#i have a few more ideas in mind (especially certain songs ahem)

[loving-delusions]

my LLEEGGSGSs hurtb

i liked the school event but god fuckin dammt it's not worth 9 hours to be there for the event to start at 5 fucking pm

[feitclub]

In The Cards

It all started with James Bond, the arbiter of worldliness and all things cool when I was just a kid stuck in suburbia. The movies were frequently shown on TV and I made it a point to watch them all over and over again. One of my early favorites was Live and Let Die: the theme song kicked ass, it was Roger Moore's first film so he would never look more handsome, and the movie was full of straight-up magic. The bad guys have a fortune teller on their side, and she can seemingly see everything James Bond will do, even from a great distance. The key to her abilities, aside from her being a virgin (which Bond *ahem* takes care of) was her use of tarot cards. Drawing randomly from this special deck of cards, she could literally see the past, the present, and the future.

I had never heard of tarot cards before but I knew I wanted them. I could not have been older than 12.

When I got my hands on a deck, likely from a book store at the mall, there was an instant level of disappointment. The tarot cards in the Live and Let Die had a very specific look to them, and I had presumed that was just how all tarot cards would look. The deck which I bought (received? I don't remember if my parents were in on this) looked different. All the cards were there, but the art I had expected was not. The biggest difference that stood out to me was the "Death" card: in Live and Let Die that card has a super badass drawing of Death-incarnate wearing a suit of armor while riding a Pale Horse as all manner of human beings knelt or simply fell before him. In my deck, Death looked like a cartoon skeleton without clothes or a horse as he literally reaped the grass with a scythe. I am not here to judge aesthetics, but if you see something in a movie and you end up buying something else, especially as a kid, that's not going to sit right.

(I have tried to use modern search engine tools to discover what kind of deck I had: it was easy to figure out that Live and Let Die used a kind of Rider-Waite-Smith deck, but I think I might have ended up with a variant on a Marseilles deck - exactly which variant, I could not say)

Artistically it was a let down but the appeal of the tarot cards only increased as I learned more about them. First, I discovered that the deck was huge with 78 different cards: the big-picture cards that were featured in the film with names like "The Lovers" and "The Fool" were part of the Major Arcana, but there was also a full set of Minor Arcana which resembled playing cards: four suits, lots of numbers, and several face cards. Secondly, every card had two different "readings," depending on which direction the card faced when drawn.

78 cards, all with two different meanings, meant memorization. As a kid, I was all about memorization. In elementary school my friend Sasha and I tried to memorize the Periodic Table and I think we made it to the lanthanides. When I discovered the joy of watching professional sports, I made a point of memorizing all the teams - by division - in all four major sports leagues. Then I started memorizing the championship winners (and the runners-up) of each major sports league for the last ten years...then the last 20. These tarot cards were going to be my new thing, I could feel it.

I started carrying the cards with me wherever I went. As a kid in school this was easy since I always had a backpack on so the size of the cards meant nothing. Sasha and I (we had watched Live and Let Die together, so this became a team obsession) each had our own deck and we both would take turns drawing cards and looking them up in the little booklet that came in the box. I can remember taking them with us on a school trip to Boston and when we weren't in awe of the historical sights (do I need to tell you we were both nerds?) we kept up our tarot studies while walking around town. On one occasion, just as we drew a card and the booklet said it meant "danger," a car honked its horn at us. We were walking in the middle of the street! Clearly, the magic was real.

The tiny booklet also included a recommended layout when "reading" the cards. The lady in the movie just turned them over one at a time and everything made sense to her, but instead these instructions had us laying out ten different cards in a pattern where each card has a different relationship to the reader. Today I can tell you this pattern is called a "celtic cross" and it is only one of many, many shapes and patterns that can be used, but preteen me did not have that information. I had clear directions: to read the cards I had to flip over ten of them and explain them all.

Before I knew it, before either of us were really ready to be doing anything like this, I remember both of us became tarot card readers at our synagogue for a Purim festival. At the time I didn't think anything was weird, but in hindsight I am impressed that no one raised an objection to kids bringing such a thing into the synagogue so we could be fortune tellers. I should say that we were members of a Reform Temple and I cannot recall ever hearing words like "blasphemy" or "occult" used by our rabbi or anyone else in authority; it stood in contrast to all those self-described Christians I would see on TV who were mad about evolution being taught in schools, talking animals existing as characters in children's books, or anything else we might read in a Chick Tract (which come to think of it, we also discovered around this time while riding Metro-North trains into New York City).

My tarot reading habit did not last; Sasha and I had a falling out of sorts and other things just became more important than these strange cards. My deck sat on a shelf in my room for years until I moved out of my childhood home. I cannot say for certain but it more than likely did not leave with me. But my curiosity surrounding the tarot would linger in my mind and resurface soon enough just as my next big obsession would come along and reveal itself to be tarot-adjacent: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure.

When I discovered JoJo via a fan-subtitled bootleg VHS in the late 1990s, I had no idea the six episodes of anime I just saw covered only one small part of an ongoing (to this day!) manga. The story, as presented on the tape, started in the middle of the action. A lot of it did not make sense, but I latched onto one element right away: every character had superpowers which were embodied - literally - in a spiritual version of themselves on screen and all these alter-egos had tarot-related names: Star Platinum. Hierophant Green. THE WORLD. There wasn't much connection between the card names and the powers they possessed, but it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. If I had still owned a deck I might have started imagining other powers for the other cards not shown on screen (not knowing that they were all represented in some fashion in the original manga).

Leap forward another - gosh, twenty years? - and my tarot fascination never really went away. When I see a Kickstarter or an Etsy page for a new take on tarot cards, I often take a peek at what ideas are on display. A lot of them are just...porn-y. Some are cute. But I'm old(er) now, I don't have the raw enthusiasm I did when I was in 7th grade and the prospect of magic playing cards just made perfect sense. I see daily horoscopes on Japanese TV which I recognize aren't "real," how could I scoff at one kind of fortune telling and then pick up a deck of tarot cards?

Except...who cares if it's "real." What does it matter if these cards are, ultimately, a random assortment of quality art? It's been three entire decades since I first saw them and I'm still deeply intrigued. Part of being old(er) is coming to terms with your own tastes and biases; I no longer need to apologize or feel shame for liking old pop songs or macho action movies and if I've always had a feeling that tarot cards are cool, that feeling is correct.

There's also the feeling that I know so little about tarot cards that I cannot possibly pass judgement on people who use them. I recently started testing a Body Positivity mobile app that uses tarot cards as a means to spark self-reflection and, well, body positivity. The tarot cards in the app are not "real," they're not even physical. They're just drawings on a screen. But the drawings are nice, and if flipping a virtual card over can have a real impact on my own mind, who's to say what flipping real cards over could do?

Even though I felt a need to write all this down, I'm not actually seeking permission here. I already made up my mind and bought a brand-new deck of tarot cards. It's here, next to me. I’ve opened them. I try to draw a few cards whenever I have a chance, but I don't know where this reignited interest will take me. Will I start memorizing them all, again? Will I have another car-honking-its-horn-at-me moment? Maybe I'll just enjoy them aesthetically (they are very nice-looking if I may say so). I don't know what will come next any more than these cards do, but I know I like having them here and I want to know more. At the very least, tarot cards have already taught me an important lesson: I know better than to try and read them while walking in the middle of the road.

---- I shared this story with my Patreon supporters before posting it publicly. Want to help me write more things? Join today: patreon.com/feitclub Ko-fi works too: ko-fi.com/feitclub

[bisexualgendryas]

gendrya + jonsa au: bastard lords and hidden ladies (part 1)

so, this is very much not the whoooole concept as I practically just switch from Cat!Arya to Alayne!Sansa (this post is basically just Gendrya + Alayne!Sansa, sorry, not even written Jonsa, but I promise the full concept includes happy married!Jonsa (two versions, too, lol)), but I am tired af whilst simultaneously being really pumped that ppl wanted to see this idea so here’s (much of) the longass outline of the thing I posted about earlier:

au wip, a legitimized-boys, secret-identity-sisters canon divergence piece, where: Stannis becomes king (and keeps Gendry alive), Arya accepts Jaqen’s offer to work for a courtesan and Gendry finds her while on business for the Crown, Jon gets legitimized after taking Ramsay down, and Baelish makes a betrothal for Alayne to Gendry that she later basically manipulates Stannis into changing into one with Jon after Gendry and his true love ditched the whole ass crownlands. It’s got a lot of book plot overlap too but I have no true concept of the timeline in terms of when different canon events happened. If you want more of this or have ideas or anything, feel free to share them!

Instead of Gendry having to escape from Stannis, Shireen finds out that her father’s found a cousin of hers - a true one, not one of Cersei’s bastards but one of her uncle’s - and especially with pressure from both her and Davos, Stannis ultimately decides he’ll keep Gendry alive, have him taught to behave properly, how to manage lordly duties, and so on.

Jaqen realizes that Arya may not be perfectly cut out for being Faceless, and makes her an offer - that he could find her employment of a different sort. As he’s noted, she’s taken by the allure of the courtesans, whose jobs include far more than just the sexual duties shared by those who work in brothels.

At first, Arya insists she can get better, but then Mercy!Arya ends up becoming friends with a girl who works on one courtesan’s ship, and after hearing many stories about how the women play instruments and tell stories and sing songs, she decides that perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing to try out. She talks to Jaqen, tucks Needle in a belt, and makes friends with Mercy’s friend with her own face, as Cat, and then the friend convinces the courtesan that Cat’s a charming young woman who should come work with them.

Stannis first loses at the Blackwater, but then with assistance from the Iron Bank and much of Westeros, as well as some more magic, he later manages to topple Tommen and take the Throne.

Needing to be sure of where the Crown stood with their Essosi allies, Stannis sends Gendry and Davos to Braavos to speak with the Iron Bank. As the Starks were always so keen to remind everyone, winter was coming.

And, ahem, the men sent with Gendry and Davos certainly intend to as well. And, only naturally, after a couple nights of well-enjoyed brothel trips, some of them decide they all ought to take advantage of their being in Essos and seek out some renowned courtesan as well - they had Westerosi lords and knights, after all, one of whom was in line for the bloody Iron Throne! Surely someone would love to host them!

Spoiler: yes, someone absolutely would. (Especially considering that Robert had quite the reputation - not as a particularly fun partner, but definitely as a man who’d finance the purchasing of a week’s worth of alcohol in two nights and come back to bed every pretty girl an establishment had afterwards.) How many Braavosi courtesans or whores can say they were bedded or courted in any manner by the son of a Westerosi king? Not many.

Contrary to expectations, Cat ends up being one of them, though not so much while they’re in Braavos. And as sweet and reassuring as it is that her friends, her companions in training, are certain that this lord immediately realizes how pretty she is, she knows the moment that Lord Baratheon meets her eyes he can see Arya, buried deep beneath Cat, and when she speaks in response to the courtesan he and his men are visiting, he hears her as well, though she’s glad to see he’s smart enough not to have his shock blatantly on display.

After a couple visits, his men return to the brothels, the enchantment of listening to old songs more lost on them than the enjoyment of fucking - but Gendry keeps coming to the barge, even though it’s only him and his uncle’s Hand at that point, and after a couple nights of only them, trading stories with the women and listening to songs in languages that have barely been heard since Westeros’ common became, well, common, he actually asks to have time with only Cat.

And of course, the parts of them that are closest to the Arya and Gendry they once were have an awkward but heartfelt reunion - but the parts of them that have grown up are acutely aware of how different they are, how different their places are. Still, he’s not surprised she became an assassin, and she’s not surprised he doesn’t enjoy the vast majority of what’s involved in being at court. They don’t share everything, but they share quite a bit, almost falling back into the sort of friendship they’d thrived off having. On following nights they talk more about things - about Shireen, about the Hound, about the Red Woman, even a bit about King’s Landing girls and Braavosi dockworkers.

It takes a couple more nights, but after a while she decides to remind him that, while it’s not something guaranteed simply by seeking out a courtesan, he is allowed to bed her. (With permission from her employer, of course, as payment and whatnot would be arranged, but…it’s him, her friend, grown and handsome, so Arya doesn’t mind giving the suggestion.)

He asks, though, what would be the cost just to kiss her. For all the time she’s spent learning people, especially men, it’s embarrassing to be caught off guard as she is, but she manages to gather herself and say that it would depend on who he intends to be telling. She doesn’t really let him consider that, though, not the first night, because she simply does kiss him.

They don’t explicitly tell people they’ve started kissing, but they’re terrible enough at hiding their affections that they’re quickly the talk of their respective social groups. Everyone among them, and probably others who view the barge consistently, knows that he keeps coming back, after all…until their few weeks in Braavos are coming to an end, at least, Iron Bank negotiations and all other necessary business of the Crown having been handled.

But then, before Arya’s really made to think about the fact that he found her on the other side of the world and inched closer and closer to becoming a lover only to have to leave her again, Gendry asks her to leave with him. He can’t give her back her home or her family, but if nothing else they can live safely, together - and more than that, he simply wants not to leave her, ever. From what he’s said of his own family, she doesn’t imagine she’ll get a warm welcome, but she can’t stand the idea of him leaving her either, so she packs up what few belongings Cat has and says farewell to her friends, and to Braavos.

Other than the scandal of her coming with, none of the men seem to think much of her taking a place in his cabin. It’s there that he ultimately decides he’s free enough to bed her for the first time. They’ve not yet made it to King’s Landing by the time he realizes he’s completely and irrevocably in love with her.

Arya’s mainly right to think she won’t get a warm welcome; both Stannis and Selyse almost immediately denigrate Gendry for following his father’s path, the path of foolish men, for what kind of lord openly brought a whore to their castle? She’s not actually a whore, he cares to remind them, even though it stokes the fire of the fury. He has his own to match Stannis, though, and it’s clear and it’s spectacular in its own way. So, too, does Shireen - lovely, kind Shireen who’s so happy for the prospect of a friend that she again begs her father on Gendry’s behalf, and reluctantly, Stannis allows Cat to remain, with some strict guidelines, many of which Arya has no complaints about meeting.

Up North, though, Jon has heard about Arya’s marriage to Ramsay, and decides to reach out to Stannis for help on the matter, help of some sort, any sort. It’s not immediately granted, especially as Jon is already asking for Other help, but ultimately, Stannis starts to consider it. Ramsay was only ruling in the North because of a series of betrayals against those who would rightfully rule it - if the last known living child of Ned Stark, a man who died for speaking the truth of Stannis’ claim and denouncing Cersei’s bastards, was asking for help, to save his family, was it not Stannis’ duty to give it?

He does decide that having Jon as an ally is his best move, and begrudgingly he sends some troops North with Davos and Melisandre, to assist Jon’s wildlings in taking back Winterfell. The Night’s Watch doesn’t all take kindly to the Lord Commander’s priorities, but by the time mutiny drags down Jon Snow, Melisandre is in residence at Castle Black and she brings him back, having seen him at battle at Winterfell in her flames, knowing it needs to follow.

He takes Stannis’ sent men and his wildlings and begins to march south, only for a broken Theon to bring to him Sansa’s friend Jeyne, whose identity Theon had hid so that she could be believed to be Arya. The battle is hard-won, but they win it still, and Stannis gives him his father’s name for the victory, but it’s hollow.

Hollow, too, is the love promised to sweet Alayne, whose false father seeks out his best excuses to wed her to the highest bidder, a title claimed all too soon by the king and queen, part of their plan to change the behavior of the king’s nephew and part of Petyr’s plan to return to power in King’s Landing. A bastard lord for a bastard lady - to Stannis that’s like to sound fair, but to Sansa, it’s everything but. She’s learned to pay attention to whispers and rumors, and with this…Petyr intends to mold her into Cersei, it nearly seems. A Baratheon with a temper and a love, and he’d have Alayne marry him, if only to return to seeking the power of the crown. She knows he’d been speaking with Lord Bolton, which still boils her blood even now that she knows it wasn’t her sister who had been made to be his poor wife - she’d doubted it always, especially with the recollection of how Arya had once raised her own sword even to Joffrey - but he still will drag her back to residence in King’s Landing rather than let her go home…unless she can work something out with her betrothed, and perhaps she can.

Not that he intends to give her the chance, though - the moment that Stannis informs him of the betrothal is a bigger, louder fight than they’ve ever had. Stannis might be king, but he owns Gendry no more than he ever could his brothers, and Cat even less, and he won’t be allowed to forget it. There’s a ship bound for Braavos in the bay, and soldiers intended to take her to it, soldiers who are meant to grab her from Gendry’s chambers while she’s alone there and escort her so that he doesn’t get a say.

Stannis, though, doesn’t know that only some parts of any woman are soft, and Gendry’s the only man with rights to ask for any of her softness. Even without real context she knows the soldiers are only obeying their king, so Arya focuses on injury and little more, rushing down underneath the castle, down where she’d ran when Syrio had told her to do so. And, as if by magic - perhaps, actually, by magic, for she wouldn’t know - Ser Davos finds her. He takes her to a dusty corner, hands her a wine skin and one of Cat’s other dresses, and tells her to wait for him to come back…and so she does.

She waits until the entire area is getting dark, only the trail of the sun and no lanterns or sconces to show her the possible way out, and holds tight to Needle until after the sun is set and he scurries back to her, Gendry at his side, rushing to her like never before. Davos has given him clothes that once had belonged to a son of his, and grabbed them some food.

They make it out of the city on a ship manned by one of Davos’ other sons, a trade ship headed for the Riverlands - straight for Hot Pie, as far as they’re concerned. Arya might cry, in part from feeling terribly anxious and in better part because he’s so terribly kind.

Alayne and her father arrive in their carriage a few days later, to a very apologetic royal party, and Alayne spends much of her first days back in the city thinking how horribly fed up she is with men for all their machinations. Princess Shireen, though, is very clear that while it’s a pity someone was hurt by it, her cousin is deeply in love, and in their private company she calls her father foolish for thinking he could ever sway him. It’s so very Sansa of her, that Sansa herself is easily swayed to their side, though she knows Petyr is having much more difficulty accepting the rejection.

It’s all very much a lovely love story to Sansa, though, as it is to Shireen, and Alayne bonds with the princess easily. She even enjoys Shireen’s stories about this woman Cat, and finds herself wanting to know more and more, especially as she realizes that in a way she has taken the other woman’s place, just in Shireen’s life as a friend as opposed to in her cousin’s. Stannis and Selyse, though, really do stew in their displeasure. Petyr does a better job of hiding his, but she knows that’s only because his intentions are about power and not family, let alone love.

Then, one day, about a fortnight after their arrival, Stannis mentions a part of the plan she’d been unaware of, one she might be able to use.

He wanted to secure the Vale support so that he could support Jon - Jon Stark, now, newly legitimized Lord Stark, warden of the north, the man who had beaten down House Bolton but needed more of his king’s support to fight a larger, more pressing battle, one against the dead, one for the living. As Petyr says, the details make it sound like madman’s words, but King Stannis has magic on his council and more importantly, this was Jon, and Jon was…Jon. Surely if he declared that the dead could be raised by some unnatural force and made to fight the living, he was speaking the truth of it.

She confronts Petyr in private - had the Vale not already been sworn to House Stark? He disagrees, cautiously - House Arryn had been truly bound by House Tully, and Jon had no Tully to speak of.

“Jon Arryn, my uncle, fostered my father, Jon’s father. He called his banners against House Targaryen in defense of Rickard Stark and his children, and Jon is as much Ned Stark’s son as Robb or Bran or Rickon, no matter where your loyalties lie.”

“Your cousin -”

“My cousin trusts his beloved stepfather not to mislead him,” she finishes, proud that she can see in his eyes how the remark wounds him, and then she takes a walk to the godswood to get her head around her situation.

She wounds Petyr again the next day, by bringing to court a proposal of a marriage between her and Jon - she prefaces by saying that she and her father had spoken of it, just gently enough that no one would doubt her, for Lord Baelish keeps his expression so very static, his surprise just barely visible to even an educated viewer. It’s a good offer, to Stannis, and on the surface it’s good for Petyr as well, though no one would say it’s better than putting his future grandchild in the line of succession for the Iron Throne.

Stannis, though, is perhaps realizing he’s glad to have removed a contender from his line, and he’s quick enough to agree to write to Lord Stark with little more than Petyr’s confirmation that the Vale would give its strength in this war of Jon’s.

Petyr makes his displeasure known, but Sansa is sure enough that Jon will side with her that he agrees not to raise a fuss. She knows she’s made the potential error of keeping either of them from an heir, but if it allowed her to go home with her brother, she’d manage what she had to manage.

Jon, too, agrees, surprised for an offer but happy for it all the same, writing back to Stannis days before he’s actually set to leave for Dragonstone to mine dragonglass on the island, another part of their deal. Jon would remain the ever-vigilant guard of the realm, and Stannis would provide him what he needed to hold such a position well - that was how Ser Davos had said it.

They could figure out heritage when this great war was won.

[lady-charinette]

For the title/story ask: The Beast in Her Home :1/6/7/13/14/15 For the ship ask: 1. Marichat 2. Lukanette 3. Kataang 4. Tokka 5. Chloe/Luka With you explanation/emotion towards each ship. And my own questions: which of ur fics do you like more : The Beast in Her Home or Dinner for Two and why? Which is your fav fic ever written? What is your favorite scene youve ever written? What is the steamiest scene youve ever written? How much forshadowing and lil hints do u put in ur writing? -ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ

1. My inspiration? Huh…it’s actually kind of funny. So, I watch crime shows every Friday night (also during the week, but Friday’s I write while I watch). It’s either watching Special Victims Unit or documentaries based on real life crime/investigations/criminals. I wrote out a scene on my phone I had thought of while watching (it was the scene where Marinette first brought home Chat Noir, where she typed on her computer and he was behind her trying to intimidate her). I thought of different ships and fandoms to go with that scene, since I really wanted to write it and (miraculously) thought of Marichat. Thus, the birth of The Beast in Her Home! :3

 6. Ohhh 6) is such an interesting question! *_* Ahem, well for once, I guess the tone of it all. It’s serious and tense, it reminds me a bit of a different fic that’s still ongoing (Fandom: FF7 “Zack Fair the Bad Boy”) and yet it’s so different. It’s a bit edgy, but has a bit of realism to it. All my stories have some elements of realism, but I guess TBiHH (The Beast in Her Home) is that AU that turns an originally canon kids show into a dark adult world with criminals and corruption, with blurry lines between right and wrong and criminals who may not be *the* true criminal of the story. There’s more to come in the story later, but it’s also about how humans react not just as a private person, but the choices they make as the person they are while “on duty” and the ones they do off it and how it changes their decisions.

 7. Oh that’s a cool question too! The title stemmed from the idea I had of Chat Noir in the AU. At first it was a criminal, then a broken, self-loathing man. I thought of his backstory, the origin, of how ‘the birth of Chat Noir’ Paris’ first ranked criminal came to be. It’s still yet to be revealed, but despite who he really is behind the mask and his criminal record, there’s also a side to him that’s ‘feral’, like most brand him a monster, a ‘beast’. Marinette’s view of him at the beginning is also like that, the moment she looks at his eyes she thinks ‘beast’. He’s also (symbolically)  something like the lion with a thorn on his paw in Marinette’s home, he roars and people are terrified of him, but once you remove the thorn, he’s calm and good-natured. ‘Beast’ is an intruder, a monstrosity that’s only associated with evil, but as the story progresses, we find that the ‘beast’ in (Marinette’s) home might just not be what he appears.  

 13. I did listen to some songs. Hmm… in no particular order: The Asking Price by FFH, Angel by Aerosmith, Diablo by Simon Curtis, The Monster by Eminem ft. Rihanna, Fight Back by NEEFEX, Good to You by Marianas Trench, The Reason by Hoobastank, Monster by Skillet, Hero by Skillet, Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi. Some of them you can listen to when there are action/tense scenes (like Diablo, Monster or Fight Back) but others are meant to portray the ‘softer’ moments (yet to come, some written). :) Good to You may seem out of place, but I already pre-wrote a scene for that particular song :3

 14. Haha, it’s a small scale story really, but what I thought that may stick with readers (or will as it progresses)… How people should stay open minded, try not to have prejudices, especially against people who had rough pasts or even criminal backgrounds. Institutions like prisons should be correctional and help convicts to learn the error of their ways, shape them into better people and re-socialize them into society when they get released. I realize it’s very often not like that, sadly. Sometimes, certain life decisions force people who are normally good-natured to make bad decisions, do stuff they would normally never do…etc. Like I said, Chat’s story has yet to be revealed, but it should reflect that. Also: even when he is a criminal (according to laws), he has another moral code he follows (like some real life criminals do).

 15. Oh so many things, things the FBI might find suspicious once they start looking for me (“I swear, my search history is purely for research for my fics! I don’t plan to kill ANYONE!”) haha but jokes aside, a number of different things. For one, the justice systems of several countries I’ve researched, how many prisons with fearsome reputations (check: ‘the world’s worst prisons’ you’ll get a shock for sure) there actually are in the world, that are allowed to still operate 0_0 Just how thin the line between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ and ‘lawfully correct’ but ‘morally questionable’ is. It’s like those RL cases you sometimes hear of, a husband cheats on his wife/does morally very questionable things, but it’s not against the law and yet it still brings great mental harm to a person. I also learned something about myself, after reading/watching the news about all the things going on with the world: many people say, they would change so many things if they get to a position of power. I used to think that too, but I’d rather enable other, more qualified good people to rise to power and distribute and handle it responsibly, since, while my ideals are good-natured, I have no idea how to realize those ideals or run something like a country responsibly. My role is better suited as an enabler for those who can and want to do good, not just those who want to. 

Ships Asks:

Ranked from Favorite to Least Favorite:

1.      Marichat/Lukanette (I’m sorry I can’t decide, they share first place), 2. Tokka, 3. Kataang, 4. Chloe/Luka. 

So, I’ve been a Marichat shipper since day one, but since the arrival of Luka…ahem, anyhow, I ship both Marichat and Lukanette and can see the beauty in either of the ships. Fanon Marichat of course, canon disappointed me a tweeny bit in that respect. Both ships not only give respect to the guys, but to Marinette too, she’s appreciated and loved and put as an equal in those ships, which I love and find sometimes lacking in the show (for now). 

I always shipped Tokka tbh, Toph seemed like she had a crush on Sokka in ATLA and with their chemistry and their personalities, I think they would go well together (even if I like Suki, Tokka is the one for me!). 

Kataang…oh boy. I’ve never really seen the appeal of the ship, even if it is canon and the main one of the show. It’s basically the whole discourse, not necessarily concerning their age difference, but just their chemistry, Katara has always striked me as more ‘motherly’ towards Aang and there are just too many hints pointing at Zutara in the beginning (the chemistry, the Oma and Shu parallels, the ‘opposites attract’ trope, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers trope, the hard earned bond they formed…etc.

Chloe and Luka, huh? I’m sorry, I did see some fan content for them, but I just couldn’t really imagine a good pairing to come from Chloe’s personality and Luka’s (but I can recognize why some other fans would fancy the idea).

 Your questions:

-  That’s a tough decision, Beast in Her Home or Dinner for Two…hmm… they both have different appeals that make them special in their own way. ‘Beast’ is more dark, more gritty but also hopeful and speaks of broken things being mended again. Dinner is more cute, fluffy,  but has it’s deeper mysteries (which will soon be revealed!) and (I think) speaks more to my readers (I’ve read so many comments that relate to Marinette, with her daily life, job and her reactions etc. it’s so cute!) I brushes more with daily life as we know, while Beast is a darker version of it maybe more familiar to people from that milieu (it may not be as realistic, but for the crime/enemies-to-lovers fans out there). If I think really hard, I THINK I just may like Dinner for Two a tweeny bit more (I’m a sucker for the stuffed toy in restaurants for lonely people idea CHEERS TO MY FELLOW LONELY BRETHREN!)

-  My fav fic? (wipes tear) it’s “Shikuro: A Caribbean Fairy Tale” by Inuma Asahi De (a Inuyasha fic) on FFnet, I’m not sure if it’s my favorite, but its pretty darn close. I’ve read it years ago, but it’s so fresh in my mind, the beauty of the writing, the magical mood it sets for every moment. Read it. I highly recommend it. I wish I could write as magically. Cheers to my fellow fic writers with such talents!!

-  My favorite scene I ever wrote? Ah damn…that’s hard to pinpoint. I have many, I can’t decide.

-  Ohh the steamiest, huh? Hm…I rarely ever write steamy stuff. I think a few are Marichat based (I posted it on tumblr, called ‘Feral’) the few others I can remember are from different fandoms (they’re never very direct, always a bit subtle ;)). The other ones I can remember are from different fandoms (Kakuriyo no Yadomeshi and such)

-  Oh I normally try to pace myself (pff as if that ever works), I guess you could say a lot. Not too much, but I always try to have an organized structure when it comes to foreshadowing, not just one day be like: SURPRISE BITCH, didn’t see that coming! ^_^ In any story I wrote, there’s always some type of foreshadowing and hints, some more obvious, others more subtle. :3  

 P.S. OMG, I’m SO sorry if this went far too deep into the questions! I just got caught up with everything, I’m sorry! >.

[prettyboyrose1974]

Fanfic questions: 3, 4, 5, 11, 13, 20, 23, 27, 30, 41, 42 and 51? (if you still wanna answer those) 😀

Oh yes I was gonna do this in the morning but seeing as my blood sugar is giving me issues 🙃 and I already wrote them down I figured why not do it now

3: What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in? The marvel fandom hands down no matter what those people are the kindest fuckers

4: Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms? Nope I’ve ever learned that I should never be ashamed of anything I used to like now if this was “do you regret your past actions while in certain fandoms” then that would be a yes without a doubt

5: Which fandoms have you written fanfiction for? It would be easier to say the ships lol but My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, The Academy is..., Cobra Starship, Panic! At The Disco, Motley Crue, Oasis, and Guns n’ Roses. Now a few of those stories I’ve taken down either for the poor quality or with the oasis ones ahem some people know about those 🙂

11: Who is your current OTP? I’m pretty sure everyone including Donald Trump knows at this point but it’s izzal or as I call it normally just Izzy/Axl

13: Any NOTPs? Everyone knows or I’d like to think everyone does I despise fucking peterick but I do without going through the tag and yelling at people because ya know I’m not a fucking weirdo but besides that there’s slaxl despite one of my fave gnr oneshots being a slaxl fic lol and I’m pretty sure that’s it

20: Any ships you surprised yourself by liking? Not at the time but looking bad it’s like why the actual living fuck did I ship nikki and tommy

23: Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of and explain why? My current izzal fic I really like since it’s my first proper story I just don’t know when imma finish it, then there’s my Ryden fic that fucking blew up and I just love how I wrote it, and finally the hair band orgy it’s fucking god awful but it brought me friends which I felt like I hadn’t had in awhile

27: What do you hate more; coming up with titles or summaries? Fucking summaries man look at all my fics most of them just say “literally the title” where as the titles are either song lyrics or literally just what happens in the fic

30: What inspires you to write? I’ve talked about this before but literally every fic I’ve written has come to me in dreams I have a note on my phone filled with my dreams I’ve had about Izzy and Axl that I’m using to write but also songs do a great part in helping me

41: List and link five fics you’re currently reading. Only currently reading throam so I’ll link my five favorite fics as I seem it’d be a better idea

Let’s Break The Walls by imyourrocketqueen on rockfic I read it almost once a month and it’s just amazing and extremely well written and I recommend it to everyone into izzal

In Case The Scene Gets Nasty by Word-Plays on livejournal it’s a Ryden fic so anyone who isn’t currently emo or a past emo skip this one I guess even though I still recommend it because even if you don’t know what Ryden is it is just so fucking good I read it every now and then and it still holds up it’s just great in general

It’s Warmer In The Basement by gabilliam on livejournal again it’s a Gabilliam fic so avoid if you’re not emo or a past emo this one is not for the faint of heart it’s a wartime fic and it involves rape but TRUST ME ITS GOOD AND I LOVE IT

Dear Izzy by Slaxl19 on rockfic and okay fuck off to this story I read it once in like early August and it fucked me up for a long time like two months long time but that’s because of how well it’s written and that combined with my fragile mind it was bad but if you’re not a fucked up person like me then read it it’s fucking amazing

The Heart Rate Of A Mouse by Anna Green and you fuckers knew I had to add it and the only reason it fell on five is due to the way I saved the fics but holy shit read this I don’t give a fuck which fandom you’re in or if you’re in at all READ THIS it deserves to be published Anna green is a Fucking sweetheart who spent ages writing it and it’s in my opinion the greatest work of fanfiction ever

42: List and link five fanfiction writers who you think are amazing. I don’t know many of their tumblrs but I know a few so here we go with the link again lol

Obviously the love of my life @arnold-layne duh

Anna Green the queen of fanfiction whose tumblr I cant find so she maybe deleted it so you can find her on Twitter at pineconepickers and on livejournal as beggernotes or as artic_grey

@pleasedontmakemechoose has some cool stuff on rockfic and archive of our own but she doesn’t use tumblr anymore so she’s on Instagram as lulu_crow so there’s that make sure if you go to her Instagram to tell her that Kamryn sent ya lol

Starpupil on rockfic is an author that I get super excited about when she posts because she writes some of the most amazing gnr fics ever

And unfortunately I’ve ran out people to name because I rarely read fics on here and most people on rockfic don’t link any of their other accounts so you know what can a girl do

AND FINALLY

51: Rant or Gush about something in the world of fanfiction. Imma do both because fuck y’all

So ranting right a lot of people ship the dumbest ships and it’s clear they only “ship” because they like the idea of two dudes fucking so fuck those people then there’s the folk who only read smut and no I’m not talking about you Isabella but yeah that irrates me a bit then there’s ship bashing like who the hell has time to run a ship hate blog like bro you do realize you’re obsessed with talking about something you claim to hate that’s a little fucking weird just saying OH the fucking writers who hate criticism and either blocked “Hate” comments or just turned off commenting all together also a lot of wattpad authors bother me despite the fact I know they’re young and not that experienced because I was that person at one point but my god those eleven year olds really do think they’re hot shit don’t they

NOW TIME FOR GUSHING okay so the fact I can go to reading a fic about how Axl is downright terrified to fuck slash because his cock is just that huge to reading something that has me crying every few minutes is just amazing to me and I love that then there’s the fact some fics have literally changed some of my views on the world like after reading throam I was a whole new bitch then there’s the fact that fanficition normally pushes me to like the band or whatever more and that after awhile I’m able to ditch the fics and just have the overwhelming love for that band is just really nice to have that sorta support (this definitely didn’t happen with Pink Floyd I tried to read one once and nearly puked)

[athyrabunlord]

About LLSHP AU (Afterword)

[Brief note about School Term] [other LLSHP AU stuff] [YohaMaRuby concept arts] [ChikaYouRiko concept arts] [KanaDiaMari concept arts] [Hogwarts Staff]

[FFN link] [Pixiv Link] [Translated to Chinese by plin2290]

I’m just so pleased and happy to have made it! I have so many existing incomplete stories that it’s astounding for me to actually complete a multi-chapter story. Once again, I’d like to say a huge THANK YOU!! to my readers for staying with me to the end, providing me feedback and expressing interest, motivating and inspiring me enough to reach this point.

The following is really just about my rambling, about my thoughts, about the planning process and my decisions, so do keep reading if you’re interested in the makings of this story. I just feel like sharing (aka: blah blah blah) since, again, I actually friggin completed a story omg (´；Д；｀)  

===================

First of all, let’s go way back to near the end of October 2016, not long after LLS Season 1 ended. Yes this is so long ago lmao. After drawing several canon-related fanarts and writing short blips to satiate my thirst, I decided to create a complete whole AU so I can fantasize more XD I ended up picking the Harry Potter verse because, come on, it’s always fun trying to Sort your favorite characters and think about their abilities and whatnot.

Ideas started to whirl and initial sketches began. There’s an old post explaining why I Sort the girls into their respective Houses. That’s also when extra details were pondered over, the why and the pros in doing so. You should know by this point that I’m a complete useless 3rd Years trash, but as I brainstorm more, I realize that their story is more suitable to be a prequel, something that supplements a main story. And so, what should the main story be about? What kind of story do I want to present? Who would be the perfect main character/narrator for this?

Yoshiko. In canon, she’s already associated with (black) magic and, as a First-Year and Muggleborn, she would be perfect for a reader to immerse into this fascinating new world of magic through her perspective. As an old post says, I fudged up the School Term and age during the initial stage and didn’t realize until everything’s all finalized, that’s why I had to keep it as it is XD;;;;

Anyway, at this point, I’ve already decided Yoshiko to be a Horcrux, with the antagonist of this story to be Yohane, and how the last few chapters are going to play out.  Everything else, even the other characters’ backgrounds are all further elaborated and refined based off of this central plot. On a side note, how sexy is Aikyan’s solo in the 3rd Live, I mean, the white and black wing I could only think about Yoshiko/Yohane DX

Ahem, I’ve always found Yoshiko’s character fascinating, that there’s a Yohane side of her even though, really, she’s Yoshiko (a good girl). The Chamber of Secrets and the Half-Blood Prince are the main source of inspiration for this particular idea, but of course HP fans might notice many elements from the original story used or modified in my story. I’m also a strong believer that the Patronus Charm can do more than just warding off Dementors or Lethifolds (and Obscurus), hence its significance in this story, especially later chapters.

Therefore, each girl’s Patronus was tentatively decided at this early stage, with 1 or 2 possibilities. After this, I then thought of what ships should this story present. As much as I did not want romance/ships be The Major Point, I have to acknowledge that ships are what people go for in a story, myself included. I understand shipping might turn people away from even trying a story, that’s why I kept it secret for the first few chapters before confirming it on tumblr (where the chapters were first uploaded). I was just testing the waters, to see if people are interested in the story enough to keep reading even if the ships aren’t their preferences.

Back to planning stage - as a multi-shipper, I did not want to set in stone right off the bat what the ships are either. And thus I continued expanding on ideas and see where things would  go, keeping most of the initial interactions and important moments intact. This is why there are times it might seem there are multiple pairings even though nothing was specified (cough wee kanadia, youriko etc (｡･ ω<)ゞてへぺろ♡). Not to mention, as the main character, Yoshiko will always have moments with each of the 8 girls. I remember joking in an old post that, if this were a gal-game, there are various routes to this story, from the default path to those you have to unlock via certain conditions XDDD

Naturally, members of the 1st-year trio and Guilty Kiss get more screen time with Yoshiko. Then, as a fellow Slytherin and part of the tsurime trio, Dia does too. Not to mention Season1’s anime ED shows You & Angel together, You gets special moments too. Chika is Aqours’ leader who first accepted Yoshiko into the group as datenshi, so I tried to show that as much as I could given the circumstances in the story. And so, this leaves poor orca on the side lol. But yeah, YoshiMaru, YoshiRiko, YoshiRuby, so many possibilities! However, as more details get finalized, such as Yoshiko’s childhood, her Shiira-KANSU! Patronus and about the Augurey, YoshiMaru just happened. Things seem to click into place with their love as the focal point and I was able to keep expanding the story. First puppy love, innocent and pure. A dream that grew to become reality. Could other ships have worked? Yes, but then that would’ve given this story a different direction and it wouldn’t have been LLSHP AU – Yoshiko Tsushima and the Fallen Angel anymore. As I developed YoshiMaru more and more, I was very satisfied with my choice.

On a side note, I confirm Yoshiko did have a crush on You at first (and Hanamaru had a crush on Kanan) xD it’s mostly just physical attraction in a “the-senpai-I-admire” kind of way, and it soon morphs to strong friendship as this story progresses. I don’t know if this was obvious at all but that’s why these two girls always have a soft spot for Gryffindor Baka#2 and Baka #3 xD!!!

On the other hand, I was not expecting DiaRiko to form. Yes, it was my guilty ship but I didn’t intend for them to be a couple in this story, just close friends/confidantes. In canon, they’re already the straight man of their respective year trios (most of the time anyway, I’m looking at you ponkotsu penguin). Yet, given their respective pasts and personalities, they became intimately close and found solace with each other, and that kind of relationship is what I tried to show to the readers, especially through the Carbonado Interlude. They’re not predestined to fall in love but they did and found happiness. Out of the four ships, I was most worried about DiaRiko since it’s a rareship unlike the other three. That’s why I keep saying how pleased I am that it ended up being well-received by fans ;;A;;

ChikaYou came to be as I finalize the 2ndYears’ background and Riko’s part, while KanaMari’s story is set aside for the prequel and thus not given much spotlight in the main story (and also due POV effect). In spite of how much I adore ChikaYou, it’s also not shown much because of what happened in the story but also because I wanted to present their dynamic as a duo and CYR bond with Ruby (since that’s how Yoshiko perceives them most of the time anyway).  

Ruby, my widdle cinnamon roll baby, is left unpaired for a reason. I want to show that platonic/friendship love is just as wonderful and powerful. There’s a saying ‘lovers come and go, but friends are for life’, and that’s exactly what Yoshiko and Hanamaru meant for Ruby, and vice versa. Now, while I’m on this, I have a confession about Ruby’s fate. After the concept arts were drawn and uploaded, I was finalizing the details of the three Arcs before I toss the first chapter onto tumblr. The end of ch19 is definitely one of the biggest climax of the story - Ruby ended up being Yohane’s target instead of Dia. Originally, uh, yeah, Ruby is supposed to die because her wounds were too much. Regular healing spells do not work on sectumsempra, only a special counter-Curse could reverse the effects. I tried very hard to find a way around it to save her. I don’t want my baby to die, any of them really, and she still have so much ahead of her. Fortunately, I was able to save her through Yoshiko/Yohane which, in turn, saved this raven-haired girl as well. I was able to continue working backwards on finalizing the Arcs and individual chapters with a peaceful state of mind.

‘Yoshiko’, as in the one who’s been narrating the story from ch1-20, still died in a way, but at least I was able to change the story from Bad End to True End (?). True End is the ch21 I uploaded. Bad End route would have Ruby dead, Yoshiko gone and ch21 would turn out completely different. A Happy End would be Yoshiko the Narrator miraculously alive and the others not having scars or still recovering, but I just find that too unrealistic. I’ve minimized the, uh, damage enough as it is, given the circumstances. J.K. Rowling did go on a killing spree in Book7 but come on, with a psychotic maniac like Voldemort and all those magical spells, you can easily kill people. You don’t need Avada Kedavra to kill someone, a sudden Diffindo or Reducto is enough. I’ve chosen my sacrifice and one is too many already. And speaking of sacrifice, let me talk a bit about Riko and why she was the ‘first victim’. Omoi yo Hitotsu ni Nare. Even though this story was outlined even before the First Live, this song already stands out to me from the anime, a song where the 8 of them sang in Riko’s absence but her spirit is still with them. And so, I sort of portrayed that the way it is in this story. Even though Riko didn’t get any lines from ch12 onward until ch20, her role remains significant and is the pivotal point for the remainder of Arc2 and Arc3. In terms of the plot, I’ve followed my outline quite closely. All the core points remained unchanged as I write out the chapters, though how I write a chapter (ie the wording, the extra little details, and actual professor dialogues instead of just narration) did change as I go along, influenced by more of the official content. Facts about characters that are only revealed in Season2 or other media such as SIF etc were not incorporated into this story (for example, Kanan being afraid of ghosts and height). As I mentioned in an older post about wands, I would have chosen phoenix feather for Ruby’s wand core had I known about the Duo-Trio results. The Kazuno sisters would have been incorporated into the story alas, back then, very little was known about Saint Snow in Season1 of the anime. Yes… season2 was finished and, like, a total of 15 live performances have happened between the creation and the completion of this story LOL Back to the plot. Seven is said to be a magical number in the HP verse and that’s why each Arc has 7 chapters. Arc 1 is the Intro, Arc 2 is the turning point, Arc 3 is the climax and the resolution. Sounds easy and straightforward so I thought I would’ve finished the story within a year. Well. It ended up almost taking two years lmao. Obligations IRL aside, new ideas, more AUs, more fanarts etc also make sticking to the update schedule difficult. It’s the worst when it comes to writer’s block – you have the outlines, you know what’s supposed to happen in a chapter, yet the words just aren’t flowing and you’re stuck. Thankfully, with you lovely readers giving the feedback and encouragement I need, I made it over each bump on the road to get to the finale. Hanamaru wrote most of this story, yes. Each chapter titles with exception of Ruby’s interlude and ch18-19 also showed up in ch21. The title of the ‘book’ is supposed to be revealed in the Epilogue but, since I had to upload it onto Fanfiction.Net, I can’t just call it LLSHP AU so I had to reveal “Yoshiko Tsushima and the Fallen Angel” right away. Back then I called this a temporary title because I did think about giving this story an alternate title, since she didn’t write the interludes, ch21 and the epilogue. However, at the end of the day, this still suits the story best. After all, the individual titles for ch21 and the epilogue make up the story’s title.

“Yoshiko has always known that she isn't normal like everyone else. Surely, she would master everything about magic at Hogwarts, and become the amazing fallen angel she's meant to be. Little did she know, her school year would be more than eventful as she makes great friends, uncovers secrets, and learns what it truly means to be Yohane.” - this is the summary I put on Fanfiction.Net. It speaks from both Yoshiko the Narrator’s perspective, and Yoshiko from the Epilogue’s perspective. It probably sounds confusing but I hope you understand what I mean. So, what’s next? I’ve invested a lot in this world of LLSHP AU already and there are still so many more possibilities, especially with the rather open ending both ch21 and the epilogue presents, so I’m definitely not done with this AU! Since I have the memory of a goldfish, I don’t know if I’ve already mentioned this but the prequel will be told mostly in Mari’s POV. It will have occasional Dia and Kanan POVs too (because I’m a shameless 3yrs-oshi and writer privilege); Rather than taking forever to write and cramping the scenes into a massive interlude chapters, I’ve decided to split it in shorter chapters - this will roughly be a 12-part story that took place before the main story, showcasing segments of the kanadiamari’s first 3 years at Hogwarts.

This prequel is… relatively normal and lighter compared to the main story, meaning it’s more school-oriented and more slice-of-life episodes for the most part (at least, that’s the outline), and much more Professor cameos. There will be more N-card girls to be showcased as well, such as kanadiamari’s Housemates and Quidditch teammates. Overall, it’ll be shiny °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° There will not be a full sequel to the main story. Instead, there will be blips/drabbles about events that happen after the main story, as teased in the Epilogue - the TriWizard Tournament for one XD And, unlike the main story, the ideas for blips in this sequel-timeline are more vague, so I’ll be able to incorporate new content into it (as in, from official content 2017 onward such as proper characterization of Saint Snow).

There are plans for omake/filler fun blips as well - little incidents that happened throughout the main story or, rather, ‘excerpts’ that Hanamaru wrote but didn’t make it to the final version of her book. The first Halloween, more scenes with the Professors, birthdays and so on.

There are also plans for character-exclusive blips as well, similar to an Interlude. For example, DiaRiko’s ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) cough cough.

My tentative plan is to keep going with the prequel, and maybe every few chapter or so I’d write a sequel-timeline blip. I’ll see how my muse and inspiration is in the future, I’m already extremely satisfied that I finished the main story XD And I do want to work on some of my other existing AUs (ie Animus AU and Mafia AU just because I’ve already invested time in creating the concept arts and so I don’t want them to sink into oblivion…) or who knows, there might be new AUs. I mean, pretty much every new SIF set is enough to inspire a brand new AU please allow me a moment to giggle like the trash I am over the DiaRiko UR set *pterodactyl screech*

AHEM. Another thing is illustration/artworks. Since most of my time was spent on writing, there are much fewer artworks than I would’ve liked for this story. I think I mentioned this somewhere that I’d love to have an individual cover art for each chapter alas, no time at all DX I’d like to have at least one illustration per chapter too but OTL I can only pick one and so for this AU I chose writing over drawing. Cry.

Anyway, I’ve rambled long enough and I think I’ve talked about everything I want to get off my chest. If you have any questions/feedback, go ahead and fire’em at me, since I’m now able to answer anything without fear of spoilers now XD (unless your question is about the prequel or things that happen in the sequel-timeline)

Thanks for reading the whole thing and, ofc, staying with me until the end of this story!

[stripestheboar]

Stagnant Decay: Chapter 8

<<- First

<- Previous

Summary: Papyrus and Dust can’t sleep, so instead they talk about how they can’t sleep.

Don’t want to read it here? Here it is on Ao3.

Dust watched the movie with Papyrus, silent the entire time. As usual, Papyrus didn’t mind, being the one to make most of the side comments about the performance and getting excited during certain scenes of Mettaton showing off his acting chops.  

“Oh I love this part,” he grinned happily, resting his skull in his gloved hands while he watched the fabulous robot on screen. Dust listened and nodded along, seemingly more interested in Papyrus than Mettaton. Sans never quite had a liking for robot, but the younger skeleton knew from experience that he wasn’t going to keep him from watching it. Sans was fine with him watching practically anything as long as he got to control the parental lock.  

The MTT network always had Papyrus’ favorite shows on, all starring that amazing robot on screen. Miss Toriel and Sans were always a tad judgmental, but what was there to be critical about? He was human-fighting robot/ghost with amazing cooking skills. How could anyone not love Mettaton? He loved his fans almost as much as he loved himself. Ahem, almost. That level of confidence and self-esteem was something the skeleton found himself relating to on a daily basis. Why people didn’t love themselves more always seemed to stump him.

Papyrus hummed along softly to songs and grinned a little wider when the climax of the episode appeared. Occasionally his sockets would turn to peer at the other occupant, whose tired grin didn’t fade as he watched the episode along with him.

“I know him, did you know?” he grinned, looking over at Dust. The sudden comment seemed to surprise the smaller skeleton, who blinked and looked over at him with a furrowed brow. He paused for a minute, tilting his skull slightly from left to right as he thought, and gave a nod. “Yeah, I know that,” he rasped, looking back down at the lap top. “You don’t know him very well, though.” Papyrus was almost offended by that idea, until he thought about it a bit more. “Well, we don’t really hang out anymore. Nor did we ever hang out, to be honest,” he replied, his legs tucking in more as he adjusted the screen. “I see him occasionally, however. Mostly when Frisk enjoys bringing him around whenever he’s on his breaks. We don’t really talk.”

“You wish you were closer, huh?” Dust prodded, no longer looking at the screen, which Papyrus had paused so they could continue to talk. While Papyrus didn’t exactly have a whisper voice, he had turned down the volume significantly so they could chat without waking his brother; if he was in there, of course.

Papyrus gave a slight nod, a gloved hand coming to his face as he nodded slowly. It was almost like he was embarrassed about it. “While I certainly think it as a dream come true,” he hummed, “I have far to busy a schedule to arrange another friendship, especially after all the friends I already have on social media.”

Dust raised he tops of his sockets questioningly. “All twenty-five of them?” he mumbled, to which Papyrus gave him a quick blank stare. No real humor was detected in that statement, but it pestered him all the same. Papyrus crossed his arms in a classic grumpy manner; if he had lips, you could be sure they would be curled right about now. “You ability to know specifically private things is now becoming an annoyance,” he huffed. “How am I supposed to surprise you if I ever gave you a friendship hug from behind?”

Dust didn’t answer the question, knowing it was rhetorical anyways. “So why don’t you talk to him more?” he asked, continuing to pry about Mettaton. A flicker of minor disappointment hit Papyrus, seeing his attempt to divert the conversation had failed. Nonetheless, he responded accordingly. “Mettaton’s always busy,” he shrugged, fiddling with his red gloves. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt his highly involved schedule.” He moved to play the rest of the episode, but the not-Sans seemed to have more to say. “Well he’s in town this month isn’t he?” he pointed out, resting his hands in his own lap. “Why not talk to him the next time you see Frisk. I’m sure he’ll be there.” This suggestion only received a passing glance. “Wowie, all this pre-destined knowledge you’ve attained is making me wish I could see into the future, too,” Papyrus pouted, but his spirits soon lifted back to their usual jovial ways. “But if you insist, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind striking up a chat with someone as great as me!” He looked over at his smaller companion with a fond grin as he began to play the rest of the episode. “You’re quite the motivator, did you know that? You’re so very helpful, kind of like that phone Frisk has that stores up all those items. Alphys is currently making a few for all of us, so I’m excited for mine.”  

Upon the episode ending, he shut the laptop and put it to the side. “You’re also a good chat! I enjoy talking to you.”  

Dust’s faded grin twitched upwards slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “Thanks, Paps.” His eyelights shifted, focusing back up on him. “So can talk about why you’re in the closet?” He had a quick look around the closed space. “Any skeletons in your closet?”

Papyrus put a hand proudly to his chest, closing his sockets. “The Great Papyrus never has any skeletons in his closet!” He paused, looking to the side. “Well, except me, sometimes. And I suppose you now, too! Welcome to the great closet of Papyrus, then.”

Dust didn’t reply, awaiting his response. He didn’t seem impatient, however. Like everything about him, he just took it slow, as if he had all the time in the world to just sit there and wait for something that could possibly never come his way. Even Sans wasn’t ever this sedated. At least Sans had this small bounce to him that kept him on his toes to tell a pun or time a joke just right. Dust wasn’t like that. Everything about him was slowed down by a good hundred percent; even the way he blinked was sluggish.

Papyrus didn’t realize he hadn’t answered the question until the silence became more than apparent. Sans would have filled the void with a joke, but Dust seemed contempt to let it be.

“I’m not a big fan of naps,” Papyrus decided on, clasping his fingers together. “You may see others take hours and hours of naps as night, but I enjoy putting my time into better use.”  

Dust looked down at the laptop, but seemed to think of a better comment than the obvious. “Why don’t you like to sleep, Papyrus?” he asked.  

Papyrus watched him for a moment, deciding whether or not to actually answer such personal questions. He still valued his privacy, after all.

“Well, have you seen those lasers in Hotland? The lasers and conveyor belts?” he asked back, though he didn’t pause for an answer. “Those are my least favorite kinds of nightmares.”

Silence once again reigned, only interrupted by a soft chuckle from Dust, who seemed to find some humor in his comment. “Yeah. Nightmares. I get you. You had those a lot growing up, huh?” There was another chuckle, this time louder as he put a hand to his chest, rubbing at his sternum over his coat that Sans had (unknowingly) lent to him. Papyrus opened his mandible to possibly say something to him, but was soon interrupted when Dust looked up into his sockets, his grin spreading with a slight tremble. “D-do… do you think you’d sleep better if you had a bedtime story?” he whispered, his eyelights seeming to grow in brightness as he asked the question. This took the other by surprise, as he wasn’t expecting such a question. “A bedtime story?” he scoffed. “The Great Papyrus is in no need for a bedtime story. He can get himself to sleep whenever he wants to.”  

“But you’ll have nightmares again,” Dust pointed out, “like you always used to.” Papyrus paused, having to take his question into deep consideration, but ultimately shook his head. “No thank you,” he declined. “As much as I appreciate it, I’m past that. I haven’t had a bedtime story read to me since-“

“Since the Underground,” Dust finished for him, visibly shivering in the darkness of the closet. “Yeah… I understand.”

“You’re cold again,” Papyrus noted, taking hold of the skeleton’s humerus, causing him to jolt in surprise at the touch. Papyrus didn’t flinch, however, almost expecting this out of him every time. He took Dust’s trembling hand in his, covering it with his firm gloves, watching him lower his head and hug himself with his other arm until the shaking was reduced back to its minimum. Papyrus gently squeezed his hand, a comforting gesture to let him know he was going to be alright. “Why don’t we talk about you instead?” he offered. “After all, you woke up fairly quickly from your sleep. Why can’t you sleep? You always look tired after all, what with your shoulders all slumped and how slow you are. It’s like you’ve become lazier… but not really at the same time.”

Dust blinked, lowering his skull slightly as his eyelights seemed to dull slightly. “I just have too much to think about,” he murmured, bringing a hand back to bring his hood back up over his skull. “Too much for sleep, anyways. They like to keep me awake when I need rest, so I tend to skip sleep altogether.”

“‘They’? Who’s that?” Papyrus inquired, now curious as to who was keeping Dust awake. “If they are disturbing you from your busy schedule, you must tell them to politely back off of your beeswax.”

Dust couldn’t seem to help but chuckle at this, shaking his head as he rose a hand and placed it on his own sternum. “No one. Just my thoughts. They keep me up at night.” Papyrus slowly let go of his hand, but was surprised to find him still holding on tightly after he let go. He didn’t mind, however, instead using it as an opportunity to pull his friend towards him and into his lap, taking the surprised and stiffening Dust and wrapping his arms around him in a small hug. The smaller skeleton was slow to react, but soon responded by doing the same, resting his head against the other’s ribcage in a noticeably exhausted fashion.  

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” Papyrus asked softly, keeping him close as he lessened the usually loud tone of his voice. To this, he didn’t receive an answer for several minutes, to which he was happy to wait for. It had to be no more than a couple of days. After all, he was almost an exact copy of Sans, and if he knew anything about copies of Sanses, it was that they liked to sleep. Sure, it was a bit of an annoyance, but it was Sans they were talking about. Papyrus had learned to accept it overtime, knowing his brother wouldn’t ever change unless the world might be ending. Even then, he might be too lazy to really do anything about it.

“I don’t know.”

Papyrus paused, taken aback by the answer. “Excuse me?” he replied, to which he got the same answer. “I don’t know.”  

It took Papyrus a few seconds to respond, unsure of how to even go about it.

“You… you don’t know the last time you slept?” he asked carefully, unsure of himself now. He felt his soul ache when Dust slowly nodded against his chest.  

“I can’t remember,” he rasped, closing his sockets as he spoke. “I… just don’t know.”

Papyrus didn’t speak. Memories of the dust pile and the bones flashed through his skull as he suddenly felt as weak as Dust right about then. An empathetic sadness filled his soul as his arms wrapped tighter around the smaller skeleton.  

“Would… a bedtime story help you rest easier?” he asked, pulling himself away some to look down at him properly. Dust visibly tensed, clearly surprised by the proposal. Nonetheless, he gave a slow nod, his lights of his sockets beginning to glow brighter once again. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he murmured, releasing his arms from Papyrus. However, it was Papyrus who refused to let go this time, taking a curt stand with Dust almost cradled in his arms as he made an exit out of the closet.  

Setting Dust gently on the edge of the bed, Papyrus looked over the bookshelf, before picking out a large, thin book and handing it over to his companion. “I would like this one, please,” he requested, before snuggling under the bedsheets with a small grin. “You can start at the beginning, or else it won’t make sense.”  

Dust looked down at the thin book, his sockets able to read the large, colorful title, even in the dark. However, he turned on the lamp on the nightstand, just so Papyrus could see the pictures. Papyrus always loved seeing the pictures. His grin widened as he turned the cover to the title page for the pajama-clad skeleton to properly see it’s imaginative colors.

“Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny,” he read aloud. He stopped for a moment, lowering his skull as if to take a deep breath. Papyrus waited with anticipation, no longer feeling the embarrassment he once had whenever thinking of this exact situation. He leaned forward, giving Dust a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, one hat was rewarded with a soft grin. Then, he began to read the book to Papyrus softly under the dull light of the shaded lamp.

Papyrus had to admit: that ending got him.

[clairekatswritingcorner]

Peaceful Sounds and Flower Crowns

Word Count: 1,494

Summary: Felix and Bridgette agree to spend a summer afternoon studying together, but Bridgette gets a little distracted.

*Author’s Note*: I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, it’s a sweet little one shot based on this picture by @edorazzi. In my version of the PV, Bridgette lives with her grandparents above their bakery (which I don’t know if that was ever an actual show idea but at some point I came up with it). Happy summer and I hope you enjoy.

(Also available on my Ao3, found on my blog links)

Even though they had been dating for a few months now, considering Bridgette Cheng as his legitimate girlfriend still felt slightly strange to Felix. Not in a bad way, of course. He certainly didn’t harbor any lingering resentment for her or her bubbly and persistent personality; on the contrary, he had actually grown quite fond of those parts of her he used to find annoying. He’d seen such behavior as a nuisance when all he wanted was for her to take the hint to stay away from him, considering his aura of bad luck would run amok on anyone and anything that got too close to him. Felix was used to being prickly, unsociable, alone…keeping people at a distant was nothing new to him even before that coal black ring of bad luck sealed to his finger. But Bridgette, she practically made it her job to make it difficult for him to keep his distance.

Now, a few months after the truth of their superhero identities had been revealed to one another, Felix had to admit that being close to Bridgette was one of the most comforting things in his life. He loved seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, feeling her arm wrap around his as the two of them wandered the city on their days off—both from being students and defenders of justice. The sound of her feet pattering up to meet him, the brush of her hair against his chin when she hugged him, and the peck of her lips leaving a warm spot on his cheek that flooded with blush before he even knew what was happening all made his heart swell with identifiable emotions.  In short, he had never been happier.

This afternoon the two had the pleasure of getting together in a local park to study. While Bridgette’s grandparent’s bakery was their go-to study location, Felix had suggested they take advantage of the mild summer weather and appreciate a nice change of scenery while they were on break. Studying wasn’t Bridgette’s first idea of a fun date, but Felix was so insistent on getting a head start on their coursework for the coming semester she didn’t have the heart to not indulge him. The weather was warm, but not overbearingly so thanks to the periodic breeze.

Bridgette laid out a blanket for them to lounge on, trying not to grimace at the stack of books Felix removed from his backpack after setting it down. She put her chin on her knees and watched as he methodically unloaded them, tapping a finger against her leg as her eyes shifted from the books, to his face, to the flowers in the grass and bushes around them. Their aroma filled the area, surrounding them in a sweet, calming mixture of scents that brought a drowsiness over her.

“Hey, are you sure you want to do this today?” Felix’s voice startled her, and Bridgette snapped her eyes open, adjusting her sitting position and nodding earnestly.

“Of course! It’s just so nice out, I got a little caught up in all the sounds and smells.”

“You pay attention to that stuff?” Felix inquired, disbelief displayed on his face and in his voice. “The city is the same today as it always is.”

Bridgette giggled, and her laughter only deepened the crease in Felix’s forehead. “Am I missing something?”

She shook her head, scooting closer to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “You and I just see the world differently. Vastly different. It isn’t a bad thing, though. Hopefully it means we’ll be able to open each other’s eyes to things we can’t see on our own.”

“The only thing I’m going to be opening your eyes to today is this textbook,” Felix retorted, tossing the final book down with a punctuating thump.

“Aw, but your beautiful face has already opened my eyes plenty. It’s like getting a glimpse of the sun without actually being blinded.”

Felix couldn’t help but blush at Bridgette’s offhand comment. Now that he had taken the time to get to know her, and was aware of the fact that she was so much more than the clingy classmate with an overbearing crush on him, she got under his skin so easily. All she had to do was bat her eyes a certain way, or come at him out of the blue with a compliment like that, and it was like she was holding his heartstrings hostage. Felix did his best to inconspicuously hide his inflamed face behind a book under the guise of research, but knowing that she had embarrassed him only made Bridgette flush the same shade.

“Ahem, well, what subjects did you bring?” she asked, hoping to clear the air.

“I was thinking we could take a look at some of the literature selections, since those tend to be easier to tackle,” he explained, setting his book down once his blush subsided. “I also brought some science, math, and history books, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to get to all of them this afternoon.”

“I sincerely hope not…” Bridgette muttered, sifting through some of the volumes and doing her best not to outwardly cringe at the prospect of doing preemptive summer reading. “Why don’t you go through some of them and decide where you want to start?”

Felix shrugged and picked up one of the literary texts, flipping through the pages absently as he followed the table of contents to draw samples from the various sections. While he continued his inventory, Bridgette passed the time by plucking a few of the nearby flowers, weaving them into small strings, crowns, bracelets, and various other accessories. It was times like this that her abundance of hair came in handy, and she got to work braiding some of the longer stemmed flowers into her hair after plopping one of the finished crowns on her head.

Their sweet smell became more apparent to Felix, but he was too busy keeping himself busy to see what had triggered the change, hoping to avoid any more embarrassing distractions. Bridgette was all too focused on him, though, mostly just intent to take in all the quality time with him she could before it was ruined. She knew it was unlikely that Felix would purposefully hurt her, especially now, but with the threats that came with their line of work and the unknown future, she wanted to savor every precious moment she got with him.

A breeze drifted by, tousling Felix’s flowing locks in the process. Bridgette had idly started watching him as she braided, and the sudden sparkling strands before her gave her an idea. As she finished her braids, she nabbed some of the flowers she had set aside and scooted closer to Felix, weaving a flower into the edge of his mane. He perked up at the sudden feel of fingers in his hair, peeking to the side to see Bridgette intently concentrated on lacing his hair with an array of rainbow flowers. He blushed again, but it was more mellow, more content than the startled heat that had overwhelmed him a few minutes before.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Bridgette froze, realizing she probably should have asked before she started assaulting his hair with vibrant plant buds. “Uh, I’m sorry, I just…”

A small, very cute, very unexpected chuckle passed from Felix’s lips. “You don’t have to apologize. Your hair looks very beautiful, all done up like that.”

Now it was Bridgette’s turn to be starstruck. She swore if she could see herself now, her whole body would be the same rosy shade as some of the buds in her hair, or her signature superhero suit. Felix turned, pecking her sweetly on the lips before returning to his book. Bridgette’s heart beat so hard it hurt, and her fingers trembled with a force that rendered them unusable. Felix sensed her anxiety, patting her hand a bit and giving her a rare but reassuring smile before he returned to his book.

“It feels really nice, when you play with my hair like that,” he encouraged as he relocated the page he was on. “Would you mind doing it a little more?”

Without another word, Bridgette returned to her playful plaiting. She unconsciously began humming, and although Felix didn’t recognize the song, he appreciated the ambiance. Before he knew it he found his eyelids growing heavy, his desire to get lost in the peace of the moment overriding his desire to finish reading the passage he was on. Bridgette could hear his breathing slow to a calm rhythm, and she smiled, adding more flowers and continuing to hum along. Right now they weren’t Ladybug and Chat Noir, nor were they the Cheng bakery girl and the prestigious Agreste son. No, right now they were simply Bridgette and Felix, enjoying each other’s company and the tranquility of their shared summer afternoon. Studying had never been so enjoyable.

[glittership]

Episode #66: "Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit"

Download directly here: 

And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Episode 66 is a GLITTERSHIP ORIGINAL and part of the Summer 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

  Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit

by Cynthia So

  On the day Sunae turned nine years old, there was no joyful feast. A monster burst from the sea that night and ate five people. The Mirayans gathered upon the shore to watch this, as they did every Appeasement. Sunae’s mother covered Sunae’s eyes, but Sunae still heard the screams. The crunch of brittle bone between teeth. The wet gulp of gluttonous throats.

Sunae prayed to the Goddess that the warrior Yomue might rise from the dead and defeat the monster yet again. No warrior came, but a hand grasped Sunae’s and squeezed. A hand as small as her own.

When it was over, Sunae’s mother murmured, “Now we will be safe for another ten years.” She removed her hands from Sunae’s eyes, and Sunae flinched from the gore before her. The older children always said that this was why Miraya’s beaches were pink, but she hadn’t been convinced until she saw the sands now drenched with fresh blood. Dark red on dusk pink.

Full transcript after the cut:

    Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 66 for March 5, 2019. This is your host Keffy, and I’m super excited to share this story with you. Today we have a GlitterShip original, “Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit” by Cynthia So and a poem by Chanter, “The Lamentations of Old Money.”

This episode is part of the newest GlitterShip issue, which was just released and… is very late. The “Summer 2018” issue of GlitterShip is available for purchase at glittership.com/buy and on Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and now Gumroad! If you’re one of our Patreon supporters, you should have access to the new issue waiting for you when you log in. For everyone else, it’s $2.99, and all of our back issues are $1.49.

GlitterShip is also a part of the Audible Trial Program. This means that just by listening to GlitterShip, you are eligible for a free 30 day membership on Audible and a free audiobook to keep. If you’er looking for an excellent book of short queer stories to listen to, you should check out Bitter Waters by Chaz Brenchley. This book is full of speculative fiction featuring gay men and was awarded the Lambda Award for best LGBT speculative fiction.

To download Bitter Waters for free today, go to www.audibletrial.com/glittership — or choose another book if you’re in the mood for something else.

Up first, our poem:

  Chanter is a proud Wisconsinite who took flight (alas, not literally) from her originating small town, headed for the big city’s more accepting climes and never looked back.  She’s proudly asexual, demisensual, and some flavor of bi- or panromantic that’s as yet proving difficult to define.  She’s also brand squeaky new (emphasis, occasionally, on squeaky) to official publication.  Besides holding down a day job, she’s an active shortwave radio DXer and ham operator, as well as a crowdfunded author currently based mainly on Dreamwidth.

    The Lamentations of Old Money

by Chanter

  Jennifer doesn’t want a white dress.

She doesn’t want a church, an altar, a tangle of coast-grown flowers, sisters in matching silk, trained doves, stained glass, twenty overlaid colognes and splintering sunlight, rehearsed organ music and recorded pop shorthand warbling through weak speakers, biting April breezes, overthought hair and makeup, snow in hardwood aisles.

Jennifer doesn’t want a wild time.

She doesn’t want hips around shoulders, tools and toys, filthy supplications and hot breath ideas, hours between bedsheets, sticky aftermaths, bruises as tawdry mementos in hard to reach places, hands and mouths, teeth and tongues and fluids, too many entrances, the junctions of legs and legs and legs.

Jennifer doesn’t want hard edges.

Not for her, leashes, spike heels and bad girl pretense. not for her, the bite of too-demanding fingertips grinding at her biceps, cold and bruising at her cheeks, clamped into the flesh of her wrists. Not for her, orders with teeth both behind and in them, whipcracks in voice and deed. Not for her, daddy’s little anything, mommy’s little anything, a schoolgirl’s life, a paddle’s life, princess, flower, whore. Not for her, latex and custom-made chains, iron protocol and a child’s tear-stung punishments, revoked names and Halloween’s expected trappings.

Not for her, anonymity. Not for her, all of the spice and none of the wine to mull with it.

What Jennifer wants?

Fits on a two-sided coin.

One side:

Jennifer wants nights asleep in a hayloft, clothes on, with siblings in arms—and black coffee, and cotton-coarse humor, and blood— to her left and right.

Jennifer wants a uniform, wants honest lamplight with a wick beneath it, wants a hundred songs and a hand-tuned fiddle, a guitar played at a campfire, laces and burlap, branches and homespun wool, antique language, tactile camaraderie, respected rank and unresented ceremony, world-spanning care so personal it can’t be feigned, so simultaneously subtle and frank that it confuses, so elegant it’s genuine, so casual it’s ancient. “To be fair, that one does drive me utterly mad of an afternoon but God be good, dear fellow, why wouldn’t I?”

Jennifer wants a certain amount of ignored anachronism, wants a world where ‘dear fellow’ as affectionate genderless address is just fine, where ‘she’s a good man to have beside you in a fight’ is perfectly acceptable wording, but where the phrase ‘man up’ is both soundly off limits and considered decades or centuries distant, depending; a world where, at the end of the day, it’s quietly acknowledged and otherwise near-forgotten that oh yes, that one there, she’s a girl. As in woman. As in, see also, dame. Noun. Example I: To go to work for the war effort on the road under cover of darkness, on the air for the BBC, or on the battlefield firing decisive cannon blast volleys like a real dame.

Example II: I’m a girl, and mostly, I prefer other dames to fellas. Mostly. But when I don’t, I kinda have a type? Ahem!”

Somewhere, a coin is balancing on its edge.

And the flip side:

Jennifer wants to write a hundred stories and bind them in hard covers, wants modern skirts to her ankles, comfortable jeans and blue corduroy coat sleeves, wants city streets, steel toes and long hair, near-distant clocktower bells, silver jewelry bought by her own hand, in her own name, a rocking chair made to last for decades, a damn fine radio setup, the solid strength of a wooden door at her back after she and she – he and she – they and she after they’ve crashed through it and, fully clothed, battered it closed behind them.

Both sides:

Jennifer wants her wrists pressed flat against that wooden door, all benevolent force, all warmth, all welcome gravity, all burgeoning life in orbit, all the steady strength of a star in symbiosis with a planet. Jennifer wants voices and voices and voices, innocent details and muscle-melting, breath-stealing turns of phrase, sound serving as light serving as lodestone to the iron in every millimeter of her except, except, for a bare and unbared few.

One side:

Jennifer wants the wind at her back, a message, a mission, a reason and a warning, miles and miles and miles rolled out under a sky filled with leaden stars, a purpose and a signal, a gesture, an anticipation of command that tenses her like a bowstring before—wait, wait, wait for it—rush for it— “Fire!”

Both sides:

Jennifer wants to be eager, to be teeming under her skin with silver, wants a reason and a cause and a leader who’s fallible by self-description, near-matchless by others’ accounts, wants to thrill to rank, surname, simple designation, wants to know at exactly what she’s aimed, near-precisely what will happen when she hits and that yes, the trusted, entirely human hands of gravity to a planet are the only hands pulling or perhaps, perhaps, the only hands directing those pulling her string, wants to be entirely, mindfully, consensually willing to be fired like a longbow.

And the flip side:

Jennifer wants to bring a girlfriend home to her parents, wants to curl into accented words like they’re warm compresses and quilts, wants to make promises and keep them, find each others’ keys, play each others’ record collections, brush cat hair off each others’ sweaters, adore and be adored forever, not live together. Jennifer wants to never grow tired of hearing herself say “This is Elaine.” Or “This is Kim.” Or “This is…” “This is my better half.”

Both sides:

Jennifer wants orders that both delight her and fill her with clean purpose, stoking a fire that consumes every inch of her except, except, for the space between her thighs. Jennifer wants the intersection where bravery meets well-placed loyalty. Jennifer wants to know exactly what she’s doing, wants to be utterly sure of her cause, to make up her entire mind, on her own, and then raise her voice and throw herself into the thing with abandon because yes, this is right, this is reason, this is exuberance and happiness and righteous fury blazing, this is bright history, this is justice, this is–

One coin. With two sides.

Jennifer wants the rarity that is liking of, love for, acceptance and welcome of both the existence and the admission of her two sides.

Even when she’s difficult. Even when she’s horrible. Even when she’s irrational. Even when she’s just, so most people would say, plain off baseline weird.

Especially when she’s weird.

All of the wine to mull with all of the spice ground by capable hands. Hands ringed in silver.

Hands at the ends of corduroy sleeves.

The sleeves of a coat that may have, once or twice, been a makeshift pillow in a hayloft.

After a night’s ride.

After a night’s mission.

    Cynthia So is a queer Chinese writer from Hong Kong, living in London. She spent her undergrad crying over poets that have been dead for 2,000 years, give or take. (She’s graduated now, but still crying.) Her short fiction has appeared in Anathema, Arsenika, and Cast of Wonders. She can be found on Twitter @cynaesthete.

Zora Mai Quỳnh is a genderqueer Vietnamese writer whose short stories, poems, and essays can be found in The SEA Is Ours, Genius Loci: The Spirit of Place, POC Destroy Science Fiction, Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia Butler, Strange Horizons, and Terraform. Visit her: zmquynh.com. Rivia is a Black and Vietnamese Pansexual Teen who has a passion for reading, video games and music. She says “I’m gender questioning but also questioning whether or not I’m questioning…Isn’t gender just a concept?” You can hear her vocals on Strange Horizon’s podcast for “When she sings…”

  Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit

by Cynthia So

      On the day Sunae turned nine years old, there was no joyful feast. A monster burst from the sea that night and ate five people. The Mirayans gathered upon the shore to watch this, as they did every Appeasement. Sunae’s mother covered Sunae’s eyes, but Sunae still heard the screams. The crunch of brittle bone between teeth. The wet gulp of gluttonous throats.

Sunae prayed to the Goddess that the warrior Yomue might rise from the dead and defeat the monster yet again. No warrior came, but a hand grasped Sunae’s and squeezed. A hand as small as her own.

When it was over, Sunae’s mother murmured, “Now we will be safe for another ten years.” She removed her hands from Sunae’s eyes, and Sunae flinched from the gore before her. The older children always said that this was why Miraya’s beaches were pink, but she hadn’t been convinced until she saw the sands now drenched with fresh blood. Dark red on dusk pink.

She looked at the girl next to her, the girl who was holding her hand, and she saw a determination in those eyes as bright as the moon, as bright as her own. A determination to make sure that this would never happen again.

“I’m Oaru,” the girl said. “What’s your name?”

Sunae looked down at their clasped hands and told Oaru her name.

  The Temple of the Moon Goddess is the most beautiful place on the island. There are no straight lines and sharp angles within, but everything is curved and gentle and swooping. Shades of blue deepen as one enters through the front, the colors of twilight intensifying into midnight, accented by silver and broken up by patches of brilliant white that gleam through the dark. A pool of water from the Moon Lake shimmers in the atrium. Frosty glass cut into lunar shapes hang from the ceiling in long, glittering threads.

All of it is flawless craftsmanship, except for the wall of the prayer hall.

The hall is perfectly circular. Spanning a semicircle on the wall is a painting of Yomue, splendid in lustrous armor, wielding a sword as black as her hair and an expression as fierce as the sea. The sand of the Mirayan beach is pink beneath her feet, and she glares at the monster that towers over her. Its writhing, many-headed form is etched into the blackness of the night. The moon hangs above them, solemn and full.

The other half of the wall is blank, its contents effaced and forgotten.

Warrior confronts monster. What’s the rest of the story? Monster leaves island alone for a hundred years. Warrior dies, and monster comes back. It is starved and salivating, with too many teeth. Every ten years, it must be fed.

Is that what was on the other half of the wall?

Sunae’s mother buys her Carrucean books to read, because Carrucean is an important language to learn well. In Carrucean tales, monsters are always slain. Heroes sometimes journey into foreign lands and kill other people’s monsters for them, and they are rewarded with riches and brides and thrones.

Sunae is ten years old, but she knows this: there are Carruceans living in Miraya. Miraya was owned by Carrucea for hundreds of years, and then there was a treaty of some sort not long before Sunae was born, and now Miraya belongs to the Mirayans again.

The Carruceans came here to their island. They governed the island and lived here for centuries, but no Carrucean ever killed the monster for them. Yet here they are on the island still, with their wealth, their power. Their Mirayan wives.

“Mother, have any Carruceans ever been fed to the monster?” Sunae asks.

Her mother frowns. “Can’t we talk about something more cheerful?”

Sunae just wants to know how to defeat the monster. If no Carruceans will come to their aid, then who will?

  The old Library of Miraya is a burnt husk with a blackened facade, secluded from the town and set into the side of a hill, a little way from the Moon Lake. Sunae doesn’t understand why it hasn’t been torn down to make way for something new when fire ravaged it long ago, but perhaps its remote location preserved it. Evidently the Mirayans of yore prized a peaceful reading environment. Sunae can hear nothing of the bustling town here, only a chorus of birds.

She also doesn’t understand why she is letting Oaru drag her into the grim ruins. Inside, the half-collapsed roof lets in some lemony sunlight, but there is an unpleasant smell like overripe tortoise fruit, and rows of charred shelves loom and menace. “It went this way,” Oaru says, and drops to her hands and knees to crawl through a tiny hole in the wall.

Sunae sighs and follows. She gets stuck, her shoulders being broader than Oaru’s, but Oaru wrenches her free with a painful yank. She emerges into a cramped and airless space, illuminated only by the glow of the phoenix fox, which is swishing its enormous tail back and forth, sweeping away layers of ash and dust from the wall behind it.

Sunae coughs, but Oaru grabs her arm excitedly. “There’s something on the wall!”

Oaru leans over the fox and scrubs at the wall with her sleeve, gradually revealing the faded colors of a painting: a woman in an ethereal blue gown, sitting with a brush in her hand. A long scroll of paper unfurls before her, inked in an illegible, swirling script.

“Doesn’t that look a bit like Yomue?” Oaru asks.

It seems impossible that this serene woman should resemble the powerful warrior in the temple, but she does. It’s in the proud tilt of her jaw, maybe. Sunae reaches out and traces the woman’s chin. She has never been permitted to touch the temple mural, though she has longed to.

“What is she doing?” Oaru wonders.

“Writing poetry?” Sunae ventures.

The phoenix fox smirks at her and stretches lazily before slipping out through the hole in the wall, leaving them in absolute darkness. Oaru yelps, “I’ve got to catch that fox!” She tugs at Sunae’s elbow and Sunae reluctantly goes with her. It’s as much a struggle to get out as it was to get in, and the fox is nowhere to be seen by the time Sunae has wriggled through.

  The new Library of Miraya is a clean and functional building, centrally located, right next to the Town Hall. Most of the space is dedicated to Carrucean books, with the Mirayan literature section tucked into a dismal corner. Sunae asks a librarian to help her find Yomue’s poems.

“Yomue wasn’t a poet,” the librarian says, puzzled. “But I can recommend poetry from the same time period. Not much of it survived, what with the old Library burning down… But there is some, and it’s very beautiful. Do you know how to read Classical Mirayan, though?”

In the end, Sunae walks away from the Library with a few books and a leaflet for free Classical Mirayan lessons.

By the time she turns twelve, she has read all the Classical Mirayan poetry that the Library has to offer—and all the modern Mirayan poetry, too.

She tries her hand at writing her own poem. She writes about Yomue and the monster. Yomue’s husband, wrongfully convicted of murdering a man, chained to a pillar on the shore, awaiting his execution. Yomue weeping at his feet. The moon trembling in the sky, the Goddess watching. Yomue dressing herself in armor, carefully lacing her breastplate, looping her belt through the buckle. Whetting her sword and sheathing it. Her hair, tied back with a ribbon given to her by her husband. Her boots hitting the ground, her armor jangling. The monster howling, crashing back into the sea where it nurses its wounds for a hundred years.

Sunae wins a competition at school with this poem, and gets a shiny badge that she pins to her satchel.

She is fourteen, and she writes about nature: trees touching, sands blushing. The ocean embracing the coast. Leaves tender for one another. Mountains asleep next to each other. The moon observing everything.

She is sixteen, and Oaru bets a boy she can beat him in a swordfight. Sunae has watched Oaru practise in her garden every week for five years, first with a toy sword, then with a real one; Oaru is graceful and deft with it where Sunae has always fumbled and flailed.

Oaru and the boy are wearing white clothes and using wooden swords dipped in red paint; the boy soon looks like a bloody mess and yields, while Oaru is still pristine.

“You were amazing,” Sunae says afterwards, as Oaru is cutting into a celebratory tortoise fruit. Oaru waves a slice of it in her face, and Sunae grimaces at its distinct mustiness. “Ew, no thank you.”

“How can you not like tortoise fruit?” Oaru says, shaking her head. “Are you even Mirayan?”

Sunae sticks her tongue out. “It smells like a sweaty armpit and it tastes even worse.”

Oaru eagerly bites into the purple flesh of the fruit. “You should know though, you kind of looked like a tortoise fruit just then, when I wafted it under your nose.”

Sunae blinks at the wrinkled skin of the tortoise fruit in horror. “I looked like that? Don’t be so mean!”

Oaru laughs and nudges her side. “All right, I’m sorry—but hey, do you think I’ll be good enough to defeat the monster someday?”

No. Don’t you dare try. Sunae swallows. Oaru must be the best fighter Miraya has seen in generations. Surely if anyone has a chance to ward off the monster and stop more Appeasements from happening, it’s her. How can Sunae be so selfish as to hold Oaru back for fear of losing her?

She says, “You look so much like Yomue in the temple mural when you’re moving with that sword.”

Oaru’s breath catches, and Sunae suddenly understands what it is she has really been trying to write poetry about all this time. They are alone in Sunae’s bedroom, and Sunae kisses Oaru. There is tortoise fruit on Oaru’s tongue, cloying and bitter, but Sunae doesn’t scrunch up her nose. She doesn’t mind at all.

“That has to be the boldest thing you’ve ever done,” Oaru whispers, her lips soft and purpled, her hair mussed by Sunae’s hands.

“I guess you inspired me,” Sunae says, and Oaru grins and grips Sunae’s arms.

“Remember that time I tried to catch the phoenix fox?”

Sunae nods. Every day she thinks of the painted woman lit by the phoenix-fox fire. The nameless poet buried in the rubble, her face so strangely like Yomue’s. Sunae returned to the shadowy wreckage of the old Library once, but she has grown and can no longer contort herself to fit through that hole in the wall.

“I wanted to give the fox to you,” Oaru says.

Oh.

It is a Mirayan custom for young men to present phoenix foxes to girls they wish to marry. This fact had utterly escaped ten-year-old Sunae, who merely assumed that Oaru wanted the fox as a pretty pet.

Sunae raises her eyebrows, stroking Oaru’s cheek with her thumb. “You already wanted to marry me when you were ten?”

Oaru shrugs. “I didn’t know then, what it meant. I only knew I wanted to be your friend forever. But now I know what it actually means, for me to want to marry you.” Her eyes are serious, like a cloud veiling the moon.

It means we could both be a part of the next Appeasement if anyone finds out. Sunae closes her eyes against the thought and kisses Oaru again.

Sunae is eighteen and she is awarded a scholarship to study at the University of Wimmore, one of Carrucea’s world-famous institutions. If she takes the scholarship, she will be absent from Miraya for a year. She will be absent from Miraya on the day of the next Appeasement.

Tell me what else there is, she pleads with the impassive image of Yomue on the wall, as everyone else in the prayer hall lifts their cupped hands repeatedly to their faces in the traditional gesture of worship. Tell me.

Because if there is more to the story than a swordfight, then maybe she can convince Oaru not to risk her life. And if she has to go to Carrucea to find the answers, she will.

At the end of the prayer session, when people are either shuffling off or lingering to socialize, Sunae tells Oaru about the scholarship.

“It’s stupid that you have to go to Carrucea to learn more about this island, our island that we’ve been living on our whole lives.” Oaru spits the words, and her frustration echoes in the chambers of Sunae’s heart.

“I know.” Sunae wants to run her hands through Oaru’s hair to comfort her, but it would be foolish to show such affection in public. She wants to hold Oaru’s hand, but they are not children anymore. They will not get away with it, not here where everyone can see. “Just promise me that you won’t try and take on the monster when the Appeasement comes. Please. You’re not ready.” I’m not ready.

“I promise.” Oaru’s voice sounds fervent with honesty.

Sunae hopes she has known Oaru for long enough to tell when she is lying.

  The Moon Lake is luminous as a heart that brims full with emotion, and Sunae stands at the edge and dips her toes in.

Oaru is naked in the water, moonlight dripping from her hair. Oaru wears a smile like a phoenix fox’s, sly and burning through Sunae. Oaru’s arms are muscled and impatient and open wide.

“Come on, Sunae.”

Sunae’s fingers hover over the knot that ties the sash around her waist. “You’re breaking the law,” she whispers.

Oaru wades closer to Sunae. She lifts the hem of Sunae’s gown and kisses Sunae’s ankles. “We’ve been breaking the law for a long time, tortoise fruit,” she says, her dark eyes looking up into Sunae’s. “When has that ever stopped you?” She leaves wet handprints on the skirt of Sunae’s gown, droplets trickling down the backs of Sunae’s calves. “Who knows when we’ll get to do this again?”

I’ll only be away for a year, Sunae thinks, but Oaru’s eyes are darker than fire-scorched walls, and Sunae knows it will be the longest year of their lives.

She loosens the knot. Her gown joins Oaru’s in a careless heap on the sandy bank, and soon her body twines with Oaru’s in the water. Mist forms around them, as though the Goddess herself wishes to hide them away from the world.

  Let’s skip ahead for a moment. It is Sunae’s nineteenth birthday, and she is chained to a pillar on the pink shore of Miraya. Her lover Oaru is shackled to a different pillar. They cannot touch or kiss each other. The monster is about to rear its ugly heads from the sea, and Sunae is crying, but she is speaking. She is reciting a poem she wrote, and I am watching, as I always have. I am listening.

So how did they get here?

  Sunae sits on the steps of a lofty sandstone building, shivering in the wind and eating a whole tortoise fruit by herself.

She has been studying in Wimmore for four months, and she hasn’t made a single friend. The light in Wimmore is muted and cold, the streets narrow and grey, the houses foreboding and tall. People laugh at her accent. The dresses fashionable here are too tight, and she can never get enough air into her lungs.

The air tastes nothing of salt, anyway. She misses the sea.

She runs her fingers over the tough, knobbly green rind of the fruit. Her professor had bought it for the class to try—an expensive import from Miraya, not easily purchased. The others in her class had squealed over how disgusting the fruit looked and smelled as Dr. Janner was dissecting it like a corpse, and Sunae thought of Oaru’s teeth tearing into a wedge of tortoise fruit. Oaru’s tongue stained purple by its juice.

Sunae had stood up, gathered the massive fruit in her arms as though it were a baby and marched out of the classroom. And now she is sitting on rain-wet stone and chewing miserably.

How Oaru would tease her, if Oaru were here.

A girl sits down next to her. Talia from her class, with wheat-colored curls flattened in the drizzle. “You really like tortoise fruit, huh?” Talia says.

“I hate it,” Sunae says.

“Let me try a bit, will you?”

Sunae gives her a small slice and she takes a tentative bite. “Hmm, it tastes a lot better than it smells. Definitely not the texture I was expecting, though. It’s… squidgy?” She finishes the slice, throws the rind over her shoulder, and grabs another immediately.

Sunae smiles. She thinks it must be the first time she has smiled since she set foot in Wimmore. “You like it more than I do, then.”

“So what are you doing out here eating something you hate and crying?” Talia asks, squinting. “Don’t tell me that’s just the rain.”

“It’s not just the rain,” Sunae says, rubbing a hand over her face. “It’s just… It’s what a friend calls me. Tortoise fruit.”

“An affectionate nickname?” Talia turns the piece of wrinkly rind over in her hand. “Is it a cute boy who’s waiting for you at home?”

Sunae hesitates. “Um. Not a boy.” And then, to distract Talia from fixating on that, she launches into an account of everything that’s been overwhelming her. She explains that the next Appeasement is happening soon, and that she has been trying to conduct research into the history and literature of Miraya to see if she can find any clues as to how Yomue defeated the monster last time and why the monster came back, but she still hasn’t found anything useful.

“I just want to find another way,” Sunae says. “I don’t want my friend to do anything rash. I don’t want to lose her.”

Talia presses her shoulder gently against Sunae’s. “One of my ancestors was part of the first expedition to Miraya. We have an attic full of things left behind by various family members. We’ve never managed to go through all of it properly, but you’re welcome to come and have a look.”

This is how Sunae finds herself cross-legged on the dusty floor of Talia’s ridiculously big attic, cross-eyed after three continuous days of rifling through boxes of miscellanea in dim light, unable to believe what she’s looking at.

It’s a roughly colored sketch of Yomue the warrior, copied from the temple wall. Sword and monster and moon. And beneath that, a sketch of Yomue again—a woman dressed in the same armor, holding not a sword but a scroll open in her hands. Next to her is something a little like a mirror, or a full moon: a vast circle, shaded in silver. Within it coils a spiral shadow.

Sunae isn’t sure how to interpret this, but she knows that this Yomue and the painted poet in the old Library are one and the same.

She rummages through the rest of the box which contained the sketches, and her hand touches worn leather. She pulls it out of the box and it falls open on her lap, yellowed pages crammed with neat handwriting.

It’s a diary.

  “Why do all you rich Carruceans have stuff just lying around in your attic that I’ve only been searching for my entire life?” Sunae mutters under her breath to Talia, who is sitting next to her at this dinner. She clenches her fist around her fork.

“Well, at least now you can read Yomue’s poetry!” Talia whispers back.

Dr. Sotkin, a dear friend of Dr. Janner, carries on explaining to everyone how he recovered the lost manuscript of Yomue’s poems when he was cleaning out his grandfather’s house after his grandfather recently passed away. Sunae saws away at her chunk of boiled beef.

“I’ll be publishing a translation later this year,” Dr. Sotkin announces.

Sunae takes a sip of water and a deep breath. “What kind of poetry is it?” she asks, proud of how calm and polite she sounds.

“Sadly, it only survives in fragments, but I’ve brought a copy of some of them to share with all of you as a preview.” Dr. Sotkin digs in his bag and retrieves a sheaf of papers. “I believe Dr. Janner told me you can all read Classical Mirayan?”

“Some of us better than others,” Talia murmurs to Sunae, and Sunae hides a smile behind her napkin. Some of the boys in their class seem to be getting by with barely any knowledge of Mirayan. Sunae assumes it must be their wealth that passes their exams for them.

She takes the sheet that Dr. Sotkin offers to her and scans it quickly. Her mind whirls dizzily and she pushes away her plate and reads the fragment again, more slowly this time. And again.

She closes her eyes and envisions the inscrutable moon in the night sky to steady herself. Dr. Sotkin is saying something about a man that Yomue is drinking with. “She compares her love for this man to the Moon Lake—a blessing that glimmers on and on.”

Sunae hands the sheet to Talia and holds onto the edge of the table. “Dr. Sotkin,” she says, and she isn’t able to sound calm anymore. Her voice quavers. “I don’t believe Yomue is talking about a man. I know it’s only a fragment, but it’s clear from the grammar that she’s writing about a woman.”

Dr. Sotkin frowns. “Did you not hear when I said that this is a love poem?”

“Yes, I know, and I believe that Yomue’s beloved is a woman.”

“That’s preposterous. It’s simply impossible.”

“You think it’s impossible that Yomue loved another woman?”

“What you are speaking of is highly illegal and punishable by death, young lady,” Dr. Sotkin sniffs. In both Miraya and Carrucea, yes—Sunae is extremely aware. “Are we to believe that Yomue shared these poems with the public and was not executed for her sins?”

“Well, she warded off the monster, so there were no Appeasements—”

Dr. Sotkin tugs haughtily at his cravat. “You do realize that it is possible to execute people without feeding them to a monster as you barbarians love to do?”

“Love?” Sunae’s voice is shrill to her own ears; drums thunder in her ribcage. “You think we love having to feed people to a monster every ten years to keep it from destroying our whole island?”

Dr. Sotkin’s face is pink as the sand on Miraya’s beaches. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Yes,” Dr. Janner joins in. “Sunae, your behavior of late has been extremely rude and disruptive and I’m afraid we cannot tolerate this. Dr. Sotkin is the foremost expert on Classical Mirayan and he will not be insulted by your bumbling reading of this poem.”

“But she’s right!” Talia protests, jabbing at the sheet of paper. “Dr. Janner, Sunae’s right. Look at this line here.”

“It’s all right,” Sunae says, putting her hand on Talia’s arm. “I’m leaving.”

  Sunae’s head is still spinning from the fragment of Yomue’s poetry. It was so much like the poems that she has been writing about Oaru, folded into envelopes and sent across the ocean to her lover. One was about the glow of sweat and moon-water on Oaru’s skin, the night they drifted together in the Moon Lake, the last night they spent together.

And now, this letter from her mother. She sinks to the floor of the post room and clutches her knees. She is going to be sick.

The door creaks open. She looks up and Talia is there. “I’m so sorry,” Talia says. “You were such a fearsome warrior back there, speaking up to Sotkin like that. He’s utterly dreadful. Janner, too. I want to lock them both up in my attic and never let them out. Janner revoked your scholarship but he hasn’t even tried to suspend me.”

Sunae stares at Talia and cannot speak. Talia doesn’t know about the letter yet. She thinks Sunae is just upset about what happened at the dinner, but the world is crumbling at Sunae’s feet and Talia has no idea.

A smile stretches across Talia’s face. “Can you believe your legendary Yomue’s one of us?”

Sunae’s shoulders loosen a little. “One of us?”

“One of us,” Talia repeats and holds her hand out to Sunae, and Sunae understands. Instead of taking Talia’s hand, she lifts up the letter and gives it to Talia.

Talia reads it and is speechless, too. She sits down next to Sunae and together they watch the flickering light bulb. It is no moon, but it soothes, somehow.

Eventually, Talia asks, “When is the next Appeasement? Will you make it back in time?”

“If I leave at dawn, I might,” Sunae says, hoarsely.

“You’ll be arrested too if you go back, won’t you?”

Sunae nods.

“But you’re definitely going.”

Sunae nods again.

“Good luck,” Talia whispers. “If you don’t die, write me a poem. You have my address.”

She kisses Sunae’s forehead.

  Sunae crosses the ocean home. She prays to the Goddess. She prays to Yomue.

She writes.

  Which is what brings us here, to Sunae’s nineteenth birthday, and Sunae and Oaru on the beach where they first met ten years ago. “I love you,” Sunae says to Oaru. There is white sea-spray in Oaru’s windblown hair, and if Sunae’s plan doesn’t succeed, she wants this to be the last thing she ever sees.

She closes her eyes. The waves lap the shore. Her lungs are full of salt air. The moon caresses her face with its white light.

She opens her mouth.

The truth comes out.

Sunae wrote that silly poem when she was twelve, where I saved my husband from the monster. I laughed when I heard her read it to her classmates. Now she is a much better poet, and she has learnt so much—from sketches and diaries and mistranslated fragments—and this is what she tells the Mirayans.

Four hundred years ago, Yomue loved another woman, and they had flowers and wine and stars; they chased phoenix foxes together in the valleys. They ate tortoise fruit and kissed each other’s mouths purple. They wrapped themselves in moonlight.

Yomue was skilled with the sword, but even more skilled with words, and she was the Goddess’ favorite. She could not stand by and watch a monster kill more people in her town. She wove a spell out of poetry and enchanted the monster, led it to the Moon Lake where it slumbered for as long as she lived, and longer, because she taught others the poem.

But the Carruceans came; they brought their laws with them, and they knew how powerful fear was. How to control a people with it. Fire bloomed in the Library; in the temple, fresh paint dried on the wall. Yomue the poet was erased from history. The monster was awoken, and anyone who caused trouble could be thrown into its devouring jaws.

“Now you tell me I cannot love Oaru.

  We chase a phoenix fox that Yomue tamed once,

Reborn from the ashes of the Library.

It hides poems in its fur.

Tell the phoenix fox I cannot love Oaru.

  We eat tortoise fruit grown from centuries-old trees,

Roots as deep as our island.

It hides poems in its rind.

Tell the tortoise fruit I cannot love Oaru.

  We bathe in the Moon Lake Yomue drank from,

Water sacred to the Goddess.

It hides poems in its bed.

Tell the Moon Lake I cannot love Oaru.

  Tell the Goddess I cannot love Oaru.

Tell Yomue. Tell her and the woman she loved.

Go back in time and bind her to this pillar and

Tell her she was wrong.”

  The monster rises out of the sea, torrents of water cascading from its back.

Oaru was arrested because of Sunae’s poetry. Because Oaru’s father found the incriminating poems, because Sunae had sent so many and they overflowed, spilled, flooded Oaru’s room. Poems alight with the memories of all that Oaru and Sunae did together, all the times they were wide-eyed travelers in the landscape of each other’s bodies, all the smoldering hearths they built in the secret corners of each other’s hearts.

The monster bellows and the earth quakes and Sunae is not afraid. She knows she is not the first who has been here. She is not the first who has done this.

  “Let her tell you she is me.

Let her open her mouth and

Sing the monster to sleep

Again.”

  Sunae’s pores still have the magic blessing of moon-water in them, and I am with her. Through her, I sing. I was here, like her. I loved, like her. I fought the monster and won, and she will, too.

  If you visit the Temple of Moon Goddess today, you will see this scene painted alongside my mural in the prayer hall:

The monster walks spellbound across the island, and the Mirayans walk with it, every one of their faces slack with awe. Sunae leads them, freed from her shackles.

She holds Oaru’s hand.

  END

  “The Lamentations of Old Money” is copyright Chanter 2019.

“Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit” is copyright Cynthia So 2019.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

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Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “Instar” by Carrow Narby.

Episode #66: “Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit” was originally published on GlitterShip

[courtingstars]

Notes for Storming the Castle, Chapter 4

Hello again, my dear AkaFuri readers! These notes are kind of long since I rambled on and on about Disney movies because I’m me. (And now after this chapter everyone knows why I put Disney movies in the Ao3 tags! //laughs)

So we’ll start with the Disney stuff, then I mention a few things about Akashi’s sexuality in the fic, and then the usual cultural notes. (Plus the real-life inspiration for the last scene!) Also as a reminder, I have a Pinterest board with photos that helped inspire the first half of the story.

(Cut for me being an incurable Disney nerd, plus notes about sexuality, love hotels, Japanese convenience stores, and other things!)

On The Disney Movies

I should probably feel bad about putting so many Disney references in a fic. //laughs (I’ve been Disney obsessed since I was little, and I wish I could pretend I grew out of it, but I really, really didn’t). But it seemed like a fitting way to bring up the lighter side of fairy tales, since that’s a major theme in the story.

It’s also worth mentioning that Disney stuff is a popular obsession in Japan! There’s Tokyo Disneyland, tons of great Disney stores, you get the idea. I’ve also seen a few Japanese dubs of the movies, which are excellent. <3

I didn’t plan to go into so much detail, but I wanted to try to make the movie references as accessible as I could. And if you haven’t seen the films, I do recommend them because I am a sappy dork. I chose them to match the story, and hopefully to create some interesting parallels to both Akashi and Furihata.

So first, The Little Mermaid! Random fact: This was the first movie I ever saw in a theater. (Also one of my first memories! I was three.) The songs are great, and it’s an interesting take on the fairy tale. But mostly I just thought it would be kind of funny that Furihata would like a movie about a redhead who has issues with a super-strict father and a hard time fitting in with normal humans, because of course you would Furi. (I mean Ariel was basically the reason all of us 90’s kids were in love with supernaturally red hair, right...? No? Just me? //shutting up now)

(… I would absolutely read a fic about merman Akashi trying to comb his hair with a fork though, I don’t know how that would even be in character BUT I’D READ IT. XD)

And if you haven’t seen the film before or want a trip down memory lane, here are some YouTube clips of parts I mentioned in the fic! The opening, Fathoms Below, has beautiful atmosphere. Part of Your World is Ariel’s most famous song, and I pretty much ripped off the reprise of the song in Akashi’s dream sequence so let’s all crack up together about that visual, haha. I think Poor Unfortunate Souls is one of the best villain songs ever, and of course Kiss The Girl is famous and adorable (and you can see how it ends if you didn’t already know, or you forgot!).

As for Cinderella, it’s so iconic that I feel like I don’t really have to say much about it... I did briefly mention the scene with Cinderella getting ready in the morning, which is pretty well-known (also I want you all to really imagine Akashi and Furihata watching a movie where the mice all sing in those tiny high voices together), but the main thing I wanted to link is the fairy godmother’s song! It is precious and iconic and absolute NONSENSE and I will now always think of Akashi cracking up when I watch it. //laughs I also quoted the song with Cinderella and her prince, So This Is Love, which has gorgeous scenery.

And last but not least, Beauty and the Beast! For some reason I’ve had in mind for a VERY long time that Akashi only saw this Disney movie when he was a kid. (I wrote a really silly GoM fic about my headcanons for all their favorite Disney movies back in 2015, but never got around to posting it. //laughs). In any case, hopefully I made it obvious enough in the chapter why I think it’s an Akashi sort of story. (Because of course in an AkaFuri fic Akashi’s Disney crush would be a book-loving brunette who’s off in their own little world, right? Pfft.) Also, full warning, this chapter won’t be the last time I include a painfully obvious homage to this movie… I apologize in advance. xD

Anyway, one of my favorite parts is the prologue! That chiming music is so epic, and the art is breathtaking. And of course Belle’s opening song in the village is brilliant. Those two clips show off the scenery well, which ties in closely to why I referenced it in the fic. The song Something There is a great example of the way the romance develops. And I could ramble on and on, but those were the main things I referenced, so that’s probably sufficient. //laughs

… Okay and also can we just agree that all happy-ending kisses should end in a magical firework explosion? Yes? Yes. (I may or may not be planning to write a scene kind of like it for, um, a certain fic that isn’t this one… And now everyone will know my not-so-secret influences. //cough)

And if you happen to be in a Disney mood now, I’ll also link a countdown I found of the top 20 best Disney endings, which includes almost all of my favorite Disney films/some sadly underrated ones! (My personal favorites will always be #13 and #7, but I could not agree more about the top five rankings, because I am a Disney Renaissance kid. <3)

On Akashi’s Sexuality in the Series

I mentioned this a while ago, but now might be a good time to mention it again! In my AkaFuri series, Akashi is on the asexual spectrum, but I haven’t used the specific term for his identity in the fic. Partly because this fic takes place when those terms were even less commonly known (back in 2010, which is only a few years after I first came across AVEN, so the idea would have been even less familiar in Japan), and partly because he hasn’t fully discovered this about himself yet.

One of the reasons I started writing this series was that I wanted to try to capture how it feels when you haven’t completely figured out your sexuality yet. That was pretty normal among my friends and I when we were sixteen, for a lot of different reasons. (Furihata will be having a similar experience in the series too, which I’ll get into later!) Anyway, I’ll be exploring these issues in more detail in the next fic in the series, but since this chapter does mention some of the feelings Akashi has been struggling with, I thought it would be good to clarify.

On College Kids in Japan in Relationships

I had a lot of fun writing the scene where Furihata’s brother sneaks back into the house, and since it loosely references an aspect of modern Japanese culture, I should probably mention that here…

It’s not too uncommon for university students in Japan—and other young people in their twenties—to still live with their families. Which means that for the ones in relationships, it can be hard to find some (ahem) private time, especially since living spaces are often crowded and PDAs are discouraged. So it’s very normal for young people in Japan to go out to places like love hotels with their significant others…

… And that’s basically what I was implying, when it comes to where Furihata’s brother snuck off to. //laughs That’s also the context of Furihata’s mother’s lecture, and I tried to capture some of the Japanese norms about sex there as well. It’s tricky to explain how they differ from Western norms, because they’re not more “conservative” or “liberal” exactly, just different. (And they vary a lot depending on the person and what generation they’re from!)

But basically, to sum up, I was hoping to convey that Furihata’s mother isn’t upset about what Furihata’s brother is doing per se, it’s more that she’s worried about him being responsible and “appropriate” while he’s doing it. My impression is that it’s unusual that a parent would broach the subject like she does--but hopefully it’s clear that this is a part of her character. Similar to how she dealt with events in Chapter Three. (And that’s also why a character like Akashi is very embarrassed to have overheard it, poor kid. xD)

Also! For those of you who are 18+, if you want to learn more about the cultural context of love hotels in Asian countries, and what they’re like (answer: epic) I love this comic that sums it up. (The comic isn’t explicit, BUT it’s hosted on a webcomic site—that I personally love—that features 18+ comics about sex ed and sex toy reviews. So please be aware, the ads and some of the site’s illustrations are explicit! And very inclusive, sex-positive and awesome.)

On Elementary School Uniforms

I also wanted to briefly mention one of the cultural tropes in Furihata’s family photos! Japanese elementary students wear bright yellow hats when they walk to school, as a way to make them more visible to prevent accidents.

On Conbinis

This is basically just a note to say that I love Japanese convenience stores. //laughs They’re everywhere, everyone uses them, and the major chains are extremely competitive. So they’re often open around the clock, their services are amazing, and their food is delicious.

Also, here’s a random fact! Kit Kats are hugely popular in Japan, and they have all kinds of unusual and regional flavors, including green tea and wasabi and sweet potato. (Yes, really.) The trend started because of a pun in Japanese that made them a popular good-luck gift to give to exam students. Now they’re so well loved that they even have fancy chocolatier stores that sell ultra-fancy Kit Kats because… Because Japan, that’s why. XD

(Also when I post this chapter, I’m rewarding myself by ordering some hojicha Kit Kats from Amazon, because roasted tea flavored Kit Kats from Kyoto are you serious of course I want that in my mouth.)

On the Inspiration for the Walk with Furi’s Dad

I also wanted to make sure I mentioned one of my biggest inspirations for this fic! Which is that when my sister studied abroad in Japan, she stayed with an amazing host family near Hiroshima.

I’ll never forget all her stories about what it was like, but my #1 favorite is that she was awake one morning and her host dad invited her to come on a walk with him… At which point he put the family cat in a harness and they went out and walked the cat. (Maybe that’s more common in some countries, but at least in the U.S., I don’t know anyone who walks a cat? XD) She tells the story a million times better than I do, but the gist of it is that they wandered around this ultra-tiny parking lot for a few minutes and he showed her the strawberries in their garden and it was adorable and a little strange and the best thing ever. <3

I didn’t have Furihata’s dad walk a cat in the fic, sadly enough! (I decided it would be kind of distracting… Also, the Furihatas don’t technically have a cat in canon. //laughs) But I did put a cat in at the end. Partly because everything’s a metaphor, the metaphors are out of control, someone save me from myself. But mostly because I wanted to include a nod to my sister’s host dad and his family, and how much they influenced this story, by being so welcoming to her when she was so far from home. <3

[hjpierce87]

Naked truth: An open letter to the guy I almost clawed to death

Hello, that seems very formal, hi, hello, 

I’ve learned so much about myself and partnership through your reflection.

I feel into the energy of what works and what doesn’t. How out of alignment with love certain things are for me. I guess “romantic relationships” are triggering for most humans.

I got triggered, yes. I am practicing awareness and grace for myself when this happens. I do not feel sorry for myself. I mean, I do for a hot second, go to the blame, the “how dare YOU DO this to ME” bs, but that works against my intention and alignment. Victim, goodbye, bitch. I want to be triggered sometimes so I can move the shit that isn’t me, anything that is not Love. It is revealed within the trigger and therefore can be healed. The pattern that is activated through the trigger is not me in my fullest sense, but it can help me grow. 

I am love.

You were triggered, too. You did begin pulling back, and when that happened I went harder. I got my claws out and grasped, grasped, grasped and of course, that causes running.

I didn’t know at the time, I couldn’t see it, but now I do. I can feel it. The energetic cause and effect. Detaching from the story and seeing the story from the eyes of truth.

This is part of beginning to really understand and know yourself in these different spaces of play. Understanding and knowing another person. Of course, you ran when you were being chased. That’s what our fight or flight system is programmed to do. Especially if we have been hurt in a similar situation. 

It’s funny. People(ahem, me!) used to do that on the playground; chase the boys. And the boys would always run. It was a fun game. Eventually, I would catch them and maybe kiss them, but that’s another story…one about boundaries, hehe.

My intention is to move from my heart, so that shit won’t fly anymore. That’s not from my heart, to chase, to squeeze. My heart wants to dance. To feel the rhythm of the moment, to be in harmony with all that is here. To be a point of peace. To radiate love.

I wasn’t doing that with you after a while. I was in my pattern. Overthinking and spinning into mania. “She’s a maniac, maaaaniac!”

The energy that works in moving things forward in business, as a leader, does not work in the space of partnership. This is an interesting insight on a dynamic some powerful women carry over in relationships. It’s time to release that junk, probably for all of us, because healthy relationships are important. Learning to cede the power struggle and just love is scary for the mind. That’s my intention. 

I saw the pattern way more quickly this time than I ever have, and that’s such good news. Like, alert the media for the progress news. 

Is this something that we could move beyond together? These patterns of fear, me getting my claws out, you shutting down? This is a common energetic dynamic in relationships but it has got to go, in the individual’s world and the world around us. Let’s not be at war with ourselves or each other. 

I think of the Beatles song, “Lay down your arms, and surrender to me...” Some beings (Lennon/McCartney, George Harrison?) do understand and practice surrendering the struggle. Gotta be willing to surrender it. I am willing. 

What if we learned how to speak to that energy, speak to move it, to open and be in the juicy place more often? Grow together? Move beyond, together? Cultivate the authentic connection as souls and humans, practicing compassion and patience. Expanding as individuals and, together?

How beautiful it is to play with these things with another. We are made aware of things much more quickly. That’s why honest, open relationships are so important! It’s like a big mirror held up to your face and I guess you can look away, but it’s really cool to look directly into it, to be like, wow, I see that now. Thank you, mirror.

The mirror of living always wants us to be polished from the inside out. Get out your soul Windex, kids.

I ask Spirit, “take me, show me, heal me,” and good lord it happens when I ask from my heart. When I really want to be healed, I am healed. Sometimes we hold on to the junk because it still serves us in some way. I’m not interested in that. Letting it go now. 

Spirit, give me the courage and discernment to build the muscle to move beyond. The courage to let go and hold lightly. Open my heart to the highest compassion for myself and the world around me. 

Committed love provides space to build the muscle to move beyond the limits of our stories. To heal. To show up beyond our minds for another. To show up in our hearts. To forgive ourselves and our partner when that isn’t the case (we’re still human and it can get messy). To commit to seeing each other not in fake conditional cheerleader infatuation (that doesn’t last, boo), but in the light of truth, speaking it and being it gently. To embody the energy of love and partnership. Forgiveness. Do be do be do. Be be be be be.

It takes two to dance this dance in partnership, yo. It requires trust. Heart. Courage. Taking responsibility for the energy you bring to the table. I’ve never done it before.

I know I show up in my heart in the beginning of most things. I don’t try or force, I play.  That is why people fall in love with me very quickly. ;) jk, but really sorta, yes exactly.  That’s great, it gives my ego a big ol’ boost, but when I begin to care deeply and move beyond what I’ve known with romance specifically, the squeeze happens, abandonment/codependence is triggered, shit. I freeze and squeeze and then I am in my mind. Nobody likes that, including me. My analytical, I’m the boss, make it happen energy takes over because it feels safer to my mind.

Ain’t nobody got time for that. Naw, dude. It doesn’t feel good in my heart or body!

I’m playing with seeing it, learning to breathe into that juicy, loving, liquid fairy energy that is me at my best. Also, allowing space for that old energy to clear from my body. Breathing, breathing, breathing, allowing, being. That feels the best to me. RELAXING into my heart and into the delicious moment.

Wow, all caps seems aggressive when I’m talking about relaxing. ;)

Relaxing and allowing is the only way to serve in the way I want to, in partnership, in art, in my healing work, in the world. It’s self-serving, too, because it feels sooo sooo sooo good. Unconditional.

You know, growing up (and let’s be honest, until a few days ago) I used to think being neurotic was sexy. I love the movie Annie Hall, I wanted to be Annie. I leaned into being complicated (I mean it wasn’t that hard). I think/know some of my drama is practiced, I am an actress after all. But little Haley didn’t understand the whole “la di dah” story being told in that movie. Also, Woody Allen? BOY, BYE.

I want to put my energy into playing with moving beyond and feeling into the juicy love, to cultivate and nourish it every day. Especially if/when the mind comes up. I choose to put my energy into opening my heart.

That feels really good. 

I am so grateful for this new awareness. I had no idea I was still telling a story that was limited in this area until I did. I mean, I did know but was still getting some attention from it, some illusion of control. Yikes.  I'm sure humans can relate. Using worn out muscles that do not serve what my heart and soul want, thank you and goodbye.  All my heart wants to do is love. 

Friend, if you had not spoken such truth, and if I had not been praying and asking for it… I’m just in awe of the opening. Grateful. Every damn time. Energy is amazing and never lies.

I know I’m a deep thinker and feeler. When it’s out of control, OUCH. When I get in my way, WATCH OUT. When I step aside and use it to take responsibility for my experience, ask challenging questions and let the energy of all that is flow, it finds solutions, it creates, it heals, it transforms, it is. I get to feel into when it’s serving me and others and when it’s not. Wow. That’s my forever game; opening, relaxing, opening, allowing love, love, love, love through tension, through pain, through challenges; open, open, open. Gentle, now. Using my mind in service of my heart (not the other way around like our culture might teach).

Dharma, baby. 

Unlearnin’ the patterns and being the thing. The thing is always love.

I believe in love.  I believe love is transformative. I want and believe in authentic connection. I am love.

I pray to get and stay out of my own way and let Love lead in every moment, in every space.

Thank you for the space to play, see, and be, friend. Thank you. So it is.

Being the thing,

Haley Jane

[orangeeveningsky]

Letters to Mr. W: A Pilot

In case you haven’t realized already, silence and I are not meant for each other. Never, not ever.

You know, using pun—however bad it is—is one of my favorites when it comes to the art of writing, so yeah, I tend to use it most of the time. 

Hmm.. life is full of surprises, one can never really guesses how and when life does its tricks.

My dear Mr. Whatshisname,

This will be my first letter to you. I am currently one and twenty, still finishing up my undergraduate degree, and I’m speaking to you from the past. I suppose you must be wondering about the use of present tense, although I AM from the past. Well, if you haven’t figured it out, from my current perspective, I’d say you come from nowhere but the future—ahem, dare I say, my future—since I haven’t met you yet. I imagine you’re reading this sometime later when I finally became your future (all puns intended, mind you).

If you must know, there’s a reason why I wrote this string of letters ahead of our time together, and it’s far from romantic. The real reason,my dear sir, is because I am bored to death. I hope by the time you read this letter, you’re already well-acquainted with my free-spirited self who often randomly wanders around from one pastime to another, who possesses no patience and/or focus whatsoever for doing one activity for hours on end (as you’ve noticed, I’m not speaking for certain special occasions in which I pull all-nighters for deadlines). I’m bored, and I’m trying to bide my time whilst I’m on a really short break from my academic thesis revision.

Anyways, by the time you reached this paragraph—and in case you haven’t realized already—silence and I never suited each other. All thanks to me being a chatterbox for almost as long as I live. I detest silence and ignorance, especially when it happens during which I’m talking to certain people, in a conversation. Therefore, I pray that whoever you are sir (you must be a good man, of that I’m sure, since I will never settle for less, hence the years of singledom), however annoyed you are with my constant chatters, you will still have the good sense of not ignoring me. Otherwise, it will send me over the edge, and nothing will hold me from making sure your annoyance will grow tenfold. Well, that’s just one of many quirks of mine. But I’m sure, you’re glad when you found out that I actually am quite easy to be read. You shall never “expect the unexpected” when it comes to me, since eventhough I’d always Iike to think that I’m great at making surprises, in reality, I tend to spoil anything regarding myself that I tried to keep hidden. You can read my feelings from my face, you can figure out whether I was being sarcastic or sincere from my voice. It’s all elementary, right, my dear Mr.W? (all Sherlock pun intended. Again, I hope you don’t mind).

I think that’s all about me. I’m sure by the time you read this letter, you already knew a lot more information about me (I’m easy to be read, remember?). By the way, I actually would like to know a bit about yourself. But at last, that’s quite impossible, unless you could make a time machine, or borrow Dr. Who’s T.A.R.D.I.S to travel accross time and space and find some ways to not pull a SORE—the famous 2017’s Indo Youtube webseries— cause that will just freak me out, like literally, can you imagine me freaking out and screaming?? I know right, totally bad idea. So you see, I have no other choice but to accept the fact that you will probably never reply these letters.

Nonetheless, I must admit, I’d like to believe there’s still the tiniest probability that you might find this whole one-sided correspondence too amusing, and decided to just write your replies anyway, in your present time, of course. Might I suggest you to continue the correspondence thing with my future self, using real handwritten letters? For old time’s sake? Who knows, maybe you can consider it as one of our many inside jokes pastimes? I’m positive that my future self will be over the moon and thank me profusely (Again, puns are intended. You know, using pun—however bad it is—is one of my favorites when it comes to the art of writing, so yeah, I tend to use it most of the time).

Alright, that will be all for my first letter. I feel like I just wrote a novella, though. And to think that I didn’t want to bore you with my writings, just yet... oh well, I plan to write a string of letters—that I will do during my free time, it became a new hobby for me, writing for you, that is. Obviously, you still have a long way to go, dear sir. Hopefully, however bad your day went by, these letters and my future self—my future is your present—would make it better and bearable. Untill next one!

Your Future,

~~A

P.S. I initially wanted to address you at the start of this letter with a “Dearly beloved” but I realized that it would’ve sounded too familiar—more like too intimate—for a first letter, don’t you think?

P.S.S. Oh, and I still haven’t decided whether to give all the letters to you at once as gift ,or just give it one by one whenever it suits me, or better, hide it around the house so you and I can start a treasure hunt. Anyways, I shall give it to my future self to decide, hopefully she will be more innovative and creative than I am right now.

P.S.S.S I might post a few letters to my tumblr, since I find it too funny to not be shared and it will serve to fill my almost empty tumblr (this time, the pun is unintended), and there’s also the fact that nobody ever really reads my tumblr, anyway. Although who knows, maybe you might’ve stumbled upon one of my tumblr posts before you met me. Hmm.. life is full of surprises, one can never really guess how and when life does its tricks.

P.S.S.S.S. I promise you, this is the last post script for this letter. I’m listening to Stephen Bishop’s It Might Be You on repeat now, while writing this letter. I was reading someone’s real life meet cute story and found this song in its comment section. And BAM! The song—and its many covers—have found themselves on my Spotify playlist. Come to think of it, do you guys still use those kind of apps in the future?? Or is it replaced by somekind of automatic playlistmaker narrated by artificial intelligence?? I wonder...