get to the ballroom.”

She nods. “Give me your arm,” she says, looking at him expectantly. When he raises an eyebrow, she continues, “You’re my escort, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He lifts his arm obligingly, his cheeks warm.

“I really wish we’d had more time to go over Astorian customs,” she breathes as she takes it, more to herself than anything. “Between training and helping with preparations, I’ve been so busy…” His nerves must show on his face, then, because she squeezes his arm gently and amends, “Sorry. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just stay close to me, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he grins without missing a beat, and Ciara scoffs and shoves him, the smile tugging at her mouth taking all the bite away from it.

They can do this, he thinks. The two of them have kept up appearances for each other for months now, have fought and trained and battled Ryker together. They’re Arc and Ciara, unstoppable duo. One little party should be nothing.

As they make their way down the hall towards the ballroom, flanked by guards, Ciara lowers her voice. “When we get there, most of the nobles should be inside already. The herald will announce my father first, then us, and then each of the other three kingdoms. We’ll be beside the thrones as they come in—you’ll stand by me, left side—and once they’ve all been announced, we can leave the thrones and mingle. Bow to each of the rulers as they come by.”

They had, at least, practiced his bow. Arc swallows back the dread in his throat; all he has to do is stand beside her and greet the other royals, it’s easy enough. For a moment, they linger outside the entrance to the ballroom, until an official-sounding voice announces the King. “We’re next,” Ciara whispers to him, eyes glinting with excitement. “You ready?”

He nods back at her, and the voice calls, “Accompanied by Sir Arc...Princess Angelica of Astoria!” They step into the ballroom, greeted with applause. Arc doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place this lavish; the walls are white, accented in deep gold, and the floors are polished to a gleam. The ceiling looks hand-painted, ornately decorated in constellations and swirling designs, and crystal chandeliers dangle over their heads, casting a golden glow over the whole room. He tries not to look too awe-struck.

They make their way to the platform on which the thrones rest, Ciara nodding and smiling and waving at the other nobles as they pass. She stands next to her father, and Arc takes his place on her other side, placing his hands behind his back and trying, for all the world, to look like he belongs there. He wonders suddenly if he’s stood too close to her, and if it would make things worse for him to shift over now, and if his indecision is showing on his face—

And then, almost imperceptibly and hidden from the ballroom’s view by the folds of her dress, Ciara reaches over and links her pinky with his. It’s a tiny gesture, a friendly reassurance, but Arc feels a tide of warmth swell in his chest all the same. He lets his gaze flit to her for just a moment, and her lips are graced with a small smile as she tugs his finger gently.

His breath hitches, and he fights to keep his face a passive neutral as the herald announces the next kingdom and he turns his attention back to the doorway.

“Presenting King Hugo, Queen Luciana, and their son Prince Isaac of Catalias!”

Arc’s stomach turns as the couple enters, trailed by their son, all three of them swathed in lavish red and gold. Their reputation precedes them; he knows little about the prince, but the king and queen are infamous for their hoarding of wealth, their favorance of the rich nobles and landowners of their kingdom over the common people. Arc knows them best for what they had done to Seagate.

His hand twitches for his sword, but he fights against the instinct.

True to form, the two have a haughty look about them, all starched clothes and stiff smiles as they bow to Ciara and the King. The two of them return the greeting with Arc following their lead—grudgingly.

“I am so pleased you could join us tonight,” the King smiles, a little tight-lipped. “It is high time that Astoria and Catalias united again.”

King Hugo nods back. “I couldn’t agree more. The honor is ours.”

Arc detects a veiled sort of tension between the two of them, hidden well underneath the cordial formalities. He glances at Isaac, whose eyes are trained intently on Ciara even as he and his parents move to greet the other guests. Something about it is unsettling.

He’s so focused on Isaac that he almost misses the herald’s announcement of the next kingdom. “Queen Damyanti, and her children Princess Aadhya and Prince Kavan of Khurjan!”

Queen Damyanti is the picture of elegance, draped in silver silk that almost seems to glow against her dark skin. Aadhya looks around fifteen, with the same deep eyes and regal expression, and Kavan must be ten or so. He grins toothily as the three of them approach the thrones and bow.

The King’s expression is much warmer now. “Queen Damyanti. It has been too long. I trust Khurjan is doing well?”

“Not quite as well as Astoria, perhaps,” she replies, and it’s teasing, no sharpness to it. “This ball is absolutely lovely. Princess Angelica, you look so beautiful. Just like your mother. I was so sorry to hear of her passing.”

Ciara’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, Queen Damyanti,” she nods back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You as well. It’s a shame your sister couldn’t make it, but hopefully we’ll all gather again soon.” She gives a small, departing nod and joins the rest of the nobles, Aadhya giving them a bright-eyed smile and Kavan waving enthusiastically as they follow her. Ciara laughs.

“And finally...King Jesper of Vysalt!”

Arc is confused for a moment; he wonders if he had remembered the name of Vysalt’s king wrong. Then a young man with a head of dark curls and a smattering of freckles against tawny brown skin enters, his crown just slightly crooked. His eyes are wide and dark, and a jagged, white scar cuts across his cheekbone. He can’t be much older than they are.

“He’s the king?” Arc whispers to Ciara under his breath as Jesper makes his way over to them. “How old is he?”

Her expression twists a little in sympathy. “Seventeen. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne so soon. His parents were killed when Ryker’s army took over his kingdom.”

Arc isn’t sure what to say to that. He knows what it’s like to lose everything to Ryker—he can picture the flames every time he shuts his eyes. But he hadn’t known about Vysalt or the fate of its royals. They had been close allies with Seagate at one point, one of the only other kingdoms without much wealth, and their king and queen had been known for their generosity.

Somehow Arc had thought the damage had been done to Seagate alone, but now he wonders how the other kingdoms fared, if they suffered just as much. If any of them came out as unscathed as Astoria did.

“Your Majesties,” Jesper says as he bows, and there’s a note of pity in the King’s expression as he returns the gesture. Arc can only imagine how he feels about someone so close to his daughter’s age having to run a kingdom on his own.

“King Jesper. How are you doing?”

It’s a more personal question than he had asked the other royals, Arc notes. Jesper smiles easily; it’s soft, highlights his deep dimples and makes his dark eyes glimmer. “Well, thank you. Vysalt is recovering with time. As am I,” he adds, voice quieting for a moment.

The King nods back. “That’s good to hear. Let us know if there’s anything Astoria can do to help.”

Something flickers in Jesper’s expression, hard to read and gone so quickly that Arc wonders if he imagined it. The young king bows again before moving to join the others, but not before he catches Arc’s eye and smiles warmly. It surprises him—the other royals had hardly given him a second glance—but he returns it with one of his own. Beside him, Ciara lifts an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t place.

“What?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head, glancing away.

“Nothing.”

He wants to pry, but the King is clearing his throat, getting ready to address the room. The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to him.

“My fellow Astorians,” he says in his deep, booming voice, sounding more formal than Arc has ever heard him, “and my guests from our neighboring kingdoms...I am honored to welcome you to our castle, and so pleased that we could all be in attendance tonight.”

Not all of us, Arc thinks, but no word of Seagate comes up.

The King continues, “For decades, our kingdoms have been isolated and divided by Ryker’s armies. We have long suffered under his forces, but his threat is gone for good. Thus, tonight is more than a council; it is a symbol of our victory, a symbol of our unity as we move forward and rebuild. So enjoy yourselves! After all, we have so much to celebrate!”

To Arc, the sentiment feels hollow. He got his revenge, and of course he’s glad that Ryker can’t hurt anyone else, but it doesn’t change the fact that Seagate is in ruins. It feels suddenly difficult to celebrate with the weight of his village’s absence lingering in the air around him. The rest of the partygoers don’t seem to share his hesitance, though; the room breaks into applause and cheers, several of the guests raising their goblets jovially.

Ciara gives him a subtle nudge, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Now we get to mingle,” she grins, leading him off the throne platform and towards the crowd.

He follows dutifully as she heads toward the table where the other kingdoms’ royals have gathered, Astoria’s king staying behind to greet the other royals. Queen Damyanti is in conversation with King Hugo and Queen Luciana, but she doesn’t seem entirely pleased about it, and Jesper and Kavan are laughing at something Aadhya has said. Isaac hovers next to them, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He has his father’s golden hair and clear blue eyes, but the frown on his face is entirely his mother’s.

It disappears, though, the moment he sees Ciara approaching them. “Princess Angelica,” he greets her, with a little too much enthusiasm for Arc’s liking, “I’m so honored to finally meet you. You’re even more radiant in person.” Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and kisses it swiftly. Arc narrows his eyes.

Ciara gives a forced-sounding chuckle and curtseys, pulling her hand back. “Thank you, Prince Isaac. I’m glad you could make it. Allow me to introduce Sir Arc, my guard and escort for the night.”

Arc bows—and if he never has to bow to another pompous royal again, he thinks, it’ll be too soon—and Isaac offers him a dismissive sort of half-smile. Any further interaction they would’ve had then is thankfully avoided by the other royals noticing Ciara’s arrival.

“Hi, Princess Angelica!” Aadhya says brightly, with a neat little dip of a curtsey, “I’m Aadhya.” When Ciara and Arc begin to return the gesture, she waves her hand with a tiny scoff. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Formalities. Just come sit.” She returns to her chair and pats the seat next to her, and Arc decides right there that he likes her.

Ciara takes the offered chair, and Arc takes the only other open spot, in between her and King Jesper. As Ciara launches into conversation with Aadhya, Jesper turns to him.

“Hi,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Jesper.”

Arc bites back a laugh at the unnecessary introduction. “I know who you are, Your Highness,” he replies lightly.

“I know. I was just trying to give you an opening to tell me who you are.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. There’s no prerogative behind his words, no assertion; Jesper’s grin is almost bashful, his voice easy and bright. He doesn’t sound like a king, just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to flirt. Arc can’t help but return his smile.

“I’m Arc,” he says. “Normally I’m a student at Knight School, but I’m the princess’s guard and escort for the night.”

“Wait,” Aadhya pauses her conversation with Ciara to lean over and look at him, “You’re the Arc who defeated Ryker?”

“I helped,” Arc says with a shrug, and the princess’s eyes go wide. She turns to Ciara.

“Were you there too?”

“I was—” Ciara pauses for a moment, “hiding. I was hiding. Arc got me to safety.”

He grins a little at her, tongue between his teeth, knowing it must be killing her to hide what she was actually doing. She narrows her eyes and kicks his leg under the table in response, a silent shut up. He lifts his eyebrows, like, I didn’t say anything, and she rolls her eyes in an entirely non-subtle manner.

Across the table, Queen Damyanti is watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow, Arc notices belatedly. She has a mildly amused look on her face, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she states, “Battling Ryker face-to-face must have been quite the experience.”

“What was it like?” Prince Kavan asks eagerly from beside his sister.

Aadhya elbows him. “Kavan,” she hisses, but Arc just grins.

“No worries. It was…” he trails, trying to think of what to say and suddenly aware that all the royals’ eyes are on him. He shifts in his seat. “It was scary, obviously. He had the Armor of Astoria, and a whole army with him, and most of the Astorian knights under his spell. But, y’know. We Knight School students are pretty formidable. We all took him on together. Wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise. I wasn’t half as scared as I would’ve been without my squadmates watching my back.”

He glances at Ciara, who smiles softly and nudges his foot, gentler this time. Jesper has that same unreadable look on his face and Aadhya has her chin propped in her hand, her expression amazed, but Queen Luciana gives a snide sort of scoff.

“It’s a wonder it took so long to defeat him, then, if a group of students cut him down so easily,” she says. “Perhaps Ryker was never as great a threat as we all made him out to be.”

There’s a cut of silence across the table in which Jesper visibly stiffens. “With all due respect, Queen Luciana, Ryker’s attacks were devastating. Or have you forgotten what happened to my parents?” he demands, without any respect at all. His eyes are blazing.

“I’m merely pointing out that the only real damage done was to the less...fortified kingdoms,” she sniffs. “Ryker only breached Catalias’s walls once, and he was driven out rather quickly.”

“Well, not every kingdom has Catalias’s resources.” Ciara sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, frustration masked well behind them.

King Hugo gives a huff of a laugh; his blue eyes are cold. “My dear princess, you have no cause for indignation. Astoria lost the least to Ryker, what with your,” he waves a hand, “magic bubble.”

Ciara opens her mouth but falters, brow furrowed, and across the table, Queen Damyanti speaks up. “Nevertheless, Ryker was still a formidable enemy to all of us. We were only prepared for his attacks because he targeted Seagate and Vysalt first. And Seagate’s destruction is a clear example of his power.”

“Oh, even you can’t argue that Seagate was rotting long before Ryker got to it, Damyanti,” Hugo replies swiftly, and Arc’s breath catches in his throat. Queen Damyanti shrugs in agreement, her expression passive; Arc almost stands up, but Ciara’s hand on his leg underneath the table stops him.

“Don’t,” she hisses, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Let me handle this.”

Though as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Before she has a chance to speak, Jesper is already bristling, his voice sharp: “As if Seagate’s corruption justifies the destruction of its people?”

“It’s thieves and criminals, you mean?” Isaac scoffs. “Seagate was a wasteland. The kingdoms are better off.”

The words ring in Arc’s ears, alongside the pounding of his blood. They sound painfully similar to what Ryker had said to him on the mountain—rats and thieves, I did the five kingdoms a favor—and he thinks fleetingly that he’s going to be sick. He’s always known that Seagate was looked down on by the other kingdoms, but hearing them say so casually that what happened, the flames and the destruction and all of the death, was deserved—

“The people were only thieves and criminals because Catalias took advantage of them,” Jesper argues. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that it was your government that poured money into the gangs of Seagate for their own profit and allowed them to stage a coup in the first place.”

The words are deadly and cold, but Arc feels a flash of admiration for Jesper; the king has no obligations towards Seagate, and yet defends it like his own. King Hugo’s gaze hardens. “You’re blaming Catalias for Seagate’s problems?” he says with a derisive laugh. “If anything, Ryker’s attacks only revealed that Seagate was a kingdom full of people that weren’t worth saving.”

“That’s enough,” Ciara says abruptly. Her hand tightens on Arc’s leg, and he can no longer tell if he’s the one trembling or if she is. There’s this burning fire behind her eyes; she looks, Arc thinks briefly, the same way she does in battle. “What happened to Seagate was a devastating tragedy, and I won’t let you treat it as otherwise. Those who disagree aren’t welcome here.”

It’s a weighted statement, one she doesn’t entirely have the formal authority to make, but no one dares to contest it. A heavy silence settles over all of them. Arc doesn’t know how long he can sit there with all the heat under his skin; he doesn’t remember when his hand found the hilt of his sword, only that he’s gripping it tight enough that the leather bites into his palm. He wants to stand up and tell them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for him, a thief from Seagate. In truth, the only thing holding him back is Ciara. In a battle between her steady hand and the storm in his chest, she wins without even trying.

He doesn’t say anything or look at her, but her gaze flits to him for a moment and she just knows, standing up. Before she even opens her mouth, Isaac is on his feet too. “Going so soon?” he asks. “Would you care to dance, Princess?”

She looks at him coolly for a moment. “I would, actually.” And then, she turns to Arc, offering him her hand, “Sir Arc, dance with me?”

Arc blinks up at her and takes it as he stands. “Absolutely, Princess,” he says, letting her lead him away from the table and glancing back only long enough to catch the dumbfounded expression on Isaac’s face.

#oop #knight squad #knight squad fanfic #tiara thief #tiara thief fic #writing #my writing #fanfiction #arc #ciara #ks #//umanawrites #learn to love without consuming

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leigh-kelly · 4 years ago

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Completions and Connections: Quarantine Christmas

So 2020, huh? Ugh. Santana and I had started the year amazingly, with Tyler turning a year old and me kind of setting up a schedule that let me go on assignment more than I had in his first year—though, so much less than I had before I had a wife and a son to want to be home with. Things were good...and then they weren’t. But obviously everyone can relate, you know, it didn’t happen in a bubble or anything.

I was in Sweden when Santana called me utterly freaking out. Because I was always pretty isolated from the news when I was traveling and she hadn’t seemed especially worried about COVID until shit hit the fan, I was taken almost entirely by surprise. She told me that it looked like everything was going to shut down, she didn’t know what was going to happen with the borders and she wanted me to come home as soon as possible. Honestly, in hindsight I should have had her bring Tyler to Sweden where there was actually a competent federal government, but obviously that’s not what happened.

I called my boss immediately and within hours, I’d abandoned my shoot and was on a plane bound for New York. Nothing else really mattered to me except getting home to them and since everyone was in a collective state of what the fuck, no one even argued with me about it. Two days later, Discover pulled all of their foreign correspondents anyway, so I pretty much got out just in time. We figured it would be two weeks, a month maybe, and then things would get back to normal. Little did we know how wrong we were.

Back in New York, things were...weird. People packed up and left the city in droves, everything looked abandoned and I immediately wished that we had a place in the mountains that we could go to. We probably could have bought something, that was true, but Santana had her practice and we both knew she wouldn’t abandon that, she’d worked too hard for it.

Yeah, so speaking of that. Tyler’s daycare shut down with everything else, I was home indefinitely, but my wife, my beautiful, amazing wife, still had to go to work every day. That was the scariest thing for us, knowing that she could be exposed at any given moment, knowing that she could bring it home to Tyler and I. We knew she was as safe as could be, she stockpiled PPE on a regular basis because she dealt with disease anyway and was super precautious about protection, but we couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough. For two days, we discussed whether she should go stay with Unique and isolate from us, but Tyler was still nursing and we thought it would really mess him up if she was gone. We had no idea if we were making the right choice, but it was a choice we had to make.

Everything was a major adjustment. Tyler and I had to learn a new routine during the day where I pulled ideas from Pinterest to do with him and ordered about a zillion boxes from Amazon full of activities. I took him out on walks in the early morning before people were outside, letting him breathe the fresh air when it was safe and taking pictures of the empty city, figuring at some point Discover might want them for a series and quite honestly, missing being behind the lens of a camera. I learned to bake bread, I made elaborate dinners and I fought so much boredom, remembering every day that it was better to be bored than dead.

It was different for Santana though. Though she wasn’t working with diagnosed COVID patients, she never knew what was walking through her door. Each night, she came home with marks under her eyes from her N-95, a band indent around her head from her face shield, and her face just so tired from doing the best she could to provide her patients with care in the midst of everything else. So I held her tight, I told her how much I loved her, how proud of her I was, but that didn’t help on the nights she heard that a patient had died, that didn’t help when she heard from contact tracers that someone had been to her office who tested positive and she shut herself up in the guest bedroom away from Tyler and me and waited anxiously for her latest round of test results.

But onto the more positive, our boy absolutely thrived. Turns out I was kinda good at the whole stay at home mom thing and I was glad that I found fulfillment in that. Plus, I wasn’t halfway around the world when he took his first steps, didn’t miss him say “mama” for the first time and all of that good stuff. We FaceTimed with my parents and Santana’s all the time, made sure they got to see him grow. When things got a little better in the summer, Tina would join us on our walks with her son and the two boys would babble away to each other from their respective strollers. And most importantly, we learned to look for the good, we tried to ignore the worst in people and see the best because it was really the only way we could get through it.

Christmas was three days away and though we wouldn’t do our customary dinner with Santana’s parents, she and I were still really excited that our boy was in love with the lights on the tree, that he was big enough to sit on the counter with us while we made Christmas cookies, could sit through half of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer before he got fussy. Maybe Christmas was really different then it had ever been before—and Christmas was obviously so important to Santana and I—but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t still be magical.

“Office is officially closed until December 27th.” Santana burst into the house that evening, her red scarf wrapped around her neck and the biggest grin on her face as soon as she pulled off her mask. “Let me shower and change and then I’m going to give you two the biggest kisses.”

Like she did every day when she came home from work, Santana immediately stripped off her clothes and put them in the washing machine and jumped right in the shower. I missed being able to kiss her as soon as she walked in the door, but we both knew it was much safer to wait twenty minutes until any surface germs were off of her. Tyler didn’t exactly get it, he still whined and waited outside the bathroom door, but he was always the first one she kissed, our sweet little boy.

“Come on, Ty, let’s make Mama an espresso so she can sit down and relax with us when she gets out.”

I took the baby into the kitchen with me and made Santana’s afternoon drink, sprinkling a little cinnamon on top, because it was almost Christmas after all and I wanted it to be special for her. When she came out of the shower, she took Tyler from my arms and kissed him all over his face, laughing right along with him and his sweet little giggles. Then she sandwiched him between us and kissed my lips, smiling as she did. I knew that her job was more stressful than ever and the five days off would do her some real good.

“What’s on the Christmas agenda tonight, Britt?” She asked, putting Tyler on her hip and taking her cup from me.

“My parents want to FaceTime, if that’s okay with you.”

“Obviously, we haven’t talked to them since last week.”

“Yeah, well, you know how my mom is.” I shrugged, thinking that she was probably a little pissed that we told her not to come for Christmas and Ty’s birthday, but it was what it was. “It probably won’t be long, who knows?”

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah I guess I’m just aggravated with her. She’s asked me like four hundred times if we changed our minds about her coming. This is like Thanksgiving all over again.”

“I mean, I get it, it sucks. Everyone wants to be with their families and I can’t wait until this is over so we can take Ty to Colorado, but we’re just not there yet.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Obviously, Britt, you tell me all your secrets. You couldn’t even hang onto my birthday gift for more than a day after you got it this year.”

“I love Christmas Eve with your parents, it would have been nice to have mine here, but I kind of selfishly am looking forward to this year being just the three of us. Last year poor Tyler was so tired when we got home from your parents’, Christmas Day will be better with him on his regular routine.”

“I agree, and I honestly am looking forward to just relaxing with you guys, no stress, no drama, no dealing with my grandmother who can’t even bring herself to look at our son.” She shook her head. “Plus, it’s our anniversary, I do love the idea of not having your parents in the apartment that night.”

“Oh really?” I smirked and she laughed, before Tyler pat her face and shouted ‘Mama!’

“I know, baby boy, Mommy and I are totally ignoring you. “Let’s go play for a little while before we have to start dinner.”

So I was obsessed with watching Santana on the floor with Tyler. It started when he was a baby and she’d lay beside him got tummy time. I could never resist taking out my camera and getting a few shots of them together, especially because he was the spitting image of her and they just looked absolutely beautiful together. Santana always teased me about how many pictures I had, but I couldn’t help myself ever. They were too much and I loved them with everything in me.

Santana got so involved with playing with Tyler that I assured her I’d make dinner and slipped off into the kitchen, leaving them on the floor playing with his ball tower. It was hard to believe that our kid was almost two, that it had been so long since she and I reunited on Christmas Eve in the grocery store. But it was perfect. It really was, even in the midst of 2020, I had nothing to complain about in my life. We were healthy, we were happy and though we’d really been isolated from everyone else, we knew how loved we were.

We had barely finished eating dinner when my phone rang and I sighed a little when I looked down and saw that it was my mother. I really didn’t want another fight with her and as much as I wanted her to see Tyler, even through the screen, it had been hard. She was a hippie at heart and she didn’t do well with feeling like the government was controlling her, so I had to explain only about a thousand times that it was for her safety and everyone else’s.

“Hi Grandma.” I held the phone in front of Tyler and he grinned and waved.

“Hi Mamaw!”

“It’s my little Ty! Oh how I want to kiss your face and squeeze you!”

“Here we go.” I mouthed to Santana who rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you think Grandma should come for Christmas? I promise, I’ll bring lots of presents.”

“Mom!” I turned the phone away from him and toward me. “Not cool.”

“It’s just me and your father, Brittany, it’s not like we’re bringing the whole world to see you.”

“We said no. We’re not seeing Santana’s parents, we’re not seeing our friends. The case count is rising and it’s only going to get worse after Christmas. We refuse to put anyone at risk.”

“Whitney, listen.” Santana took the phone from me, sensing my frustration. “I promise the first thing that we’ll do when this is over is come to Colorado, okay?”

“But it’s been a year since I’ve seen my grandson, your parents have at least seen him outside.”

“I know, and if you lived closer, we would see you outside too, but that’s just not what’s going on.”

“It just doesn’t feel like the holiday season.”

“It’s one year, Mom.” I took the phone back. “That’s it. And I’ve told you this more times than I can count. You calling and harassing us and trying to bribe Tyler isn’t going to change that.”

“I think dinner’s ready, I have to go.”

She hung up the call before I could say anything else and Santana came behind me and squeezed my shoulders. I relaxed into her body and she kissed my neck, knowing that always got my mind off of anything else. But then, Tyler started crying and I kind of wanted to punch my mom since he enjoyed talking to her so much and I didn’t think it was fair that she was taking out her frustrations on him.

“C’mere, baby.” I lifted him out of his high chair and gave him a squeeze. “It’s bath time!”

It was kind of funny how after Tyler was born, I became so much less awkward around people. Whenever I was able to stay put in New York, I had taken him to his Music Together class, to the park, wherever I could, you know, back when those things were still open and having him almost made me have some kind of common ground with other human beings so I didn’t just blurt out whatever was on my mind as often. Not to say it didn’t still happen, I was still me, after all, but I think Santana and I both really changed once he came along, in the best way possible.

The next day, we FaceTimed with the Changs, Kurt and Dave who had been working from home and isolating outside of the city since March and Mercedes, who had been pulling a real Taylor Swift and writing album after album in quarantine. While Tyler napped, Santana and I finished wrapping the last of his presents and got them all situated to put under the tree for the next night. I was beyond excited for the non-traditional Christmas, just ready to watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa in our pajamas and I knew Santana was too.

The next morning, Tyler woke us up before six and I told Santana to stay in bed while I went across the hall to get him. He completely beamed up at me, though his eyes were still tired, and I lifted him into my arms to bring him into our bedroom. Once he was in the bed, he crawled around, pawing at Santana’s face and she finally sat up with a laugh, kissing him all over his face.

“Merry Christmas Eve, little dude.” She told him. “You know Santa’s coming tonight.”

“Santa! Santa!” He clapped, though neither of us were really sure he even knew what that meant.

“What do you want to do today, babe?” Santana asked me and I shrugged.

“I mean, we’re doing the Christmas movie marathon tomorrow and you know, we ate all the fudge your mom dropped off...”

“So you want to make fudge?”

“I mean, you’re the keeper of Maribel Lopez’s secret fudge recipe, it only seems right.”

“If you want fudge, you get fudge.” She smiled and I did a little happy dance in the bed. The fudge was honestly so good that sometimes, when I was gone for longer than I’d like and I was hitting that homesickness point, Santana would send it in a care package. Yeah, my wife was cute like that, she didn’t stop sending me care packages just because we had rings on our fingers. The best, seriously.

So we made the fudge. Then we went for a walk in the park, where there were thankfully not too many people to have to dodge and we looked up at the sky, thinking it really looked like snow was coming. A white Christmas would be nice and probably the most un-2020 thing to happen so I really kind of was looking forward to it. Once Tyler was asleep in his stroller, we went home and Santana carried him upstairs to his bed and we went to do one last double check on the gifts.

“You’re sure you’re cool with being Santa tonight?” She asked me.

“We couldn’t take him to Macy’s and he needs to have a picture with Santa, of course I’m cool with being Santa. We got the suit and the pillows and the beard, I’m so ready.”

“You’re really the best mom, you know that right?”

“Please...you’re like super mom or something.”

“Just let me give you a compliment, Britt.” She rolled her eyes. “I hate that everything has sucked pretty bad in the world, but him having you around every day, and me not having to freak out about if he was safe while I went to work is definitely the best thing that ever could have happened.”

“It feels really good to be able to do it. I don’t know, looking at the map in his nursery showing me in New York for the past nine months has been really good, I feel like I miss a lot when I’m gone.”

“Do you not want to do it anymore?”

“No, I do, I’m just grateful for the time. And to be honest, I don’t think my job is ever going to go back to looking like what it used to, so maybe that means a lot more time with you both.”

“We’re so lucky, you know? I thought about it a lot this year, like what if I would have been single when this happened and isolated from my parents and my friends. It’s hard enough some days, but going through it alone...”

“Yeah, I know. I totally do. Even in the shittiest year, the world is a whole lot better with you and Tyler in it.”

After another hour or so, Tyler woke up and was ready to play. We pulled over his learning tower in the kitchen and he stood at the counter with us as we cooked our Christmas Eve feast. Just because it was the three of us didn’t mean we weren’t going to do tamales and a pork shoulder like we did every year at Santana’s parents—although luckily, we’d prepared the tamales ahead of time—and even though it was a little early, Santana poured bourbon into our eggnog and we started celebrating.

After dinner, I went upstairs and changed into my Santa suit. Maybe people would think it said something about gender roles or what the fuck ever that I was the one to dress up as Santa, but it wasn’t like that. I just thought it would be really fun and figured we could get our Christmas picture of Tyler. While Santana had him in his bedroom, I slipped out of the door to our apartment and waited with my mask in the hallway for Santana to open up to my knocks. When the door swung open, she held Tyler in her arms and I gave my best ‘ho ho ho’ carrying two gifts for him.

“Mommy!” He shouted, clapping his hands and giggling. “Mommy!”

“That’s not Mommy, silly boy.” Santana laughed, eyes sparkling. “It’s Santa Claus.”

“No, Mommy!”

“Alright.” I chuckled, taking off my beard and hat so as not to confuse him. “You’re right. C’mere, buddy.”

Santana just laughed and laughed as I took him into my arms and handed her the gifts. He was a smart one, that was for sure, and he patted my cheeks as I carried him over to the Lord Tubbington proof Christmas tree and sat down on the floor with him.

“You’re right Ty, Santa isn’t coming until after you’re asleep, I was just being silly. But look, we have some presents for you.”

We sat with him as he took his time opening his gifts, a new pair of Christmas pajamas and a copy of Olive the Other Reindeer to read at bedtime. He was really excited about the book and roughly turned the pages, trying to see all the pictures. Then, we took him up for his bath and got him settled into his new pajamas and into his bed. Santana read to him and I sat back and watched, just so in love with the two of them. I didn’t even bother to take pictures though, I just wanted to be in the moment and Santana occasionally looked over at me and smiled. Even with the shit year we’d had, it really was the perfect Christmas Eve and once Tyler’s eyes slipped closed, I leaned over and kissed Santana on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” She smiled.

“The merriest yet.”

#brittana #completions and connections #christmas fic

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heartofether · 4 years ago

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Bonus Episode #4 - Irene's Inauguration TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[INTRO MUSIC PLAYS FOR SOME TIME BEFORE FADING OUT.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE BREAK ROOM, MIDDAY, AROUND LUNCH.]

[IRENE IS SITTING DOWN AT THE TABLE, WHILE ADEN IS LEANING OVER HER SHOULDER. THERE ARE VARIOUS OFFICE AMBIANCE NOISES HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND.]

IRENE

I don’t think I need your help setting it up, you know. I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to use an app.

ADEN

Sorry, sorry, I’m just—excited, you know? It feels like you’re about to take a big step, and I get to be the one to watch it happen.

IRENE

[SHE SCOFFS.] As if this is a major life milestone.

ADEN

Hey, I think it is! In a way. You know? It’s not common for someone your age to not be active on social media—

IRENE

Hey.

ADEN

Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re like, joining the masses though. It’s like an inauguration.

IRENE

Yeah, sure. Whatever.

ADEN

And, I’d also like to witness the outcome of my months of pestering you.

IRENE

Hey! I kept saying I was going to—

ADEN

So have you come up with a username yet?

IRENE

Um, not really? I’m guessing just irenegray is taken.

ADEN

Mmmm, probably. If it helps at all, I added a word to my username that I thought sounded nice. Kind of like, something cool and aesthetic, you know?

IRENE

See, that’s part of the problem. You actively have an aesthetic you’re trying to maintain. I’m just kind of, you know. [SHE VAGUELY MOTIONS.]

ADEN

Hey, I think that’s great that you're authentically yourself and you don’t adhere to any restrictive subcultures.

IRENE

If you wanna call it that… honestly though I just hadn’t thought about it. I mean, you know I’m mostly doing this for you, right?

ADEN

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just pick a word you like and pair it with your name to see if it sounds nice! Maybe, like, an adjective?

IRENE

Hm. [SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN] I kind of like the idea of it being something forest-themed.

ADEN

That would be cute! What if you did, like, the name of a tree? [BEAT] Ooh! You could do something like cedarirene, as in red cedars, you like those, right?

IRENE

[THINKING] I kind of like that, they’re pretty… [beat]

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS AT HIS OWN JOKE] Or you could do, like, irenefir, as in Douglas-fir? Those are pretty common in this part of the states.

IRENE

[SHE CHUCKLES, THEN, HUMS IN THOUGHT.] Yeah, I’m not sure I’m going for the Christmas tree route today.

ADEN

Hey, if you end up deciding you don’t like it, you can always change it later.

IRENE

That’s a good point. [BEAT] But I think cedarirene is good.

ADEN

I like it, too.

[A PAUSE AS SHE TYPES.]

ADEN

Then just add your email and password—don’t worry, I’ll look away for this part… [KEEPS TRAILING ON AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT WHILE IRENE TYPES] Even though I’m fairly certain it’s the same login info you use for everything… which you should really work on by the way, you know that really isn’t the most secure—

[MORE PHONE TYPING.]

IRENE

Got it.

ADEN

Then you’re done!

[A BEAT.]

IRENE

What do I do now?

ADEN

Now, you get to customize your profile. You know, add your name, your bio, a profile picture—oh, actually hold on, give me your phone real quick.

IRENE

Why?

ADEN

I want you to follow me! Here, just let me search for my username.

IRENE

[SHE CHUCKLES.] Sure. Go wild.

[ADEN IS HEARD TYPING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

ADEN

…and done. Oh, actually, while I’m here, I should have you follow Carol and Julia. [HE STARTS TYPING THEIR USERNAMES IN.]

IRENE

[IN SHOCK] Carol has Instagram?

ADEN

Uh, yeah.[beat] You seriously don’t understand just how behind you are, do you?

IRENE

[SHE GAPES IN FAUX-OFFENSE] You act like I’m withering away into a pile of dust just for not using social media.

ADEN

[GIGGLING] I’m kidding, Irene! I know lots of reasons why someone may want to go off the grid. I mean, social media can be kind of, er…

IRENE

A cruel and unjust place full of corporate marketing and unattainable standards?

ADEN

Yeah. Also, it can be kind of addicting for some people. So just, I mean I doubt you’ll have that problem since you don’t really seem to care, but just—be careful.

IRENE

Don’t worry, I doubt I’ll even use it that much.

ADEN

You better at least open the app every now and then. I want to send you stuff.

IRENE

[SHE LAUGHS.] I’ll keep notifications on for you, bud… If nothing else.

ADEN

Right, so, back to your profile. I’ll let you do whatever you want for this part. Oh, you should put your pronouns in your bio, though.

IRENE

Got it. [A PAUSE, THEN] Uh, what else should I put?

ADEN

Anything you want, really. Some people like to put their age, their job, sexuality, a fun fact about themselves.

IRENE

I mean, I don’t really want to share my entire personal life with the internet.

ADEN

Then don’t. Just put some totally random fun fact.

IRENE

Hm. Okay.

[A PAUSE AS IRENE TYPES.]

ADEN

Is that… did you actually drink three cups of coffee in less than one hour before?

IRENE

It was finals season.

ADEN

[CONCERNED] I can only drink one cup, and that still makes me shaky. Were you okay?

IRENE

Gonna be totally honest, I don’t remember a damn thing from those twenty-four hours.

[THERE’S A BRIEF PAUSE BEFORE THEY BOTH LAUGH FOR A FEW SECONDS.]

ADEN

[THROUGH FADING LAUGHTER] Okay, okay. Now you just need to set a profile pic.

IRENE

I mean, I don’t really take selfies ever.

ADEN

It doesn’t have to be a photo of your face. Do you have any pets?

IRENE

Not unless my dead betta fish from three years ago counts.

ADEN

Hm, okay. Some people just make it a color they like, or if you just have a nice photo in your camera roll you want to use, you could do that. Some people use characters they like, art pieces, pictures of buildings, yada, yada, yada. Just pick something.

IRENE

Where do you get all of your info about Instagram accounts, anyways?

ADEN

Oh, it was actually my minor in college. “Aesthetically Pleasing Profiles 101.”

[THEY BOTH LAUGH.]

ADEN

I’m joking, of course. It’s just…I don’t know, the internet was kind of a safe space for me for a while? When I first moved to Daughtler, I didn’t have many friends, and my constant state of anxiety was far from helpful. Online, I could be myself and find people with similar interests way easier than I could around town, without ever having to worry about my weird real-life mannerisms that might drive people away.

IRENE

[SINCERE] That makes a lot of sense. It’s good to have support like that. I, uh, probably could have used something like that in college, honestly. I just got kind of used to isolating myself after a while, I guess. [A BEAT.] Though, if it helps at all, I think you’re pretty cool offline, too.

ADEN

Thanks, Irene. [A BEAT.] So, about your profile pic.

IRENE

Do you think Carol would mind if I made it a picture of Mothman?

ADEN

I— [HE GIGGLES.] You know what? I think she’d think it’s cute. Do it.

[IRENE GIGGLES. SHE SETS THE PROFILE PIC.]

ADEN

Welcome to the digital world, Irene Gray.

IRENE

Please, I’m not a grandpa. I know how the internet works.

ADEN

I know, I know. I’m excited to see what you post, though.

IRENE

[THINKING] I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. I guess we’ll find out… if I remember to.

ADEN

Don’t think about it too hard, alright? Just be your authentic self.

IRENE

I’ll certainly try my best.

[PHONE BEEP.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Love is a leash that goes both ways."

Becca De La Rosa in Mabel, Episode 36, 2019.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

#heart of ether transcripts

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rpbetter · 4 years ago

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Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #long post #drama cw #rp harassment #callout culture

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aurorawest · 4 years ago

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Hi! I’d love for a directors commentary on the real Asgardians of the galaxy, any section you choose, it’s my favourite story! Also I was wondering if you could do a commentary on chapter 7 of you come to me wild and wired please? Thank you!

Of course, thank you for asking! I’m so glad you like The Real Asgardians! 😄 I went with this section from chapter 25. Loki, Thor, and Mira have stopped on the Market Planet (aka Promachos), a place entirely of my own invention. Promachos is a planet that’s one giant, sprawling market. The section that the three of them visit looks very much like a souk in my head—I was definitely imagining the Arab Souk in Jerusalem as I was writing it. But you know, think the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, that sort of thing. Old, ancient feeling, labyrinthine covered market where it feels like you can get everything that’s ever existed.

In this conversation, Loki and Thor are having a nice conversation that turns sour, as they so often do.

“You know,” Thor said, the heavy-handed nonchalance in his voice sending up red flags, “that’s something New Asgard doesn’t have.”

“Children?” Loki said, playing dumb and immediately regretting it.

Not really a reference, but this line has always reminded me of the exchange in Jurassic Park between Grant and Satler: “What are those?” “Small versions of adults, honey.”

Thanos hadn’t discriminated. He’d slaughtered Asgard’s children as easily as he had the adults.

Womp womp. Seriously though, one of my favorite things to write with Loki is how he absolutely careens from one emotional end of the spectrum to the other. He makes this joke and he immediately jumps to the worst possible interpretation of it.

At least they’d managed to evacuate most of them, though Loki would never forgive himself for allowing a single Asgardian to die that day.

I recently had to put an exact number to how many children survived The Statesman. At this point I definitely was like, ‘eh, no idea!’

“No,” Thor said. “A school.”

“Mm.” Loki was getting increasingly worried that Mira was going to turn around and ask for the necklace. “What do they do, make repairs in the fishing nets because their fingers are smaller?”

This is one of my favorite jokes, actually. Loki is such an ass. There’s so much contempt packed into this sentence.

But more beyond that, his disdain for New Asgard is really important to his arc. We really see him lash out about it in this scene.

Thor glared at him. “No. They go to school. There just isn’t one in New Asgard.”

It couldn’t be overstated how uninterested Loki was in the education policies of New Asgard. Yes, his people lived there, but he had no personal stake or interest in the place. “Where do they go, then?”

Incidentally, I chose this scene because it seems kind of like a throwaway scene, like it’s more to express Loki’s distaste for New Asgard. And it is that...but it’s also got payoff down the line.

Uncertainty flickered over Thor’s face. “They go…I…er. I’m not exactly sure.” Loki didn’t push this issue. It was easy to imagine what had happened, anyway. The children would have been running wild in the months after the Snap. Brunnhilde, ruling New Asgard in all but name, would have gone to Thor, drunk, useless, drowning in depression and grief, and said something needed to be done, and he was the king, so what should they do? And Thor most likely would have slurred at her to figure it out. [...]

“I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” Thor finally said.

Thor kills me here. He’s pushing down every single bit of his regret and guilt. And Loki doesn’t get it at all. All he can do is snipe at Thor for screwing this up, for not taking charge, for not being the king that Loki thinks he should be. I’m actually enormously proud of “I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” because it says nothing...and also everything. Or at least, I hope it does.

Arching an eyebrow again, Loki said, “Oh. I see. So you’re raising humans.”

Loki gets none of this. All he can see is how much he doesn’t want to live on Earth, how much he doesn’t like New Asgard. He can’t fathom why the Asgardians would want to be there. It never occurs to him to stop and think about the fact that the Asgardians have been part of this community for six years. That they aren’t totally isolated from Norway or Earth. In Loki’s mind, New Asgard is like...kind of temporary? He can’t accept that it might be permanent.

“No,” Thor said, making a face as though this was the most stupid thing he’d heard in his whole life. “We’re not raising humans, I mean—not that I have a problem with humans, I love humans—”

Sometimes a little too much...but not in a creepy way, in a respectful way...

“As you’ve demonstrated,” Loki muttered, rolling his eyes. Not that he should talk.

Loki is consciously thinking of alt!Strange here, but of course...gosh he spent nine months living at the Sanctum and maybe he got close to one of its occupants...

“The point is,” Thor said, dropping all pretense of subtlety, “you’ve got some experience with it, and you should come back and—”

Thor takes a massive risk here and straight up asks Loki to come back to New Asgard. Not only that, but he’s asking Loki to come back to New Asgard and...open a school? This is the sort of thing that should thrill Loki. Thor is asking him to stick around! Thor is telling Loki that he wants him in New Asgard. And Loki...

Loki’s glare was poisonous enough that Thor took a step back. “No,” he hissed. “I will not.”

Loki doesn’t take kindly to it. Instead of seeing this moment for what it is, which is Thor reaching out to him, all Loki can see is this like, blaring red warning that he’s going to end up as something he Doesn’t Want To Be. And he doesn’t even really know what it is, right? He just hates what New Asgard symbolizes. He hates that he initiated Ragnarok, which necessitated New Asgard’s existence. He hates that New Asgard is so small, because of his own inability to protect his people from Thanos. He hates what Thor became in New Asgard. It’s really not even about New Asgard, it’s all of this other stuff.

Aaaaand chapter 7 of You Come to Me Wild and Wired!

So this was written for a @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt a couple weeks ago. The prompt was ‘broken windows.’ Their prompts are very very open ended, so I generally check them first thing on Friday morning and then let the day’s prompt rattle around in my brain until an idea occurs to me. With this one, I thought I could do something with the Oculus at the Sanctum being broken. I had also, a couple days before writing this, I had seen a reference to some sort of prompt for another ship about Stephen being angry, and I thought, you know what? It’s fun to write Stephen being angry. I should try that sometime! Broken Oculus means attack on the Sanctum, and I thought, what if Loki gets hurt in the course of that?

And to think, Loki was beginning to wonder if Strange ever got angry.

The idea of these fics is for them to be I think between 100-1000 words. This one was 1360, I believe, when I finished it? So I had to trim it down quite a bit (I eventually got it under 1100 but not quite down to 1000). The ‘And’ at the beginning of this sentence would have been an easy one to cut, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just loved it too much.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

I love writing sweary Stephen. I love it so much.

Strange’s hands shake as he pulls Loki’s torn sweater from the wound. One of the wounds. The sweater is ruined. Shame. Loki’s always liked it. Even without the damage, the blood stains will never come out.

I also love writing Loki being more concerned with his wardrobe than his own physical wellbeing.

Loki feels woozy. Strange’s question strikes him as funny. “I was thinking I wouldn’t get hurt.”

This is clearly not the answer Strange is looking for.

Loki finds that funny, too. “I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking I’d ruin my favorite sweater. Do you see this color? Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

See when you’re bleeding out, you can say things like this.

Strange’s jaw clenches. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes narrow. He picks up a bottle and doesn’t bother blotting whatever’s inside onto a cloth—he just sloshes it over the gash on Loki’s stomach.

When Loki yelps, Strange says, “Oh, shut up. That’s not going to kill you. Which is more than I can say for the horde of demons you faced—on your own.”

Gritting his teeth against the sting of alcohol, Loki says, “Yes, but they didn’t kill me.” The wooziness is probably due to blood loss. His sweater isn’t just stained—it’s soaked with crimson. That’s all his blood. The demons’ blood was black.

I’m not actually a big fan of hurt/comfort when Loki is the one who’s hurt. When I’m going to hurt Loki—and I do—I prefer to do it with psychological and emotional torment. Physical pain? Honestly, it’s not that fun for me to write. Here’s the thing with Loki: he doesn’t care. Physical pain doesn’t frighten or even really bother him. He’s completely blasé about it. And in order for it to be dangerous to him, it has to be so bad that he’s passed out. Where’s the fun in a passed out Loki?

In general, I far prefer to put Loki in the comfort role, because it seems like it’s such an unnatural fit for him, and that’s way more fun to write about. I like to make my characters uncomfortable, haha. The two people that Loki is closest to in my verse, Thor and Stephen, are also really not the kind of people that want to show physical weakness. And Loki isn’t nurturing (well, he can be, but it’s buried deep down inside him), so like, it’s way more fun to have Thor be hurt and have Loki needing to feed him or whatever.

And I’m straying from this fic but this is the director’s cut, haha.

Strange doesn’t respond. At all. His hands can barely hold the—what is that? Oh, a bandage. He’s trying to bandage the wound, but he drops it because of his hands’ violent tremor.

Stephen’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Strange says as he picks up the alcohol again. He sounds like he might kill Loki himself.

“I’d rather not.”

At these words, which Loki delivers in a perfectly affable tone,

This line just makes me laugh. Something about the word ‘affable.’ Loki’s so cheerful about his impending death.

Strange drops the bottle. It spills all over their shoes; splashes their pants. Loki’s legs sting as the alcohol soaks through his pants, so he knows he has open wounds there, too.

Trying to show, not tell.

Strange swears, a long string of profanity that penetrates Loki’s fog. He’s never heard Strange talk like this.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Odinson? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Strange rakes a hand through his hair. Blood, Loki’s blood, smears his forehead. “You’re bleeding out. You’re gonna fucking die and you can’t swallow your goddamn motherfucking pride to let someone who can hold a fucking needle and thread stitch you up—”

The beauty of these little ficlets is I don’t have to come up with the whole long slowburn backstory or figure out too much about the characters’ arcs up until this point, but, I will say, I love to write a Stephen who has entirely come to terms with his disability and for him to actually be mad at Loki for not seeking treatment from someone who can actually help.

“This won’t kill me.” Loki considers. “Probably not, anyway. Though I don’t feel well.”

Strange looks like he’s going to scream.

Loki glances around. “Can you use superglue to close a wound? I’m sure I’ve heard Lang say that.”

It cracks me up to imagine Scott describing how like, one time at Baskin Robbins he cut himself on the soft serve machine or something, and he had to close it up with superglue. And that Loki feels this is an appropriate thing to say at this moment.

Strange stares, his eyes blue, then green, then this curious, almost colorless color. Colorless color. That doesn’t even make sense.

In my other fics I usually refer to this as ‘seaglass’ but I try not to be too repetitive.

Perhaps Strange is right. Perhaps Loki is in danger.

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Strange asks quietly. Loki expected more rage. Rage he can deal with. People are always angry at him.

Lol come on I wrote this fic, you didn’t think there wouldn’t be angst in it, did you?

It’s funny, actually. Loki has always taken pleasure in getting a rise out of people. It’s easy. People are predictable.

Strange has never been predictable.

So Loki tells the truth. No snark. No sarcasm. “The Oculus was broken,” he says. “Broken windows aren’t a good sign. I thought you might be in danger.”

Sometimes, Loki fears he has become predictable. Didn’t Thor tell him so, once? But he can tell this is the last thing Strange expected to hear.

“I wanted to help you,” Loki adds for good measure. He feels light-headed. He probably wouldn’t say these things otherwise. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad. Maybe it’s time he said this to Strange, to Stephen, whom he cares very much for, even if he pretends otherwise. He likes making Stephen angry by being difficult, by being intractable, by being an arse. He likes trying to get a reaction. He feels like he’s standing outside Strange’s window, throwing stones, trying to break the glass of his impenetrable, unruffle-able coolness.

As I write these ficlets, I find that I tend to start with a literal interpretation, and along the way, I find my way to these metaphors. They usually help me tie the fic together, too, so that it’s not just a collection of sentences but actually has a itty bitty plot and arc. I’m particularly proud of this one, I’ll be honest.

But Strange is immune to Loki.

It’s a bit of an act. Alright, it’s entirely an act. Loki isn’t good at seeking attention unless it’s negative.

My cat is also like this tbh.

“Did think maybe I had it under control?” Stephen runs his shaking fingers through his hair again. There’s red in the gray at his temples.

“I thought maybe you didn’t,” Loki replies.

Stephen covers his eyes with a hand. Bloody fingerprints mark where his fingertips rested when he moves it.

I have a thing for my boys being covered in blood.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

There’s something in Strange’s eyes. It looks like fear.

Strange’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

Suddenly, Loki realizes Stephen has been putting on an act, too. He’s not cool and unruffled. He’s not immune to Loki.

Suddenly, Loki thinks Stephen might care more about him than he lets on.

Loki looks at his blood-soaked sweater. Considers how dizzy he feels. Ponders the fact that the shape of Stephen Strange’s lips is very attractive; the way his eyes change color with the light hypnotic.

Maybe it’s the blood loss. But he wouldn’t like to die without knowing how Stephen’s lips feel.

Aaaand there it is. So I’m a serious slow burn person, and that makes it hard for me to write these short little things. You’ll notice actually if you read them that there’s always all this unspoken backstory, like ‘they’d been working together for years...’ etc etc. But I always try to get that build even in these short little things, and if I can make myself go, AWWWWW then I’m happy.

“Alright,” Loki says. “I’ll go to the hospital.” He stands. There’s a rush in his ears. His legs feel like sodden paper.

Stole this line from myself. I have a nearly identical simile in one of my original novels.

They buckle.

But Stephen is there, holding him, an arm tight around Loki’s waist. His hands may tremble, but he radiates safety and steadiness.

Safety is hugely important to Loki. He couldn’t ever fall in love with someone who didn’t make him feel safe, even though he probably wouldn’t admit that out loud.

A portal blooms, Metro-General Hospital on the other side. Stephen tucks a piece of hair behind Loki’s ear. “The sweater does bring out your eyes, by the way.”

Obligatory callback to the beginning of the fic. When I had Loki note that the sweater brings out his eyes, I knew that I would have Stephen agree at the end of the fic.

“Aha, you think about my eyes,” Loki says. It’s getting hard to hold his head up. Stephen guides him through the portal. “That means you think they’re pretty.”

“I think they’re gorgeous,” Stephen says. He hesitates. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

‘Gorgeous’ is my preferred word for Stephen to use to describe Loki. Loki tends more towards ‘beautiful’ to describe Stephen.

He lowers Loki to a chair. “Now sit here while I get help.”

Loki grabs Stephen’s wrist and lets his head fall against the wall. He peers at Stephen through slitted eyes, knowing he’ll survive this, because he’s survived worse. He still says, “I would kiss you, but I want something to look forward to if I don’t die.”

Emotions pass over Stephen’s face like the play of shadows on the ground as clouds scud across the sun.

I love the word ‘scud’ but it’s definitely one of those ‘you only get to use this once in a fic’ type of words.

He swallows hard. “Yeah, well.” He squeezes Loki’s hand. “We’ll see how you feel after you’re patched up.”

Loki smiles and lets him go. He knows how he’ll feel. After all, he’s been throwing stones at the windows of Stephen’s heart.

He just never realized Stephen was throwing them back.

METAPHOR! The wonderful thing about finding the metaphor is that it’s a really easy way to end the fic. It’s the central theme, right, so you use the last line to tie into it, and done.

Thank you so so much for asking!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

#Anonymous #froststrange #brodinsons #loki #thor #stephen strange #traotg

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annazverina · 4 years ago

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2020 Letter to the World

In 2015, I began writing annual Letters to the World to reflect on what I learned during the year. I shared my first one publicly in 2018, and since then I discuss certain topics that were relevant during the year and what they taught me. Enjoy.

***

I typically don’t start writing my annual Letter to the World until October or November at the earliest, but this year has already been a huge whirlwind for the entire world. I started writing this in April and edited it until the day it was posted. At that point, we had been in isolation for a month. A few weeks later, yet another revolution sparked within the United States. As soon as the riots and protests started, I knew this would be the hardest letter I’ve ever written.

This year I will discuss coronavirus, racism, social media, and the importance of face to face communication.

Around the time I finished writing last year’s letter, a new illness was taking over Wuhan, China. This new, mysterious strain of coronavirus was infecting people left and right. But like any other American, I didn’t worry about it, though I kept track of it on Twitter. I remember the time when there were only 600 cases, and it hadn’t spread outside of Wuhan yet. Man, those were the days. It’s amazing how much the world changed within a month, a week, and a few days.

A month before isolation, my friends and I drove down to San Antonio for the TMEA convention. Tens of thousands of music educators in the same building. At that same time, San Antonio had its first cases of COVID-19. Less than a month later, SXSW was cancelled. That’s when I realized that this was becoming a big deal. The same day the WHO declared the pandemic, my university announced it was moving to online instruction for what would eventually be the rest 2020. My first day of quarantine was 14 March. I began vlogging occasionally to document the experience.

I barely left the house during quarantine. For the first five months, the only reasons I left were to go walking, move out of the dorm, or to pick up food. My family took a trip to Colorado right before I left for school, which was our first time eating at a restaurant in 150 days. None of my family or our friends officially tested positive. At school, my roommate did, which led to a two week isolation for me. It really bothered me that those who could stay home weren’t. I get that the United States was founded with freedom in mind (even though we’re not free yet), but I don’t understand why people weren’t willing to give up a little bit of freedom and wear a piece of cloth on their face. Sometimes, you have to give up freedom for the sake of the big picture. I learned that many Americans don’t understand that. The United States shut down too late and reopened too early. Those above us care too much about money. The economy is important, but so are people. Human lives matter, including Black lives.

We all know what happened.

Every January in elementary school, we learned about the Civil Rights Movement. However, they did not mention that racism was still an ongoing problem. They implied that it was a thing of the past. God, I wish it was. I don’t think it ever will be, but the things we can do to eliminate it as much as possible are promoting anti-racism and teaching those who come after us that no matter where someone comes from, they can’t form any opinions about them until they know what’s in their heart.

That entire week after the murder was very overwhelming. It made me wonder what kind of families racist people grew up in to think that it’s okay to not be good to everyone. I live my life with one thing in mind all the time: be good to myself and others. And I think everyone else, regardless of socioeconomic background, race, religion, whatever, should do the same. And we must teach those who come after to follow those footsteps.

There was never a class in school dedicated to being good citizens. They just yelled at the students doing bad things to stop, but never explained why it was bad, nor did they tell them how to be better. Common human decency is something that should be taught K-12, and I honestly think it’s more important than STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math). We cannot force the students to rely on their parents for something like this, because some parents are uneducated, some are not good people, some suck at parenting, and way too many children in the world don’t even have parents. Schools are the ones that need to teach kids how to be good… all the way through.

WE MUST BE THE CHANGE. Those currently in power appear to not be doing anything, so those who want change must RISE UP. For us civilians, signing petitions and donating is great, and being good, like I mentioned above, is also something we should do. We must change our behavior for the better. We cannot rely on other people to do stuff for us. We must do it ourselves. Change is not a process that can happen over night. So far it’s taken decades/centuries of work, but someday we will be there. Even if we don’t live to see it, the work we do now will help our future descendants.

After George Floyd’s murder and the explosion of social media, I was super overwhelmed with everything I was reading. I decided to take the month of June off of Twitter, and man, I’m glad I did. Social media in general is a toxic place to be, and cutting out Twitter and Facebook was healthy for me. In terms of toxicity, Twitter and Facebook, in my opinion, are the worst platforms. On Twitter, it’s hard to control what you see in your feed. Most of the tweets in my feed are from people I don’t follow. They’re tweets I never signed up to see, and they flood my feed with posts that sometimes feel like propaganda. Sometimes I feel like celebrities are worshipped like a deity. I often feel like I’m not allowed to have my own personal beliefs on Twitter, rather I have to conform to what the loudmouthed users believe. If I don’t, I’m racist, misogynistic, homophobic, etc. Facebook is similar, but most of the people I follow are my friends or family, so I can’t unfollow them.

Surprisingly, I like Instagram. Reposting is very uncommon, and posting more than once a day is unofficially considered spam, therefore people have to put all their politics into one single post, which I can scroll past and never see again. You never see posts from people you don’t follow, (except for the occasional advert) and overall I think people use it mostly to share photos of their lives. Most of the flaws that come from Instagram are the people who use it, but it’s easy to avoid them.

My brother shared some statistics with me recently. Only about 10 percent of Twitter users tweet on a normal basis. About 40 percent of people in the United States have a Twitter account. With that in mind, theoretically, the loud mouthed Twitter users only make up about 4 percent of the U.S. population. Or… something like that. I don’t know how accurate these statistics are, nor do I know where my brother got them from. Regardless, social media does not represent everyone in the world. Not even close.

The nice thing about living in a world of social media is being able to keep in touch with friends and family while quarantined. This whole quarantine process made me ever so grateful for face to face meetings. Some people believe no one will ever want to work again once everything ends. That’s not true. I think most people like working. Being able to leave the house every day and do something, even if it’s something you don’t like, is what keeps us sane. When it came time to return to school, I was initially really mad due to COVID. I ended up being okay with it. My school did a fantastic job at keeping COVID cases down for the entire semester (we only had an average of 20 cases a week, compared to some schools who had hundreds). Not only that, but I was able to see my family away from home again. Even though we wore masks and social distanced most of the time, things felt somewhat normal.

If you are the kind of person who could care less if you see your friends and coworkers in person, don’t forget that most people don’t feel that way. It’s hard to have group conversations on Zoom. You certainly can’t have a party where multiple conversations happen. Don’t assume everyone feels the same way about something. Let people have their social gatherings when it’s acceptable again, and don’t belittle people who feel different from you.

Everyone must do the right thing… all the time. Even when no one is watching. It’s our job to develop the habit of being good to ourselves and to others regardless. If we do that, we’ll be able to go back to a normal-ish life sooner. Lin-Manuel Miranda called America a “great unfinished symphony” in Hamilton. America, you great unfinished symphony, we still have unfinished business to take care of. The change we need won’t come tomorrow. The amount of work we have before we reach the double bar line will take generations to get to. We cannot allow a repeat sign. We must start today. May 2021 be a year of healing.

#2020 #just reflecting #reflections #fandom #lams #destiel #phan #johnlock #important #healing #beautiful #covid #fuck covid #blacklivesmatter #acceptance #respect #quarantine #zoom #2021

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ziracona · 4 years ago

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me: about to start a trial in dbd. my cat: Lays on my hands. me: ok nvm i guess. Ty for answering my michael ask. Hope it didn't come across as me saying "does this go away" and more "does he find out ways to manage his symptoms better?". So. What made him change his mind about listening to the voices in the later chapters? ALSO. Do Frank and Julie hesitate from interacting with the survivors out of guilt? or just because They're Like That. Does this ever change? - Sleepy

Lol, cats be like that. And np!

Hmmm, Michael—apologies if some of these things weren’t as self-evident as I thought they were in-fic :’-) — So! For him, it was a combination of several things. DbD Michael has had years of isolation and suffering to ruminate, and the only source of familiarity or anything that’s not a blanket negative in his life for all those years has been Laurie. He’s never hated her. He used to love her. As an adult, his motivation for killing her was never anger; it was just the price the voices told him they needed for him to be left alone in peace, which is all he really wanted and has been desperate for for years. But like, a couple decades of hunting in the realm were not pelasant for him. He hated being trapped there, and eternally unable to accomplish anything. It was hell. Laurie wasn’t exactly a source of community, but she was literally the only thing in the whole realm that he had any connection to at all. And once she started talking to him, that kind of did a lot. I mean, no one since he was a small child has even spoken to him by name outside of Loomis, who calls him ‘it’ and a demon as much as anything else. He’s starved for recognition and connection and affection, whether he’s aware of it or not, and he does remember Laurie. She’s like, one of the only good memory sources he has of his entire life. He liked her, they were happy as kids. Once she recognised official who he was and started talking to him about being her brother, it was confusing, because no one had treated him like a person—much less a person they were even as positively disposed towards as ‘sad’ or ‘conflicted’—since he was six. He’d never been offered any version of the future besides the one the voices and Loomis carved out for him and threw at his face every day. In Family Matters, Laurie tells him he’s supposed to protect her, and that they look the same when she sees him without the mask, and that he should keep it off because he’s so much less scary without it while she’s dying, and I think more than anything he just doesn’t know how to feel about all that. Laurie has been with him for years and never done it. In fact nobody has ever treated him like this before, and it’s nice just kind of universally to be liked or shown affection and familiarity or kindness, and it’s completely alien to him, but it’s not bad, and it’s the first not bad experience in decades, so he’s confused and it’s odd, but he also wants to hear more and tries to not kill her so she can talk more—tries to shake her shoulder to wake her back up—but it’s too late by then and she bleeds out. I think Dwight mentions later in a different chapter that even though Michael kills Laurie within a few minutes, he’s gone the entire trial until the very end. It’s because he spent the rest of that time trying to get her to wake back up before finally giving up and accepting she was dead.

He’s more open to talking in The Tower once he finally sees her again, and he still wants suicide pact, but is willing to compromise to get what he wants, and is kind of enjoying himself for once because stuff is happening and he has hope. He gets chewed out by two small strangers for being a bad brother, and then flips out when he realises Laurie was not going to do joint suicide today (and honestly a part of why he flips out so much in The Tower is Laurie’s “I meant like in a few months, not in 12 minutes! Why would you think I meant that?” embarrasss him and hurts his feelings. Michael is sensitive and does not like feeling mocked). Then Laurie shows up to have a showdown with him after he has calmed down a little, and the stuff she says about him having to be dead to her so she can still remember him as a kid as someone she loved really hurts, I think, even if he’s not introspective enough to get why. But at the end of it, when Laurie can’t kill him while he’s unconscious and chooses to leave him instead, he’s not unconscious for that whole speech. He’s awake a lot of it, because he’s smart enough to play dead (and routinely does in Halloween films when in his best interest) and is playing dead waiting for a chance to stop her from killing him for real. So, that means he’s awake and just super injured for her whole “I can’t do it. I can’t kill the memory of you. I hate myself for it, but I still love you. I wish that things could have been different. I wish our lives were good, and that I understood you. I wish I’d been old enough to do something. I wish you still loved me.” speech to what she thinks is his unconscious body, and while he didn’t get everything she said, he got most of it—he’s not stupid. And it was sweet, and sad, and overwhelming, and I don’t think anyone has ever said they loved him since he was six, and the people who did once are all dead now. I don’t think it occurred to him anyone could, or should, or would want to. And he doesn’t understand Laurie, because their lived experiences are so different, but what she says means something to him too. Laurie says in 600 Seconds that he’s all she’s had for forty years, and in a lot of ways, even if he felt it very differently, that’s true for Michael too.

When he finds Laurie in Vs., he’s still looking for his way out, but more than that, he’s just looking for her. Laurie immediately assumes he’s there to try to commit suicide with her again, but he doesn’t actually make her try that initially. Just comes to collect her. And then as soon as she gets attacked by Krueger, starts kicking ass and taking name on her behalf. Listens to her about not killing Quentin, partially because she’s threatening him with a knife, but partially because at this point he trust her as much as he’s ever trusted anybody. And she and Quentin work to save him, and do, and she gets him out of the realm, and so by the time he comes to find her for the last time in 600 Seconds, she’s not Cynthia Myers: the second sister I need to kill to obtain peace anymore. She’s Cynthia, the baby sister who remembers me and fought someone to protect me, and said she loves me, and is going to kill herself with me so we can both be at peace. And so when she begs him not to kill her, he cares. You have to understand, his few memories of Laurie from the last year or two in-realm are like, the only memories from his adult life that are even partially good. He’s never had a real shot at being a normal human because of Loomis, but she’s been working so hard to treat him like one just the same, and it matters to him that he can tell how much he matters to her. So when she asks him, his initial response is, “...Well. If I kill her and live, I can be at peace, but then what? What does life really have that I want?” And the answer is, as far as he knows, not really anything. He never thought past the quiet. And if he dies? He could be at peace that way too. So if Cynthia wants to live so badly, he can let her, because he doesn’t really want to kill her, and if she kills him instead, it’ll still be quiet. And that’s kind of nice. He can have looked out for her once before the end, like she wanted.

And then of course, Laurie is distraught over that response and tries to talk him out of killing himself too, and to convince him they could have a normal life together as family and deserve one. That it’s what she wants, and even if it seems impossible, she knows they could find a way to make it work for him too and to be okay, and says she had been good on her word so far. And she has, she got him out of the realm like she promised. And she wants it so bad, and Michael doesn’t really want anything but quiet, or he hasn’t, not for years, but he does now, because being with Laurie he’s almost felt like a real person again. And Michael has always disconnected himself from the killings—not in a DID way, just, he doesn’t think of the desire as his, because it’s not—it’s the voices—so he wears the mask if he’s going to kill. And it’s the voices who want Cynthia dead, but she’s asking him not to do it and not to die either, not them, and so he just makes his own choice for the first time in years, and says no to the voices, and does what she wants, because he hopes it’s what he wants too. Being with her is the closest to alive and happy he can remember feeling, and wants that. He wants to be Michael again, and not the Shape, he just doesn’t know if he can. But he decides to try. And then again, when she comes to find him in Out of Darkness, there’s that scene where he considers killing her when she’s asleep, because the voices are so overwhelming and he can’t stand it and he’s so depressed, but he remembers he promised her he wouldn’t kill her, and so he doesn’t, and then she wakes up a little when he goes back to the couch, and smiles at him and uses him as a pillow because she loves him and trusts him and isn’t afraid to touch him or show physical affection, and if almost kills him because being touched in any way not meant to hurt or move him is a thing he can barely even remember anymore. But it feels good, like, unbearably. And he doesn’t know who he is anymore or what he wants, except that he wants to try just in case maybe things can be okay. And so he does, and they are. Slowly, but they are. And he gets to be happy.

So, in short. The TLDR is his whole life he had two doors: Listen to the voices, or suffer alone in misery forever. And someone offered him a door number three, and because that person loved him, and he wanted to try for a life where he could keep being loved and maybe remember for real how to love somebody back, he took it. He never wanted to kill Judith, or Laurie. He did it out of desperation. And if he’d gotten help, he’d never have even killed Judith. He was just never presented with an alternative. Nobody ever gave him a way to choose to be Michael anymore. Until Laurie. And that’s what he really wanted—has always wanted. To get to be the fragments of a person he managed to keep alive through all those years of abuse and loss and isolation. Laurie was just what it took to convince him he had a choice. And that it might be one that even maybe could succeed.

As for Julie and Frank, they avoid the survivors out of a mixture of guilt, and also discomfort. It’s not super fun to be around people who hate you or judge you, no matter how much you deserve it. And they do feel bad, and neither one likes to think about that or the shit they did very much, much less be actively reminded of it. This does get better though! It takes a while, but the road trip Julie and Frank end up joining does a lot to help. Gets a couple of bridges built, and things get a lot better. It takes time, especially for them to not feel like totally shit around the people they hurt the most, but the more years pass, the better that gets, and they become a lot less prickly and defensive or self-isolating when around the survivors.

#ask #sleepy #in living memory (fic)#in living memory #ilm spoilers #dead by daylight #I hope the Michael answer made sense! also once again didn’t proofread /anything/ so hang in there reading it rip #sorry I’m super dead today

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #301

“i was waiting for my chance to find the light”

Did you like the beach a lot more as a kid more than you do now? Why/Why not? I did. Everything was more fun as a kid. I never REALLY loved it, though, because I did and still do hate the heat and walking through sand and getting it stuck all over you. It's pretty much torture now because I have extreme difficulty walking through sand. Has there ever been a time where you just couldn't stop crying? Explain. I know I've had days many years ago when my PTSD was truly awful where I'd sob multiple times a day. What's your least favorite time of day? Why don't you like that time?Late afternoon, like around 3-4 or so. By that point I'm usually bored senseless and going downhill. Do you like your lips? Do you enjoy kissing? They're fine, ig. And I mean yeah, if I'm really into the person? Do you like any music from the American Idols? Which ones? Ngl, I don't even remember any besides Kelly Clarkson, and who the FUCK doesn't like "Breakaway." Do you like when people challenge you? If so, in what? No, I get nervous about embarrassing myself. Personally for you, is falling for someone way beyond your control? It is entirely out of my control. What's something other than a fruit that you love in milkshakes? (Ex.twix ) Mostly chocolate stuff, haha. What is your all time FAVORITE milkshake? Ever tried the Reese's Blast from Sonic? That's some A+ shit. What's the latest you've ever stayed up reading a book? No clue. When having a peanut butter & jam sandwich, what is the best kind of jam? Grape. Do you like to write poetry? Yeah, but it's been a long time since I wrote anything. I used to do it aaall the time, but now I have to be seriously motivated and dedicated to the idea. When you get mad do you cry? Absolutely. Would you ever consider modeling? No. I do think one or two model-esque photos of myself would be nice and possibly help my self-confidence, but it's not something I'm seeking out and paying for. Are you scared of crossing bridges? Not very, no. If they're kinda sketchy-looking, I might feel a tad tense, but I'm not really scared of them. Would you consider yourself clumsy? I am unfuckingbelievably clumsy. Ever bought ice cream from an ice cream truck? Yeah, sometimes Mom would let me and my sisters do that as kids when one came through our neighborhood. Have you ever had a poem or story published? No. If you had/have a kid would you ever let them get a tattoo? If they were of the appropriate age, of course. And if they were getting it done professionally and not at some party drunk with friends. They better be in a sterile environment with someone who knows what they're doing. Do you love guinea pigs? Absolutely. I had three or four as pets when I was a kid. What is the worst thing you ever did that got you grounded? Probably run away from home. Have you ever been chased by a snake? No... and this is a misconception. Snakes don't chase. They go for what they see as the safest escape route, and sometimes they identify your own chosen direction as where they wanted to head, too. Where do you wanna work? I want to be a freelance photographer. What awards have you won? A lot of "A honor roll" trophies through school, among other academic awards. I seriously don't know what happened to that intelligence. I also have dance awards and lots of childhood sports team stuff. Would you consider yourself good at taking care of kids? I don't think I am, no. I'm way too nervous and awkward around kids. I've had to babysit for my sister twice though, and Ashley told me the kids had lots of fun and had no complaints. I guess like... I can do it, I am just very, very uncomfortable taking kids under my wing. I worry about leading them in the wrong direction. How old would a guy have to be before you wouldn't date them? I don't know, it would really depend on how much I was into the person. I generally stick with the approximation of a ten year gap though being my limit, so I think maybe him being in his mid-30s would make me feel a bit too weird. Be honest, have you ever tried weed? No, but quite honestly, I'd probably try an edible. I refuse to smoke anything for my lungs' sake. I'm curious if medical marijuana would actually be beneficial for me. Has anyone ever broken up with you with a note? No, but uh... I have, lol. It's how I broke up with my "puppy-dog love" boyfriend in middle school. Literally after he asked me if I was thinking of breaking up with him, and I said no before handing him the note because I was just too scared to do it to his face. I know, that was absolutely awful. Never, ever do that to the most innocent boy ever, kids. He didn't deserve that. Do you have sensitive teeth? Kinda. What was the worst thing you ever did to get detention/suspended? I've only ever had detention once for having too many tardies to my first class of the day in high school. We'd frequently arrive to school just a few minutes late because I was fucking impossible to drag out of bed. Have you ever suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder? Yes. Do you suffer from nasal allergies? Yes. What's your favorite kind of pudding? I only really like chocolate pudding. Have you done anything really interesting lately? I guess you could consider starting a virtual partial hospitalization program "interesting." It's not the intensive version like my first was, but rather being shorter. I just really need something to get my mental health back on the tracks. What’s the latest really fun thing you’ve done? REALLY fun? Hell if I know. I don't experience "fun" a lot at all anymore... I only ever feel like, this watered down, unenthusiastic sorry excuse for it. Have you discovered any good music lately? Oh yeah, I've found lots of 3TEETH songs I'm mad into. "ULTRAnumb" by Blue Stahli is also a total bop. How about any good new television shows? No. Or perhaps some interesting books? Nothing new, no. Have you picked up a new hobby or learned a new skill? I mean, within what timespan? Nothing lately, really. Has anybody ever done your makeup for you? Yeah. Do you own any sparkly items of clothing? No. What’s the most colorful accessory you own and use? *shrug* Do you enjoy drag artists’ work? If so, name some of your favorites. Oh yes, I have wild respect for drag queens. I don't know enough of them to have a fair favorite, but I do watch Trixie Mattel on YouTube and he is a goddamn hoot. What, right now, is the best thing in your life? Um. I don't really know. Probably the fact my mother still lets my too-big-for-the-nest ass to live with her... I don't want to picture how my life would be if I didn't have her still essentially holding my hand. What’s a place you like to go to when you need to get away for a bit? I actually love car rides for this, so long as I can ride passenger and just blare my music and not talk. It's so odd, being afraid of driving but finding great freedom and comfort in just... going. Do you like apples? I love apples. Anything exciting coming up for you in the near future? I paid the deposit for my tattoo appointment, so it was officially scheduled in May!! I was expecting an open date to be kinda far with just how amazing this parlor is, so I wasn't too shocked to hear I have to wait a few months, but man I can hardly wait. When you get an account for something, what's the first username you try? Unless it's for a "professional" site, in which case I'd use my actual name, I just about without fail with use "Ozzkat," or replace the "o" with a zero if that's somehow taken. Would you be okay with a friend wanting to date one of your exes? Which ex? What kind of accent do people typically have where you're from? Southern. Does history interest you at all? Can't say it does. What's something you wish you could do-over? There are many things, man. Is your hair in layers or is it all the same length? Neither, really. The left side of my head is very short/shaved, and as the hair goes around to the right, it gets longer. There aren't "layers," though. Is there anyone who you're afraid to be in a car with, if they're driving? I wouldn't say afraid, but with my sister's road rage and serious tail-gating issue, riding with her can make me nervous. What's something you're very good at? Um, I guess creative writing. Do you like sour gummy worms? oh FUCK yeah Would you pick up a hitchhiker if they seemed harmless? No. I am way too paranoid for that shit. Would you be bothered if your boyfriend liked to bite you? Uhhh I'm going to assume you mean this in a sexual context, in which case I don't care so long as it's not in a visible spot. How often do you get the opportunity to be completely alone? The answer used to be a shitload, and seeing as I'm in my room most of the time, I still feel like that's kind of true, but since Mom's cancer diagnosis and she had to stop working, she's usually home with me. I like it that way, though. Total isolation is bad for me. Do you have a trampoline? Nah, haven't in many years. What's your favorite Pixar movie? Finding Nemo. What is the strangest thing you've been asked? Something sexual that made me extremely uncomfortable. What’s the weirdest thing about life that people just accept as normal? The fact we put so much worth into pieces of green paper. What's the most random thing you've done out of boredom? *shrug* What show did your parents not let you watch as a kid? There weren't any specific shows that we even wanted to watch that Mom forbade us to see... I mean she certainly wouldn't let my sisters and I watch something like South Park as little kids, but none of us really sought unsuitable shows out. We were all about Disney, Nick, and Animal Planet in my case. What is the most pleasurable feeling that doesn't involve anything sexual? What comes to mind first is a big hug from someone who makes you feel safe when you don't anywhere else. What was your last "oops, wrong person" moment? I'm going to assume I sent somebody a text meant for another person. I'm super careful about avoiding stuff like this because I get horribly embarrassed, so it's difficult to recall the last time I slipped up. What do you find attractive that isn't considered "normal" attraction? Having a broad imagination and drive to create. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve done drunk? N/A What's something you really enjoy, but can't have? A pet tarantula because Mom refuses to let me lmao. I'm so into them now and desperately want a Grammastola pulchra. What Wikipedia article have you recently read? I haven't read any recently. What subject should be taught at schools, but isn't? Basic adulting and financial skills. What is the worst game you've ever played? I dunno. I've played sooooo many video games throughout my life. What tragic event was coincidentally beneficial to you? My overdose because it led to an intensive partial hospitalization program that totally changed my life. What did you think was cool when you were younger that you now think isn’t? Good question... What are your favorite or most memorable lines from any movie/show? I vaguely remember the concepts of some quotes, but not well enough to recite them. None that are seriously memorable or heavy pop up in my head now. What's a good example of 'Don't knock it till you try it'? Putting peanut butter on top of waffles with syrup. It is fucking delicious. What's your go-to get pumped up song? 5FDP's cover of "Mama Said Knock You Out" is badass HYPE. What's the dumbest thing your parents have said or done? Well, through a family assessment before my current partial hospitalization could begin, I very recently learned my dad fucking did drugs before my sisters and I were born, including shit like cocaine. That was great to suddenly learn. As for my mom... probably have a kid too young? She doesn't talk very much about her eldest daughter's history with (and without) her, but I know enough to know that was a very rocky time in her life. What are some things you wish existed? Cures for countless illnesses, and I also have SUUUUUCH a yearning for some kind of technology that could copy an image in your head onto a drawing device. If only I could draw how/what I see up there... Which person shaped you the most? Jason. Or Mom. What’s the one movie you couldn’t finish? Why? Couldn't tell you; I just haven't watched enough. What's a small thing you have a big passion for? Meerkats, quite literally with "small" lmao. What change have you made recently to help the environment? I have metal straws I try to remember to bring with me if I go out to eat. What was the hardest thing you've ever had to forgive? The way Jason left. Is there anything or anyone you're angry at, that you haven't forgiven yet? I sometimes question if I truly have forgiven Jason. I lean kinda heavily towards yes, I have, I'm just bitter about it all regardless. Have you ever plotted revenge against someone? No. Have you ever done anything to get revenge against someone? I can't think of anything off the top of my head. What is the greatest longing of your heart? To feel purpose. Who was your first love? Some guy in high school who "had" to talk to me upon seeing me the first time, only to wind up wanting to hear nothing from me later on down the line. What denomination is your church (if you go)? N/A What was the first year you voted in a presidential election? This most recent election, actually. Have you ever been afraid of the world ending? I used to worry it would happen in my lifetime, but now I don't. If it ends, it ends. I ain't got much to lose nowadays. What is unfair about your life? My mental health. My financial position. I'd rather not focus on the billion shitty things going on in my life rn, so next question. Did you write love poems when you were younger? ugh Who are you jealous of and why? There's a lot of people I'm in some way envious of, honestly. Have you ever had an account of yours hacked? Yes. Thankfully nothing major happened. Have you ever been a victim of police misconduct? No.

#survey #surveys #questions #questionnaire #lyrics: ''creatures x: to the grave'' by motionless in white

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