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kass-storycorner · 3 years

Note

I really loved your ghost fic with Xiao. But it left me curious to have a second part in which they finally find the way to communicate. Whenever is just to say goodbye and having reader going to the afterlife or getting stuck there forever in an eternal solitary pseudo-company together is up to you, I just want to see them talk 😭

awww, thank you! I'm so glad you loved it (though I am sorry for the sad feelings haha). And I was really struggling to find a way to end that orginal story in the beginning, which is the reason why it ended that way oops. Well, now here is the follow up for it. Compared to the small bit I wrote for Xiao... I mean not even compared to it, this is the longest fic I've posted on here so far? Ah, well. I just had so much fun with it.

Idea/Prompt: a follow up to Xiaos part in this post

Genre: a bit of Angst and Hurt, more comforting than the first part, but if the ending is a happy one is up to you!

Characters: Xiao (Zhongli as side character, mention of Hu Tao, Verr Goldot, a new character I made up that did not get a name)

Format: Text

Word count: 5593

Content warning: mentions of blood, spoiler-y for the second act of Zhonglis story quest and the same spoilers warnings as for the OG post! this is not proof read, I started writing this at midnight and its 5am now ahha fml

The Ghost of you Part II. - To the end

yes we are keeping the mcr names

“Xiao”, he felt an uneasiness in his body upon hearing his name. Where was he? Looking around, Xiao saw he stood in a field of flowers. When did he come here? He had no recollection of it at all. Confused he furrows is brows, worry filling his heart and then- “Xiao.” There it was again, that voice calling out to him. Speaking his name softly, voice filled with affection. Where did it came from? He walked around the field, no end of it in sight, looking for that voice calling out to him. The longer he searched for it, the more his heart was filled with dread. “Xiao.” This time the voice came from behind him and when he turned around, he saw you, holding your hand out to him and smiling. “(Y/N)”, Xiao looked at you in disbelief. Was it really you standing in front of him? Your laugh pulled him out of his trance. “Xiao, why are you standing there like a pillar? Come, take my hand,” and at that you wiggled it a bit, signalling him that you're waiting for him to take it. “(Y/N),” Xiao repeated, standing still and looking at your hand, then to you. “What are you doing here?”. Again, you laughed as if what he said was the silliest thing you ever heard. “What do you mean by that? Xiao,” you shook your head and then you shoot him a bright, warm smile. “You wanted to come here, remember? Now come, take my hand and dance with me before the music stops.” Dance? Music? At first Xiao did not understand what you meant, but then he heard it. In the distance, the low sounds of a flute, a sweet melody that sounded strange but all too familiar. “Xiao”, he heard you whisper his name, speaking so gently. Slowly, he was still a bit hesitant, he reached out for your hand, taking it in his. A smile came across your face at the touch of your hands. With a swift motion Xiao was pulled into your arms, you both at first staying still in that embrace. “Xiao, lets dance, okay?”. With that you both started to waltz around the field, Xiao not knowing how he knew to dance like this, but somehow, he did. The dread that started to spread in his chest earlier was now gone, replaced by the feeling of love he felt for you. Still, there was something tugging at his mind, telling him something was amiss here. It felt familiar, yes. However, it also seemed to be strange to him at the same time. Though Xiao tried to push the nagging feeling away, wanting only to enjoy this pleasant moment with you. Which is why he at first didn’t notice how the sky darkened above them nor that the music had stopped a while ago. As you both stopped to dance, still holding each other in your arms, he heard you call out to him again. “Xiao”, the sound of your voice was filled with pain and when he looked at you in his arms the light behind your eyes was gone, your face stiff and emotionless. At the sight of your dead eyes, he wanted to part from the embrace, but he couldn’t let you go. Xiao saw the blood, saw the bruises and suddenly he was on his knees again, you are laying in his arms. He wanted to cry, wanted to say your name but he couldn’t. It was as if there was no air to breath so he could speak. And then – “Xiao.” His name. “Xiao.” Again. “Xiao.” Over and over again he heard how his name was spoken, but with every whisper of his name the voice became more distorted, louder. Until he cowered in pain at the sound of it, wanting it to stop, wishing for it to stop. “Xiao”.

With that Xiao woke up, his body covered in cold sweat and his breathing erratic. Another nightmare of you, another nightmare of something he wished the both of you could’ve done but never did – because of his shortcomings. Xiao sat atop of a rock, looking over the forest in which your ghost continued to wander aimlessly around. He had been watching you for a few weeks now, trying to figure out what kept you here and how he could help you. However, Xiao was clueless at what could be the cause of this. It was clear to him now that he couldn’t help you, he needed to find someone who could. Looking down at the forest, seeing your ghost wander around between the trees, he softly whispered. “I will be back soon, I won’t leave you again for long, I promise.” There weren’t many people Xiao could ask for help. Back when you were alive Xiao wasn’t the most social, wanting to keep his distance from humans. After you died this habit of his, avoiding others, only worsened. So, the only person Xiao could think of to ask for help in this matter was the same who saved him from his servitude as a bloodhound. Zhongli spend most of the last hundred years among the people of Liyue, but for a few decades now he lived in a remote house. It was now the door of said house Xiao knocked on, knowing that although he could easily enter the house, Zhongli preferred it for him to knock. “Ah, Xiao, it is nice to see you,” Zhongli greeted the adeptus. As Xiao entered the house and followed the tall man into his kitchen, it was a standard practice of Zhongli to drink a tea with anyone who visited, he couldn’t stop to notice that the notebooks scattered around the house grew in number. “So,” Zhongli began his question, “what brings you here? From your troubled look I can tell you didn’t come for the tea or my company.” With that Xiao didn’t waste any time on more formalities, explaining his predicament to the former Geo-Archon. “Mmmh, I see,” he replied, taking a sip from his cup. “I fear I might not be much of help in this case, although I have some knowledge on the topic of the human afterlife, I can’t think of a solution to this. However, it might be best to go ask Hu Tao on advice, as she is way more… let’s say, perceptive when it comes to the dead.” How bothersome, Xiao thought at the mention of Hu Tao. “Zhongli, Hu Tao is long dead”, was all Xiao could say. It happened more frequently now that Zhongli seemed to forget things, small ones but also important pieces of information and this filled Xiao with unease. He didn’t like it that the erosion of Zhongli already was set in motion, thinking about that one-day Xiao might have to face him in battle should he lose all sense of self and sanity. Neither did Zhongli enjoy slowly losing his memories of the past – although he wrote down as much as possible, it bothered him that he had to even rely on his notebooks. “Ah,” Zhongli replied, setting his cup down on the table and with a troubled look, “I seem to have forgotten something again. Would you please help my memory, when did this happen?” “One thousand years might have already passed,” Xiao saw how much it stirred Zhongli up that he had forgotten the passing of a friend. “She had a good life, right? I’m sorry for asking, but I somehow can’t seem to remember much about her later life.” “Yes,” Xiao answered, thinking about the 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. There weren’t many humans he tolerated or even enjoyed being around, but Hu Tao was one Xiao always was fond of. She was also the one at the Parlor that day you died, when Xiao came in with your dead body in his arms, he hoped he might find Zhongli maybe he could do something about it, but… Xiao knew there was nothing anyone could do. Hu Tao understood his pain, without a word she showed him where to put your body and prepared your funeral, without even asking for a single Mora. “Then, “Zhongli pulled Xiao out of his thoughts, “maybe you might find help with the new Director, her family always had some knowledge about that human afterlife that’s even a mystery to me.” With that

Xiao said his goodbye to Zhongli and made his way to Liyue. The city of Liyue changed over the last thousand years a lot, but the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor was still one of the constants in the city. Xiao couldn’t remember the last time he visited the city, though it must have been a few hundred years ago for sure. He just never really liked it and since, what the humans called a ‘industrial revolution’, the city was even more crowded and overwhelming for Xiao. “Welcome to the Wangshen Funeral Parlor, how may I help you?”, a young person greeted Xiao as he set foot into the building. At the enthusiastic way the person greeted him as he entered a funeral home, Xiao was sure this was one of Hu Taos descendants. He barley could imagine anyone else be so happy surrounded by death. “Are you the director?”, Xiao asked in his usual stern voice. “The 107th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, yep that’s me!” “I may need your assistance.” “Wonderful, I’m always happy to help- oh well, not happy as I am happy for your loss, my condolences by the way, but in happy as I am happy that I can be of help. So, what do you need help with? We have some wonderful new coffins out of a wonderful wood, really they are also very comfortable, not that comfort is that important for someone who’s dead, but I thought it might be also of interest to say that they are really comfort-“, ah yes, Xiao thought, definitely related to Hu Tao. “I don’t need a coffin”, he interrupted the young director. “Oh, um… what can I help with then?”, they asked and then Xiao explained everything to them. At first, he wasn’t sure of the director would be of help, most humans have long forgotten the existence of the gods and adepti, as most of them died or lived a life among humanity, but sure enough the director did turn out to be well versed with the forgotten knowledge of the world. “So, you say the ghost is just roaming around those woods? Nothing else happens?”, the director asked, sitting in their chair in the back office of the Parlor, and they had their hand on their chin, looking like they were thinking about something “Will you be of help now or why do you keep repeating the same useless questions?”, Xiao became a bit impatient now. He just needed to know if someone was able to help you. Without even answering the question the director stood up from the chair and walked towards a bookshelf, pulling a big and old looking book out and opening it up on the table. “Mmmh, from what you’ve described it seems to be nothing to grave, they don’t seem to have become an evil spirit just yet, moreover it seems like they are just one who got lost, though it is surprising that after such a long time the spirit didn’t just turned into something malicious. Normally for most human ghosts it takes a few hundred years until they go insane and well, you know all too well what then happens with an evil spirt I guess.” Xiao was aware what happened to the evils in the world, because it was mostly him. Though he didn’t like to think about it what it would have meant if you- no, he didn’t even want to finish that thought. “How do I help them?”, he didn’t care about any of the other information, he just wanted to find a way to help you. The director pointed at a passage in the book in front of them and continued. “What we have to do is easy if you think about it, I just need something that belonged to the deceased they held dear, a few materials like Qingxin flowers, around twenty should be enough, and the next part is more tricky if you don’t know the deceased that well, which shouldn’t be a problem here, but we need to, well you need to, speak some words that you know are important to them. A story or something like that, sometimes even the voice of a loved one is enough to help to guide the spirits back. Though I will definitely have to accompany that spirit to the border, just to make sure it won’t happen again, you know getting lost, because I can’t guarantee this method will help a second time.” Xiao was quiet. Something that belonged to them, when the director said

those words, his hand immediately flew up to the necklace with the small pendant he wore. Xiao wasn’t the most adept with words, he rather enjoyed listening to what you had to say to him most of the time. He enjoyed the sound of your voice; it was so much more pleasant than his own. One day, Xiao still remembers it so well, your voice said something he did not expect for you to say. “Xiao, I love you.” It took him by surprise, standing on the balcony of the Wangshu Inn, watching the night sky… he suspected that you liked him that way, he did too. Oh, but how he hoped that you wouldn’t say anything about it, like he planned too. Your openness scared him. The idea of being loved scared him, for what was there to love about him? He didn’t want to be a burden to you, his karmic debt, his burden – he feared it would all just make you hate him one day if he let you see it all. That night, after you said these words, Xiao disappeared without a word from your sight. He wasn’t far away, but he wished back then that he teleported out of his hearing range. The sobs that came from you after his departure broke Xiaos heart. After this he avoided you, which wasn’t too hard because you did the same thing too. But with every day that passed when Xiao didn’t see you, hear your voice, his heart grew heavier. Asking himself if he really did do the right thing. Verr Goldet approached Xiao a few weeks after your confession, inquiring why now you didn’t come to the Inn anymore. Xiao did not answer her question, but Verr was a smart woman and at the look in his eyes she understood. “Don’t give up someone you love, only because you are scared of the love you both feel for each other, Xiao”, was all she said. This was the final push for Xiao to finally get over himself and embrace the feelings he felt for you. He didn’t know anymore where the idea came from, but he decided to gift you a handmade necklace along side his confession. Xiao was scared that it might be too late for telling you that he felt the same. However, he knew he had to do it and he wanted to give you something that showed you how he felt too. So Xiao collected the material all around from Liyue, creating a metal necklace and using a small piece of Cor Lapis, your favourite you told him once, as the pendant. With that he looked for you, finding you sitting in the middle of a flower field. “(Y/N)”, he said, stopping himself from continuing when he saw how you jumped at your own name. “Xiao! You scared me!”, you quickly stood up and turned around to him. Xiao wasn’t the most adept with words, he enjoyed listening to you – but you stayed quiet after facing him and you kept quiet when Xiao came closer. “I-“, he began, but unable to speak the words he so wished you to hear from him. Instead, he took your hand and put the necklace in it. “I- I made you this,” was all he could say, feeling how fast his heart pounced in his chest. The look in your eyes, Xiao saw the love you felt for him in them. “Xiao, I-“, he saw how you viewed the necklace in your hand, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes. Before you were able to finish the sentence or let the tears fall down, Xiao took your face in his hands and kissed you. Yes, he wasn’t the most adept with words, but he learned that he could show you how much he loved you in other ways.

From that day on you wore that necklace every single day, never taking it off since Xiao but it on you after the shared kiss. You joked that it was a physical representation of your love for each other, though Xiao felt like you actually meant it. And somehow it really was. Xiao remembered how that necklace was still around you neck when he took your body to Hu Tao, he remembered that it was covered with your blood. He didn’t even think about taking it off you. It was Hu Tao who gave him that necklace after your burial and since then he hadn’t taken it off. It was the last thing he had of you, the last reminder of your love for each other and every night after your death, when he cowered in pain because of his karmic debt, the cool touch of the stone on his skin helps him to stay sane. Just like the flute he heard even long before he met you.

When Xiao and the director arrived at the forest, they collected the flowers on their way, he could see your ghost again. Walking around, calling for him. His heart breaks every time he had to witness your suffering. “Okay, we have the flowers… do you have something that belonged to them with you, Xiao?”, the director asked, and Xiao shifted his focus from you to them. Slowly he took the necklace off, feeling somehow so vulnerable without it, and gave it to the director. “You know where they start their walk and end it right?”. Yes, Xiao knew that. He had watched over your ghost for the past couple of weeks and noticed that you were walking in circles, without even knowing so it seemed, starting from the place you died and ending up there again. Although your body was buried in another part of Liyue and already long gone, taken back by nature, you stayed here. Where you died. Xiao wished he had come here earlier. Together with the director Xiao made his way to the place where your life ended and your endless suffering in a sort of limbo started, laying down the flowers and the necklace. “And how is that supposed to help them now?”, he asked, not sure how any of this will work. “Like I said, we put down something that belonged to them and was important because they will gravitate to the feelings still connected with that object. The flowers are helping, because they built a bridge between the living realm and what state they are in. Now we just need some words that they have a connection with, in the past it used to be certain prayers because people kept using them a lot, but you know it honestly doesn’t matter what you say, it just needs to be connected to them in some way. Maybe their favourite story or a lullaby, there are many possibilities.” “A lullaby, huh,” this was something Xiao hadn’t thought about in a long time. “Xiao, are you alright?”, he heard your voice from across the dark room. It was the middle of the night, normally he would be out killing monsters, but for tonight you were able to make him sleep with you. When you found out that he never sleeps you were shocked, though he tried to calm you saying that an adeptus didn’t need to sleep. “Maybe you don’t need to,” you told him with a stern look, hands on your hips, “but it will be good for you too, believe me!”. And somehow, after each of you confessed the feelings for the other, you were able to make him sleep next to you some nights. Just for that night his karmic debt plagued Xiao. He sat in front of your window, trying to keep his distance from you, not wanting to disturb your sleep and he didn’t want to worry you. “Xiao?”, you asked again, but instead of an answer Xiao growled in pain. Suddenly you were beside him. “Don’t”, he said through gritted teeth as you tried to touch him. “You’re in pain, let me help you.” He saw your worried painted face, ashamed that you had to see him like this. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. Don’t worry.” “Don’t tell me not to worry when I see the person I love most suffering,” and with that you took his hand. “Please Xiao, let me help you.” Even when he wasn’t in such a weakened state it was hard for Xiao to refuse you and now – all he wished for was your comforting touch. You led Xiao back to bed and when you noticed how he had a fever you quickly prepared a cold and wet towel for him. As you both lied down in bed you took Xiao in your arms. “I don’t know if this will help,” you began after a short amount of silence, “but when I was a child my mother always used to sing this lullaby to help me fall asleep. She even continued singing it when we were older and got sick… it always helps me feel better and at ease, shall I sing it to you?”. Xiao only gave a small nod, not believing it would help when you sang that song for the first time. But it did, you soothed his pain and helped him fall asleep. From that night on you would sing it more often to Xiao, he never asked for it but you somehow always knew when he wished to hear it, especially on the nights when is karmic debt caused him great pain. That lullaby became

another sign of how much you loved each other – the necklace was Xiaos gift, the song yours.

Now there he stood, in this forest that once was just a plain field, the flowers and necklace to his feet singing that lullaby. Xiao never sang it when you were alive, he never sang at all. No matter how much you begged him to sing for you, this was something he always refused to do. Thinking about how beautiful your voice sounded, he never wanted to soil this song with his voice.

It felt like you screamed for Xiao for hours and hours on end, but your voice doesn’t hurt. Where were you? What had happened? In your head you repeated and repeated the last things you could remember again and again. You were walking in the fields, wanting to collect some crystal flies for a commission. Then you remembered that you were attacked, who or what attacked you slipped your mind. However, the fight was tedious and hard… and then you called for Xiao. That’s it. That’s all you could remember. But where was he? Where was Xiao? Didn’t he say he would always come when you called out for him? Why didn’t he come now? You feared that he was still angry with you, though you didn’t know anymore why he even should be angry with you in the first place. The two of you had a fight yes, but… was that it? You spend so much time apart, did he just decide you weren’t worth his time anymore? Did he maybe stop loving you? Those thoughts filled you with dread and you wanted to cry, cry at the thought of Xiao not loving you anymore, but somehow you couldn’t. So you kept calling for him, over and over again. “Xiao,” you screamed. “XIAO!” And then you heard something, at first you weren’t sure what it was, but there was a noise. You stopped calling out for him, trying to focus on where the sound came from, following the direction. It got louder and – was that Xiao singing? The closer you came towards the sound, towards Xiaos voice singing that lullaby… your mothers’ lullaby, the lullaby that became yours and Xiaos. Which he always refused to sing, no matter how much you pleaded. The closer you came you started to remember the things that happened more clearly. How you didn’t want to call for Xiao at first that day, how something hit you in your stomach and how you felt the blood gusher out of you. Yes, you remember how you couldn’t stand anymore and all that was on your mind was Xiao, you wanted to see him again. Just once. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were, how stupid it was for you to fight and how stupid it was to wait this long to call for him. You wanted to say this to him, all of it. But all you remember you said was his name. “Xiao.”

He stopped singing, his head flying up seeing your ghost stand right in front of him. His name. You just said his name. “Xiao,” you said it again, this time he heard you say it clearly and you looked right at him, not through. “(Y/N)”, it came more out as whisper. This is what he wanted. He wanted you to see him, to get out of that limbo, but why does it still hurt as much? “Ah, seems like it worked, great!”, the director interrupted the moment, looking at Xiao and the ghost of you. “I ummm- I’m gonna leave the two of you alone for a while, so you can talk things out, say your goodbyes, yadayadayada.” With that the director walked away and it was just you and Xiao.

“I-“, Xiao began, but somehow his voice failed him. What was there to say? What should he say? “Xiao,” he heard the hesitance in your voice. “Xiao, I am dead, right?”. He couldn’t stand looking at you, his eyes avoiding yours as he gave his short answer. “Yes.” “I see,” you replied quietly. You slowly started to remember the nights you stood on the field, waiting for him to come. “Why,” you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer to your question, “why didn’t you come? After, you know… I- I waited for you. I called you. Why-?”. “I felt guilty. It was my fault, if I just hadn’t tried to push you away again, then you wouldn’t have died, I’m so sorry,” his voice was so quiet, but you could hear how he tried to hold back the tears. “Xiao,” at hearing his name again he looked back at you, you now seeing the tears that pooled at the corner of his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you… and I should have called for you earlier. But Xiao,” you saw how the tears started to fall down his face, “it wasn’t your fault.” He couldn’t hold it in any longer, Xiao fell to his knees, hands in his face and crying. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, forgive me. I should have protected you that day, I should have come here earlier and see what was happening… please, forgive me.” You walked towards Xiao, reaching out your hand, wanting to touch him. Wanting to take him in your arms, but you couldn’t. It broke your heart. “Xiao, please, please look at me,” he did, his eyes red and filled with his tears. “There is nothing to ask for forgiveness for, you did nothing wrong Xiao. It’s alright. I’m sorry for leaving so soon, for running away that day we had this stupid fight. I don’t even know what it was about…”. “I don’t know either”, Xiao admitted and somehow you had to laugh a bit at that. None of you ever remembered why you fought even in the first place, all of this nearly felt so normal. But it wasn’t. Xiao wiped away the tears from his eyes and stood up again, this time to be able to face you. You looked just like he remembered, except for the see-through part but… your smile hasn’t changed. Even if this was a sad one. “Xiao, how much time has passed since I died?” That question surprised him. “Around…”, he was hesitant to tell you the truth. Should he really tell you? “Xiao,” and you looked at him and he knew that he couldn’t hide the truth. “A thousand years perhaps.” Thousand years, you thought. For thousand years he walked around with this guilt, for thousand years he kept that necklace that still was on the ground… for thousand years he lived his life, still mourning you it seemed. “Did you get over me?”. Again, another question he didn’t expect. Why were you asking him this? Did he get over you? “No, every single day since you died you were on my mind, I couldn’t forget you and I do not wish to. I can never get over you.” This wasn’t the answer you hoped for. “Xiao, I’ve been dead for thousand years. Even if I hadn’t died that day, I would have died on another one. Thousand years compared to what, sixty? Maybe seventy years if I had lived a full life is nothing. Humans are weak after all, aren’t we?”. You didn’t mean to stir him up with your last comment, it was more intended as a joke, alas a sad one, but somehow you struck a nerve within him. “No, they are not. I always said that, but I was wrong (Y/N). I don’t understand how you human can live your life, knowing that you will die, that those you love will inevitably die. How you can idly sit next to people you care about forgetting important things, things about themselves, struggle to remember who they are, seeing them die… and you move forward. I watched over you humans for such a long time, protecting you and I still- I don’t understand how. How can they love again? Where does the strength come from to keep moving forward?”, Xiao’s voice was full of pain, you heard it clear as day, seeing how tears rolled down his face again. You felt that there were even other things weighing heavy on him, not only you, but you knew that you couldn’t comfort him. That this was

something he needed to figure out himself. “Xiao, you will learn. You will understand it one day, it just takes time.” Your voice heavy with sadness and oh, how you wished you could take him in your arms, wipe his tears away and kiss him.

Before Xiao could reply anything in return the director disturbed the two of you again. “So, are you ready now?”, looking directly at you. “No, but I stayed here for far too long now, didn’t I?”, a sad smile coming across your face. You really didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t stay any longer. It was time. “I will come with you as far as I can,” Xiao had wiped his tears away and stood now right next to you. If you still had a body your shoulders would touch.

Xiao and the director accompanied you to the border of life and death in silence. Before you crossed it you looked at Xiao. He looked so sad, as if he was to lose you a second time. “I wish,” you heard him say, “that you could stay just a bit longer. I know it’s selfish, but I just wished you could have stayed by my side forever. But you can’t stay, and you shouldn’t.” “Xiao, I feel the same. I wish I could have spent eternity with you, but I can’t and it okay. I just want to ask you for one thing, one last promise before I go, okay?”. Xiao looked at you with a heavy heart. “Yes.” “Promise me you will try to find happiness for yourself again, okay? Promise me you will love again, please. Don’t stay alone.” Silently Xiao looked at you to then finally say “I promise.” “Thank you Xiao,” Archons, you wished you could take his hand. “Now then,” you said looking in the directions you had to go. “Time to go.” “(Y/N)”, you heard Xiao say before you left. “I love you.” “I love you too, Xiao.” As Xiao and the director left the border, he stayed quiet, the atmosphere being quite sombre. “Maybe,” the director pulled Xiao out of his thoughts, “there is nothing behind the border and they stopped existing completely. But maybe their soul will now find a way back to you, just in another way? Who knows,” and with that the director left. Xiao didn’t know if he believed that you would find a way back to him, but as it started to rain and as it fell down on his skin, Xiao felt now lighter as if a heavy burden was taken off of him. With that he started to move forward again.

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chocolate-parfait · 3 years

Note

I see the askbox is open 🙂 You don’t know the speed at which I raced here.

But I was really hoping that you could do headcanons for Arthur (vamp), Masamune (Sen), and Mitsuhide (Sen) with a s/o who is an author? Like Tolkien almost, she writes high fantasy and is super well known? (bonus points if she goes back in time with one of her novels on her to show them exactly).

I hope it’s not confusing^^

I adore your writing so I hope to see whatever you publish in the future!

Thank you so much!!

Waa thank you sm for your support!! It really means a lot, thank you ❤ ❤ I hope you enjoy!

Author!MC who writes high fantasy novels - (Arthur, Masamune & Mitsuhide)

Arthur

Arthur is extremely amused and intrigued when he hears about your occupation, and even more so when he discovers that you’re a pretty big shot, too. For once, he completely discards appearances (although he still thinks you’re very pretty) and is genuinely interested in your job, frequently asking details about your writing process, your stories and such.

Your books come from two completely different universes, as we have realism and crime against fantasy and supernatural. Yet, when you offer your book for him to read, he falls absolutely in love with it. Although it may not seem like it, Arthur is quite the superstitious man, and has always had a certain interest in the occult and paranormal. Long story short, he becomes your number one fan.

He asks Comte to bring back your books from the future so that he can read them all (if you find out he’ll admit it with a sheepish smile and a blush on his face), and even then he feels like he doesn’t know enough about the different worlds described in your books and about their writer, you. If the topic pops up during conversations he'll take his chance and curiously ask you more and more questions about your job; if not, he'll pick up hints along the way whenever he can.

Your writing schedule will easily adapt to the domesticity of your relationship. You both write together in the same room (sometimes his, sometimes yours, or even in the dining room) as it can be very motivational, and you’re both ready to comfort the other whenever a lack of inspiration puts a stop to your writing. Furthermore, it’s very practical when it comes to taking breaks! He’ll cuddle with you while asking how everything’s coming along and if you need him to help you get some ideas. (this man will def sneak kisses whenever you're absorbed in your own little world because he adores the pout that magically appears on your lips whenever you're concentrated)

Overall, he’s very supportive of what you do. He understands the struggles of being a writer, but he also adores how much of a professional you are. Would probably be a fanboy even if you two didn’t know each other (he’d buy your books in secret so that Theo doesn’t tease him; the great mystery writer who adores realism, falls in love with high fantasy books. The man would never let him see the end of it)

Masamune

Even before knowing that you actually come from the future, Masamune is extremely curious to see some of your works once he hears that you’re a writer. As someone who writes poetry, knowing that you have the same passion makes him like you even more; although your occupations are as different as they can be, he still enjoys finding a common ground with you. Sometime later, after he has already discovered about your particular situation, he’ll also come to learn about the differences between what he thought you did and what your job really is. Fundamentally the job is always the same, but the whole process and the final products are almost completely different than what he had expected.

He doesn’t know what high fantasy is, but when you do tell him about all the various genres and such, he finds himself not too weirded out by the idea; it’s very similar to popular folklore, after all.

When he asks you to tell him one of your stories, you find the perfect situation to show him a physical copy of one of your best-sellers. He’s amazed by the weird-looking book. It’s experiencedly crafted and perfectly written (that’s printing for you<3), and he curiously fidgets with it as he asks endless questions about it. Unfortunately, he can’t read anything (even if it was written in modern Japanese he’d probably be able to grasp 3 words in a whole page or smth, lol), so you find yourself narrating your stories to him. (you receive great in-depth feedback for each chapter in return!! Masamune will be 100% honest with you and takes it v seriously). It becomes a daily occurrence that neither of you wants to miss. Each night, just before bed, you read out loud part of your book as Masamune quietly listens to your every word, wholly enraptured by the story.

He’s the most supportive partner one could wish for, and he’s always ready to show your works off to everyone he knows. He’ll help you get in touch with local printers and see what he can find amongst all the imported goods to make your job easier. If you ever find yourself stuck, he’ll gladly take you on a stroll to help you get your mind off writing for a bit to come back more refreshed and inspired.

Mitsuhide

Mitsuhide is a man who mostly communicates through lies, vague descriptions or distorted realities just to confuse others. As such, he finds your writing skills and wide imagination to be quite useful and admirable. He can be a capable storyteller if needed, so you often wonder why he doesn’t try writing every once in a while.

This said, he never expected for his kitsune story to strike up a chord in you to the point you’d write a story with a character heavily based on him as the protagonist. He’s quite flattered to say the least. When you hand the finished manuscript to him as a gift, he reads it all in one night. (let's pretend he'd be able to understand ahahah...) He’s amazed by your skill and the world you managed to describe through such vivid wording, but you'll have to read between his teasing words to grasp his real feelings about the gift, although he sincerely thanks you profusely.

The novel is the first work of yours he has ever had the chance to read, so he stores it away very carefully in a corner of his room, but curiosity makes him wonder about your previous works though he doesn't directly ask you anything about them. Sure, he'll probably drop some hints here and there concerning this hidden wish of his, but that's totally up to you to understand. Sooner or later he finds two copies of some of your books in the bag in your room (it was totally accidental, he wouldn't just barge in your room and look through your things like that), and he feels like he's fallen in love all over again. There's this particular level of mastery with which you handle your words that leave him spellbound and amazed. Who would have ever thought that his little clumsy mouse was such an expert writer?

In general, Mitsuhide is the closet fanboy. He won't be as open about his love for your stories as Masamune, but he's not afraid to be direct about his feelings every once in a while, especially if you really need to hear supporting words from him. If anyone ever brings up your skills during a conversation, he'll hum in affirmation with a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips.

#answered #ikemen sengoku #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikesen masamune #ikesen mitsuhide #tplosh #date masamune #akechi mitsuhide #my writing #ikevamp imagines #ikesen headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen scenarios #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp headcanons

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pokemoncreepypasta · 3 years

Text

Forever Mine

[STORY SOURCE]

I live in one of those small towns with a big community. It feels like everyone knows each other, and parents would visit their friends and leave their kids to mess around with each other. Classes in school weren’t very large.

So when there’s news about a kid dying, it travels at god-speed.

Everyone at school kept talking about the death of this girl who was probably a year behind me.

I didn’t know her personally. I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you her name if everyone wasn’t talking about her.

I didn’t want to pick up gossip about how she died. I decided to attend her funeral myself. Not because we were friends or anything, but I did want to show my respect for this girl and her family.

The local funeral home was within biking range of my house, so I set off.

I sat awkwardly as I noticed her parents. I’m not usually very good at picking up feelings from people, but I could tell that beyond their grief was disappointment and maybe even hostility.

They made me wonder what she was thinking about before she died.

After she was buried, I hung around the cemetery. I’d wished I brought flowers with me, but decided I’d give her some the next time I stopped by.

Around this time, I had been aiming to get a Sky Forme Shaymin, since it was one of my favorite Pokémon back then.

I had caught a wild Shaymin using the "Pokémon Modifier" cheat code. I was terrible at coming up with creative names. But then, I remembered the name of the girl and thought it would suit a Shaymin rather well.

“Skye.”

Little did I know that this would invite strange things to start happening to my game.

I wanted to keep this Shaymin in its Sky Forme whenever possible, so I planned on keeping it in my team 24/7, only playing during daytime, etc. I was a dirty cheater who liked putting illegal moves on my Pokémon, so I taught Skye to use Fly.

At the time, I didn’t know you needed to catch the Shaymin in Flower Paradise to receive the Gracidea Flower, so when I talked to the blonde girl NPC in Floaroma Town, I had no idea why she wouldn’t give it to me.

So I was stuck with a Shaymin that knew Fly. It was weird, and I never really grew all that attached to it. Eventually I boxed it, forgot I had it, and released it without thinking.

The next time I booted up the game, I got this message.

“The save file is corrupted. The previous save file will be loaded.”

My first instinct was panic. I didn’t have any time to think or process the initial message, because all my hours were gone. With nervous anticipation, I started up the save file to see what the damage was.

To my surprise, I found myself on an incomplete Seabreak Path. The south path to Route 224 was cut off, with a featureless Shaymin staring vacantly over the edge.

I checked my party, and found none of my team members.

Only a level 100 Dusknoir with the move Follow Me.

Very useful, I thought. I’d have to boot up my Action Replay to teach this thing Fly in order to get off the island later.

Checking my items, I noticed everything was gone, save for a single PokéBall and an Escape Rope. Neither of which seemed particularly helpful for getting me off this island.

Out of curiosity though, I decided to see if Shaymin would be at Flower Paradise. I started my trek north, lamenting the loss of my bike.

To my surprise, Shaymin was there, despite never having Oak’s Letter or triggering the cutscene with it. Its face was obstructed by flowers, but it seemed like its pink flowers were missing just like the one I saw before.

I spoke to the Shaymin, and a message appeared.

“I remember you.”

“But… You don’t remember me, do you?”

The wild Shaymin attacked, and my heart stopped at its name.

“Skye appeared!”

Featureless, like before.

I felt a knot in my stomach, not even caring about the game. Something was very clearly wrong with it, and I wanted to stop playing. But I decided I was already taking pictures of the weird stuff that was happening, and I wanted to document it in full.

Steeling my resolve, I went about my options.

Dusknoir only knew Follow Me, so it was useless to weaken the Shaymin.

Remembering the PokéBall I had, I tossed it at the Shaymin.

Most people would be ecstatic to catch a Shaymin with full HP in a PokéBall on their first try, but I got the feeling that the game was rigged. There wasn’t any triumphant music playing either, which didn’t help my feelings about it.

I tried checking my newly caught Shaymin, but my game froze upon checking my party.

Upon restarting the system and starting the game up, this message appeared.

“My heart is corrupted. Please save me.”

My save file was gone for real this time. The trainer’s name was “SINNER”.

I live in a pretty religious community, so reading this made me ill at ease.

Starting up the game again, I found myself in the Lost Tower, playing as a featureless Shaymin.

My only Pokémon was the same Shaymin, named SINNER, knowing Fly, Scary Face, Fake Tears, and Spite.

A text box appeared when I tried to leave the tower.

“Today’s the day.”

It pushed me back, preventing my exit. The only option I had was to ascend.

No random encounters happened, and all the trainers wouldn’t interact with me.

It went this way until I went to the top floor. I’m pretty sure there isn’t supposed to be a man and woman NPC standing in this spot.

"There’s nothing left to say.”

Interacting with them just prompted this text.

It was here that I noticed a staircase that wasn’t supposed to be there.

I found myself on the top of the tower. I stepped into a scripted event, and the Shaymin faced the edge without my prompt.

"It's a long way down... Are you ready?"

Hoping for some way out of this, I wanted to say “no”, so I could cheat my way out of the tower and get my game back to normal. However, upon selecting it, this text appeared.

"You've held back for long enough. It's time to go."

“SINNER used the Escape Rope.”

A battle started against the same Dusknoir as before. I was intimidated to go against a level 100 Dusknoir, but then I remembered its only move was Follow Me, so it was harmless.

I realized that if I let SINNER faint, I could go to the last Pokémon Center and escape the tower.

I used Spite, thinking that if I reduced Follow Me’s PP, the Dusknoir would use Struggle and OHKO my Shaymin.

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER used Spite!”

“But there was no target...”

Dang it.

Deciding to experiment, I came to the conclusion that there was no harm in screwing around with SINNER’s attacks until DUSKNOIR ran out of PP. I chose Fly.

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER used Fly!”

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER kept going and crashed!”

Not the KO I was expecting, but I took it nonetheless.

The game, of course, crashed as soon as my Shaymin’s cry played, leaving nothing but pleasantly ear-grating screeching sounds.

I decided to take a break from playing for a moment to process what I just witnessed. I had a lot to digest.

The only conclusion I came to was that ghosts are real and this was the same Skye as the girl who died. Which would sound insane if I didn’t have the pictures to prove it.

I choked back tears. I was afraid. Why did Skye want me to see this?

I wanted to put the game down and be done with it. But if she had a message to give me, then I felt like I had to see it through to the end.

I guess I vainly hoped she’d pass on and find peace if I listened to what she was trying to say.

Another message when I started the game up again.

“I can’t fly. I tried to.”

I found myself at Spear Pillar. The staircase to the Hall of Origin was in front of me.

My exit was gone, so I just went straight to Arceus.

A level 100 Arceus stood before me.

Instead of sending out my Shaymin, it stayed in the field. It was now bleeding. Its status said it was fainted, but it was still able to battle somehow.

I felt cornered. There was no way a level 14 Shaymin could take on something like this. I tried to use Fly, hoping it would give me the same result as before.

“Can’t use that here.”

It wouldn’t let me use the move. Instead, I just outright try to flee.

“Can’t escape!”

“ARCEUS used Judgment!”

I braced for impact...

“The wild ARCEUS’s attack missed!”

...But was pleasantly surprised to see it miss.

“I’m not ready yet.”

The game made me flee automatically.

The screen faded to black.

“I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

“I’m scared.”

When the screen faded back to the overworld, I found myself in the Distortion World. The portal that takes you back to the main world was gone, so the only thing I could do was explore.

I found another Escape Rope while looking around.

It was the only thing noteworthy I could find, so I started trying to think of ways to get out of here.

I tried using Fly, since SINNER still knew it.

“There’s nowhere to fly to.”

Figures.

Trying to test my other options, I went to my bag and tried using the Escape Rope.

Of course, the “There’s a time and place for everything” message still appeared.

Deciding to mess around until I got results, I went to give the Escape Rope to SINNER.

“Don’t suppose you know what to do with this?” I muttered.

The game crashed again, and it assaulted my eardrums once more. I sharply inhaled, wondering if I touched a nerve.

I took a deep breath and started the game again.

My character’s name was now Skye.

I started in Floaroma Town. The first thing I did was rush to the Pokémon Center to check on my Pokémon in the PC. Of course, they were all gone.

I’d grieve for them later, though. Maybe Skye would be nice to me and give them back.

While I was in the center, I figured it might’ve been good to heal the faint status off of the Shaymin.

Sure it is. Glad you can tell when something is suffering, nurse.

Heading outside, I talked to the blonde NPC.

“You should always give flowers to someone who has passed away.”

“It’s rude not to.”

“You got the Gracidea!”

I was suddenly feeling very guilty for not leaving flowers before.

Wondering if I could fix the poor Shaymin in my party if I used the flower on her, I went to try it.

“It won’t have any effect.”

Of course not.

The blonde NPC turned into my Shaymin. I spoke to her.

“That won’t help me.”

Yeah, I thought not.

At a loss of ideas on what to do next, I absentmindedly made my way to Valley Windworks and walked around in the grass.

A wild Sky Forme Shaymin appeared.

I sent out Skye, of course.

I chose the fight option, and the battle continued without me selecting a move.

“The wild SHAYMIN used Reflect!”

“Skye’s rage is building!”

“Skye used Cut!”

“She hurt herself in her confusion!”

The Sky Form Shaymin was knocked out in one hit, despite the game telling me Skye had hurt herself.

Back on the overworld, I found the mangled parts of the Sky Forme Shaymin lying in the grass. I inspected them.

“Please put me back together.”

It gave me another prompt, and I chose yes.

The screen faded to black.

And then Skye appeared again in a black abyss, with Skymin ears and flower. My trainer was nowhere to be seen.

I checked my party to see that Skye had changed again. Her cry sounded like a distorted mix of Shaymin’s two forms.

I went back to the overworld and was unable to move. Instead, a dialogue box appeared.

“Can you hear me?”

"Thank you for caring about me.”

"I can fly now.”

“Because...”

“I love you.”

My heart skipped a beat. My hands began to shake.

“You must care about me too, right?”

“So... I’m going to stay with you.”

“I won’t leave, not without someone who loves me.”

“Will you fly away with me?”

My shaky hands went to say no. I didn’t want to be like her.

"...”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll change your mind.”

“You’re mine now.”

“You’re mine forever.”

With that last line, the game froze.

The first thing I did was take the game out of the system. I decided to drop off all my Pokémon games at the nearest GameStop. I didn’t want her talking to me anymore.

So why do I feel like she’s still here?

#Pokemon Creepypasta #Pokepasta #Shaymin #Forever Mine

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presumenothing · 2 years

Note

Winter Soldier AU Bad End. Interpret that how you will.

welcome one and all to the annual festivities of PROMPT OPEN SEASON

(marvel au, for the uninitiatied)

edit: ao3

“Build–” a massive Faraday cage and EMP all the rest, Shiho starts to say, edges of her voice sharpening preemptively in dissatisfaction at the brute force of that solution, but Kudo is already shaking his head.

“Doesn’t work for long enough, and it wasn’t worth the cost.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Which was?”

Kudo gives her a grin, bitter in its dryness. “To be fair, you did warn Hattori that the shielding on his wingpack might fail if he pulled any of his crazier stunts, but we didn’t exactly have time to clear the field of civilians, either.”

Shiho blocks out the associated imagination of everything that too-mild statement implies, and exhales frustration. “Very constructive of you, Kudo-kun. What are you expecting me to do, apart from listening to how everything I’ve tried – will try – has failed?”

He only dips his head in silent acknowledgment of that questioning, and it’s the lack of sarcasm about how she’s usually the pessimistic one that finally convinces the last bit of skepticism left in her, more than anything else this bizarre afternoon since Kudo stumbled over nothing midway through their strategy meeting, blinked, then dragged her away from the others and into her lab without another word.

She can hardly be faulted for the doubt, though; even amidst all the concentrated weirdness they’ve dealt so far, an endlessly-resetting timeloop is really pushing it.

And of course Kudo Shinichi has to be the linchpin of it.

Shiho isn’t even that kind of physicist by specialty, and she still has to admit that it’d be a fascinating study, if not for the inconvenient fact of also being in the middle of the trickiest alien invasion they’ve had in years.

(It’s a thought she’s sure her once-upon-a-timeline selves have also had, though that in turn brings the chill of another possibility: they haven’t had any indication of time distortions in the city, just every other kind of electronic havoc that she’s been trying to corral. There’s every possibility that the originator of this circularity in time isn’t this wave of invaders but instead–

Or it could of course be neither causation nor correlation, just mere coincidence, but the universe has rarely been so benevolent where she’s concerned.)

Kudo’s voice is half-absent when he speaks next. Mechanical, almost. “I’m not dismissing anything out of hand – you’ve had some ideas each time, afterwards, at least – ”

At least when she’d survived long enough to communicate them to him, Shiho reads in the way the rest of his words fall away as he pulls himself upright, turning to her with something that rings hollow in a way he hadn’t looked even after travelling forward decades in the conventional way from everything and everyone he’d ever known. “I’ll help. Just do me a favour?”

She shakes herself from thoughts about the toll such repetitions would’ve taken on any non-enhanced human body (what it means – how much time it means that she can see the shadows of it now, even for him) and spares an eyeroll in his direction. “Time resetting itself doesn’t overwrite whatever favours you already asked every other version of me, you know. Are you quite certain you want to owe me that much?”

It’s an offhand comment, what with most of her mind occupied with the problem at hand, but still Shiho is surprised at the faint laugh it gets in response; might even have mistaken it as genuine, if not for everything that’d come before. “If you manage to solve it this time – promise me you’ll get Ran out safe, no matter what?”

She can’t help stopping to scrutinise him for a moment. “This really isn’t the first time you’ve asked me this.”

He doesn’t say anything, only shrugs, but if Shiho were a betting person (she’s not; it’s unscientific and a misuse of probability) she would’ve placed a considerable sum on the certainty that Kudo Shinichi’s faith in his ability to get Mouri Ran out of any situation they’re in will always be unshakeable.

It’s unpleasantly jarring, to be proven wrong. She channels it into the flick of her hand, holograms springing to life at the gesture. “Then what are you repeating yourself for? Just be prepared to pay up when I succeed. With compound interest,” she specifies for good measure.

Kudo seems unconcerned by that as he lets himself be shooed out of the way. “Thanks, Miyano.”

(“Shut up and go find a corner to reflect on your bad karma.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in that stuff?”

“You tempt me to consider otherwise,” she mutters darkly under her breath, but doesn’t actually chase him out of the lab entirely. It’s just – in the most literal sense – another day of trying to pull a minor miracle in insufficient time, after all.)

#marvel au #mine #fanfiction #long post #'which part of mcu timeline does this even correspond to' don't ask questions that neither of us know the answer to #'are you just bringing timeloops into everything because you like them' the answer to this on the other hand is known to be Yes #honestly my brain *did* almost default to rocks fall (almost) everyone dies as fitting of bad end #but the other part of my brain still losing it over that one guardian timeloop fic got up and knocked very politely so. here we are #i'm posting this without even bothering to reread it once so don't think about any of it too hard #this is barely even recognisable as detco fic by this point and that's how you know i am living my best life

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musicallisto · 3 years

Text

Ψ — 𝐜𝐨́𝐦𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫; (leo valdez x reader)

@fives-cup-of-coffee requested: Hi can I please get Leo Valdez (Hoo) + number 142? Tysm,bb ! Love your blog💗💗 song: morat - cómo te atreves | 𝄞

summary: In which Leo Valdez was having a good day. That is, of course, until you showed up.

word count: 1.9k author notes: at first I wanted to make it light-hearted & comical as the song would suggest and then it progressively got more serious and angstier and then I just have no idea where it went lol I hate it here. I hope you like this! + stan Morat they’re amazing warnings: there’s like one bad word in Spanish and I hope it’s not too Spaniard bc I looked everywhere for a Mexican equivalent of “cagüendios” asdjdj Mexicans please correct me

𝐋𝐄𝐎 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐙 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 have had the boldness of saying he was having a good day. No bloodthirsty monster nor megalomaniac Titan had decided to take over the world or rip him to pieces; he hadn’t had to dodge a meteor or plunge into the heart of a volcano; and to top it all off, he had not heard Percy sing once.

No, really, despite the cold, biting wind that froze the February morning, Leo Valdez was having a good day.

That is, of course, until you showed up.

Maybe it was his wind-swept curls blocking his eyes, maybe it was the whirring of Festus’ mechanical breathing under his fingertips, maybe it was the total peace of mind that inhabited him as he whistled to himself, but he had been impervious to his surroundings, surrendered to the memory of his aerial stroll with Calypso earlier in the morning, completely devoted to patching the dragon’s attrition up, so much so that he hadn’t heard you approaching at all. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting your visit after this many years, especially not on a cold morning in the woods of Long Island.

“Leo?”

“Woah, buddy, your clicks are starting to sound more and more like a real human voice. I might have to celebrate your first word soon.”

“Leo Valdez, behind you.”

He whirled around, and stupidly enough, the first thought that went through his mind was disappointment—so Festus wasn’t learning human communication after all, despite his best efforts. But when Leo pushed the hair out of his face and devised for the first time in four years your slightly embarrassed figure, hands buried in your pockets and abashed smile on your face, he couldn’t stop his jaw and heart from dropping.

So the suspect, gravelly grunt he had heard just before was not Festus protesting—duly noted. It was you, impatiently—and rather awkwardly—scratching your throat to catch his attention... You! After four years!

“Y/N?” he called out, and the way your name rolled off his tongue, with incredulity yet ease, was enough to remind you of how familiar his voice had once been.

“In the flesh. Ta-da,” you tentatively exclaimed, unsure about whether you should step toward him.

Leo seemed just as lost and confused as you were, eyeing you without truly processing it. No one, nothing had ever prepared him to face the return of someone he’d loved so dearly after losing them for so long. No prophecy had foretold any of this, no mischievous god had ever sent a cryptic message in a dream or smoke patterns. One day he had more or less started to accept the unshakeable hole you had dug in his heart when you left, and that he had tried to fill up as well as he could with new memories and songs and adventures — and the next you were waltzing back into his life as though he hadn’t spent the better part of four years struggling to forget you?

He took a small step forward without realizing it, but his body language read all but cordiality. A bubble of irritation started to form in the pit of his stomach and throat; he had started to fidget with his adjustable spanner.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Behind him, Festus grated, a low and rumbling sound like still water stirring upon the approach of a storm. Leo swore he heard his heartbeats echoed in the loyal beast’s enormous ribcage.

“What do you want from me, Y/N? Haven’t you done enough?”

Oh, you had done more than enough. When you were friends and he had first fallen for you — you had mended his broken heart, stayed by his side as everyone went on to celebrate life and renewal and he was stuck in the downpour that Calypso’s first departure had wreaked. That was more than enough. When you were just a little more than friends and he had started to learn anew, step by step, what it meant to love, and first and foremost let himself be loved — you had been patient and kind, you had walked hand in hand with him on the road to healing, never pushing him to go further than he could. That was more than enough. When you were definitely more than friends, and he had found himself falling deeper in love with you with each passing day — you had loved him all the same, or so you promised, and made his every day an adventure and a safe embrace like no other. That was more than he ever deserved.

When you had left without warning for some foreign place on the other side of the world, leaving him only a note and a handful of colored glass shards, never to give a sign of life in four years...

That was more than enough.

You had dared to take one step forward, palms outstretched as if you were calming a wild animal. A frenzy of conflicting flames bubbled in Leo’s stomach — you were a stranger now to him, and he was once again happy with Calypso. Then why did he get the overwhelming urge to jump into your arms and rediscover the sweetness of your embrace?

“I’m so sorry, Leo, I never wanted to leave, I truly didn’t, but you have to understand —”

“Understand what? That whatever business you had to attend to was more important than me? That I meant so little to you that you just left me a post-it note with a sad smiley face on it and never came back? You didn’t send a word in four years! I bet you didn’t even think about me on February 29th!”

“Actually I left in April, but —”

“Can you imagine how hard it was for me to get over you? To forget you? No, scratch that—I haven’t forgotten you, no matter how hard I try to convince myself. But I was doing just fine, and you have a whole lotta nerve coming back now that I’m finally happy without you! ¡Pues huevos! ¡Al carajo todo esto!”

And he went on and on in a string of all the curses he’d remembered from when his mother argued on the phone, his cheeks reddening progressively, his breath faltering.

You stayed immobile, just an arms’ length apart from him until he had spewed out everything he’d carried for years. His chest trembled, shuddering at all the dust and waste it had swept under the rug, now displayed in full light before him; and you ached for him, underneath your cool composure, you truly did, just as you had ached yourself when you had left. How could you not? Leo had been light and warmth and fire and a comforting smell of smoke and gasoline and coffee-stained fingertips on your cheek and your neck... and most of all, the heart you would least have wanted to break.

“Leo...”

You murmured his name a few more times, until he looked up at you. Oh, that face, red and weepy and distorted by rage and overwhelm! How you hated it in those moments, like a cheap mask over a Roman statue!

“Leo, I’m so sorry. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, but trust me, I would never have done that if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“What was, Y/N? What was more important than me?”

“I... I can’t tell you, Leo. I would if I could, but — “

“Of course! Even after four years, you’re still so full of secrets!”

“Jupiter told me not to say anything. To anyone.”

Leo’s parted lips, already fuming with more witty remarks, closed shut, and his chocolate eyes widened. The god of gods’ name was always enough to temper even the most boisterous of heroes’ fumes of anger, but not Leo’s erratic heart.

“Jupiter?”

“I got a mission from the gods. That’s why I left. To Rome. But they made me swear I didn’t say anything... not even an excuse.”

Leo swallowed, with difficulty, as if the information was a toxic flame permeating his throat. Before he could even register it, you continued, breathing deeply to steady your breathing:

“I owe you more than an apology... an explanation, at least. If you want to hear it... meet me in the woods at the gate of Camp Half-Blood at sundown. I’d understand if you didn’t come, but... just know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

For a split second, you were traversed by the thought, almost automatic, of leaning over to kiss Leo’s cheek, just like you had done it thousands of times to wish him goodbye; but you cut your impulses fast enough, only staring at his eyes for a few long minutes of dumbfounded silence before you turned on your heels and left.

In a single blink, the wind had caught your silhouette and carried it into the shadows of the trees.

And Leo stood there, colder than he would have admitted, motionless and partly oblivious to Festus’ impatient whirring over his shoulder. His chest rose and fell rapidly, quicker than the leaves rustling in the breeze; it had dried in his eyes too much for any tears to well up, despite the painful pang spreading in his chest. Had it not been for the weight in his ribcage, he could’ve believed you were but a ghost in the forest...

When you had left him without a word nor even a glimpse of a smile, Jason had admonished him to be brave and stronger than whatever misery you had inflicted; to not let any of your little games gnaw at his head and drive him wild. It was how Jason had always dealt with heartbreak and hardship because he was built of cold marble and electric stone; but despite Leo’s best efforts to follow his advice, he was Hephaestus’s son. Neither of them was exactly known for their fine handling of matters of the heart...

He had believed his inalterable strength would come back to him with Calypso. It was an endless ebb and flow between the two of you, each consoling him after the other left and tore a little piece of his heart. She had promised she’d be better — better than you, or than herself the first time around, he didn’t know, but he had believed her all the same.

But maybe what Leo had mistakenly taken for strength when he laughed himself to death with Calypso and captured her entirely with his lips, might have been solely absence. He had always had a knack for following in your steps... just like you had slipped from his embrace without a word, he had disappeared from himself imperceptibly.

Maybe he loved Calypso, truly and sincerely... but not in the way that allowed him to find himself.

Well, to hell with courage, with Jason’s heroic virtue and rectitude. Leo was realizing just then that the reason he clung so desperately to your memory was that he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet, and if it made him a coward, he accepted the fate with open arms.

“Come on, buddy,” Leo exhaled, a little shaky still. “Let’s get you patched up before sundown.”

Maybe it was a good day after all.

Or just a less-than-awful one at the very least.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee @softeninglooks (all my writing) / @lxncelot (Riordanverse)

#mywriting #riordanverse #pjo #hoo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #leo valdez #pjo imagine #hoo imagine #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one-shot #leo valdez x reader #fives-cup-of-coffee

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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Fell in Love in Scotland Pt. 2

Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Warnings: ptsd/trauma related to war; mentions of nightmares; angst; cursing; pining; slow burn; 18+ in later parts (maybe? not sure yet)

Summary: After finding about the new Captain America, the reader goes to Louisiana to visit Sam.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: So I know this isn’t on my list of things I *should* be working on, but I had this idea today and I had to get it down! This is only going to be 2-3 parts. (Edit: 3 parts!) This is my first time writing for Sam!

I’m taking a small break from working on my other works in progress to focus on getting out as much Sam content as a can before Sam’s (and my) bday on the 14th! Not sure how much I’ll be able to write but that is my hope!

My biggest flex at the moment is sharing a bday with Sam.

This references Civil War, Endgame and Infinity War events in flashbacks but you know, canon is a thing I like to just maneuver around so I’m sorry if there are many major inaccuracies!

This is unedited and please let me know if I missed anything that should be included as a warning.

Taglist is in my bio

The safe house in Scotland was small. A little cottage hidden away in the countryside. Absolutely beautiful, if not for the looming reminders of why you were there in the first place.

You didn’t handle laying low well. You didn’t like not doing anything. Your resolve for handling your thoughts, your problems had always been to just push them aside. Focus your energy on anything but what would pull you down. You couldn’t allow yourself to just exist. Time stopped and there was no fight to be fought, and you hated it.

Fortunately, you were with people who understood. Sam and Steve especially. It didn’t take long for Sam to work his way in. He understood you, and he related to you. Neither one of you really needed to acknowledge it. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you which made it all feel so seamless.

You were restless, and nights were always the worst. You’d spend several hours tossing in turning on your mattress, unable to get comfortable. You’d bring your pillow and sheet with you onto the floor of your room, and if you were lucky enough to fall asleep, you’d wake up after only a few hours. Sometimes you’d remember the nightmares vividly, other times it was just the feelings that lingered.

Most nights, you’d wait it out in your room watching the clock until it was early enough to “get out of bed.” So, you’d wait until the red numbers on the screen turned to 4am and then you’d sneak your way downstairs to the kitchen or the living room, so you didn’t need to face the idea of sleep.

After a few weeks, Sam caught on to your routine. He would join you in the mornings, help you make coffee and talk about nothing. Just helping you keep your mind off the things that bothered you. He looked as tired as you, and you would insist on him getting more sleep. But Sam never made you go through any of the hard days on your own.

“You get used to it,” he’d say, understanding what you were going through better than anybody.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit, curled up in a ball on the sofa, the warm mug of coffee Sam made cradled tightly in your hands. The curtains are pulled open, and you stare out the window to your right, watching the sun slowly coming up.

“You should try sleeping in your bed again,” he suggests. You’d recently promoted yourself from sleeping on the floor to the couch. Baby steps. You nod, knowing he’s right.

You get a rental car the next morning and you drive to the address Sam texted you. You’re greeted immediately by two rowdy young boys, asking you if you’re an Avenger like their Uncle Sam. He’s literally Uncle Sam. How could he think he didn’t deserve the shield? Well, you know why. But the coincidence is too funny not to bring up to him once all of this is resolved.

Each of them grabbed you by an arm and drag you to the backyard. You chuckle, following their lead as they ask you a million questions. They call out to Sam when he is in view and he smiles when he sees you. Your heart flips.

“They bothering you?” he asks and you shake your head.

“No, they’re great,” you beam watching them run off.

“You look good,” he compliments you, and you feel like jelly. “You’re sleeping?” Oh.

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part,” you reply, “So do you.” You can’t miss the smile on his face. “So, uh, have you heard from Bucky?”

“I text him all the time, trying to check in, but no nothing. You?”

You shake your head. “I stopped trying,” you admit, “but I can’t blame him. He really doesn’t know me.”

“He’ll come around,” he reasons, trying to be optimistic. “So, I want to show you the boat?”

“You have a boat?” you chuckle, and he grins, nodding like a little kid.

“35-foot yacht,” he teases.

“Of course,” you smile.

It was only just noon when you both arrived at the docks. The air felt crisper, and the sun felt phenomenal on your shoulders. It wasn’t until you were outside in weather like this that you realized how often you opted to stay hidden away in your apartment. The atmosphere just felt more alive, and the air in your lungs felt almost cleansing.

You sat across from Sam on the bow of the boat, your legs dangling over the side. You were sitting close enough to him that your thighs touched, and you were trying your hardest to ignore the feeling. You just felt warm, and you felt more relaxed than you had been since you’d last seen him.

“I just need to ask,” Sam asks, cutting through both of your laughter. You really had spent the day so far just reminiscing, talking about nothing really. “Did you and Cap- were you guys…?”

“Oh god no,” you choke quickly, you stifle another laugh, “Steve was just a really great friend. No nothing like that. I would go to the end of the earth and back for Steve… but no, I didn’t have feelings for him that way.”

“I had thought maybe at one point something was going on there,” he shrugs. Is he serious?

“Never,” you reiterate.

Sleeping in a bed became easier, but the nightmares were something that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Many times, it would be late in the night and you’d be gently shaken awake. Sam would be kneeling next to your bed, trying to wake you up.

“Please stay,” you’d ask, eyes glossed over and your skin stained with tears. He could never say no. You’d scoot over and he’d climb in and settle next to you. It wasn’t even anything romantic. You didn’t cuddle or invade his space. You just needed to feel him next to you, and you’d be able to sleep. The cycle continued for a long while until you were able to sleep through the night without the haunting dreams.

But you missed waking up with him there.

“You need to tell him,” Steve would insist, and you’d shut down the idea every single time.

“No, I can’t,” you’d insist. The only person who knew how you felt was Steve. You hadn’t even told him; he just knew you too well.

“You’re making yourself miserable,” he’d elaborate, “you deserve a little happiness- Sam deserves happiness. He wants you too.”

“Happiness? With me?” you snort, “Steve, think about me, my past- everything I carry around with me. You know as well as I do, I can’t infect him with that when he has his own issues. We’re all too broken- he deserves better.”

“You don’t to be the one to decide that for him,” he counters. “What Sam deserves is the truth.”

“I know, I know!” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself and you can’t look at Steve. “Telling him how I feel complicates things to much. I can’t risk it.”

“Even if he feels the same way?”

“Especially if he feels the same way.”

You rest back on your palms, close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the direction of the sun. Your mind wanders to Steve, and how much you miss him. You were oftentimes too thick headed to take any of his advice but it was something you hadn’t realized you needed.

You decide to just throw out all your apprehension. And just take the advice from Steve you should’ve taken years ago. The timing is perfect. The universe is screaming at you to just tell him.

“I gave up the shield because I didn’t think anyone could follow Steve,” he admits, “I didn’t think I could fill the role- no one can, or maybe no one should.”

“You’re the only person who can, Sam,” you say, looking back over to him.

“When I gave it up, I didn’t think it would be given to someone else. I donated it- to keep it with the rest of what we have left of him. God- if I had known…”

“I watched on television when you donated it, Sam,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Symbols are nothing without the men and women that give them meaning… I wish you saw yourself the way Steve did- the way I do…”

“That’s not fair…”

“You said we need new heroes for the times we’re in. Sam- the world needs a new Captain America. And you know as well as I do, that man on TV they pushed out there isn’t it.”

“It’s not me, either,” he says, looking down at the water, the reflection of the two of you rippled and distorted.

“I wish you could see how much that isn’t true,” you admit, “I also- I also wish I was more like you… You’re so good at talking to me… people like us and Steve. You show people their value and their worth, and you’re just so fiercely loyal it’s almost annoying. And I suck at that, I’m a terrible communicator, and I can’t vocalize how much you’re worth, and how much you deserve the shield. Feelings are just too overwhelming and I can’t focus them into anything coherent. And you right now need what you give others just so freely, and you’re stuck with me… I know I’m not Steve, and I as much as I try to convince you the decision is yours, but you need to know that you are the only person who can be our new Captain… Steve wasn’t wrong about you, and I just… I’m in your corner.”

“(Y/N) …”

It was safe in Scotland. Quiet, secluded. Time wasn’t looming over you. There was nothing there that was any imminent threat except your own demons that you carried with you. You had a lot of regrets, past mistakes that haunted you whenever you slowed down. It’s why when you left the air force, you joined SHIELD. You were like Steve, kindred spirits plagued by the after effects of war and both of you resolved to fighting rather than be left to your own devises.

Not like Sam. Sam put his focus into helping others. Selfless, and understanding, he was always there. He was thoughtful with what he chose to fight for, which is something you greatly admired. He was morals and loyalty, and everything that made a great man. He was a friend first, and a fighter second.

Which is such a rare quality that you wished you could tell him you noticed.

Steve got very into crossword puzzles. He found a box up in the attic tucked away of old books from whoever used to live here. He’d sit on the armchair in the living room, pencil in hand and try his best to fill in what he knew. He ended up heavily relying on you and Sam to fill in the references he didn’t know.

You and Sam would be on the couch, you tucked into his side, watching television or sometimes you’d both read, old magazines or anything you could find for entertainment. One night you both sat on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table with an incomplete deck of cards playing Double Solitaire, and Steve would occasionally vocalize a clue he was stuck on.

“Drummer of Duran Duran. Blank Taylor. Five letters,” Steve said, not looking up from the flimsy book.

“Roger Taylor,” Sam answered aimlessly, tapping the card in his hand to his chin as his eyes scanned the columns of cards.

A few minutes of silence follow before Steve speaks again.

“1996 Looney Toons film starring Michael Jordan. Eight letters.”

“Space Jam,” you smirk, and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh. You want to ask him what the theme is for the puzzle he’s working on but you decide against it. You don’t want to embarrass him.

It felt really silly. The three of you, all ex-military crime fighters on the run, couped up together in this tiny living room, playing cards and helping Captain America with a pop culture crossword. Maybe it just felt weird because it was so normal.

You’re sweating. You didn’t realize it until just now. The dampness of the underarms of your t-shirt was all you could focus on. Why were you so nervous? Because again, the universe if giving you every single sign to just tell him. Yell it out so loud it echoes back to you across the water. Tell him. Tell him everything.

Every harbored fantasy of being with him. Tell him how much he means to you and how sorry you are that your fears drive you away from him. He feels so strong, and stoic next to you, it’s making your head spin and you feel like your brain is leaving your body behind. He’s so understanding and patient, and here you are, again, leaving him on another cliff hanger.

“Sam, I need to tell you something.”

No going back now.

Taglist:

@greeneyedblondie44 @witchybarb @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @sassy-kassaay @aynanasstuff @claudiaatje @lieswithoutfairytales @ttalisa @januarystears

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson fanfiction #justsamwilson #falcon #slow burn #friends to lovers #anthony mackie characters #mcu imagine

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apparitionism · 3 years

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Why 2

To @mysensitiveside , I promise I’m working on completing your gift with all due speed and conviction, and to prove it, here is another small piece of the tale. I’m getting closer to the end (in increments), close and closer. And, speaking of close and closer, you’ll find that Myka and Helena are too... this picks up right where part 1 of this AU tale left off, with Myka hoping in a park.

Why 2

Myka scanned the park. She told herself—and yet tried not to tell herself—that if she had to walk alone this week, that would be a definitive sign. Clarity: they weren’t coming back.

“You aren’t a walker,” she said aloud. You weren’t a walker, hope reprimanded.

Could she resign herself to continuing to perform this signifying ritual?

As she began walking, the answer became clear... yes. She could, and she would, and walking wasn’t much, as far as rituals went, but it beat going home at midday for a solitary sandwich. No one was going to appear in her apartment, regardless of how much faith she manifested. In a park, though, anything could happen.

Anything could happen... but nothing did happen, not that day, other than an extremely unsociable walk.

Nothing happened the next week either, other than her developing an annoying in-the-moment habit of counting her steps in her head. It distorted the time, focusing it, bending. How long did one hundred feel? One thousand? How long did each of these interminable waiting weeks feel?

Myka seriously considered not going the next weekend, hope aside. Wintry, overcast mid-February Saturdays were made for staying indoors, weren’t they? Staying indoors and getting reacquainted with your not-a-walker self.

Still: hope.

She couldn’t, in the end, reckon with reverting to that self. Doing so seemed not just unhopeful, but cowardly. So she went to the park—unfortunately forgetting her gloves, but she leaned into the cold: perversely welcoming it, marking and measuring the slow leach of feeling from her hands. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to DO THIS. She walked for longer than she ever had, freezing, freezing, as if she were a medieval monk who knew in his soul-bones that the only sure path to rewards in heaven was suffering on earth and he was by God and everything else going to make that torment happen.

And maybe it was because of the cold, or her willingness to endure it, or her having at last given up any idea of giving up... but she saw first a figure that resolved, as it approached, into a woman in a long, dark coat, one that rhymed with long-dark hair. Then Myka’s eyes dropped to behold a trotting, fuzzed blur of canine, and she wanted to bark, bark and bark and bark and bark, but instead she walked, with steps as measured as she could manage, toward them.

As they neared, Myka couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Helena, lest she betray something inappropriate—something Helena might experience as dangerous—so she knelt in front of the dog who was not Leuko, but Monty. She’d been schooling herself, as far as she was able, to ensure that if she ever got the chance again, she would call him by his real name. And she did say then, out loud, “Monty.” She was now grateful for having forgotten her gloves, for being able to warm her hands against and within his coat. He snugged his body up against her bent legs, and Myka was reborn. If this was the extent of the reward she received, as a result of her ritual walks? Not enough... but enough.

From above: “You haven’t called him that before,” said the softer, now-familiar version of the voice that had rung out so loud, so many weeks ago. Myka didn’t know what to say, other than “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry as well” were the next words out of Helena’s mouth.

“For?” Myka asked, still not looking up.

She was terrified that Helena would say, very politely, that she was sorry to report that this was the end, that the walks would really truly be over, that she couldn’t continue to do this pointless, purposeless thing. Because what if hope was, after all, a zero-sum game? Helena had got her Monty back; her hope had been rewarded. Someone else’s hope would then need to be frustrated. Zero-sum.

“Let’s walk,” Helena said.

They did. Slowly, though—even not-Leuko-but-Monty now seemed subdued, in the cold fold of this day. Quietly but insistently, Myka’s fingers began to numb again.

“I haven’t told you what happened with Sam,” Helena said at last. Slow. As if she too were measuring, marking.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Myka said.

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t. Let’s just walk. Or I could tell you about leukotrienes. They’re inflammatory communicators, and the most important thing to know is—”

“But I need to.”

“Okay,” Myka said, bracing herself.

“Because these past Saturdays. I’ve been rethinking.”

Would she sound as inscrutable if she didn’t have an English accent? “You have?” Myka asked, but she couldn’t bring herself to add “Rethinking what?”

“You named Monty for a peptide. I found that... moving.”

That didn’t seem like rethinking. “You shouldn’t,” Myka said. “It’s just a peptide. I liked the way it sounded.” She shrugged. “It should have been a pretty peptide.”

Helena tilted her head in a way Myka hadn’t been privileged to observe before. “Are there pretty peptides?”

“That depends on whom you ask,” Myka told her, because it was the truth.

“I suppose the same could be said about what happened.”

“No,” Myka said, involuntarily. Because that could not be the truth.

“If you were to ask him,” Helena said, as cold as the day, “he would most likely say I was insufficiently responsive to his advances.”

“I would rather ask you.”

“I failed to protect Monty from the consequences of my being perceived as insufficiently responsive to his advances.” Still cold. Away from what had happened, but also away from the here and now.

Trying to bring her to now, to give at least a little warmth, Myka said, “If I’d known, I would have stolen him from Sam. And brought him that minute back to you.”

“I know. I genuinely do know.” A thaw, of sorts. “Monty does too.”

Myka looked at not-Leuko-but-Monty. Even on this heavy day, the sight lightened her. The photo of him on her phone, which she had resisted making her home screen but had pulled up a vast number of times, did him insufficient justice. “The only thing I genuinely know is that he’s so pretty. Abigail said it, when she first saw a picture of him, and I know you know, and of course there’s Elizabeth Taylor, but he really is just so pretty.”

They walked, step after cold step along the path. Then: “So are you,” Helena said.

Did she mean it? That was... well, “disconcerting” was too weak a word. “No, no,” Myka strained to clarify, “that’s what I’ve been thinking about you.” That was not what she’d intended to say. Fix it, fix it. “I mean, you and he are more suited.” That was better. “More than he and I ever were. Ever could have been.” Straining to prove that she knew what was real: that not-Leuko-but-Monty did belong, completely, with Helena. And that neither of them should ever have had to suffer the loss of the other.

Helena said, “I’d like to imagine I’m even more suited to Elizabeth Taylor.” It was sweet, even playful, and Myka ached, even as Elizabeth Taylor’s brother turned a “really?” gaze on Helena. “Don’t start,” she told him, then said to Myka, “but you’re changing the subject.”

“Am I?” But of course she was, because what Helena said made no sense. In a new, even more unparseable way than usual, it made no sense.

Helena took pity on her, as far as subject changes went. “I told you I was sorry,” she said.

“What are you sorry for?” Because now, certainly: never and nothing. Myka would not burden Helena. Obligation, trouble—no, no, no.

“For taking time without explanation. It was inconsiderate. But I wanted to make sure I wasn’t confused. About... anything.”

At that, Myka laughed. “Why would you ever apologize for not wanting to be confused? My entire life I’ve been trying to get clarity on just about everything. And of course speaking of not being clear, I thought your dog was mine, which had to be the most—”

But then, astonishingly, she was being kissed, cold lips to cold lips. A touch, a press, a dreamy linger.

Had she known that such a thing would be perfection? Possibly, in her secret heart, but now here it was—outside that secret—in the world and real, soft, pretty; softer and prettier even than Leuko, or Monty, or whatever his name was in her head now, because nothing was making any sense at all, and “I’m sorry,” she now felt she ought to tell him, but it was true, the soft, the pretty, the unprecedented: Helena was kissing her, and she was kissing back, warm against the cold, warm because of the cold, warm never mind the cold, because this was at last what Myka had never imagined understanding as something that could banish forever any cold.

As they broke apart, Myka held her breath—that kiss had unrolled for her the full map of her wants, but how had Helena meant it? Had Myka made a mistake by responding? It might have been an “are you like Sam” test, and if she had failed...

Helena held her eyes closed for a moment, prolonging Myka’s agony. Then she opened her eyes. She smiled and said, “The first night of the Westminster Kennel Club dog show is three days from now. Would you like to watch it with me?”

How many times could Myka be reborn in the space of one walk? “Yes,” she said, immediately.

“I can’t promise you Shelley Winters.”

Was that supposed to have changed her answer? Myka, still in the dazzle of the kiss, said, “I don’t even know what the whatever you called it dog show is.” She suspected she would live from now on the dazzle of that kiss.

“The things you will learn,” Helena said. “Isn’t that right, Monty?”

He was sitting, waiting. And then, with a look back and up at both of them, he pulled strongly against the leash, conveying that whatever their putatively compelling interaction had been, it had caused them to neglect their obligation to attend to him in a correct manner.

The rest of the walk was a joy, during which they did so attend—although, admittedly, Myka did that while shooting different, newly attentive glances in Helena’s direction. And while catching Helena’s eyes darting toward her in what seemed, so miraculously, to be the same way.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Why #part 2 #B&W Holiday Gift Exchange #bering and wells gift exchange #bering and wells exchange #mysensitiveside

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a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit · 3 years

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Book Review: You Deserve Each Other by Sarah Hogle

So...this ended up being much more of an offbeat romance than I was anticipating! The originality here was inspired, entertaining in a way that paid off eventually, so I'm not complaining but STILL I cannot let this observation slide: the first hundred pages or so left me completely boggled as a reader. Irritated even. I wanted to scream at the romance situation so many times! I couldn't understand how or why two people who were as miserable together as Naomi and Nicholas seemed to be would be in a relationship together. Let alone be engaged to be married. They both seemed to loathe the idea! Hating not only the life they were leading as a couple but each other, too. In that regard, You Deserve Each Other was as backwards a love story as love stories can get--with an affianced couple hell bent on needling, torturing, and sabotaging each other and their impending "I do's." It reminded me a little of To Have and To Hoax by Martha Waters in that respect. Still, nobody can encompass a love-to-hate-to-love trope quite like Nicholas and Naomi. I won't lie, I had to strap myself in because their relationship was bumpy and loaded as hell. (So having her name their secluded, woodsy home Disaster was fitting.) Disastrous as their dynamic could be at times, I couldn't help but laugh at their elaborate schemes. Even when their behavior was beyond wicked. They were vicious, sarcastic, egotistical, borderline unlikable characters...yet compelling and sympathetic people with relatable struggles all the same. It was a crazy combination that shouldn't have worked but did. I can't explain it better than that. The ridiculous lengths these two took to get the upper hand were insane, though! Downright immature and selfish at times. They weren't communicating, weren't listening, and weren't being understanding. Nick's demanding overbearing mother, Deborah, didn't help things along, either. (She made Emily Gilmore look like a saint in comparison, and that woman is Chanel No. 5 scary!) Worse, neither knew what the other wanted nor needed. However, all of that did change substantially over time once Nick and Naomi let their masks slip free. Once they finally stopped pretending with each other. It was that slow erosion of facade, revealing the realness of personhood and vulnerability underneath, however, which gave this book its unique sparkle. And allowed me to root for the main couple at the end of it all. The most interesting thing about this book for me was this, though: appearances can be deceiving. It took me a while to realize the story was being told by an unreliable narrator. (In my opinion, anyway.) Readers were only privy to Naoimi's state of things and it soon became obvious that her point of view was narrow. Limited. Even a bit distorted. Her insecurities about herself, particularly with regards to her career and how she was weary of not receiving the support/understanding she needed from her fiancé about it, marred her interpretation of his intentions. His actual feelings. I didn't recognize the effort he'd been putting into saving their relationship until she did. It hit like an epiphany, which was well done. I genuinely thought Nicholas and Naomi despised each other at the beginning (and, hey, maybe there were times they only thought they cared about eighteen percent or so) but the thing is they didn't. Love was under the surface the whole time. The problem was that when they first met they weren't being authentic. So, later, two years after the honeymoon phase ended, we had two people who were forced to remove their Everything Is Great pretense and become acquainted with reality. With their true selves. Only then could they grow back together--stronger, better, healthier than before. Love is never all sunshine and roses. It's about honesty and openness. It's about confronting problems, making compromises, accounting for the other person's feelings, being heard, believing you're seen and wanted. These are the things that Nick and Naomi learn to navigate in their relationship over the course of the novel, and if you

stick with it despite the initial distance between them, the immaturity, then I think you'll find their evolution to be all the more wonderful for it. A witty, creative, and engaging debut all around! A reverse whirlwind, if there can be such a thing in romance. (If there can be, Hogle slamdunked it.) Just know your sides will be aching from laughter by the time you finish. 3.5/5 stars

**Goodreads

#ashlee bree's book reviews #you deserve each other #contemporary #romance #chick lit #recs: ashlee approved!#read march 2021 #bookblr #book reviews

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

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Jersey on my mind (part 38)

A faint, warm breeze caresses Mila’s face as she and Juri walk along the quiet street, running alongside the newly built wall. A few of the Alexandrian men are working on the final piece, funnily enough nearby the church that caused it to break. It’s been two months since the wall collapsed now, or at least that’s what she thinks. Mila looks at the new construction as she and Juri passes, feeling a sense of calm throughout her soul as her eyes sweep over the repaired structure that has also been expanded; a part of Deanna’s original plan for the community. On the piece of the wall that stood by the invasion, next to the small graveyard, someone has written the name of those who have perished; loved ones, friends, family and those who became family after the outbreak. It’s a nice memorial site, a quiet corner of the community. Since that day, when the walkers poured into Alexandria, everything has gone back to a somewhat normal state.

It’s a hot mid-summer’s day, the sky is blue and the clouds look extra fluffy. Juri points towards them and gestures as if he squeezed an invisible marshmallow between his soft little fingers.

“Yeah they look tasty.” Mila smiles and squints up towards the floating clouds cruising by without a hurry. “What about-” Softly, she pinches Juri’s button nose. “I try to find us some yummy marshmallows for a barbecue when I get back, huh?”

With glittering eyes Juri nods and hugs her tightly; obviously he is positive about the idea.

“Then it’s a date.” Mila chuckles and hugs Juri back, before putting him down on the ground. “Ufh, you are getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.”

With a proud, sunny face Juri stretches, he’s certainly not a little guy anymore; in Mila’s eyes, paradoxically, he’s still her little baby, while she’s also well aware that he’s turning four in a few months. Where the heck did the years between infancy and two go? With a smile, she thinks of Maggie and what adventure awaits her and Glenn in the years to come. At least they have each other, a small consolation when the world is constantly on the brink of doom.

“Since you’re a big boy now, you’re going to teach Maggie’s baby a lot of important things. Like Carl does with you and Judith.” Mila says and takes Juri’s hand. “You think you can do that?”

Juri nods, with eyes that take the task very seriously. He adores Carl like an older brother and being addressed as a big boy, doing ‘Carl-stuff’, is everything he’s ever wanted. Juri gestures with his free hand and makes a finger walk in the air; of course he will teach the new baby to walk. But when he lets go of Mila’s hand, to show that he’s going to teach the baby to tie its shoes, Mila raises her left eyebrow.

“Well, I think we have to practice that one a little bit, Malysh.” Mila says.

Stubbornly, Juri signals that he’s already trying to learn, or rather states, very stubborn, that Daryl should teach him. He’s done it before, Juri gestures with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Mila smiles. “Sure, I bet he’s good at it. What’s left for me then? I’m just gonna sit by and watch?”

By putting his hands together in front of him and pointing his index fingers straight ahead, Juri gestures a finger-gun. He narrows one eye and pretends to aim and fire. He points at her with a smile, clarifies that she’s best at shooting, therefore she should teach him.

“Spasibo, malysh.” She winks at Juri. “Not quite yet, though. But I promise you, I will.”

Further down the street, both of them catch sight of Daryl and Denise. They part, Denise walks away from them and Daryl turns and starts to walk in their direction. Mila waves at him and Juri starts to run as fast as his short legs possibly can towards their favorite archer. Despite his packing, a backpack and the crossbow, Daryl receives Juri when he reaches him; he lifts him up in the air on straight, strong arms, making Juri’s blonde hair dance around his angelic face. The silent laugh that spreads on his face makes Mila’s heart swell with joy. She had never thought that the surly archer would melt completely because of a, certainly charming, mute toddler; her little ray of sunshine. He even smiles as he lifts Juri into the air. Surely a sight for sore eyes, she thinks as they meet in the middle of the street.

“Ya’ ready?” Daryl greets her as he puts Juri down. “We’re heading out now.”

“All done.” She replies, notices a piece of paper in Daryl’s hand. A shopping list? “That’s a nice little list you got there.” Mila peeks over the edge of the slightly crinkly paper, that looks like it’s been passed around the entire community. “Food, gas, some medicine, more medicine… another medicine-” She frowns her eyebrows. “Orange soda?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Denise wanted to surprise Tara.”

“That’s nice.” Mila nods.

It was decided last night that Tara and Heath would go on a longer supply run. Daryl was asked to follow, but declined. Mila suspected that it was because of her; she’s been a bit under the weather the last couple of days; she’s been tired and just a bit feeble, felt nauseated. Carol was sure it was just her female hormones acting out, which could very well be a possibility. Tracking a period during the apocalypse wasn’t high on her ‘to do’-list, so she brushed it off. Daryl didn’t say anything about the reason for his decision, but Mila guessed that he didn’t feel like leaving her behind, even though she’s neither sick or… well, anything really. Just a bit tired. Instead, it was decided that Daryl and Rick would go on a supply run. Mila offered to come along; Daryl couldn’t possibly stop her from following, so it was settled that she’d tag along.

They walk to the dusty Chrysler sedan together. Rick’s already in place, assuring that his gun is loaded and attached properly to his belt when they arrive.

“Mornin’.” He greets them with a nod; Once a cop, always a cop. The only thing missing is the wide-brimmed hat. “Ready to go?”

Both of them nod and Daryl hands Rick the list of supplies.

“Ya’ see anything you miss?” He asks.

Rick glances through the list quickly.

“We’re outta’ toothpaste.” He states and lifts his eyes to them, waving the note between his fingers. “Keep an eye open for spearmint and baking soda. Michonne’s orders.”

“Got it.” Mila turns to Juri and squats in front of him. “Okay, be nice to Carol and the others, don’t run away.”

With a serious look, Juri reminds her of the promise of marshmallows.

“I’ll remember.” Mila promises and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There, davay.” She gets up from the ground as Juri turns and runs over to the porch, climbs the stairs and gets into the house to find Carol.

They get in the car, Rick and Daryl in the front seat and Mila in the back seat. She puts her handgun and backpack in the seat next to her and Rick rolls over to the gates, where Eugene’s about to push it open for them. On the other side, pierced on a couple of rebar attached to a broken car, a couple of walkers are trying their best to reach for them with their worn, boney arms, all in vain.

Eugene strutts over to the passenger seat of the car and leans into the open window. The mullet looks more solid than ever as he hands Daryl another note. “I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area.” He says in the heavy Texan accent Mila finds incredibly fascinating. “Even if they’ve been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”

No one says anything. Mila rests her elbows on the backs of the driver’s and passenger seats and leans in so her head sticks out in between the two men in the front.

”I'm talking standability-” Eugene continues. “Drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns.” He pauses. “Think about it.”

”Gosh I could listen to him forever.” Mila says and looks at Rick. “Hunky-dunky.” She repeats in an as good as it gets Texan accent, while meeting Eugene’s eyes.

“All right.”

The car drives out through the gate, Rick accelerates and they leave Alexandria behind.

“I’m having a good feeling ‘bout today.” Rick says cheerful.

“Really?” Mila replies.

“Just-” Rick shrugs. “You know- You just feel it. Today’s the day. We're gonna find food, maybe some people. The law of averages has gotta catch up.”

“We ain’t seen nobody for weeks.” Daryl notes. “Maybe we ain’t gonna find nobody.”

“That’s sunny.” Mila says, strokes his bare arm with her fingertips. “Let’s cheer this bad boy up, sheriff.”

Rick grins and pushes ‘play’ on the stereo. The music starts faintly and Mila recognizes the band as Social Distortion.

”Oh I like this one!” Mila exclaims and starts to sing along.

”Thought ya’ only liked country?” Rick looks at her in the rearview mirror.

”Nuh.” Mila shakes her head. ”I’m full of surprises. Fun fact, I went to a bunch of cool concerts back in Jersey. These guys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, Rise Against, Pearl Jam- Lots of rock, punk, country-” Mila continues to sing along when the chorus starts. ”I made out with the Social Distortion singer, Mike Ness, after a concert. Or at least I think it was him.”

”Think?” Daryl sputters and turns to look at her.

”I was eighteen!” Mila shrugs easily. “And drunk beyond judgement.” She confesses. ”He was- old, kinda’ handsome. Smelled quite nice, except the sweat. When I think about it, it could just as well be any middle aged guy with tattoos and tons of hair wax working backstage. I will never know for sure. But I’d like to believe it was the singer. Makes the story more interesting.”

Rick laughs.

“Concerts are wild.” He agrees while tapping the steering wheel. “I took Lori to see Tim McGraw once, before Carl was born. Cheap fried hot wings, beer in red plastic cups, great music; great night.”

“Is he the-” Mila starts to hum while drumming on the thighs. “Hu-huuu- I like it, I love it-”

“-I want some more of it-” Rick tunes in and snaps his finger to her beat. “I try so hard, I can't rise above it. I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin’-”

“Christ sake-” Daryl sighs and slides further down the passenger seat.

“Here-” Rick hands Mila the worn plastic case of cd’s from the door pocket. “Find something good.”

“Yes, captain.” Mila unzips the case and starts to flip the plastic pages, filled with scratched cd’s, before finding something that looks promising. “Here-”

“Please, don’t-” Daryl pleads.

Too late. She leans into the front seat and pushes the cd into the radio.

“Crank it up!”

Rick turns the volume wheel up to fourteen and both he and Mila happily exclaims “yeeeah” when the intro to “Life is a highway” blasts out of the cheap stereo.

“Ya’ both crazy!” Daryl cries, in an attempt to drown out the radio.

“Draws ‘em away from home!” Rick calls before tuning into the catchy chorus with Mila.

Rick knows the lyrics even better than she does; she still stumbles on the fast lines combined with her not pitch perfect english.

After driving for awhile, while continuing their exceptional singalong, Daryl manages to override the music:

”Look-” Daryl points out of the window and Rick hits the brakes in a matter of seconds. ”Back up.”

While Mila stretches forward and turns down the volume, Rick puts in reverse gear and drives the car back to the intersection. About a hundred meter to their right lies a couple of buildings. A silo, a shed and a barn, with ’sorghum’ written all over the dirty white roof. Rick turns the wheel, hits the gas and drives in the direction of the barn. He drives up on the dirt road and parks in front of the red building. It looks untouched, as if no one else knew about the great power of the sorghum. They step out of the car and look around. It’s quiet, no walkers.

“Let’s check it out.” Rick looks around the corner.

”Best to be safe.” Daryl says and walks over to the storage roll up door. He checks the handle, nods as to tell that it’s unlocked. ”Ya’ cover?” He looks up at her and Rick.

”Yup.” Rick returns, hand on his gun.

While the two men get ready for combat, Mila throws a glance out over the fields surrounding the barn; keeping an eye open for potential enemies. The door goes up with a loud noise and Rick bursts into the barn. Mila’s eyes land on the back of a truck.

“No sorghum?” Mila says.

”Doesn’t look like it.” Rick turns to her and Daryl. “We’re good.” He states and points at the truck. ”One more time?”

”It ain’t locked.” Daryl puts his hand on the handle and thugs at the box truck roll up door that rolls up with a rattle.

”Wohaa!” Mila exclaims.

The truck is filled with supplies; food, blankets, towels, everything really. It must be their lucky day.

”How ’bout that?” Daryl says. “Looks like we’re done for today.”

”Let’s get this thing going, grab our gear and come back for the car later. Take another way back and see what we can see.” Rick states. “We still need to find more things.”

”I’ll go start it up-” Mila says. ”If it starts.”

”I think it does.”

”Also one of your optimistic predictions?” She smirks at Rick, turns and walks over to the drivers side and opens the door. ”Hah, they where dumb enough to leave the keys.”

Daryl unloads the most necessary things from the car, Rick locks it with a ‘beep’ on the key and they get inside the truck; Mila makes herself comfortable between her two companions and they backs out of the barn and hits the road. They head in the direction Rick drove before Daryl asked him to stop. The road is lined by green, lush forest. The sun has settled behind some clouds, but it’s still warm, a sticky moist heat that doesn’t really make Mila’s tiredness any better. She’s already drinked a whole bottle of water by herself and starts to feel her jeans push at her bladder. In the distance, she sees what looks like a very run-down gas station.

“Should we check it out?” Daryl looks at Rick, who nods. “Might be some gas left.”

“Let’s find out.”

Rick parks at the first pump and they get out of the truck. The gas station is a mess; debris everywhere, an abandoned jeep is parked outside and the black color of the roof has begun to flake and exposes the gray metal underneath. The store looks equally miserable. She strolls up to the doors and peeks through the dirty glass, but sees nothing else than darkness. On her right Daryl’s checking out a tipped-over vending machine, filled with soda and candy. Someone must’ve given up halfway through their attempt to move it, Mila thinks.

“Give me a hand with this.” Daryl says.

Rick, looking around the desolated place, turns on the spot and walks over to help. Besides her urge to pee, Mila’s struck by a slight sensation through her head, like nausea, just as she has been doing on and off the last two days. Heck, not now.

“I just gotta- you know.” She makes a whistling sound, to signal that she needs to find a toilet, or just walk behind the corner of the gas station to pee, or vomit - right now she cannot decide which of them she needs the most.

“We’ll get this.” Daryl nods towards the vending machine.

Mila turns and walks towards the door of the gas station. She thugs at it, then pushes it open with force. It’s barricaded with a shelf and she creates a passage wide enough for her to get through and walks inside the dark store, gun raised in front of her. She lets her gaze get used to the dark, then sweeps over the empty, chaotic store before she walks towards the back of it, towards the door with ‘staff only’, hanging on just one hinge. The back of the shop, a room that looks like something between an office and a storage, with walls clad in brown wooden panels, is also empty. She quickly finds the ‘staff only’-toilet that doesn’t look far too disgusting to sit down on. She closes the door halfway, to prevent herself from being in total darkness. While unzipping her jeans she curses herself for not bringing a flashlight. As she sits down, she promises herself to wash her whole body with steel wool as soon as they are back in Alexandria; the toilet stinks of urine and It must be a pure bacteria party in the small space. She closes her eyes, feels how the nausea calms down a bit, focuses to breath through her mouth to close out the acrid smell. She takes another breath and feels her bladder relax, happy to release the huge amount of water she drank.

Despite the disgusting toilet, it feels better to go to the toilet inside than outside. Mila reluctantly remembers the time she had to pee in the woods, and a walker snuck up behind her. With her trousers around her ankles, Mila had to ward off the armless, dead man. It wasn’t her proudest moment for sure.

Loud voices and thumps make her wake up from her thoughts. Mila almost falls on her nose getting up from the toilet seat with her jeans around her ankles. Swearing over the fact that she might have to repeat her unworthy pants incident, she makes her way out from the bathroom, thuggin’ on her panties and jeans to get them over her ass, to see what’s going on outside. Is there an ambush? She loses balance, while trying to zip her pants, when she makes her way out in between the gap in the door and drops to the pavement. While brushing her hair out of her face, Mila catches sight of Daryl and Rick standing out in the street. The truck is gone.

“What the heck?!” She cries and gets up from the ground, fiddling with the zipper. “Where’s the truck?”

“Gone.” Rick hollers back at her.

Mila lets go of the zipper again -whatever if she shows off her undies at this point- and holds out her arms, to show that she noticed that very well on her own.

“I was gone for like, five minutes, and now you lost the truck?”

“He took it-” Rick continues.

“He who?”

“Some goddamn’ hippie.” Daryl scoffs angrily. “Crashed into Rick and then drove off with the truck, swiped the keys.”

“Wha- just like that?” Mila says, more confused than ever. What the hell happened?

“We talked to him.”

“Okay… and?”

“Told us his name- called himself Jesus.”

“Yeah I’m sure that’s his name.” Mila laughs dryly; right, Jesus Christ would surely show up in the middle of nowhere and steal a truck filled with toothpaste, food and other supplies. “Jesus don’t steal trucks.” She says. “Jesus isn’t even real! And how on earth did he overpower both of you?”

The two men in front of her transform into two ashamed puppies, that’s been caught peeing on the carpet, in the matter of seconds. Mila suspects that they weren’t overpowered but tricked; muscles and guns are no use for cunning, and she knows a lot about the latter.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mila sighs, squats and ties her boots with an extra secure double knot. “Lets go.”

“What?” Daryl looks at her.

“We gotta follow the truck.” She replies and thanks her lucky star for not having eaten anything heavy earlier this morning. “I won’t let someone who believes himself to be Jesus just steal our truck. I went to church back in Russia when I was a child; stealing is a sin, which makes this Jesus a hypocrite. Come on.”

Mila starts to run. Had she known she would have to chase after a truck, she would have taken a pair of running shoes. They pass the vending machine after a few hundred meters, discarded in the middle of the road. Mila brakes and takes a deep breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The sticky heat is killing her and the three of them drip with sweat. Rick’s shirt is several shades darker and Daryl looks almost freshly showered. Next to her, Rick doubles down and rests his hands on his knees, still hugging the gun.

“How far do you think he’d come?” She pants.

“Dunno.” Daryl takes a crowbar from his backpack, shatters the display case of the vending machine and starts to stuff orange sodas and some snacks into his bag. He reaches Mila a can. “Here, drink.”

She smiles, as to say ‘thank you’ and opens the can. The soda is somewhere between lukewarm and warm, but it’s better than nothing. She finishes the can quickly and wipes her mouth on the back of her arm.

“Isn’t this the soda Denise wanted?” She asks.

“Uhu.” Daryl nods. “Special request.”

He takes one of the cans, punctures a hole in its side and pours the lukewarm orange drink into his mouth. Very classy.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life.” Rick replies and receives the can from Daryl. “If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.”

“Still feelin’ positive, huh?” Daryl asks his friend. “Takin’ em in? Like this guy, stealing our truck?”

“No, not this guy.”

Daryl turns and looks at her, the gaze wanders from top to bottom.

“Ya’ good to go?” The look is caring, protective. As if he was trying to say 'sorry ‘bout the bumpy ride'.

Mila nods, feels a drop of sweat run down her lip, into her mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.” She replies and collects her long, sweaty hair on the back of her head, ties it up with a hair tie. “I’ve ran marathons, remember.”

They set off again at a slightly faster pace, strengthened by the soda. Mila breathes calmly as she sprints over the concrete, counts her breaths as she used to do when she was an avid runner and used to go out for a long run for fun. The circumstances are a bit different from back then; no running shoes or comfortable running clothes in bright colors, no iPod filled with upbeat music and no fitness clock tracking her pulse and her route. The boots are actually horrible to run in, the same goes for jeans, t-shirt and denim shirt, plus a backpack and weapons.

They follow the tire tracks until they reach a crest, where Daryl signals for them to stop. Carefully they ascend the hill until they can peek over the edge. In the hill down on the other side they see the truck, standing still. It has a puncture and Mila immediately sees a long-haired man with a beard, dressed in a long coat and a beanie, which in itself is pure madness. She’s dripping with sweat and would never in her life put on a long coat or hat now.

“That’s him?” She asks faintly.

“That’s him.” Rick nods at them to follow him into the woods to the left.

They carefully make their way over the fallen leaves between the trees, without losing sight of the truck. The man walks around to the back of the car and they see their chance. They quickly get out of the woods, Rick takes the lead and throws himself forward, wraps his arms around the man from behind.

“Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you.”

If Rick thought it would help, he was completely wrong. The man sends off an elbow into Rick’s stomach and is suddenly free again. He makes a move, kicks Rick in the guts and gets him down on the ground. It's obvious that the guy is a bit sharper than the rest of the knives in the drawer; Mila climbs out of the ditch just as the man is about to set off towards the driver’s door, but is stopped by Daryl. While the men fight with each other, Mila manages to get up on the road just as the bearded man slips out of Daryl’s arms, pushes him into the side of the truck, turns around and loses track completely at the sight of Mila, who -tired of running and still a little nauseous- has pulled out her gun and aims it at him.

“Surprise!”

The brief moment is enough for Daryl to get back on his feet. He sees his chance when the man turns and notices Mila and tackles him from behind, down into the ditch. At gunpoint, they finally have the upper hand.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants and looks at Mila.

“The power of surprise.” She shrugs and looks down at the man.

He’s about thirty, long brown hair, beard. Yes, she sees the resemblance to Jesus; every time she sat in church and counted the icons portraying him when she was little. The serious man with sloping shoulders, blue dress, beard and well-groomed hair. The difference is that the Jesus in the icons didn’t have a knitted beanie and a leather coat.

The foliage behind the man in the grass rustles. A walker then announces its presence, by a guttural hissing sound.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus looks at them.

Without answering, Mila raises her gun at the walker and shoots.

“Okay.” Jesus nods, still with his hands raised in front of him. “You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There's a lot of food on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys - now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.”

Once again, Mila suddenly feels that unpleasant, nauseating feeling, but this time it spreads from her head down to her stomach. She turns around, hurries away a few meters, bends forward and vomits into the ditch. ‘Is she okay?’ she hears Jesus' question, while she spits and feels how she shivers all over her body; fuck, she hates to vomit. But it actually feels better.

“Ey-” She hears Daryl scoff at the poor guy. “Eyes here, dude! The keys!”

“I’m fine.” Mila hollers and waves her arm at them, still folded like a pocket knife.

“You sure?” Jesus calls back.

“Oh shut up!” She shouts. “It’s because of you I’m throwing up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just-” Mila straightens her back. She feels less nauseated, a bit weak but otherwise much better. “Give us the keys.”

For some reason, Mila can’t figure out why, Jesus throws her the keys. It might be out of pity, or the fact that her two comrades are holding him at gunpoint; she nods at him, as a way to say thanks.

While Rick ties Jesus up, Daryl hurries over to her.

“Ya’ okay?” His eyes are worried. “Ya’ sick?”

“No I’m fine.” Mila nods averted. “Probably just too much running and too little breakfast. I’m good now.” She smiles. “Just, don’t kiss me until we’re back and I’ve brushed my teeths, okay?”

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he grunts a little, caresses her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead instead.

“There’s toothpaste in the back of the truck.” He says, before returning to Rick and Jesus.

Mila gets into the truck, sits down in the middle seat and closes her eyes; maybe she should try to find one of those toothpastes, she has a foul taste in her mouth. She looks around the cab and finds a pack of spearmint gum. As she pushes a third gum into her mouth, Daryl and Rick jump on either side of her.

“Where is Jesus?” She asks.

“On the street.”

“What? We can’t just leave him?”

“Of course we can.” Rick replies, turns the key and starts the car.

“So long, you prick.” Daryl shouts out of the window as they drive off.

Mila chuckles dryish; She has an underlying sense that something is going to happen. Karma. She takes out the case of cd’s from her backpack, picks the “best of sixties” album and pushes the cd into the stereo. The sound of Connie Francis “Tennessee waltz” crackles out of the speakers and Daryl hands out snacks from the vending machine.

“Still worked out. Today still is the day.” Rick recalls while snacking on a chocolate-peanut bar. He then points in front of him. “Hey, look at that.”

The truck drives out of the forest, and Mila sees both fields and buildings.

“Yeah, a barn.“ Daryl says.

As Rick turns off in the direction of the barn, something makes them all fall silent and listen; thumps, like something hitting the truck box, is heard even over the loud music.

“What’s that?” Mila exclaims. “You hear that?”

It’s inevitable what the noise is; footsteps.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.” Daryl says.

All three of them react at the same time; Rick stands on the brake pedal, the car stops with a howl and Jesus falls down in front of the windshield and tumbles to the ground. Daryl, swearing loudly, throws himself out of the car to follow him and Mila follows Daryl. She has no idea why, but her gut feeling tells her that Daryl won’t be gentle on him. It also tells her that Jesus probably isn’t dangerous at all, which isn’t in his favor if Daryl, who’s all muscles and pretty bad impulse control, gets a hold of him.

“Daryl-” She calls. “No- Stop!”

“I’ve had enough of ya’!” Daryl shouts at Jesus, not hearing Mila.

This must look ever so stupid, Mila thinks as she sprints after Daryl and the hippy-dippy guy into the dry green field; like one of those silent films, except that the soundtrack in this case happens to be Helen Shapiro’s “Walking back to happiness” playing from the car. Mila running after Daryl, running after this odd long-haired man who seems to believe he’s Jesus. Why in the world would he otherwise call himself that?

”No- no, stop it!” Mila shouts, as if she was scolding at a bad dog.

She stumbles and falls flat on her stomach, while Jesus reaches the now stationary truck and throws himself into the driver’s seat. Daryl follows.

“Come here, you little shit!” He barks and starts to drag Jesus out of the car.

At the same time a walker has snuck up behind Daryl. Mila gets up on her knees, gropes for her gun, but before she has managed to raise it to shoot, she hears Jesus call out ‘duck’; Daryl ducks just in time. A gun finds its way into the walker's skull and it falls back like a bowling pin.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants, then sends off a punch into Jesus face. “That's my gun! Come here!”

He throws Jesus out of the truck, onto the grass. He doesn’t remain there for long; instead, he lays hooks for Daryl, who stumbles, giving Jesus time to get up on his feet and set off again.

“Son of a-” Daryl roars and runs after.

“Fuck- knock it out!” Mila shouts and increases her speed, minimizing the distance between herself and her, frankly pissed off, other half. Before Daryl’s able to take another leap in his hunt for the handcuffed, longhaired karate kid, she tackles him to the ground with a thud. ”Stop this!” Mila climbs up on top of him, to prevent Daryl from getting up from the grass. ”This is stupid!”

”Christ- knock it out ya’!”

Crap, she doesn’t have time to argue. Mila climbs over Daryl and sets after Jesus, who has slowed down to watch the wrestling match played out in the grass behind him. A surprised expression spreads on his bearded face as he sees her approaching, faster than he imagined. Jesus turns and starts to run again, but he doesn’t get up to speed fast enough. Mila lunges for him and they tumbles to the ground in a bundle of arms and legs, and she starts to wrestle him. He doesn’t fight her, but he tries with all his power to get loose from her grip. Mila gets a sharp elbow in the eye and a cracked lip before hobo-Jesus is ripped away from her by Daryl, who looks like he’s boiling.

“Ey, that’s ma’ girl, ya’ scumbag!”

“Wohaa, jeez.” The long haired, ravaged man, flies like a raggedy Anne-doll through the air.

Mila gets up from the ground, covered in dry grass and wipes blood from her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eye pounds and already feel swollen, a certain recipe for an upcoming, gorgeous black eye. Daryl pants loudly through his nostrils while holding on to the ravaged man’s coat, the poor guy can barely stand up straight.

“I had him.” Mila glares at Daryl and spits blood on the ground in front of her feet.

“I’d had him if ya’ didn’t tackle me.” Daryl scoffs back, still holding on to Jesus' collar.

“You’d kill that poor man if you’d catched him.” Mila replies, pointing at Jesus. “You’re not exactly sensible when you’re angry.”

“Oh yeah right, you’re the one to talk!” Daryl scoffs back. “What about that guy’s kneecaps-”

“I had every right-” Mila cries. “He sliced my guts with a fucking machete!”

”You two are related of some sort?” Jesus doubtfully breaks in.

”Married!”

“What?” Daryl sputters, looking both terrified and shocked at her sudden, out of the blue exclamation.

“Feels like it!” Mila replies and spits more blood; they’re arguing like they were married at least. “Pridurok...” She mutters, eyes locked at Daryl.

”Oh-” Jesus pants and looks just as confused as Daryl does, plus a bit tufted. “Right-”

“Shut up.”

Pow! Jesus falls to the ground. Mila rolls her eyes; why does he have to punch everyone? She snorts and turns, stepping through the tall grass in the direction of the car. Damn hypocrisy, she thinks to herself. She passes Rick, who walks in the opposite direction out in the tall grassy field, holding his bloody knife, but ignores him. She’s frankly grumpy and her eye hurts. But she halts when she doesn’t spot the truck.

“Where the fuck is the truck!?”

She looks around. It’s nowhere to be seen. As she lets her gaze sweep over the field she catches sight of something behind some trees, in the small pond.

“Shit.” Rick comes up at her side, eyes locked at the truck that’s sinking further down the pond. “He must’ve knocked it into neutral.”

“Now what?”

They both turn and start walking back towards Daryl and the man in the grass.

“Are you alright?” Rick looks at Daryl. “Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.”

“What about the guy?” Mila points at Jesus.

“What about him?” Daryl asks.

“Well, he was actually nice, saved you.” She replies.

“Hm.”

“Did he ever pull a weapon on you?” Rick asks.

“Fine.” Daryl sputters. “Fuck- fine. Let’s put him up a tree.”

“No. He’ll come back with us.” Mila corrects, giving Daryl a sharp gaze. “Enough of that grumpy attitude.” She nods at Jesus. “Come on, let’s find a car. Drag him with you.”

They find a working car about fifteen minutes later. Daryl throws Jesus into the backseat. Mila takes the wheel, Daryl calls shotgun and Rick takes place next to Jesus, who’s still knocked out and they start driving back to Alexandria.

“He took a pretty hard hit.” Rick says and meets Mila’s gaze in the mirror, then looks at Jesus. “Denise needs to look him over.”

“Try to wake him.” Mila suggests. “See if he’s got permanent brain damages.”

Rick shakes the man, who grunts and starts moving. He blinks and jumps.

“You’re alive.” Rick says. “Good.”

“Yeah-” Jesus grunts again. “Why am I in a car? I heard something about a tree.”

“It was a joke.” Mila says, meeting his drowsy eyes in the mirror.

“It wasn’t.” Daryl looks at her.

“You wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “You wouldn’t have left him.”

“I would’ve-” Daryl nods upwards. “Right up in a tree.”

“He’s a comedian.” Mila says, once again looking at Jesus in the mirror, not taking notice of Daryl’s irritated expression. “Or at least tries to be.”

”Where have you been all my life?” Jesus chuckles and looks at her in the mirror and sends off a radiant smile that tells Mila that he’s using mouthwash on a daily basis.

”Ey- knock it out!” Daryl reaches back and slaps the man on his tied up hands.

Mila lets out a faint laugh. Huh, look at that; a jealous Daryl Dixon. Jeez Louise, there’s nothing to worry about, Mila thinks to herself, but Daryl’s poor self-confidence doesn’t make it easy for him. She pats her jealous, southern knight on the back of the hand.

”He looks like a hippy dippy orthodox priest.” Mila gives the surly, blushing archer a soft gaze. “Calm down, Dixon.” She turns to the rear view mirror and the hippy dippy man in the backseat. If papa was here, he wouldn’t have let him inside the car. Not in a million years. “No offense, but you do.” She says to Jesus.

”None taken.” He nods at her with a curious gaze. “What’s up with the accent?”

”Up and running, thanks for noticing.”

While steering the car with her knees, Mila once again takes out the case of cd’s, now missing the one with sixties-music, takes out a random cd and puts it in the stereo. She adjusts the volume-wheel on the radio and increases the sound of “The Chain” and starts to tap the wheel while singing along.

“You’re a really good singer.” The man in the back calls after a while.

“Thanks.” Mila replies backwards. “I’m a dental nurse.”

“Did you sing to the patients?”

“To the kids, sometimes. Some terrified men before they, you know-” She closes her eyes and pretends to snore. “Put them down.”

“I’m sure that’s not what it’s called.” Rick replies.

“I made them sleep.” Mila shrugs her shoulders. “Right?”

“Not what it sounded like.” Daryl says and meets her eyes, with a slightly amused expression on his stern face.

“Anyway I think it sounded beautiful.” Jesus says.

”I like this guy!” Mila looks at him and Rick with an excited smile upon her face, nodding her head to the beat of the music. ”Can we keep him?”

“He ain’t a dog.”

“But he’s quite fun!”

”You see.” Jesus says triumphantly. “She likes me.”

That’s it for Daryl. He turns and once again starts to try and hit the guy. Mila hits the brakes and the car stops with such force that Jesus is thrown into the headrest of the passenger seat, and dozes off.

“Knock it off!” Mila roars. “Or I won’t drive an inch further.”

The angry mom-voice isn’t only effective on children, it works really well on adult men as well. Daryl mutters and returns to his seat. Mila steps on the gas pedal again and continues to drive. Outside, it eventually starts to get dark. The sky is clear and the stars look brighter than ever. When she brakes at the gate to Alexandria, it’s pitch black. Daryl gets out, opens the gate and she drives into the community; a sensation of calm spreads throughout her body. That’s when she remembers.

“Shit.”

“What?” Rick asks.

“Forgot to get marshmallows.”

When the gate’s closed and locked, Daryl gets into the car again and Mila drives up to the infirmary, parks and the engine dies. The three of them get out of the car and stretch. What a fucking day, Mila thinks to herself, while watching Rick and Daryl dragging the still unconscious Jesus out of the backseat. They carry him up the stairs to the infirmary, knock on the door and wait. Denise opens in a few seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Rick excuses himself before Denise can say something.

From her spot at the car, Mila notices Denise’s confused expression as she notices the lifeless man.

“Who is this?!”

“Come on, man, he's heavy.” Daryl says to Rick. “Oh, that thing-” He looks at Denise. “Uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

While they bring Jesus inside, Mila leans up against the hot hood and looks at the stars. Juri has probably been asleep for a while now. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. Rick and Daryl walk out of the infirmary just as she catches sight of the pole star.

“He’s taken care of.” Daryl says as he walks up to her. He examines her in detail in the faint glow of the infirmary. “Let’s patch ya’ up.”

Mila doesn’t struggle. She’s tired and hungry. They go back into the infirmary and she sits down on one of the beds with clean, white sheets and exhales. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room. When Mila sees her reflection, she sighs even deeper; she has a pretty neat blackeye and a cracked lip. Daryl sits down on the stool in front of her.

“A hell of a blackeye-” He squints at the look of her pulsating, sore eye. “Ya’ really took a few punches.” He takes the bottle with alcohol and a wipe and pours some onto it. “Like Rocky Balboa.”

“Yeah, but I won.” Mila replies.

“Just like Rocky.” Daryl replies. “Still though- hell of a fight.”

“Better me than you I guess.” Mila swears as Daryl, as gently as he can, wipes her cracked lip with the drenched wipe. “You’d kill him.”

Mila nods over Daryl’s shoulder, towards the knocked out man lying on the narrow hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed frame. Daryl turns, looks at Jesus, then scoffs.

“I’ll kill him if he ever puts his hands on ya’ again.” Daryl mutters and throws the wipe over the room, into the trash bin.

“Don’t have to, I’ll do it myself.” Mila smiles, but grimaces; it hurts to smile. “I know.” Daryl replies. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. For yellin’ at ya’.”

“You gotta work on that temper.” Mila states. “It ain’t good for the blood pressure.”

With a grunt, as much of an answer as anything, Daryl puts his hand at the back of her head, brings it to his lips and kisses her on the forehead.

“Ain’t gonna need to stitch ya’ up.” He says. “Come on, let’s get ya’ to bed, Rocky.”

“Yes, Adrien.” Mila grins wryly. “What about Jesus Christ Superstar?” She nods towards the other bed.

“Yeah we’ll deal with him later.”

“You gonna tuck me in first?” Mila asks. “I’d love that, but honestly, I need a quick shower before bed. I think I might have caught every possible STD there is from that disgusting toilet at the gas station.”

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic

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kustovshik · 4 years

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Talking.

This post is informative in connection with a dispute that one of the parties decided to make absurd. If you don't want to get involved, just skip it. I don't force anyone to look into it or read it.

Kust is in touch. As many people have noticed, there was a small(not small now) conflict between me and a couple of other people, which could have already been eliminated, but was brought to total clowning. Names/nicknames named in this post will not be in order to avoid any negative towards those people. Also, no correspondence will be shown here, although they will be mentioned. If someone asks , I'm ready to go and personally collect all the screenshots of the two conversations, without losing any moments.

As a person in some way responsible for the current situation, I have a desire to illuminate everything from the side of my vision of things.

The conflict conditionally began three days ago. Let's call the person who initially had a small argument with me a certain person "A".

Well. in March. March 24th. We can assume that almost 5 months ago I published a post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/613504425335586816/i-want-to-be-in-fiars-stomach-he-looks-like-a

Many people remember it, I hope. I'll attach an old screenshot here just in case.

The whole conflict initially started because of the double meaning of the context behind the work itself. The problem, I was told, was the tags. Namely, in the tag highlighted in the screenshot above: ‘safe vore(or is it?)’.

This tag was originally put up there not because I didn't know what type of vore to call it, but specifically so that people themselves would sit and think: what do they want to see in my drawing. Simply put, a drawing with an open context. And it seems like no one has had any problems with it for few months.

That's what person A didn't like. I was told in a very unpleasant way for me personally that the person was very offended by this use of tags. And other problems with how they don't like 'fatal vore'. It was also suggested to me that I don't know about how fatal can be quite a painful experience for some.

I admit. My answer was quite abrupt. I can't deny it, and I won't, because that's the kind of person I am. My language is harsh on words and expressions. Instead of a thousand words and a selection of expressions, I usually tell people everything openly, or I am ready to openly indicate that something is wrong. Also, I fully admit that I have problems controlling my emotions, which makes it difficult for me to establish contact with strangers. I grew up in a different mindset, which is why I have a different view of many things. It's like putting two people who know the same language, but from different parts of the world, next to each other and forcing them to express their position on some moral principles or other things, and then wonder why their answers are different. A very exaggerated and crude comparison, but that how it looks like.

Why did I respond harshly? I am a rather rude person, and I do not like when people come to me in private messages, starting to talk about how bad they are feeling, because of things that can be safely ignored or blocked by them, so that there are no problems.

My first fatal mistake was when I decided to answer to "A". Afterwards, I talked to a couple of my friends and got cold feet. And then I apologized, trying to come to some compromise, adding the tag 'open ending' so that no one would be confused. But it seems that this was not enough, because “A” continued to say how it’s bad from what she found, even if not quite fatal stuff. Refusing to compromise in any way, as I suggested.

After that, we parted with apologies to each other, and neither of us wrote to each other again. I honestly thought it was over.

Now, before I go on to the man who has been driving me mad for the past two days, I will make a pure assumption and try to explain my indignation in a different way...

Out of human interest, I went through the 'safe vore' tag. Noted an interesting feature. Both tags had quite a lot of posts there. Namely, tags are 'safe vore' AND 'fatal vore'. Why did my post cause the problem? Have no idea.

Then another point became incomprehensible to me. How did a person get to this post at all? It would be difficult to find it through search, but you can: there is a lot of content by tag. I flipped the feed down from the second account for a long time and didn't come across my own post.

Then, in my little investigation, I looked into Tumblr's alerts. Likes, reblogs, well, you understand in short. And noticed it.

This is the first appearance of "A" in my notifications.

Hence, I dare to assume that "A" came across one of the reblogs of this post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/616227708116025344/a-new-player-has-joined-the-game And then "A" went to my blog, along the way ignoring the description specially written for such people at the very top of the blog, and came across my two-meaning post.

But after that, I had a rhetorical question: Why go to the blog of a person who has this written in the description, and hope that there will not be a fatal vore?

Of course, this theory is based only on my assumptions. But I think this scenario is quite real.

Thus, we can say that I have every right to be angry at the indignation expressed in my direction, because it is not my fault that the person ignored my preferences, scrolled down my blog page and started complaining.

Back to reality.

As you can understand, " A " shared our conversation with their friend, who the next day suddenly came to me with a long message about his position, offering help that was not needed.

Even then, I began to suspect that this person(let's call him "B") was somehow connected with "A". Moreover, the reason for the visit was the same for both of them.

I have already mentioned that I am an irritable and rather rude person. I was already stressed enough by the appearance of "A" and the consequences of my reflections that occurred after what I thought was an end to the conflict. And the repeated mention of the situation has already infuriated me.

I fully admit that I reacted very sharply to the "B" message. I had reasons for this that the other side chose not to consider.

Well. After receiving the message I gave sharp response expressing extreme dissatisfaction, but without insults to "B". Was there passive-aggressive speech? Yes. Were words said that I am not obliged to monitor the health of people who do not concern me? Yes. Do I have the right to think so? Yes. Does this fall under the moral code? It depends on the person's personal worldview.

Yes, I was rude due to the fact that on the second day I was exhausted and angry about this situation. I wanted to end this conflict and repeatedly asked both of them to block me and remain neutral. In addition, I tried to somehow explain that we are people of different mentalities and grew up with different life standards, so in this situation we see this conflict differently. Yes, in a rough way, but I tried to explain it.

I received a ton of direct insults, was accused of narcissism and high self-esteem, as well as refusing to take care of other people's problems. In addition, I received lines like, quote: "...but let me see you talk like you did to me or anyone else simply trying to converse with you over a serious topic and I will not hesitate to have your content and eventually your account removed from this site.".

Isn't this a direct threat?

I understand that passive-aggressive speech itself can offend someone. But you can't call it an insult. Passive-aggression is a hidden way of expressing negative feelings and emotions to a person. This is not an insult. But, Yes, I admit that this is a very harsh and rude way of communicating.

That's just after such an exchange of pleasantries, I snapped. 3 days of unquenchable conflict, when one side refused to listen to the other, at the same time. There were attempts on my part to end the conflict. There was one repeated request to block and disperse, so as not to inflame everything to the point of absurdity.

"Want to stay safe with your own preferences? "Please, God, don't touch me, that's all. Block me already and we will live in peace. "- This was the message of my answers. It's sad, but instead of just ending the conflict, I got the brand of a person with a capitalist mindset, the brand of a bitch-whiner, and other other charms.

And I swear that I was ready to just leave all this and stop responding to such outbursts in my direction, banal blocking "B", if they can’t themselves do it.

As here I get a notification with a post where this person changed my art / tags and basically uploaded the changed image to his blog, hiding behind good intentions. "B" did not receive permission for such actions. Even with an indication of authorship. I am most outraged by such actions at the moment.

Better look on the two images compared to each other.

And after that, everyone wants me to try to understand how bad I was and how poor they are, that from a simple argument that could have ended without even starting, it turned into an absurd clowning with offended people, insults and changing someone else's drawings and whole character reaction. Just a note. Fiar is not so nice, he’s a wild monster leech and he just grumbles about everything as much as he don’t understands why some people willing to let him eat them. He’ll never say something as “I’ll keep you safe”.

There it is. The comedy of a three days.

This post is for informational purposes only. Namely, how I see this situation.

All I want now is for "B" to delete the post, and for both sides to banal block each other, so that we never meet again.

I refuse to apologize to "B" for their latest act of outraging my drawing by completely distorting the meaning from a neutral drawing to something that only "B" and their friend like. In conclusion I can say, that I do not call myself a good one in that confrontation. I did some terrible mistakes while talking to both of those people. But it’s not only I’m here being on the bad side. People are not black and white.

After this I’ll not respond to any of the continuation of that conflict anymore. I’m tired of this.

#long post #Kust talking #trigger warning

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donnerpartyofone · 3 years

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reasons my i am probably too sensitive to have anything to do with other people

including other people’s drama that has absolutely nothing to do with me

i started reading this person’s new webcomic on instagram a month or two ago, and what started out as a fun little time killer that i looked forward to every day has started making me so uncomfortable that i wish i’d never heard of it. it takes place right now, in an especially embattled US city, and it’s about the dysfunctional lives of a bunch of shallow millennials, set against the backdrop of an increasingly dangerous country in an unpredictable state of revolt. it’s solidly engaging, convincingly characterized, and rendered in a unique funny animal style; i wasn’t surprised to discover that it’s going to be published soon by the most reputable publisher of this sort of thing. at first, i was impressed by it because i thought the behavior and dialog of its insecure young people was so well observed. it felt like one of the only things of its kind that i’ve read, more or less about real people living right now, that was neither a broad ugly satire, nor a pretentious drama exaggerating the specialness of its characters. the other thing i liked about it was that while it was largely about their sex lives, it didn’t seem at all sexy to me. the artist has a kind of distorted, rough-hewn visual style that i thought put some emotional distance between the overheated state of the characters, and the real consequences of their decisions. then it all got weird.

the artist stuck a really long, graphic sex scene in the middle of story that made me think...oh, maybe i AM supposed to be getting off to this? that’s weird, this all seems really bad to me, like every character is just mindlessly, selfishly bent on destruction and not doing much to make me like them, and i’d been reading along thinking “god i’m SO GLAD i’m not in my 20s anymore and i don’t have to deal with people like this--or with the pressure to act like this, as if using sex to create drama and being ‘crazy’ is the ultimate thing a person can do with their life”--and then suddenly it felt like maybe the comic was actually some kind of celebration of this lifestyle, or at the very least it’s an intensely sentimental portrait of a time of life, and of types of people, that i cannot imagine feeling sentimental about. then something else happened that made the comic even MORE uncomfortable to read, somehow: it had been gaining traction at an amazing pace, with tons of people leaving comments to the tune of “noooo don’t do it!”, the way you would yell at someone in a horror movie not to go back for the cat, as each character made the worst possible personal choice in every daily installment. the “don’t go in there!” response seemed pretty natural to me, but then the artist stepped in and made this announcement threatening to stop doing the comic altogether if the readers wouldn’t stop criticizing the characters. pretty much everyone in the comments was like “???”. many apologized if their comments were offensive, although they had no idea what they could have said that was wrong; other people, who seemed more sure that they were the ones being accused, said that they thought you were SUPPOSED to feel critical of the characters’ obviously bad decisions. that was how i felt, and at that point i was just enormously glad that i never comment on shit online or get involved in any type of community shit, especially when the artist started explaining laboriously that all of the characters represent some facet of the artist themselves and so therefore none of them are meant to be seen in a bad light at all and they’re all meant to be loved unconditionally and if you find yourself thinking mean things about the characters then you are effectively shitting all over the artist as a person. a lot of readers fell all over themselves to be supportive, and i just thought...this isn’t something you should support, though. it sucks that the artist is feeling so sensitive, but they’re about to have a book out in the world where they won’t have any ability to threaten readers who are “reading it wrong” or having incorrect thoughts about it. i mean...life is full of uncomfortable experiences and people you can’t relate to, i really don’t think we should be promoting this hopeless sanitization of all experiences in which trigger warnings used to be something that protected traumatized people from being randomly confronted with traumatic material, and now they’re used to just make sure nobody ever has to hear anything they don’t like, ever. anyone who cares about this artist should be helping them understand that they cannot control how people read their book or how they feel about each character and story in it. or failing that, they should be encouraged to just turn off instagram comments. but because of all this drama, i found myself reading all the comments obsessively--something i did when the blowup first happened, because i couldn’t find anything in there that i thought was mean or offensive, which added to my uncomfortable fascination with the whole thing--and that’s when i spotted a comment where somebody asked the artist is this was a furry comic. i wish this didn’t blow my mind, but it kind of did. i mean, it’s a book where almost all the characters are animals, and they occasionally have a bunch of raunchy sex. i think that if you’re a furry, meaning you’re interested in that sort of thing, this book is completely available for you to enjoy however you want. but this person needed the artist to FORMALLY CATEGORIZE IT as a furry comic. what the fuck is the meaning of that? it struck me as something that people in fandoms do, where they need every single thing to be labeled to death in an intensive and intractable way like it was science, the Final Word on everything in the universe, and they like *argue with each other* about whether they’re *allowed* to ship certain characters together or imagine them doing specific things, which is something you would only worry about if you thought the topic represented a literal material reality that could be adversely affected by people’s improper thoughts. i mean imagine if you felt that way about your jerkoff fantasies about fictional characters? that your horny thoughts are up for debate by hundreds of people you don’t even know? imagine feeling like that about OTHER PEOPLE’S jerkoff fantasies, like it’s worth fighting over and trying to CONTROL? like holy fucking shit you guys, STOP IT. it would even be one thing to ask the artist if THEY were a furry, which may or may not be anybody’s business, but to ask whether interpreting the comic through a furry lens is ALLOWED is like...well, actually, maybe it’s exactly in line with the artist’s recently expressed attitude, that you’re forced to think of the book in exactly the way that they personally think about it, or else you should have your reading privileges revoked. so now i’m still reading the comic, sort of compulsively, because i’m a little addicted to the soap opera of it and i’m ALSO a little addicted to the soap opera of the artist battling the readers over finding the correct orthodoxy for reading the comic--there’s a particular guy i’ve become aware of in the comics community because he is always harassing people with this mix of really caustic sarcasm and really bitter political self-righteousness, and he was surely the main person who was being “mean” to the characters, and HE’S STILL DOING IT IN EXACTLY THE SAME WAY, because i guess the artist would rather have problems with people than simply block them and eliminate them from the equation? but the whole entire thing is making me so uncomfortable i can hardly stand it. reading about like, dumb hot chicks with no self-control, and smug young shitheads who use the veil of progressiveness to hide or justify their predatory sexual behavior, and grownass adults who start drama with 20 year olds in order to feel relevant, AND being forced to know that the artist intends for me to embrace and adore all of this bad shit--like, people and things i left behind in real life, because it was all bad!--with ultimate love and compassion, or else they reserve the right to claim that they’re being personally attacked, has just become too much to take. it’s starting to make me feel sick. i really need to take the reigns on this thing. as much as the artist needs to forget about this control fantasy and stop being so precious about what they’re doing, i need to stop subjecting myself to something i find painful, embarrassing, and frankly creepy, if i ever wanna get back to a state where i have less to complain about.

tl;dr: stupid hipster is too sensitive to read a webcomic by a stupid hipster who is too sensitive for anyone to read their webcomic.

#NOT simon hanselmann #somebody else!#i will tell you if you chat me i just don't wanna get involved

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Owl House AU Ideas, ZA FIFTH!!

Hello all, once again, I am BACK with an AU! It is a crossover with the popular superhero franchise, DC COMICS BABY!! WOOT! Specifically, this is a crossover between Earth 16, setting for the Young Justice Comics and Show, and The Owl House setting in the form of the newly formed Earth 53! Give ‘em some love folks, round of applause! Sorry if I’m hamming it up too much, just feeling really amped.

The premise is partially inspired by a crossfic over on ao3, can't really recall the name right now, that involves the Anti-Monitor's Anti-Matter wave occurring; The Owl House-Verse gets wiped out and subsequently resurrected as part of the DC Multiverse, with Amity somewhere in the mix due to being taken off the board just before her world is destroyed. In this idea, something occurs that results in the Boiling Isles and its connected Earth to be merged into the DC Multiverse; the shockwaves result in mass alterations to the two world's shared history as the Boiling Isles and Human Realm become the new Earth 53 (I know that the DC-Verse isn't restricted to just 52 worlds anymore, the name is mostly for dramatic effect). The biggest difference between this and similar premises is the idea of Earth 53 coming from OUTSIDE the Source Wall, an extreme anomaly in the DC-Verse Space-Time Continuum, if not an outright impossibility, that has resulted in "Errors" forming across the worlds. Amity is the one of the only ones who clearly remembers life before the merger, and the changes, both to the world and to herself, have been jarring. She who was once the heiress-apparent to a magical household of considerable influence was now the marginalized third child to two of the meanest lawyers in Bonesburough, friendless and adrift. In a world where humans, witches, and demons live alongside one another, and magic is a rare commodity hoarded by major cities and governments, where is her place in it all? And, more importantly, where is Luz?!?

Boscha: Unlike her canon self, DC Boscha is a tough girl who grew up on the streets, fending for herself at nearly every turn; she was eventually taken in by the Park family, one of Bonesborough's most well-known, if not necessarily influential, families, growing close to the daughter of the family, Willow Park. Boscha often acts as Willow's bodyguard and confidant, providing both protection from anyone trying to harass her, and a shoulder to lean on when she needs it. She has a small crush on Willow, but hasn't realized it for what it is yet. Boscha is a conduit for the Strength Force, granting her immense physical strength, durability, and geokinesis. Despite her immense power, Boscha is largely unskilled with her abilities, often being limited to the most basic interpretations of her powers. Willow: This version of Willow grew up as part of the lower Upper-Class, straddling the border between the Middle-Class and High-Society circles, gaining renown for her skill with plants and vegetation in general. While just as kind as her Canon self, DC Willow is somewhat jaded, often having difficulty opening up to others for fear that they are trying to get something from her or manipulate her. Willow suffers from a mild form of Narcolepsy, falling asleep when sufficiently stressed. Willow has a strong connection to the Green, gifting her with a powerful bond with all plant life; unlike other Conduits and Avatars for the Green, Willow refuses to fully connect with it, channeling her nature as animal, and as such of the Red, to retain her self. This unique state of being both apart of yet separate from the Green offers Willow a few abilities that other, similar, existences lack, with her greatest ability being the power to forcibly merge an enemy with the Green, essentially turning the Nature Dimension into a prison for them, though the technique is only fully effective against enemies who wield the Green themselves; non-Green Empowered individuals can only be held for around a month to up to a year before the Green rejects them and spits them out back in the Physical Plane, often sickly and in need of food and water, though not desperately so. An unusual quirk of Willow's is that she often adopts a demeanor similar to a religious figure, using formal speech and an extremely serene and calm demeanor; no one is sure, not even Willow herself, if it is an act or if she is genuinely being altered in some way by using her powers. Gus: Half-human, Half-witch, this interpretation of Gus often feels uncomfortable in his own skin. The only time Gus truly feels at ease is when he is immersed in water. At the age of Eight, Gus when swimming and nearly drowned, only surviving due to a sudden surge of the Life Force resonating through the world. As a result of his exposure to the Life Force, Gus possesses similar abilities to, yet still distinct from, those of Atlanteans. Gus cannot communicate with sea-life, but they are unusually docile in his presence, with even the most vicious of sea life being harmless to him. Gus can distort and manipulate the water in his body, and the water vapor in the nearby air, to create illusions and mirages. Gus tries to disguise his discomfort by hamming up his more excitable and comedic traits. Replacing his obsession with humans, this version of Gus is near obsessed with Magic, instantly going into Fanboy mode at the site of Amity's spells (note: Gus is capable of distinguishing magic from similar phenomena on his own, a holdover from his past self having magic, though his current self is unaware why he can do so). Skara: A popular girl, Skara sits at the front of the pack, yet also has a reputation of being kind and accepting; as she attends one of the most divisive schools in regards to Human-Witch-Demon relations in the world, this often results in her being forced to play mediator, much to her own distress. Skara can't stand seeing anyone upset or feeling left out, going out of her way to include others, even if it means she herself ends up left out. Skara is incredibly skilled at both Music and the Bow, serving as an expy of both Black Canary and Green Arrow, in that she wields a harp/bow combo capable of launching sound arrows. Skara is a nascent magic user, though her skills are highly unrefined and geared near-exclusively towards those based on sound. Edric and Emira: The twins are a study in contrasts as opposed to their canon similarities. While they still possess their sense of mischief, Edric has been groomed to be a respectable gentleman, at least in terms of appearance, while Emira is essentially an out and about rebel, bucking authority and rules at every opportunity. Edric thinks of himself as suave and charming, but to most everyone it just comes across as adorable and childish; a little kid thinking he's an adult. Emira is confrontational, aggressive, and possesses a reputation for being a punk, though she often takes a stand against bullies and thugs. The two often argue, but both fondly remember the days when they were more similar and got along more. The two share Speed Force powers, Negative for Edric, Positive for Emira, yet neither is compatible with their respective bodies, as Emira is more attuned with the Negative and Edrice with the Positive. To counteract the damage their abilities do to their bodies, they channel each others' Speed Force for their sibling; a side-effect of this sharing is that they cannot utilize the super-speed common to all Speed Force Conduits unless they work in perfect sync, but otherwise possess all the standard abilities of their respective forces. Jerbo: The quirky child of the local funeral director, Jerbo is highly skittish, often jumping at random and having a meek personality, he is slow to trust others. Jerbo has always possessed a fascination with the intricacies of life, death, and the cycle between them. This fascination ultimately culminated in him developing a connection to the Green! However, an accident disrupted the process, causing his connection to degrade and allowing a connection to the Grey and the Rot to enter in its place. None of his connections are particularly strong, but using them in concert allows him to leverage powers and abilities far above his technical weight class. He often uses his powers to necromantically command plants and bacteria, building intricate "Rot Golems" to fight with, in a manner similar to his Canon Plant Golems. In addition, Jerbo often uses his Rot powers to accelerate and regulate the decay of already dead plants and animals to create fertilizer and revitalize the environment. Viney: An adventurous free spirit, Viney has a genuinely compassionate soul, going out of her way to help out however she can. Viney has a deep sense of empathy, particularly for animals, serving as a first look for local pets before their owners decide to take them to the vet or not. Viney cannot stand animal abuse in any form, often protesting groups that have shown histories of shady animal practices whenever she can. Viney wields a connection to the Red, which she leverages in a manner similar to the powers of B'wanna Beast, as well as healing. Viney often serves as the team's emergency medic, as she lacks her canon-self's medical training. Barkus: An actual dog as opposed to his Dog-Witch Canon self, Barkus never the less can communicate with others. Barkus wields a connection to the Sage Force, granting him far higher levels of intellect compared to other animals and the ability to speak. Barkus possesses numerous mental abilities, including fortune telling, telepathy, and a mild-level of mind-reading. Barkus has a cool head, often serving as the voice of reason for the others, as well as an extra set of eyes and ears, as his nature means few people expect him to be a spy. Eda Clawthorne: Suffering from a weakened immune system and chronic pain, most people are often surprised by how spry and active Eda is. Eda possesses a genius-level intellect, often providing intelligence and resources for the team as well as a mentorship role. Eda enters the field as the "Knight Owl" (Not to be confused with Nite Owl), operating a highly sophisticated battle suit outfitted with a mix of advanced technology and magic to possess an answer to virtually any scenario. While adopted a cold, highly-serious persona when in the field, Eda's real personality isn't all that different from her Canon self, albeit more responsible and less criminally inclined. Eda often spends her time either monitoring the companies she owns portions of or searching for Lilith, who has been missing for several years in the new timeline generated by the shift into the DC Verse. Eda isn't a straight-lace though, she does have numerous connections and contacts in the underworld, she just isn't a flat-out criminal-hermit anymore. King: Not much different from his Canon self, merely lacking his delusions of grandeur and megalomania, he is often grumpy and sullen, prone to the occasional fit of rage over being treated childishly or being babied. He possesses incredibly potent magic, often being in charge of upgrading and repairing the team's gear that requires it, yet lacks the stamina and technique needed to use it in combat. Lilith Clawthorne: Fully remembering the prior timeline, awakening years before Amity, the shame and guilt over her past mistakes drew to her an Ultraviolet Ring, transforming her into the Ultraviolet Lantern of Sector 2814. Lilith's stalwart will allows her to dominate the ring, often bringing her into fellow members of her Corps who have been subsumed by Umbrax, Lilith has dedicated herself to using her shame over her past as fuel for her desire to aid others and protect them from the self-destructive darkness inside of everyone, often acting both as a fighter against evil, but also as a councilor to those she encounters on her journey who are suffering from their self-destructive impulses. When on duty, Lilith manipulates her uniform to disguise her appearance and voice, preventing others from identifying her true identity. Lilith constantly strives to better the lives of others, both as way to make up her past deeds, but also to ensure none feel the suffering she felt in her selfish foolishness.

This is to explain how Luz fits into the story beyond being a Maguffin to drive the plot. Also, because I don't want to drag it out any further and to cut off as many questions and clarifications on world-building ahead of time as I can... I have decided that, while still connected to the wider DC Multi-Verse, this particular idea is set on Earth-16, the earth of the Young Justice show and comic, and the newly formed Earth-53 of the merged Human and Demon Realms. At the time of the shift into the DC-Verse, Luz had been attempting an experimental spell that combined all of her, Eda, and Lilith's knowledge of Magic in order to see if they could fashion a new portal, or, if that proved impossible at the time, use the data to help further develop a cure for the Clawthorne sisters. Whether the spell worked, or did anything really, is unknown, but the reaction of the world shifting caused Luz to be flung across the Verses and Earths of the 52, before she ended up in the care of none other than Klarion the Witch Boy, specifically his fully villainous incarnation from Young Justice. Needless to say, due to Luz's connection, however faint, to the Titan, as well as her unusual magic, Klarion decided to see what fun he could have with her (not in a sexual way, just to clarify to anyone even accidentally thinking about it). This version of Klarion is a full-on Lord of Chaos, and a particularly malevolent one at that, with a wide variety of mystical relics at his disposal for his games and experiments, and just before finding Luz, he came across the most interesting toy of all, a staff that fuses magic and technology, something rarely attempted and often backfired, but he had found one that worked! Luz was not in good shape when Klarion found her, her body and mind damaged by the journey, her very soul mangled. Deciding to pretend to be a nice guy, Klarion used his resources to heal her, but what fun would it be to just up and fix the girl, hmm? Taking inspiration from the staff he had so recently found, Klarion set out to find relics and devices of magic and science both to repair Luz, just to see what mixing them all together would do, and it wasn't like he cared if she died if something went wrong! Low and behold, he managed to find a fragment of the Black Lantern-Corrupted Firestorm Matrix that composed Deathstorm, and a tiny piece of the divine lightning that granted Black Adam, and it WAS the lightning of Adam as opposed to Captain Marvel, and using these pieces, along with some chaos assisted spells for flavor, he worked his magic, pardon the pun. Now, before anyone says anything about these powers making Luz OP... they really won't. She only has a fragment of the Firestorm Matrix, a corrupted one at that, so she has none of the proper abilities of a Firestorm, nor does she possess the abilities of Black Adam, as awesome as that would be. Rather, the mixing of these forces, along with her magic, resulted in the formation of Catalyst, a psionic spirit born of her own mind. Catalyst is largely elemental in nature, lacking the mentality of a human, or any mortal being for that matter, content to sit in the back of Luz's mind, only emerging when something truly dire acts against Luz, as well as passively blocking any and all mental attacks against her. The part about only emerging against dire acts is rather literal, Catalyst will only intervene if Luz is close to death or about to suffer a fatal blow, and she lacks any ability to distinguish friend from foe, preferring to wipe out anything and everything in range to ensure Luz and her's safety. A benefit to the changes induced by Klarion's manipulations is that some of Luz's innate biological potential has been unlocked, but only a little. Luz absorbs information insanely fast, capable of memorizing a 1000 page document in its entirety on a single read through, and her muscle memory develops abnormally fast, making combat training very effective for her, though training is far from mastery, as she doesn't automatically gain the experience needed to make full use of any skills she may acquire. Luz is now naturally drawn to imitation, subconsciously copying Batman and Robin's walking style to minimize noise on instinct alone. Luz does gain some benefit to the Matrix merged with her body, along with the lightning, as her body now naturally acts as a conduit for divine and mystical forces; spells and divinity naturally flow in and out of her without effect, though the magic of Chaos and Order can easily disable her, particularly that of Klarion and Doctor Fate. For offense, Luz can cannibalize her internal energy stores to manipulate as light, electricity, and flames, though not all at once, and she currently doesn't remember how to eat, as the Matrix breaks down anything she can recognize as food and converts it directly into the nutrients, vitamins, and biological materials she needs to live, though she still needs to drink like normal. Luz possesses genuinely inhuman reflexes and mental processing, as she can easily track and process Kid Flash's movements, though anything faster than him gives her a massive migraine to watch. Luz has a limited ability to adjust her body, capable of making herself very fast at the expense of being more fragile, or very strong and durable yet incredibly heavy and slow. Luz suffers severe amnesia, though her personality is basically identical to how she was previously, merely missing the experience and social knowledge to reign in her most dangerous impulses, which she couldn't do very well to begin with, let's be honest, and cannot recall anything other than the fact that she is fluent in both English and Spanish, loves a series of books called the Good Witch Azura, and the names of her friends, though not how she knows them or that they are her friends (I think it is telling that she remembers the people she cares about more than she remembers herself). After Klarion healed her, he promptly dumped her back on earth to fend for herself; after regaining consciousness, Luz basically ambled around acting on whatever impulse struck her, no matter how insane, random, or dangerous, with her antics, combined with her inability to stop herself from using her powers, catching the eye of Cadmus, who promptly took her captive and stuck her in the sub-levels with Superboy. Something of importance to note, the Matrix that is currently helping hold her body together is tainted by the power of Necrom and his perversion of death; as it stands, every time Luz uses her powers and abilities in anyway other than to "eat" she shortens her lifespan, with the rate gradually, almost minutely, but inevitably speeding up. If the problem, and by extension a solution, isn't discovered soon, Luz will die, and her corpse will become an out-of-control vessel of extinction. In part due to the alterations made to her being, Luz views Superboy in a manner similar to a brother, and often tries to run interference between him and Superman to ease the tension and help them get along. Luz's attire upon awaking is composed of a skin-tight, black, sleeveless bodysuit with three silver lines running across it in a manner similarly to an atom model, centering on an orb affixed just above her right breast, emblazoned with a silvery-blue version of her light glyph, not that she currently recognizes it. Luz can disengage her Matrix, which disappears in a crackle of mystic lightning, and return to her civilian state by concentrating hard enough, doing it by accident after being released from Cadmus along with Superboy by the Team and the Justice League; the bad part was that she didn't have any clothes on after dismissing the Matrix, as Klarion didn't particularly care if she was clothed or not after he was done repairing her. Her codename, until she can recall her real name, is Thunderstorm!

Luz originally doesn’t quite remember how to use magic, but after waking up groggy and needing a light one morning, she, by pure accident, draws and casts one of her light glyphs off of pure muscle memory. Her reaction?

Luz: I can do magic? (Looks at the spell floating above her head) I CAN DO MAGIC!! (Cheers)

To explain, due to lacking the presence and power of the Titan, Luz’s spells are now cannibalizing her lifeforce for fuel, which vastly accelerates her life-drain. Of course, this is Luz, if she can use something to help her friends, even if it endangers her, she will, much to the concern of her friends and teammates. As Luz’s lifespan shrinks, she gradually experiences increasing symptoms of hunger, followed by occasional aches and pains that grow in frequency and intensity, before evolving to full-on fits of debilitating agony at its most advanced stages. Luz isn’t concerned about her condition, once she finds out about it that is. Why? Because she has faith that a solution can be found before she is ever in any real danger, and if not? She would gladly giver her life for her friends and the safety of the people... that’s just the kind of gal she is.

As always, feel free to ask questions, comment, or use the idea as you wish.

#the owl house #dcu #young justice #owl house au #luz noceda #amity blight #king the owl house #willow park #boscha #gus porter #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #toh skara #firestorm matrix #shazam

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aromagni · 4 years

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Change Through the Aro Renaissance (Carnival of Aros, September 2020)

I have both witnessed and participated in many changes of the aro community. I remember being a baby aroace in 2015 and mostly lurking as I followed many aro and ace blogs. Back then, it seemed the aro community was mostly the aroace community, more linked to ace, not yet having developed its own identity. I remember trying to find more ways to engage in the aro community and stumbling upon aroplane, which was an aro forum before arocalypse, but I think it was inactive and I’d looked for forums during the absence between the two. After lurking and solidifying my confidence in my identity, I’d kinda drifted away from actively participating in the community at all for a little while, so I’m not particularly aware what happened in between; I’m vaguely aware the arocalypse forums were created in 2016, but it seems in my absence from the community in 2016-2017, much of what had been there had become lost, presumably decimated by the tolls of exclusionary discourse.

In 2018, I was in college where I could be more outwardly queer, and I started seeking out community more. On one hand, engaging with college queer organization made me want to bring more visibility to ace and aro things, especially aro….during this time, I met many alloro aces who I couldn’t relate to, which started pushing me towards centering my aro identity more. I remember wanting aro-spec awareness week recognized at my college and in trying to do so, realized the arospecawarenessweek tumblr had become inactive, for they had not updated the date that year. I started following more aro tumblr blogs and joined the forums and then joined an aro discord server that spring, and that was when I started to truly engage in the aro community.

It was exhilarating interacting with other aros, both on discord and then how we carried that over to tumblr. I fondly remember the coining of arogender and subsequently developing the flag for it. We all followed and reblogged from eachother and it made it energizing to engage in the community because we could feel confident that the effort we put forth to create things would not be wasted, because our content was shared amongst ourselves in our tiny community. Many of us blogging starting then had not really participated in the aro community before; many of us were my age, late high school to early college student aged, treading into actively participating in community for the first time, and thus our knowledge of our history and our terminology was distorted by time and viewed by the remaining crumb trails on the internet.

This was the time when our community was reborn, reborn from the ashes of the discourse and created into something new, a more independent aro community brighter than we’d ever been before: This was the aro renaissance. In fact, ��aro renaissance” is part of the blog title we used when we made aromantic-official in May 2018. I’d had the idea because I noticed most of the older modded aro blogs of old had become dormant, and it would be good to have some sort of group ensuring the continuation of events like Aro-spec awareness week and maintaining resources like a glossary. At the time, we were thinking small in the context of a tumblr blog, but it was a start.

I remember around December 2018, many flags were made. There was the blue-orange aroace flag and shortly after I made an aroace flag of my own, and then an a-spec flag, and then there were other a-spec flags too I think; we were wanting to differentiate between a-spec, an umbrella term encompassing both aro-spec and ace-spec, from aroace, a specific identity indicating being both aro and ace at the same time...though there’s still some confusion between the two in terms of flag usage still. Shortly after, there was also an aro allo flag made, and the allosexual aro community grew as a more distinct established component of the aro community; no longer was the aro community solely an aroace community, we had become an independent aro community.

In late January 2019 I’d went to the Creating Change conference, where there was the first ever aro & ace hospitality suite and I interacted with other a-spec activists, including people from the fairly newly named TAAAP (The Ace and Aro Advocacy Project). It was refreshing seeing the advancement of aro activism as more than just a subset of ace, and interesting to see the development of activism out in more the “real” world rather than just on my corner of the internet. I remember then hearing how they were planning to host the first carnival of aros (inspired by the longer-running carnival of aces), and since then it has been nice having carnival of aros to foster discussion of many aro topics.

I remember that first carnival of aros coinciding with a lot of clashing between the aro and ace communities, sparked even more by the specific topic of the month relating aro and ace communities. I think we, the aro community, were frustrated at being ignored. The ace community had continued to grow and gain recognition and visibility, while claiming to represent us as well but in a way that was more a misrepresentation, depicting aro as a subset of ace, thus further erasing the reality of our experiences. We were frustrated and bitter, often justifiably so; even I as an aroace was frustrated with the ace communities treatment of aros at that point, and I know many aro allos were even more upset. I think we were also still less sure footed, with our community still establishing-itself, so as a result were more defensive and scrambling for anything we could claim as our own, often misguided by the often incomplete or misinformed scraps of posts around different words and such. (In hindsight I think there were some inaccuracies in my first carnival of aros post that february, but it was an accurate look at what we were frustrated and upset about at the time).

I remember also that February more was done to celebrate ASAW than had been in years previous, though it was still small. I also remember some divisiveness between the aroace and aro allo sides of the aro community, which caused an unfortunate binary which subsequently emphasized the need for terminology of aros who were neither asexual nor allosexual, thus many discussions about “non-SAM” aros, and other words for that concept. I think that continued well into that summer.

Speaking of that summer, in June 2019 AUREA was launched! This one wasn’t started by me, but naturally I ended up pulled into doing more aro activism stuff. AUREA (Aromantic-spectrum Union for Recognition, Education, and Advocacy) has wonderful resources including a comprehensive glossary with links (both original and archived) to sources and some flags, and also has various research and lists of other aro-inclusive orgs, including local ones. We also publish multiple articles a month, including a “What’s Going On” article at the start of each month covering what’s going on in the aro community, and then other articles about various topics. AUREA is everything I’d wanted when originally making the aromantic-official blog, but is so much more than I thought to hope for. We collaborated with other activists and made ASAW 2020 even bigger than before, and we also launched an aro census, and just so many different cool projects. It’s so cool having a good comprehensive centralized aro resource like AUREA and just having a specifically aro activism organization focusing on aro issues specifically, not just having aro included under aro & ace groups. I’m really proud of what we’ve been able to do and what we continue to do.

I feel like in the last year since AUREA has been formed, the aro community feels a lot more solidified and stable, like we’ve finally concretely established ourselves as an independent entity to be recognized. And even though we’re more solidified, we’re still growing and creating and innovating, there’s still this wonderful energy and motivation which we continue to grow with. Some other things have happened this year, in April 2020 we had to kinda scramble to keep the arocalypse forums going, and now I’m a mod there too because I don’t seem to know how to not be involved in things, especially because I vehemently care about seeing them continued. (Why is it always spring? 3 springs in a row I’ve gotten involved in big ongoing aro projects like that). Then June 2020, TAAAP pride chats started and have continued every month, which is a really cool opportunity for people from the a-spec community, both ace and aro, to gather to discuss various topics, and also to interact with various a-spec activists.

It’s been really fascinating watching and helping to aro community grow over the past few years, and I feel like I’ve grown with it. Through my activism, I’ve learned a lot about what I am good at and how I can work well in a team, which has helped me gain a lot of confidence about things where in-person experiences had made me lose confidence. It’s also kinda wild when I think about the scale of it all; the aro, and also ace, communities are really fairly small, such that it’s not hard to end up doing this activism on a national or international scale. I never really set out to be an activist, I just wanted to get involved and cared about improving things and have lots of ideas, so I kept doing things, and now I look at what I’ve done and realize that huh this is activism, I am an activist, and probably a rather prominent aro activist at that. It’s weird especially compared to how extremely ineffective I feel I’ve been at doing any sort of activism at my college, to then think of what I’ve managed to help accomplish on an international scale online. I feel inspired by the changes, the growth of the aro community, and I look forward to helping it grow even more.

#carnival of aros #aromantic #actually aromantic #aurea #aro community #aro activism #my post #magni’s thoughts #long post #not particularly organized/is kinda word vomit but many thoughts and is done so

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