#would anything be different or better if; instead of carving 'my friends and social groups never hate me i only think they do' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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Bad Timing (Levi x reader) Part 11

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend?

Word Count: 8.2K (longest one yet)

The next few days flew by in a snowy blur. Most of your time was spent wrapping gifts and packaging baked goods to deliver to family friends. You grunted as you leaned heavily on top of the Tupperware container as you shoved in more sugar cookies. This particular batch was going to Erwin's coach and his family. The sound of wrapping paper tearing made you cringe, turning around you saw Hange holding up the two uneven lengths of paper. She smiled sheepishly at you before shrugging and taping the pieces together once more. Your mom and Erwin were currently out shopping at the mall, which was a good hour away from the hick town you lived in.

You and Hange had already been out shopping the other day. It had been very stressful shopping for all your friends and family. You were glad to have gotten the ordeal over with. Although it was stressful, you had enjoyed picking out the perfect gift for your loved ones. Some highlights included: a camera lense for Armin, a set of chain necklaces for Mikasa, a turkey hat for Sasha, a safari hat for Connie, and your personal favorite was a set of fancy tea cups for Levi.

You really had outdone yourself this year, even going as far as buying Erwin supplies that he would need for College. For Hange you had purchased her a fresh set of glassware for her experiments, since she was majoring in Chemistry and enjoyed doing work outside of the classroom you thought it was a fitting gift. Hange held up her finished product proudly, judging by the size of the box you guessed it was a pair of shoes.

"I can't wait to give these to him!" she gushed as she set the box to the side and began folding a sweater that the two of you had purchased for your mom.

"Yeah I'm sure he'll love them." you agreed. You weren't the only one who had splurged this year. Hange had bought Erwin a fresh pair of cleats for his freshman season at college.

"I hope so!" she chuckled as she boxed the sweater and the pair of earrings for your mom.

"What did you ask for this year?" you asked as you set the stuffed container of cookies to the side.

"Oh nothing special." Hange waved her hand dismissively. You weren't surprised, she wasn't exactly interested in possessions. She valued knowledge above most things, so the closest you could get to filling that need was to give her books or items that helped her learn and shit. You had learned that the hard way, a few years ago you had given her a nice bracelet, which was currently collecting dust on her dresser.

"Well what about your parents, are they doing something special this year?" you inquired, you knew that she had learned to appreciate knowledge from them. They used to go on trips and spend Christmas soaking up the culture of wherever they went. One of their most notable trips was to South America, Hange's favorite trip to date. They hiked in the jungle and learned about the environment and shit.

"Aw sadly no, they wanted to take a break and focus on their research here." She shrugged as she wrapped the box in snowman wrapping paper.

"Really?" you mused, although Hange's family was unconventional you admired their free spirit.

"Yeah, I'm particularly interested in my mom's project, she's studying these penguins in South America right now-" she continued to ramble on about her mother's studies and her father's work. Both of her parents were very active in the zoology community. Hange's rant was cut short by the sound of her phone ringing, she apologized before answering the call, walking out of the room for some privacy. Which you thought was odd, she usually wasn't so private with her phone calls, which at times could be annoying. You brushed it off as most likely being a conversation about gifts. You picked up your phone, taking the opportunity to answer the text that Mikasa had sent you earlier that morning.

"We'll be over around 7." her text made you feel giddy with excitement. Although this year would be a bit different you were still excited to see all your friends.

"See you soon!" you responded, you realized that it was probably a good idea to start dinner for your mom. She should be home any minute but still you set about preheating the oven for the casserole and the ham. Thankfully the Jeagers brought dishes as well, Carla made a mean pumpkin pie. You weren't expecting Kenny to bring anything other than booze. You fell into an easy rhythm as you prepared the vegetable casserole. It couldn't have been more than an hour later that your mom and Erwin stumbled in the door and dropped the bags down by the card table where we had been wrapping gifts. Your mom was quick to wash her hands and start the mashed potatoes as you checked the ham. Hange had began to set the table with Erwin, a christmas playlist had been playing to set the mood.

The Jeagers arrived right at 7, just in time. Grisha's arms were full with gifts, Carla toted two pies, Eren held a board game, and Mikasa had two bottles of red wine with ribbons around the necks of the bottles. Hugs and formalities were exchanged as they entered and put their gifts under the tree. Carla joined your mom in the kitchen to finish carving the ham. You and the other teens finished setting the table as everyone trickled into the dining room.

Just as the ham was placed on the table and glasses of wine were poured, the doorbell rang once more. Kenny had arrived, surprisingly only thirty minutes late. He had a huge bottle of vodka and another sizable bottle of whiskey. Your mom greeted him, taking the liquor from him and pointing him to his seat. Now that all guests were accounted for you began to dish out food and recount the past holidays that your families spent together. It didn't go unnoticed that Kenny was a tad uncomfortable, but thanks to Grisha's easy going nature and Carla's friendliness, he slowly eased up. Of course you and the other teens had your own conversation separate from the adults.

"-Do you remember that one year that I creamed you guys in Just Dance?" Hange gloated as she waved a forkful of ham in Eren's face.

"Ugh yes, but only because that was the year that Mikasa's ankle was sprained." Eren deflected, lifting his own fork to push hers from his face. Mikasa blushed and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

"Well I guess we'll just have to see if that was the real reason after a rematch!" Hange teased before biting into the hunk of meat.

"I guess we will." Eren narrowed his eyes as he watched Hange chew the meat.

"We should play Mario Kart first, I want to redeem myself." Armin was quick to change the subject. Always quick to avoid possible conflict.

"Yeah I totally creamed you last time!" you gloated a cocky smile on your lips.

"W-What! No I had the most wins!" Eren's eyes were alight with anger. He was too easy to piss off.

"Wrong!" you said in a sing song voice.

"Knock it off you two." Erwin scolded from across the table, Eren's cheeks flushed when Erwin scolded him but you simply rolled your eyes. In the last few months Erwin had taken to hovering over you and your friends. It was strange, he had never shown so much interest in your social life until recently. At first you had been eager to tell him what was going on in your friend group, but now it was becoming annoying.

"Lay off Erwin, it's all talk." you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Erwin's eyes hardened at your snarky tone, your guests eyes flickered between the two of you as you glared at one another. Until finally you snorted and looked away with a shake of your head.

"Uh...so who wants pie!" Armin, ever true to his anti confrontation nature filled the thick silence between the teens. Meanwhile the adults had continued to yammer on about all the hot hospital gossip.

"I-I would." Eren played into Armin's excuse to change the subject.

"Yeah sounds good." you sighed, defeated. Armin scrambled out of his seat and ducked into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with the pies. He dished out three pieces onto you and Eren's plates before serving himself. By the time he had returned, Hange had already changed the topic to the party the following day. You sat in silence as she rambled about the logistics for the party at your house.

"I think that Nanaba is bringing mac and cheese, Mike is probably going to bring those snicker doodles that he always makes-" You tuned her out, not interested in her current rant. Tomorrow's party wasn't the party you were really excited for. So you instead turned to Mikasa, hoping to talk about your plans for the 26th.

"So what time are you going to Annie's? Would you like to ride together?" you asked as you angled yourself to face her to better tune out Hange.

"We are heading over around 9, and sure I'm driving." Mikasa responded as she stretched to serve herself a piece of pie.

"Perfect, are you spending the night there?" you quizzed, unsure if you also wanted to spend the night there.

"No, we were going to go back to Armin's but I can drop you off here if you want." Mikasa answered as she took a bite of pie.

"Alright that sounds good!" you agreed, knowing that Mikasa was always a reliable designated driver.

Dinner had gone relatively smooth, despite the tension that now hung in the atmosphere between you and Erwin. The rest of the evening was spent in the living room opening gifts with a Christmas movie marathon playing in the background. The Jeagers left around eleven, which was later than they usually stayed. Kenny took the guest bedroom in the basement, since he was spending Christmas day with your family anyway. You checked your phone with a heavy sigh, already it was twelve am. You contemplated texting Levi to tell him happy birthday, but you weren't sure he would be awake. It was already six in the morning in France, and usually he got his three hours of sleep between four and seven in the morning. But you decided that if he didn't answer you could leave him a voicemail or shoot him a text. So after you changed into your pajamas and had snuggled beneath your covers, you pulled up Levi's contact, your thumb hovering over the small phone icon. Finally you just said 'fuck it' and pressed the button, the phone rang three times before he answered.

"Hey." his voice was thick and gravely as he spoke, immediately you felt bad. You knew that you must have woken him up and you cringed internally.

"Hey happy birthday!" you greeted, making sure to keep your voice low so you wouldn't disturb Erwin and Hange.

"Tch thanks." Levi mumbled, you pictured him running a hand down his face as he tried to wake up.

"you're welcome birthday boy." you teased as you fell back onto your pillows.

"shut up." Levi scoffed, you could hear his footsteps as he walked through the apartment, presumably to get his morning cup of black tea.

"you know you love it." you sighed.

"keep telling yourself that." Levi's voice was becoming clearer now that he was more awake.

"I think that I will." you answered with a light laugh.

"you still going to that party tomorrow?" Levi interrogated, you groaned. You had almost forgotten how he liked to stick his nose in your business, even when he was across the fucking ocean.

"Yeah what about it?" you huffed, feeling a bit defensive.

"Shouldn't you stay with your family or some shit." Levi sounded frustrated.

"My mom said I could go." you pouted childishly.

"Whatever." Levi grunted, and you frowned, unsure of where his frustration was coming form.

"Aw come on no need to be jealous, I'm sure you can find some rager in Paris. Not like you'll be missing much here." you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hmph." Levi scoffed, you could hear the tinkling of his spoon as he stirred his tea.

"So....when are you due to be home?" you asked, deciding it was best to change the subject.

"Next week." Levi's tone was clipped.

"I'm so jealous." you sighed dreamily.

"Yeah Paris is way better than Shiganshina." Levi responded nonchalantly, you weren't sure if he was being serious or sarcastic. Either way he was telling the truth.

"No need to rub it in my face." you chuckled.

"Tch." He scoffed, you liked to imagine him smiling as he did so, even if he wasn't.

"Well I hope that this next week goes by fast, as much as I hate to admit it I've... missed you." you confessed, the tips of your ears scorching hot with embarrassment. The silence was deafening as you waited for him to say something, hell anything even if it was making fun of you.

"Whatever." he huffed, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the sound of his baritone voice.

"Just don't stay out late tomorrow." he quipped and you frowned, why did he care how late you stayed out?

"No need to worry about me, I'll probably just stay sober with Mikasa." You told him, only half honest.

"Never said I was worried about you." Levi sighed.

"Hmph fine be like that." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, not surprised with his response.

"Be like what?" He asked, genuinely curious what you meant.

"Like an ass." you quipped.

"Tch I'll quite being an ass when you stop being such a brat." Levi snapped, clearly you were approaching dangerous territory.

"Okay okay chill." you muttered, backing down before things got too heated.

"You're the one that brought it up.." Levi pointed out.

"Yeah and now I'm regretting that" you sighed, wishing he wouldn't be so stubborn for once. He sighed as well and you heard a small clatter on his end of the line, you figured he was starting the dishes.

"Look I've got some shit to do, I'll call you later okay?" Levi's voice was a tad strained and in the moment of silence you heard the sound of Isabel and Farlan bickering in hushed tones.

"Y-Yeah sure of course." you couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"Happy birthday Levi." you wished him once more.

"Thanks, talk to you later brat." and with that he hung up, leaving you totally alone in your dark room. You plugged your phone in and rolled over onto your side, he could be so annoying. You inhaled sharply and decided that you would enjoy the party tomorrow to it's fullest. What he didn't know wouldn't kill him.

___

"Hey can I borrow your lip gloss?" you asked Mikasa as you leaned forward to apply another coat of mascara to your lashes.

"Sure which one?" she asked as she pulled her hair into high pigtails on top of her head.

"The cherry one." you answered after a moment of contemplation. She finished her hair before reaching into her makeup bag and pulled out the tube of clear gloss.

"Thanks." you said as you took the make up from her. You didn't usually put this much effort into your appearance when you went to parties but you figured since it was the first time you would be going to Annie's that this was a special occasion. Also you had a sneaking suspicion that two of your exes would be there and you at least wanted to look hot if you were going to get black out.

Plus Mikasa was also dressed up, she wore a tight fitting black top with long sleeves and a low cut neck line that showed off her pale collarbones and neck. She had chosen to wear a choker that had metallic studs surrounding the black leather along with some other layered necklaces. To match her top she had selected a red plaid skirt and some torn tights. You weren't dressed nearly as edgy as she was, but you too had gone for a grungier look. You'd opted to wear a tattered pair of mom jeans along with a black cropped tank and an oversized flannel to cover your shoulders.

You sighed as you finished applying the gloss and frowned, Eren and Armin were in the next room over blasting Post Malone. You assumed that Eren was on aux since Armin usually listened to Surfaces or Khalid.

"You ready?" Mikasa asked as she pulled on her Doc Martens and double checked her earrings.

"Yeah." you assured her as you stood up to grab your small backpack with an extra change of comfy clothes in case you ended up staying the night. The two of you left the room and knocked on Eren's door that was down the hall.

"Just a minute!" Armin's shrill voice sounded a bit panicked but Mikasa simply shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. The Jeager's house was a ranch style house with one main floor and a nice basement. The two of you waited patiently in the kitchen for the boys, it was already well past nine. You scrolled through your snapchat, most of the stories were the regular group picture of friends having a sleepover, the druggie kids showing off their weed, and of course Sasha and Connie posted a video showcasing the house party at Annie's. From what the short video showed, her house was dark except for some LED lights that flashed through multiple different colors. The music was deafening, and the kids that you could see seemed to be swaying to the pulsing music.Sasha spun the camera around as she knocked back a shot with her arm around Connie who blew a puff of vapor at the camera.

"Looks fun." Mikasa scoffed, you knew that she preferred more low-key parties.

"If you end up not liking it we can always dip." You shrugged, knowing that this wasn't exactly your speed either. Mikasa hummed in agreement and turned to look down the hallway as Eren's door opened. The boys emerged from Eren's room, Eren wore a pair of black jeans and a dark forrest green long sleeved shirt. Armin wore a baby blue knit sweater with a collared shirt underneath and black jeans as well.

"All set?" Mikasa asked as she turned to pull out a bottle of titos with a cute little sweater over it. You smiled at the cute accessory and nodded.

"Yep!" you said popping the p as the four of you all made your way out to Eren's car. You slid into the back seat next to Armin who was fiddling with the hem of his sweater nervously. Eren resumed his hype music as Mikasa backed out of the drive way. Eren pulled out his puff bar as soon as the car was out of the drive and took a long drag. Mikasa scoffed and cracked the window for him. He blew the billow of smoke out the window and reached to turn the music up. He reached back and dangled the puff for you to take, after a brief moment of hesitation you accepted it and cracked your window before taking a hit. Armin watched with wide eyes as you inhaled and blew the vapor out the crack.

"Since when did you vape?" Armin asked, his mouth agape in awe.

"I don't...at least not regularly." You admitted sheepishly.

"That's what they all say." Eren chuckled, smoke curling out from his lips as he smirked.

"Shut up I'm serious!" you snapped a playful smile on your face. Thankfully Annie's house wasn't far away, about a twenty minute drive. You pulled up to the house, it was huge. Standing at least three stories tall, with a long winding driveway. Mikasa pulled up behind one of the many cars in the drive way and parked the car. Mikasa led the way around to the side door, which was unlocked, piled of shoes littered the hallway. The sound of loud music greeted you as you walked into the kitchen on the main floor to set the alcohol you'd brought down. The real party was in the basement.

The lights were off, leaving the only source of light to be the flickering LED lights, you couldn't even tell who was who. The air was heavy with the mingling aromas of cologne, vapes, and weed. Armin practically clung to you as the four of you waded through the crowd to get to the seating area in the center of the room. As you got closer the overpowering scent of weed assaulted your nose. There on the large L shaped couch was Annie, she held a large bong to her lips as Bertolt held the lighter under the weed, she inhaled deeply and the bong bubbled. She pulled back and blew a puff of smoke right in Reiner's face, the blonde's face scrunched up in disgust as he turned away to cough.

"Yo." Annie greeted Mikasa who leaned down to dap her up. Once Annie had greeted Mikasa she turned her attention to Eren who was eyeing the bong.

"You want a drag?" Annie offered, patting the sofa next to her. Eren nodded and dropped down between her and Bertolt, who once again struck the lighter for Eren. Mikasa rolled her eyes and waited patiently for Eren to finish his drag. Once the bong was out of the way she lowered herself down onto his lap and pulled her puff bar out to take a long drag. Armin shifted awkwardly behind you and tugged on your sleeve.

"Want to go get something to drink?" he yelled over the booming music, you glanced at the bong longingly but decided that Armin needed you right now so you nodded in agreement.

"Sure." the two of you pushed through the crowd to the minibar where an impressive amount of liquor was waiting. You poured some Bacardi into a glass of and added some pineapple and orange concentrates before handing the cup to Armin. He thanked you and quickly got to work on finishing the mixed drink. You poured yourself a rum and coke and then two shots of Malibu for you and Armin to take. The two of you knocked back the shots before wandering back over towards the couch. The crowd had thinned out a bit, something about watching a movie in Annie's in home movie theater.

"-No that's bullshit, I know for a fact that you pissed your pants in the second grade Eren!" your eyebrows shot into your hairline at the words leaving Annie's mouth.

"Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I don't notice shit." She huffed as she lifted the juul in her hand to her lips and took a long drag.

"I-"

"Just take the L Eren we all remember." Bertolt shook his head and chuckled at Eren's flushed cheeks. You glanced at Mikasa, usually she would defend Eren but she seemed content to let him struggle through this one on his own, still perched on his lap.

"We've all had accidents before." Armin said with an awkward chuckle as he sat down beside Annie, who looked at him with a blank expression.

"Like that time you tripped down the stairs and broke both your legs in fourth grade?" Annie quipped, a small smirk curling onto her lips. You choked on your drink at Annie's remark, she was an absolute savage.

"Exactly..." Armin flushed, lifting his own cup to his lips. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you were too invested in the conversation to be bothered to pick it up.

"Want a hit?" Annie offered the bong to you, you nodded. Although you'd never had weed before, you'd tried asking Levi for some of his but he always denied you. Annie held her hand out to Bertolt who placed the lighter in his open palm. She packed some more weed into the bowl before handing you the bong.

"You ever done this before?" She asked as she kneeled in front of you. You shook your head,

"Okay so I'll tell you when to inhale, and you've got to take a huge breath so you can get the smoke in your system. But then you'll have to take another breath to get it in your lungs." she instructed as she pressed the weed deeper into the bowl.

"Okay." you agreed, she nodded and struck the lighter, holding the flame over the weed in the bowl. You pressed your lips to the mouth piece and waited for her instructions.

"Inhale." she said once the weed was lit. You sucked in a big breath and the water in the bong bubbled. The smoke burned the insides of your throat as you inhaled it, you pulled the bong off your mouth and sucked in once more to get the smoke into your lungs. She nodded in approval as you coughed, smoke curling out of your mouth.

"Not bad for your first time." she commented as she took the bong from you and passed it to Mikasa who took a long drag before passing it to Bertolt.

"Thanks, that stuff burns." you coughed, Annie sat down next to you on the couch and draped her arm over the back. You felt the buzz from the weed and the shots you'd taken earlier, making your head spin a bit. Annie's thigh brushed against your own, you tried to focus on what she was wearing, a pair of grey sweats and a cute cropped peachy colored tank top with spaghetti straps.

"I like your top." you complimented, her hand fell from the back of the couch to your shoulders.

"Thanks." she said, turning to gauge your reaction to her touch. You swallowed a bit nervously, you'd known Annie since kindergarten, but you'd never really been friends before, she was always so quiet.

"I always thought you were a good kid." Annie smirked, her eyes a bit playful.

"What made you think that?" You giggled, shuffling closer to her.

"Your brother is like the school's golden boy, and you are always in all the honors classes." she shrugged, you frowned. You were used to people coming up with these assumptions. She was right though, you did take honor classes, but that didn't mean you couldn't party!

"I guess...But that doesn't mean that I don't enjoy partying." you countered.

"I suppose." she chuckled, taking a hit from her juul and blowing the smoke away from your face. Your phone rang in your pocket and you frowned, as you dug it out of your pocket. Your frown deepened at the sight of Hange's contact lighting up your screen.

"Hang on I should take this." you apologized, moving to stand up to find a quiet place to answer the phone. Annie snatched your wrist and pulled you back down on the sofa, the room spun as you fell back down and slumped against her shoulder.

"Slow down there sweetheart." Annie chuckled as you leaned against her.

"I got to go answer my-"

"Nah just stay here, enjoy yourself." Annie pulled you closer, but your head was too foggy to protest, thoughts of your phone already fading into the back of your mind as Annie held the bong to your lips once more.

"She's still not answering." Hange chewed on her knuckle as she glanced at Erwin who was gripping the steering wheel. His brows were knit tightly together with worry, Levi shifted in the back seat, tapping his fingers impatiently.

"This is stupid, she can wait until tomorrow to see me." Levi huffed, trying his best to sound indifferent.

"Oh don't say that Levi." Hange frowned as she looked back at Levi, her eyes deep with worry.

"Don't worry about it." Levi grunted, turning his attention back to his phone. He opened snapchat, and scrolled through the stories. His eyes widened slightly when he stopped on Sasha's story, the video of the party played, he found himself looking for your silhouette among the swaying bodies. He tapped on his screen, expecting to move on to the next story, only to find a new video, added to her story less than ten minutes ago. A video of you with a red solo cup in one hand, and a juul in the other. You were leaned up against a blonde girl who was pushing a bottle of Pink Whitney against you, the pink alcohol sloshing in the glass.

"Come on (Y/n) finish it off!" Sasha encouraged as the other kids on the couch picked up on her chant.

"Finish it, Finish it." the crowd cheered as you sat down the cup and took the bottle from the blonde. You looked at the camera as Sasha shuffled closer.

"No pa-paparazzi please." you giggled, hiccuping half way through your sentence. You lifted the bottle to your lips and tilted your head back, the liquid spilled down your front, making your skin glisten in the colorful lights as you chugged the alcohol you managed to get in your mouth.

"Fuck yeah!!!" Sasha jeered, spinning the camera around to her face. The video ended and Levi felt his blood boil. He'd never seen you so out of it before and he hated it. He hated how easily you had given into doing something so stupid, he hated the sight of the juul in your fist, he hated the way the girl's arm was tightly wrapped around your waist, but most of all he hated that he wasn't there.

"Wait, I think Sasha's snap map is on." Hange mumbled, her phone screen casting a pale glow over her glasses as she zoomed in on Sasha's bitmoji. Sure enough Sasha's bitmoji was on the map, surrounded by at least twenty other bitmojis gathered in one location.

"Okay let's head that way then." Erwin sighed as he started the car and backed out of his parking spot in the airport parking lot. Erwin pulled out of the small airport that was about thirty minutes away from your town and set off towards Annie's house. Thankfully Annie lived on the outskirts of town so it wasn't as far of a drive. It wasn't long before Erwin was pulling up a long winding drive that was full of cars. He parked at the back of the line of cars and got out of the car with a heavy slam of his door. Levi slammed the back door of the minivan as hard as he could, the two of them marched up the driveway silently with Hange following nervously.

"You guys please slow down it's icy out here." Hange begged as she slipped on one of the steps to the side door. The three of them piled into the house, Hange knew it was bad when Levi didn't bother to kick his shoes off before continuing towards the basement steps. Erwin stormed down the steps, the music getting louder as they descended. Erwin paused at the bottom of the steps to take in the scene, cups littered the floor, the room was hazy with smoke from juuls and the scent of weed clung to the air. A group of partygoers was crowded onto the couch, Levi's eyes narrowed onto the back of your head.

"Yoooo that's ice cold." Eren's loud voice could be heard over the music as the teens passed the bong between one another.

"No it's the truth." you slurred, the empty bottle of alcohol still in your fist.

"Well sorryyy that I forgot that I had gum in my mouth." Connie said, waving his hands in front of his face.

"You're an idiot." Sasha laughed boisterously as she shoved a handful of pretzels into her mouth.

"damn straight." Annie agreed, taking the empty bottle from you and setting it on the coffee table. Erwin stalked across the room and stood behind Bertolt, who was now on the floor. The conversation came to a halt at the sight of the uninvited guests.

"Woah I think I'm seeing things." you said, tilting your head downwards as you tried to understand why you were seeing your brother.

"Me too." Reiner agreed, his own distant gaze honing in on his team captain.

"Get up we're going home." Erwin's voice was cold and commanding as he glowered at you.

"I don't wanna leave." your eyes hardened with denial. Erwin stepped over Bertolt, once he had moved your eyes landed on Levi, who was glaring at you with those dark eyes.

"I'm definitely seeing things." you grunted as Erwin pulled you off the couch and away from Annie's warmth.

"Hey man she said she didn't want to go." Annie snarled, jumping to her feet, her icy blue eyes sharp.

"Yeah well she's drunk as shit and doesn't know what she's saying." Levi snapped back at Annie, who had a hand clamped down around your arm. Hange shifted nervously behind the couch as she watched the scene unfold.

"You need to leave." Annie growled, pointing a finger at the stairs.

"That's what we're trying to do dumb ass." Levi growled, taking a step closer to the circle of teens.

"Leave her alone she can make her own decisions." Reiner quipped, rising to his own feet.

"Stay out of this Braun." Erwin ordered, releasing you so he could turn and face Reiner.

"I'm just saying, she chose to come here on her own and she's enjoying herself so let her be." Reiner shrugged.

"She's had enough tonight." Erwin countered, shifting his gaze back to you as you swayed on your feet.

"No I haven't" you frowned up at Erwin.

"Yes you have. We're leaving end of discussion." he said with finality, once more reaching for your wrist.

"I'm not leaving Erwin." you protested, pulling yourself free from his grasp. He snatched your wrist once more and tugged you away from the circle. You gasped and stumbled after him, the protests of your friends echoing loudly in your head. Erwin hauled you up the stairs and out the side door, Levi and Hange close on your heels. He only slowed once you were walking down the driveway. You wrenched yourself free once more with a strangled cry.

"I said I don't want to leave!" you screamed, a few tears sliding down your cheeks.

"You always embarrass me in front of my friends just give me this one night!" you cried, the cold air making your face beet red.

"You'll thank me later." He said simply before turning to continue down the driveway.

"No I won't I'm going back inside." you turned on your heel and marched back towards the door, only for Levi to catch your wrist.

"You've had enough for one night." He scolded as you struggled against his hold. Hange chewed on her bottom lip with worry at the sight, this was not how she planned your reunion.

"Levi let me go." you said with finality as you met his eyes.

"No, you're going home." Levi's voice was tense.

"No I'm not."

"(Y/n) you're going home and that's final." Erwin sighed, running a hand down the side of his face. You spun around and glared at him.

"You're not my fucking dad Erwin so quit acting like it! Jesus it's so annoying I'm tired of it!" you screamed, your chest heaving with frustration, your breath coming out with puffs of vapor. Hange and Levi stood deathly still, knowing that the topic of your father was a sensitive one.

"Fine be that way." Erwin snarled and marched to the van and climbed in with a slam of his door. Hange rushed to get in the car without a second glance over her shoulder. Levi remained firmly rooted to the ground, his hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist as you cried.

"Get out of here Levi." you sobbed, shaking your arm to throw his hand off. He finally let you go, his head tilted down to the ground. You huffed, wrapping your arms around your chest before turning on your heel and stalking back towards the house. Levi stood there a moment longer just listening to the sound of your receding footsteps before he padded back to Erwin's car and slid into the backseat.

Your head was spinning as you pressed your back against the bathroom door, your lip quivering as you tried to contain your tears. You knew that you'd hurt both Erwin's and Levi's feelings, you also knew that they were only trying to help you. But there was only so much help you could except from them without them toeing the line between helpful and overbearing. You slid down the door with a whimper, you hugged you knees to your chest and rested your chin on top of them. A knock startled you out of your moping,

"(Y/n)? You in there?" You groaned when you recognize Jean's voice.

"Open the door please." He said softly and you felt more tears fall down your cheeks as you reached up for the knob to unlock the door. The lock clicked and you shuffled to lean agains the wall so he could open the door.

"Hey" he said as he stuck his head in, his amber eyes soft with worry.

"Hey" you sniffled, turning your head up to meet his gaze.

"What's wrong?" He asked, slipping into the small bathroom and closing the door behind him. He crouched down in front of you, his elbows propped on his own knees as he got onto your level.

"Well for starters, you kissed someone else when we were talking." you said a bit venomously. He cringed and plopped down to sit criss cross applesauce instead.

"I'm sorry I know that I shouldn't have done that but, I've been really confused....like sexually I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and your frowned.

"I know, but it still hurt my feelings." you mumbled, a few fresh tears falling from your watery eyes.

"I shouldn't have led you on like that, it was a real jerk move." Jean agreed, his eyes still soft and comforting. You'd missed being his friend you realized as you sat on the cold tile.

"I've missed talking to you." you spoke your mind, managing a small smile.

"Me too, let's be friends again?" he proposed, offering his hand to you. Your smile grew wider as you extended your own hand to grasp his. You shook hands briefly.

"So are you and Marco a couple now?" you asked.

"Sort of.." Jean chuckled.

"You want to go back to the party now?" He asked, jutting a thumb towards the door. You nodded, although now you were beginning to sober up. He stood and offered his hands to help you to your feet. You accepted his hands and he pulled you to your feet. The two of you walked slowly down the steps to rejoin the circle of teens in the living room. Jean stopped at the bottom of the stairs his hand held loosely in your own. He squeezed your hand, asking for your attention. You turned and faced him, a questioning look on your face.

"You've got some-" He chuckled, lifting his thumb to his mouth and licking it before wiping away some rogue mascara off your cheeks. You gasped in mock offense as he wiped away the makeup.

"You're not my mom." you teased, pulling your face free as you turned to head back into the fray, trusting that Jean got all the black marks off your face.

"Nobody could replace Angie." Jean agreed as he followed you into the basement. The group of previously rowdy teens was now subdued due to your brother and his meddling party crasher friends.

"Hey look who's back!" Reiner greeted, causing all the heads to turn back to you. You smiled sheepishly and dropped back into your seat next to Annie.

"You alright?" She asked, her eyes scanning you meticulously for any signs of injury.

"Yeah I'm- I'll be alright." you stumbled over your words as the group watched you carefully.

"You want a uh beer or something?" Connie asked, lifting up an unopened can.

"No she doesn't you idiot!" Sasha snapped, elbowing Connie harshly.

"Ow well I was just trying to make her feel better!" Connie cried, turning to tackle Sasha. The two began to tussle, rolling around on the floor grunting as they struggled. You smiled, the pair never failed to make you happy. Annie draped her arm over you again as the boys began to place bets on who would come out victorious.

"If Sasha wins you've got to drink one of Connie's mixed drinks!" Eren said, leaning over to Bertolt who scoffed, his boyish features contorting with disgust. Connie was known for making the worst mixed drinks.

"You're on Jeager." he reached over Reiner and the two shook in agreement before turning their attention to the scuffle.

"Come on Sasha!" Eren jeered as Sasha bit down hard on Connie's hand. The boy yelped and tried to desperately pry her locked jaws off his hand. He gave up quickly and resorted to hitting her head with his closed fist, his face wild with panic.

"Tickle her neck" Mikasa suggested as she lifted a red solo cup to her lips. Your eyes widened in surprise, Mikasa usually kept quiet during these scuffles, unless of course it was Eren being thrown around. Connie's free hand flew down to Sasha's armpit and immediately Sasha released his other hand to roll away from him. Connie regained the upper hand, pinning Sasha beneath him as he tickled her ruthlessly. Jean groaned and slapped a wad of bills into Reiner's open palm as Sasha slapped the ground in defeat. Connie threw his hands into the air and rolled off Sasha who was fighting for breath.

"Traitor" she moaned, her brown eyes glaring at Mikasa who shrugged indifferently. Eren groaned and frowned at Mikasa.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked as Bertolt looked relieved. Mikasa shrugged once more a sly smile on her face as Eren pushed her off his lap.

"So" Connie jumped to his feet and clapped his hands together.

"About that drink." he turned and strutted over to the mini bar, followed by a sulking Eren and a smug Bertolt. You turned to Sasha who was now straddling Mikasa her hands around Mikasa's shoulders as she jostled the girl.

"Come on Mikasa why'd you sell me out like that?" she whined as she shook the girl, Mikasa's drink sloshing in her cup. Mikasa smiled as her eyes drifted to the group of boys, Connie had a large bottle of Tito's and a two liter of Mt. Dew in his hands as he inspected the two, his face scrunched up with concentration.

"Come on Sasha it's not like you wouldn't do the same if it were me." Mikasa scoffed with a roll of her eyes. You snorted at Mikasa's response, knowing that she was indeed correct. Sasha gasped and shook Mikasa harder.

"I would never do that to you! Besides you would win in any fight you fought." Sasha objected, leaning back on Mikasa's lap her arms extended.

"Psh whatever." Annie scoffed, a playful smirk on her lips.

"Not all of us are masters at kickboxing." Sasha pouted as she climbed off Mikasa's lap and dropped onto the empty space next to her. You knew that Mikasa had participated in the sport for the past few years, but you were confused when Sasha looked between Annie and Mikasa.

"What you didn't know?" Annie asked with a smirk. You shook your head,

"No I guess I don't know." you laughed as Annie licked her lips and she threw her arm back over your shoulders.

"Mikasa and I are on the same kickboxing club." She shrugged as you settled back into her side. Your mouth opened into an 'o' shape in realization as Annie dug her juul out of her pocket and took a hit. Mikasa nodded in agreement, her eyes shifting back over to the boys, who were laughing loudly as Eren chugged a cup of mystery liquid.

"Really? I had no idea." you said as you followed Mikasa's gaze. Eren was now leaned over gagging as Armin patted his back with a worried expression.

"-You dodged a bullet there!" Reiner quipped as he patted Bertolt's back as the tall boy watched with a disgusted face.

"Hey where did Ymir and Krista run off to?" Sasha asked, whipping her head around to look for the pair.

"Probably making out in some corner." Reiner scoffed as he dropped back onto the sofa, the rest of the boys rejoining the group as well. You nodded in agreement, it was no secret that the pair had been seeing each other recently.

"Guess so." Sasha sighed, slumping back into the sofa, throwing a glare at Connie who was now seated next to her with an arm over the back of the couch. Eren and Armin were the only once unaccounted for, you assumed that they had fled to the bathroom given the state Eren had been in after drinking Connie's concoction. Jean had managed to slip away with all the commotion, probably to return to Marco. Annie sighed, glancing at her phone with a frown, it was well past three at this point and you were starting to feel the fatigue.

"Well I think that I'm heading off to bed." Annie yawned, the others seemed to be mellowing out as well.

"You guys can crash here or my brother's room is open as well as my sisters rooms." She said as she stood up. You immediately missed her warmth as she lingered by the couch.

"I call Eric's room!" Sasha perked up, also standing up to run towards Annie's younger brother's room.

"No fair!" Connie yelled, giving chase. Mikasa sighed and stood up as well.

"I'd better go check on Eren and Armin." She mumbled as she stalked off towards the bathroom.

"Are you staying the night then?" Annie asked you as you also stood up, not sure if you should go after Mikasa.

"I'm not sure, Mikasa was going to take me back to her place..."

"You can sleep in my room with me." She offered, tilting her head towards the stairs. You bit your lip as you weighed your options. Mikasa had been drinking and smoking and you knew that she wasn't stupid enough to drive so you figured that you weren't leaving any more.

"We'll sleep in Sarah's room." Reiner said as he and Bertolt began to retreat up the stairs. Leaving just you and Annie in the basement living room, she raised a brow as she waited for your answer.

"No pressure." She said as she began to walk towards the stairs.

"Yeah I'll sleep with you." you blurted as you jogged to catch up to Annie. She smirked at your wording and you flushed.

"Not like that!" you slapped her arm as she led the way up to the top floor which was a maze of closed doors. She slipped into one of the closed doors, into a large bedroom with a queen sized bed in the center of the room. She emptied her pockets before climbing into bed, pulling the covers back for the both of you. You slid into the open side and sat your phone on the bedside table. Annie sighed with relief as she nestled into the covers, scrolling through her phone as you closed your eyes in an attempt to sleep. After a few minutes Annie put her phone down and rolled over, now her front was facing your back.

"You awake?" She whispered, you rolled over to face her as well.

"Yeah" you answered, resting your head on your arm as you focused on her features as best as you could in the dim lighting.

"You wanna make out?" she asked, your eyes widened in shock. You weren't sure if she was being serious or not.

"For real?" you blinked rapidly as Annie shuffled closer and pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

"I mean yeah." she huffed a shy smile on her face. You pursed your lips in thought, you had never kissed a girl before, and it wasn't like the thought of doing so had never crossed your mind. You shrugged and leaned slightly into her touch.

"Yes or no." She said as she propped herself up on her elbow so she was looking down on you.

"Sure." you agreed, she leaned down as soon as the words left your lips. Her lips were so soft compared to the boys that you'd kissed in the past. Her hand that had been in your hair now traced over your cheek bones as she licked your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for her to slip her tongue in, the taste of weed and pink whitney mingling on her breath. You met her tongue a bit timidly as she licked your bottom teeth. She pulled back after a moment to readjust herself so that she was now laying down on top of you, caging you in her arms as she leaned down to kiss your chin.

"You're so cute." she mused, her lips pressed against the corner of your mouth.

"You're really pretty" you breathed as her lips hovered over your own once more before connecting her lips with yours once more.

107 notes · View notes

shadowfae · 3 years

Note

We’re all pretty aware that the tumblr otherkin community is at a huge decline; I was wondering if you have any theories as to why that is?

American Protestantism, the decline of queer oppression in North America and the AIDS crisis, helicopter parenting, web 3.0, morality politics, and Tumblr’s porn ban; roughly in that order and rolled up into one bombshell that was a few years in the coming but nobody really saw it and understood it until it was far too late.

That was a mouthful and probably only made sense if you follow current cyberpolitical theory. For some of you reading this, as with every other hot take I have this has a chance of being passed around, that alone is enough. But for others who had no idea what I just said and need the ELI5 version, let me explain that. Buckle up, this’ll be a long one, and will go into fandom history a bit as well because it is actually relevant.

As we know, tumblr is a very American-centric platform. Twitter is also this way, but less so, but tumblr has it bad. Now, I’m ‘lucky’ in the fact that I’m Canadian and a twenty minute drive from the American border, so that puts me in the ‘privileged’ majority. (I say privileged because I’m not really sure what else to call it. Most of the information going around about politics either directly affects me or indirectly affects me approximately one or two links of contact away. Someone who’s only influenced by American politics because it makes their sister’s online friends sad is not going to be privileged in that way.)

This means that American politics and their social climate overwhelmingly affects tumblr’s social climate. This also bleeds through into other fandom spaces, on twitter, instagram, and Pixiv to name a few places; but here’s where I spend the majority of my time so here’s what I’ve witnessed.

America’s main religion, as far as I understand (from the raised agnostic and currently neopagan view I have), is some weirdass capitalistic-Protestantism that is so many miles from what the actual Bible says that if I were a betting man and knew more about cults than I did, I’d say it’s some weird fucking cult and never set foot in the country again for any reason that isn’t gaming free shipping through a PO box. If you have no idea what I just said but are at least vaguely familiar with Christianity, this graphic explains it pretty well. So we can see there’s some glaring issues with that ideal.

The decline of queer oppression and the rise of queer rights in North America, which is to tenderly include my own country but we all know when people say ‘in NA’ they mean ‘America, and Canada where it applies because the right-wing Republicans are really good in the propaganda department to convince everyone that Mexico is a drug-lords-and-anarchy wasteland to the point where even I don’t actually know what’s down there other than bad drivers and heat’; means two things. One, it’s a good thing by a long shot and do not mistake this as me thinking queer oppression being lessened is a bad thing. But two, it means that thanks to the AIDS crisis, queer folks lost a lot of first-person sources as history.

The queer elders in NA who survived are typically either a) bitter anarchists who are often POC, probably still dirt poor and do recreational drugs or b) university-tenured TERFs (trans exclusionary radical feminists). Category A are the people who Republicans have deemed worthless in every way, because racism, queerphobia, ableism, and all the other ways to be wrong and different and Evil that they can’t handle, because Jeezus would never want them to actually learn to love someone who wasn’t just like them, and they don’t have the compassion to do better. Category B are the people who want to be different in just a teensie little bit, typically with TERFs they want to be lesbians, but they don’t want to challenge the status quo. They’re fine with the way things work, they just want to be on top oppressing others over ripping the whole damn thing down and building a more forgiving system.

Now, due to all those ‘isms and the cheerfully malicious aid of the Republicans, pun not intended but drives home the cruelty of it all, we also see the rise of helicopter parenting. The invention of the internet did not really help this. Basically what you’ve got is a whole bunch of parents who saw the civil rights movement, just got access to the internet and things going viral, know the world is changing, and like all parents, they’re scared for their children. Now instead of parents knowing one or two people in their classes who just went missing one day and everyone assumed they ran away, they hear about eight homicides in the city of kids going to parks at night and dying. The Satanic Panic was another event around this time that contributed to that, but I’ll let you research that one.

This means that all of these parents, instead of doing what their parents typically did and let their kids wander off for the day so long as they’re back by sundown, they can’t let their children out of their sight. There might be a freak accident where their child is decapitated on the playground swing! Their baby might get murdered by an evil Satanist walking home from school! Their dearest darling might go online and tell their address to someone who’s got a 100% chance of being a pedophile who will show up and kidnap them in the night!

…You get the idea.

Combine those three things I just established, what we’ve got is a lot of queer kids who have a lot of internalized shame for being different and wrong, because they’re queer, and they can’t find spaces offline to be themselves, because all of the elders who would do that are dead and/or inaccessible and their parents won’t let them go to any clubs that aren’t school-related, which they’ll never find a GSA or queer club because Republicans, ‘isms, propaganda, and the war on Category A queer adults have all done their best to ensure that those spaces don’t exist.

So you have a generation of kids who I am the youngest of. The first generation on the internet. The late Web 1.0 (usenets and Geocities) and early Web 2.0 (livejournal was the big one, ff.net too, also 4chan but fuck those guys) generation. What we were taught was: trust nobody on the internet with your real info no matter how much you like them, this is a wilderness and any crimes that happen won’t be punished or seen so don’t put yourself in a position where you’re going to be the victim of one, and everything you put online is never getting taken down so don’t put anything up that you’re not willing to have on the front page of your local newspaper.

This worked out pretty well, actually! You had kids who knew that if they got in trouble, there was no backup coming to save them. Because the form that backup might take - parents and police - wasn’t going to help. Best case, they’d be banned from their friends and online support groups for being queer. Worst case, they’d be jailed and put in juvie and conversion therapy and turn to drugs and become evil Satanists just like everyone says they secretly are already. So they learned very quickly to take care of themselves. Nobody was going to save them, so they learned to not need saving.

And then, well, Web 2.0 shifted to Web 3.0. Livejournal died because parents - the Warriors for Innocence was the big name - went “gasp how horrible my children are being exposed to the evil pedos and homosexuals they’re going to do drugs and die of AIDS!”. Which is uh. It’s filled with a lot of bigotry, and I’m not excusing them - absolutely I am not - but you can kind of see where they’re coming from, if you tilt your head and squint.

Either way, LJ died, tumblr took its place, Facebook was fast taking off, and the fandom folks who had seen mailing lists go inactive, web admins take their fanfic sites down due to copyright, entire fandoms burnt to the ground in flame wars, said ‘fuck that we’re making our own place’ and that’s how AO3 got made.

That’s important. A lot of folks move to AO3, because well, the rules let them. The rules say ‘you can throw literally anything up here so long as it’s fan content and is not literally illegal, so we don’t get taken down’. It’s a swing for the first generation internet users, those kids who know this place is a wilderness and are carving out our own sanctuary.

But. The children under us. The children for whom AIDS is a nightmarish fairy tale, for whom the ghost stories are conversion therapy, for whom know they can’t really talk to their parents about being queer but can trust they probably won’t get kicked out over it. The children who haven’t spent ten seconds without supervision except online, and their reaction isn’t ‘oh thank god I’m finally free to express myself’ but ‘if I get in trouble, who will protect me?’.

And there’s nobody there. Because we went in knowing there was no backup. And that was fine. But now, the actual adults have figured out that hey uh, maybe we should make cyber laws? Maybe we should make revenge porn and grooming children over the internet crimes? And they grew up with that. They grew up learning that no, even if your parents are suffocating and controlling, they’re always be there for you! Some adult will always be there to protect you!

That isn’t the case. It’s not. But they expect it, because it’s always been done for them. They don’t really want to change the status quo, because that means doing it themselves. They can’t do that, because they don’t know how, they’ve been controlled for every single part of their lives thanks to helicopter parenting and without that control, they don’t know how to keep their lives together, and they demand someone come and control it for them, without restraining them.

Effectively, they want someone to ensure they never face the consequences of their actions. Helicopter parents will rescue you from whatever you did, because you’re their precious baby and it doesn’t matter if you punched a kid, you can do no wrong and the other kid clearly started it.

But being queer is doing wrong. Being queer is something Jeezus doesn’t approve of. So they want to make it something he could approve of! But if it’s too off what they consider to be okay, if it’s too different and weird and wrong and evil, that can’t do, that’s still bad, and they’re precious angels, and children, and minors, why are we the adults not protecting them and letting them see it? Why aren’t we being just like their parents but queer-friendly, why aren’t we protecting the children?

The adults who taught us were the children of those who died as a result of AIDS. The eldest of my generation knew some of them personally. My therapist’s younger brother died at 20 of AIDS, and she told me what it was like. But they don’t have that. These kids of web 3.0, they don’t have that. What they have is over-controlling parents, and the expectation that someone will always be there to protect them but hopefully in ways that don’t hurt them this time, no real understanding of why Category A queer elders are the way they are, and so much internalized shame that they have to do some pretty fancy logic-leaping to keep them from collapsing entirely.

They can’t turn into Category A queer youngsters, because they don’t know how to unravel the system around them, because they’ve never had to actually make choices in their lives and live with the consequences, because they don’t have the example of how to do it. They can’t unravel their internalized shame because again, that’s hard and they don’t have their parents to take away the consequences and pain. It doesn’t come easy to them, so it may as well not come at all.

But, you ask, if Category A queer elders aren’t around to teach the kids, then how are they learning anything positive at all? Well, Category B, our university-tenured TERFs, who don’t want to change the status quo but want to just be at the top of it instead.

For a lot of kids who don’t know how to make hard choices but want to be queer, this is an extremely attractive option. But when they go online to queer spaces, a lot of them say fuck terfs, we don’t support your hate, and they go ‘yeah okay that makes sense’. They can say fuck terfs without ever actually questioning why terfs are bad. They’re Bad and Evil, just like drug addicts, just like fairytale nazis, just like the evil homophobes.

And we saw them say ‘yeah fuck terfs’ and we were like, ‘aight you got it’ and we never questioned if they actually understood us. They didn’t. They didn’t, and we didn’t do enough to fix it, because not enough of us realized the problem. So terfs got a little sneaky. They hid behind dogwhistles and easy little comments, hiding their rhetoric in queer theory that you’ll absolutely miss if you just memorize it and never actually question it and understand why that point is being made.

This goes back to America sucking, because their school system is far more focused on rote memorization over actual logic and understanding of the text. They’re engaging with queer theory the way they’ve been taught, which is memorize and don’t think, don’t question. Besides, questioning and understanding is hard. Being shown different points of view and asked what they think is not only hard but requires them to go against all of the conditioning that says to just listen and agree and never question it, which goes back to tearing the system and internalized shame down, and we’ve established they can’t do that so naturally they don’t do that.

This begets, then, the rise of exclusionary politics. They’re turning into Category B queer youngsters, because we told them ‘hey that’s a terf talking point what are you doing’ and they never questioned why. They learned you can do all sorts of things, just don’t say X, Y, or Z, because they never thought deeply about it.

The children who have grown on Web 3.0 do not want to do any heavy lifting to make things easier for themselves long-run. They want to do as little as possible and have things get better for them. There isn’t enough of us left in Category A, because Category B terfs are very good at recruiting young folks and Cat. A is overwhelming poor, dead, and easily dismissed in the system as evil and bad, so we can’t exactly convince the young folks to listen. If all of the young kids could agree to tear down the system, a lot more older folks might listen. Change always starts with the young, and there’s a reason for that.

But Republicans have figured out, if you get people fighting, they never put together a force that can actually stop you. TERFs, who want the exact same thing as Republicans but with themselves on top, are doing this to queer youth, and Cat. A elders can’t fight back because there isn’t enough of them and the odds are against them, and the young folk like me who follow their lead.

People can kinda handle gay people. It’s not so far from the acceptable normal that it’s impassable. But you want them to handle kinky people? Gay people of colour? Kinky gay people of colour? Trans people? Those are bridges too far to step across. The original idea was to get the foot in the door with marriage equality and inch our way through with racial equality, sex positivity, dismantling ableism and perisexism (forgive me if that isn’t the word for anti-intersex ‘ism), and see if we can’t patch up the system instead of inciting a civil war over this and have to tear down the system entirely.

Well, we might’ve managed that if not for AIDS being the perfect ‘Jeezus is killing all the evil gay people for being sinners’ propaganda machine. As it stands now, not a chance in hell. So long as Republicans and terfs keep everyone fighting, nobody has the power to dismantle their empire, and they stay in power.

So then, you ask me, “Lu what the fuck does that have to do with the decline of otherkinity on tumblr???” and now that you’ve got all that background knowledge, here is your answer.

Those children who want their experiences curated for them and the evil icky content they don’t like to be gone because it disgusts them and anything that disgusts them is clearly sinful problematic and should be destroyed, are what we call ‘antishippers’, or anti for short.

They like being progressive. Sort of. They learned what Republicans and terfs have honed to a fine talent: keep people fighting, hold them to a bar they have to constantly make or risk being ostracized, and harass the people who don’t play along into getting out of your sight forever. Sound familiar?

They learned of otherkinity, and particularly fictionkind, because web 3.0 means if something goes viral on one site, it doesn’t just go viral on that site, it makes it to worldwide newspapers and twitter and nobody ever, ever fucking forgets it. They realized the following: “Hey wait, if I’m this character for realsies, not only does it help me deal with the internalized shame I’ve done nothing to actually fix because that takes work, I can also tell these people who draw gross content I don’t like they’re hurting me personally, and that actually sounds credible, and I can shame them into stopping”.

If this is your first time here and that sounds sickening, it damn well should, and I am so, so sorry that any of us had to witness this, and I am more sorry I and everyone else who personally witnessed this didn’t realize what was going on and put a stop to it. I answer asks and browse the tags and clear up misinformation and it isn’t just a genuine desire to help. It’s damage control, and my own way of trying to deal with the guilt of not stopping this. I’m well aware I couldn’t have seen it coming, I was a teenager myself still learning and no one person has that much power. I still feel like I should have done more, and I’ll do what I can to fix what’s within my power to fix.

So back to the story. This all culminates around 2016 or so. Trump wins the election, and every queer person ever knows they’re fucked, and the younger generation’s only ever heard horror stories, never seen actual oppression that this could bring. We’re all scared. We all don’t know what to do. Nobody has any answers or any control over the situation.

So they lash out. They attack others for drawing things they don’t like, for challenging them in literally any way, for asking them to reconsider the vile shit they just said, for so much as defending themselves from the harassment they just got. And when challenged, they yell “But I’m a minor! A literal child! How dare you attack me, clearly you get off on this, you evil pedophile!” and they sling around every insult in the book until one sticks. Pedophile is a pretty good one, so is abuser, and sometimes zoophile works out too. Freak is great, everyone gets right pissed off about it.

The fact that Category A queer elders were called pedophiles and freaks is not a fact they know or care about. The fact that they are quickly making every fandom community super toxic is also not a fact they care about. The fact that the ‘kin community has words and terminology and they actually mean shit, and the fact that they’re spreading misinformation faster than we can keep up with, are not facts they care about.

So they come in, take our terms, make it impossible for us to find new folks. They realize our anger is easily a power trip, because we’re already made fun of, so they get off on the little power they can find and make fun of us too, and then when we get rightfully annoyed and pissed off, they can hide behind being minors.

Then tumblr implements their porn ban, because nobody’s stopping them, because it isn’t profitable to have porn on here. Considering most of the otherkin community, and most fandom communities, are full of adults who do occasionally talk about NSFW things, and the fact that they’re just banning everyone who so much as breathes wrong, this begins the start of a mass exodus, scattering already fragile communities to twitter, pillowfort, dreamwidth, and a few other places. Largely, twitter, where you can’t make a post longer than a snappy comeback and where the algorithm is literally designed to piss you off as much as possible.

So community elders have largely left, because they can’t stand the drama and the pain of what’s happened, and that’s if they didn’t get banned for being kinky furries who do talk about how their kintypes merge with their sexuality. Most community members have also left or stopped talking about being ‘kin, because they get associated with antishippers and toxicity and it’s just not worth it. Those of us who are left get drowned out by misinformation and trolls and wishkin and antishippers who appropriate our terminology because it supports them getting a power trip, and whenever we argue, we get called pedophiles and freaks and worse.

And now there isn’t much left. I hope we get to find a better place. Othercon was a good place to talk about it, I did a whole panel (it’s on Youtube!) about what we want to do about it. But I don’t really have any answers.

But to sum it all up... America’s political climate ultimately culminated in destroying queer spaces, and we survived, and then people who wanted to destroy smaller communities to get on top showed up and we were all but defenseless against something we had never, ever dealt with before on this scale.

One of my twitter mutuals mentioned how kinning and otherkin are now completely separate communities. It’s really the best I can do to keep hoping that continues, until nobody realizes the words are at all connected to each other. It’s the best anyone can hope for, now. I hate it. I hate every part of this. But maybe we can salvage what’s left.

#luteia laments #otherkin #fictionkin #alth #alterhuman #asks #anonymous #long post //#discussions #on community history #on politics #on public relations #commentors feel free to add your own thoughts!#Anonymous

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poptod · 3 years

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The Breeding Kings, pt. 20

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Notes: WC: 7.4k

It wasn't long at all until he realized something was different––not specifically in you, or in his environment, but within his thoughts. Things had shifted, and the constant anxieties of where food and water was coming from next were turned to empty slots in his mind, slots you happily filled.

Against his will, he could think of little else besides you. He tried many things as well––staying away from you, keeping close to you, but he had yet to touch you in any way that really mattered. Fluttering glances and barely-there graces didn't count, nor did misplaced kisses on saner, safer areas. No, his dreams offered him no break from the annoyingly insistent thoughts, and instead supplied him with the endless imagination of an unchecked mind. Drowning in the image of your closed eyes slotted next to his in soft kisses, of your fingertips trailing across his bare waist.

But you would never do that.

He stared longingly at you through the gate he guarded, leaning on his wooden and bronze spear as you dug in the garden. Zakiti, your work partner, was travelling back and forth between where new trees had been dropped off, and where you were told to plant them.

In fact, he was so absorbed in your moving lips that he barely heard his own partner talking to him from across the gate.

"What are you, in love with Zakiti?" He asked, but he spoke in Akkadian, and Ahkmen had yet to pick up more of the complex words. One phrase you taught him was –

"I do not speak Akkadian," he said.

Luqa––or at least that's what Ahk thought his name was––just sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to face front. Ahkmen frowned softly but turned to attention as well.

That was generally how he spent his working hours. Much like he had in the House of Life in Egypt, he wasted away the time by staring at you or thinking of you, phasing out at the thought of knowing you. He was sure his coworker was tired of his shenanigans, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about what Luqa thought.

Fortunately, neither of you had work that often, and after asking the stewardess, your schedules were matched up to have the same amount of free time at the same time. The two of you took full advantage of that, spending many of your days strolling throughout the city and trying the new foods and beers created throughout the mud brick landscape. Strips of gardens were scattered throughout the city, but none more grand than the terraces of flora making up the Hanging Gardens, whose trees leant over with their plentiful fruit. Deep green vines twisted around blue tiled ledges and tall, white pillars, the especially long ones brushing up against the people who came and went from the gardens. You had yet to actually enter any of the Hanging Gardens, but they remained a constant in the background of the city.

Many morning and evenings you spent in the brewery. Sometimes Ahk would follow you, but other times he left to temples and taverns, socializing with the locals in hopes of absorbing more of the language. His favorite time was coming to visit you at the brewery after letting you work for a few hours, as you always lit up like a beacon whenever you caught sight of him.

This time was no different––you raced up the steps, taking his hand and dragging him back down. Today, tarps had been raised above the workshop, blocking away the blearing sun, and allowing a little more comfort in the already-heated environment. Not all of the stations were filled, but your friend Tiamat was still there at your side.

"I am – I am doing a, uh, a way to make my beer, but with the barley," you stuttered out, barely coherent enough for him to understand.

"So... the really alcoholic kind?" Ahk asked uncertainly.

"Yes!!" You exclaimed, and Tiamat laughed.

"Here," Tiamat said, gesturing Ahk over to her. She dunked the cup in her hand into the frothing beer, and handed it to him when it filled with the golden liquor.

You and Tiamat waited in baited breath as Ahk slowly lifted the cup to his mouth, sipping at the warm drink with a critical look in his eye. It was sweet––almost like cider, but it burnt his throat on the way down, warming his stomach pleasantly once it was there. He looked up, and you were still watching intently.

"What do you think?" You asked, your hands clasped tight together in front of your chest.

"It's good," he said, nodding. "You know what would go great with this?"

"What?"

"Cardamom. It's a spice, I'm sure they have it here," he said, but your brow furrowed as you looked away, a confused look on your face.

Ahk looked to Tiamat and repeated, "cardamom."

Tiamat, who look equally confused, said something to you that you had to translate.

"We do not know the word in Egyptian," you said.

"Shit," Ahk muttered. "It would taste so good, though."

"Is it sweet?"

"Well, it is used in desserts," he said with a shrug.

"That is good for me. We can – uhh, we can go to a spice shop, and we can, or you can, find it," you suggested, and repeated it to Tiamat, who nodded with a brightening smile.

"Good idea," she said.

The three of you set off quickly with Tiamat leading the way, as she knew the city best after the years she'd been living within its walls. Bustling chatter filled the streets, accompanied by shuffling feet, wooden wheels, and the jarring calls of sheep and goats. Bells sometimes rung as merchants shouted out their wares, and you ducked beneath their raised arms, giggling as you followed Tiamat, while Ahkmen trailed close behind, almost always reaching out for your hand.

Tiamat was a good deal taller and buffer than you, reaching Ahkmen's height and surpassing his strength, so she was stopped by large crowds that suddenly crossed your path. You panted as you caught up to her long-striding legs, followed by Ahk also appearing and panting.

"Since the drought, a lot of our trade lines have been cut... of course, the Kassite takeover didn't help, so we've only got a couple spice shops left," Tiamat told you as she tried to look over the moving heads of the crowd. "I think most of it is grown in the King's garden now, actually."

"That is good," you said, positing it was better than nothing.

"Yes, but... I do miss cinnamon," she said with a chuckle.

You relayed what she said––minus the cinnamon––to Ahkmen as you waited for the people, who were dragging along a group of goats, to pass by.

"That ought to make our search easier," Ahk said, and no sooner had he'd finished the phrase than he was being pulled on again, your left hand clasping his and your right held by Tiamat.

Frequent turns led you from the northern-most side of the city and into the south, where the streets were less disorganized than they had been. You tried to stop Tiamat several times to look at some of the cuisine and textiles within the scattered markets, but to Ahk's relief she didn't notice you, and kept on her quick-footed pace headed for the spices.

Both you and Ahk fell into heavy pants as Tiamat finally drew to a stop in front of a large, clay storage house, staring up at the symbol carved above the entrance. Through the archway you could spy a few people moving about amongst the massive pots and jars of sandy colors.

When Tiamat made to enter, the two of you followed gingerly, looking like twins with your hands curled in front of your chests to avoid touching anything. You scanned the room as a whole before your eyes fell to one of the merchants, wrapped up in white desert attire and a large turban set on his head. He was speaking quietly to another man, so you ignored him for the time being, and returned your attention to Ahkmen.

"What is the spice you did name?" You asked in a whisper.

"Cardamom," he repeated. "It's just kind of... vaguely brown. Like split wheat."

"That is a good help," you said flatly, looking at the pyramid-like structures of spice nearly overflowing out of the tall clay vases, most of which could qualify as 'vaguely brown'.

"Cardamom," Tiamat tried the word, rolling the word unnecessarily. She turned to you and said in Akkadian, "it's a strange word, isn't it?"

"A little," you agreed with a giggle.

You and Tiamat watched as Ahk sniffed each spice individually, often having to bend down to get a full whiff of the scent. Each time he did so, he wrinkled up his nose, stepping away with a frown.

"Is it bad?" You asked on the first time he did this.

"No, it's just really strong," he said.

That was his continuing excuse for doing it at least ten more times throughout the 15 presented jugs. By the end of it, you were no closer to knowing cardamom's Akkadian name, much less actually having any cardamom.

He backed away from the jars with a frown, crossing his arms as he scanned over all of them once more.

"Nothing," he said.

"How may I help you?" Someone behind you asked, and all three of you turned to see the shopkeeper––the darkskinned merchant who wore a turban. He spoke in Akkadian, but he had an accent, one only Tiamat could pick up on.

"We're looking for a specific spice, but we only know the name in Egyptian," Tiamat said, gesturing vaguely in Ahk's direction.

"Alright," he said with a heavy brow, glancing between you. "What is it?"

You nudged Ahk and he said, "cardamom."

"Ah," the merchant nodded, "qaqullu."

Tiamat asked for him to say it again, but she didn't know the spice, and reported so with a confused look.

"I wouldn't expect ye' to, it's off from Kuru in the east," he said, gesturing out the door with a hand holding round bottle. "Route's been cut, so I haven-been able to get it."

Before you could do it, and to your immense surprise, the merchant repeated what he'd said to Ahkmen in Egyptian. Ahk had a similar look of surprise on his face.

"Do you know of any place that might have it?" Ahk asked with wide eyes. He almost didn't notice the way you grinned toothily up at him.

"You are so intense," you whispered to him.

"How do you even know that word? You asked me what soup meant just yesterday –"

"The King's garden, probably," the merchant interrupted. "But it would cost much."

"That's not a problem," Ahk said before Tiamat could respond.

The three of you bid a hasty thanks and good-bye to the merchant, who gave you an odd look as you raced out of the shop. Crowds had only grown more thick during your time indoors, meaning you could barely see past the moving bodies, and had to rely on Ahk and Tiamat for where you were supposed to go.

Tiamat led the way once more, winding back through the streets from the way you came. According to her, the King's palace was somewhat near to the center, but the gardens were held closer to the largest temple, which marked the exact center of the city. Ahkmen spied through the tall buildings a stretching tower, reaching into the sky in white stone and dark, green leaves. The closer you got, it became easier to realize that the garden resided in a massive temple complex that took up nearly half of the city dwelling on the western bank.

You stopped at a large bridge hanging over the wide Euphrates that split the city down the middle, staring at the sheer size of the rushing water compared to the thin stretches you and Ahk had travelled down. Travellers and chariots marched down the large brick street, wooden wheels pulled by strange creatures you'd never seen before. Most chariots carried one or two passengers, as well as a carriage for goods, such as food, stone, and cloth. A couple carried massive bushels of reeds. On either side of the bridge were familiar statues––the lions with the heads of men, of which you'd learned earlier were titled Lamassu. Soldiers with spears and sheathed swords stood at their sides.

The frequency of soldiers and guards increased as you approached the walls surrounding the temple of Marduk, whose name you only knew after extended conversations with both Tiamat and Zakiti. Ahkmen wasn't aware of the name, but that didn't stop him staring at the temple's might, six terraces building the material of humans into the unearthly heavens.

However, the temple ended up not being your final destination. Tiamat led you past the tower and to the south, running down a wide street that led directly to one of the city's outer walls. Once you stood at the wall's base, she took a sharp turn to the left, and took you to one of the city's entrances across the moat of water.

Across he bridge lay farms and smaller houses, as well as another wall––though much smaller––that had been built to fortify the growing city. The sun shined a bright white overhead, allowing the dewdrops on trees to shine and glitter across the small, town-like reaches.

"There," said Tiamat, pointing out to a shaded area protecting rows of plants. Some of them had tarps set out above them, but others had more permanent shade, effectively hiding a good number of rows from view.

Ahk squinted in the bright sun to try and make out the different types of plants growing there.

"Are we allowed to actually go into the garden?" Ahk asked, a question you relayed to Tiamat.

"I've never been," she said, and began forward across the bridge. "So I'm not actually sure."

You translated the general idea again.

"Well, I've run this much now," Ahk said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "Ought not to give up now."

The overbearing scent of mixed spices was quick to hit you, and the three of you slowed down as your noses burned. A few people were standing outside an open archway, the darkness inside containing several more people, and barrels worth of spices. To the left of that the growing continued in shadow, while sunloving plants enjoyed the last light of the day.

Ahkmen accidentally met the eyes of one of the people flanking the entrance, causing his gaze to shoot back down to the ground. The doorway, like many in Egypt, was raised partway off the ground to avoid tracking dust and sand into the building. He stepped over the frame, and stood blindly while his eyes adjusted to the major change in light. His squinting was disturbed when you bumped into him, muttering some sort of apology before you pressed your side to his, scanning the quiet room with a look of near menace.

Tiamat appeared to be in a similar state of apprehension, scanning the room in hopes of finding out whether or not you were allowed to be in there at all. You and Ahk hadn't noticed, but the symbol of the King was carved clearly above the small house, and those who stood nearby were dressed in deep colors of red, purple, and green––a stark difference from the farmers who dwelled in much simpler homes outside.

Your awkward glances eventually caught the eye of a much older man, whose beard curled magnificently between robes of green and silver silk. His dark, bushy brow furrowed as his eyes fell specifically to you––a sort of anger, or perhaps confusion, overtook his curiosity and he stepped forward.

"My name is Sagar," the man said, taking your hand and bowing his head slightly. You stiffened, and Ahk quickly came over to your side, wrapping an arm around the back of your waist.

"Hello, I, uh – I am here with my friends," you replied in Akkadian, joined soon on the other side by Tiamat.

Compared to you and Ahk, Tiamat looked a great deal older as well––neither of you had gotten the chance to ask her age, but considering you were about as short as a 10 year old, and Ahk was twiggy as a 12 year old, it created a considerable difference. You assumed this was why Sagar very suddenly averted his attention to Tiamat, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Like you, Tiamat grimaced, her shoulders tightening.

"How may I help you?" Sagar asked, his voice low and weathered against your softer ones. Tiamat stuttered before she found an answer.

"We are looking for a spice, qaqullu," she said slowly.

"You must be a woman of noble bearings," he said with a smile.

"Well –"

"No," you answered for her. "But he is."

You pointed to Ahk with your thumb, who shot you an offended look before he confronted Sagar.

"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk said, easily recalling the only phrase he knew in Akkadian.

Sagar looked him up and down, almost hesitant to speak.

"Egyptian?" He asked.

You nodded, somewhat impressed considering Ahk was trying to wear more Babylonian clothes, but Ahkmen just looked unsettled, shifting his weight between his feet.

"I've been helping them look for cardamom for their beer," Ahk explained quietly.

"If you have the means to pay for it, the King does have seeds. The price has gone up, though," he added, "due to some... outer pressures."

"You mean the trade network?" Ahk asked, kinking a single brow.

"I'm afraid so. It'll be several gold bands or sacks of grain."

Several?? Ahk's eyes bulged as he heard the price. While he was regaining his words, his mouth fallen open, Sagar translated the sentence back into Akkadian for Tiamat.

"Mother of Gods," Tiamat blurted out. "We'll, uh – we'll be right back."

She herded the two of you out the door––which wasn't a very hard task––and took you round the corner so the doorway was no longer visible.

"I don't think I have that much grain and I certainly don't have that much gold," she said quickly, her eyes flickering between you and Ahk despite the fact that he couldn't understand her.

"We have many gold," you said, retaining most of your optimism easily.

"Okay, wait, we don't have that much gold," Ahk said as soon as he vaguely translated what you said. He turned to you and continued, "we still need to get through Elam and into Harappa. And we'll still need a lot of money once we get there so we don't starve after, like, three days of being in the city."

"Hmm..." you hummed quietly, your brow knotted together as you picked at the skin on your chin.

The two of them waited for you while you thought deeply, staring at the ground.

"We can steal," you suggested after a moment of silence.

"Again??"

"You say it all the time, that it is fun to steal, and from Kings," you said rather loudly, causing Ahk to shoot forward and silence you with a hand held tight over your mouth, simultaneously pushing you against the nearest wall.

"That man in there knew Egyptian, and I'm pretty sure he works for the King," he said quietly.

You stared at each other, iron in your gaze and steel in his.

"What is happening right now?" Tiamat asked, and at that point you recalled that, once more, you were not alone. Ahk had a similar reaction, backing up as his hands zipped behind his back.

You explained the short conversation to her, at which point she nodded with much the same expression as Ahk's when he thought deeply.

"What's the King like?" Ahk asked, knowing little more of the man other than his name. You translated.

"His name is Gidar," she began, allowing you to translate each sentence before she continued. "He is quiet, keeps to himself. He has funded building and farming projects, though, and he upholds the law, so no one really bothers him."

"Are his punishments violent?"

That one took you a little longer to figure out––you didn't know the Akkadian word for 'violent' or 'punishments,' so instead you said something more along the lines of 'does he kill or hurt people who do bad'.

"Like stealing?" She asked.

"Sure," you said with a shrug.

"He will cut off your hands and kill you."

"... oh," you mumbled, grimacing as you turned to Ahk and translated.

"Well, then we better not get caught," he said, placing his hands on his hips.

You glanced to Tiamat with an odd look.

"I do not think that is something we can ask her to do," you whispered, leaning into Ahk.

"Probably not," he said after a moment's thought. "Tell her to go back to the brewery. We'll be back there soon, I think."

"Today?" You asked, your eyes wide.

"Tonight," he nodded.

Late afternoon, and the warm, fiery colors it brought sunk into the horizon, and the stars chased after that light, appearing easily in the sky surrounding a simpler town than the centers of Karanduniash. Only small torches burnt outside the main walls, usually hung by entrances to the clay huts built up from the earth. Some houses were illuminated brightly by fire places, casting squares of light onto the ground from windows, but many were climbing up onto their roofs with rugs and blankets.

You watched the evening progress from a spot near the King's spice garden which, now that you'd stared at it for a couple hours, looked incredibly inconspicuous for such a rich store. An alleyway hid you from sight of the caretakers inside the garden, and a silver earring from Ahk allowed you a hearty, thick stew, steaming with warmth in your bowls.

With a grin you clinked your wooden bowls together before raising it up, forgoing your spoon in favor of slurping the soup. He chuckled, matching your behavior as he glanced past your shoulder, to the garden, and then ultimately to one of the nearby houses in his line of sight.

More people up on the roof––smoke billowed into the air, long shadows and brightly lit faces indicated the bonfire now burning on the rooftop. A couple louder shouts, though still not loud enough for him to understand, and laughter came from there. Ahk recalled with jarring suddenness nights spent on his friend's roof's, cooking fish and warming beer over flames. Fireflies sometimes drifted through the streets below, but what always stood above were looming palm trees, silhouetted against the evening sky rife with stars.

All he could see of the stars was through the thin gap between the houses where you now sat, as anything outside of looking directly up was fuzzed by torchlight. At least the scent of stew still tempted him; he turned his direction back to his food and felt considerably better after finishing.

"I think we take hot stew for granted," he said after a full minute of staring at his empty bowl.

"It is hard to make when we move," you said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yes, you... you need spices, and – and wheat, or barley, or it will be hot fish water," you said in complete seriousness, looking up to him with a critically thinking eye that sent him into laughter.

"Hot fish water??" He repeated, a wide, sweet smile across his face that had you blushing.

"That is what that is!"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, "keep quiet, my dear."

"I am not your deer," you said flatly, and returned to the last of your stew.

His heart beat painfully, warmth following that pulsing depth. His smile fell, as well, as imagination––and longing––seized him, and he very nearly pulled you into his lap. Instead he dug his nails into his palm, and proceeded to thoroughly imagine the entire scenario, were he not a coward.

He would take your hands and pull you in. You would follow without hesitation, slotting your knees on either side of his hips, and resting yourself on his thighs. Then you'd ask why he did this, and he would say something suave––something like 'just wanted to see you better'. He'd raise his hand and push the hair out of your face to see your dark, inky eyes, and the red mark above your brow. And he would ask–

"How did you get that mark on your forehead?"

You paused your eating and Ahk stiffened, realizing he just spoke aloud his thoughts.

"My parents did give it to me," you said quietly as you set your now-empty bowl aside. "It was... on my mother, not there forever. It – it came off, but they did want me to always have my third eye open. And they hit it in with sindoor."

"Sindoor?"

"It is from Harappa, I think... I do.. I remember that, in that time, I was in stone homes, with flags of red and gold, and the food.. was very sweet. I think that it is Harappa, what I remember," you said, slowly coming to terms with your own memories.

"You remember your time there?" Ahk asked, raising his brow.

"Only a little," you said with a shrug. "But the mark is where everything is made, by Gods, by us. It is..," you sighed deeply, "I do not know how to say it in Egyptian."

"Oh," he said. His knees pulled ever so slightly closer to his chest, scraping his sandals on the rough gravel. "Can you draw it?"

"... maybe?"

You moved to your knees, searching your immediate surroundings for a stick or rock.

The stick dragged through the loose dirt, forming shapes that soom became ideas––one triangle to represent bread, beside two, and then a blank, empty space you circled.

"It is... nothing. It is when you have no bread, that is a number too," you said, watching Ahk carefully to guage if he fully understood. "Because the life does not.. fully live, without our math."

"The absence of something isn't a number," Ahk said with a frown, his intense gaze switching from the image to you.

"I do not know," you mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest. "It is only what my parents did say."

The stray expression on your face was solidified with wandering eyes, trailing off to the side of the alley wall. Ahk was still in a state of stupefaction, staring at your features––the curl of your lashes, or the warmth of your lips, whose mirage always found his cheek in dreams and fantasies.

Before he knew it he was leaning forward, at last reaching out for you, fingers numb with nervousness scraping against the earth. You still wouldn't look to him, but he continued, thoughtlessly, to creep closer, his hand hovering close enough to your waist to feel your heat.

"The man is leaving," you whispered, the words acting like ice over Ahkmen's brain.

He quickly withdrew, clearing his throat and tracing your eyeline back to the King's garden. There was, in fact, a silhouette of a man leaving the garden hut, settling a tarp over the door and its' symbol before he disappeared from view.

"Give it a few minutes," he muttered back, his eyes set dead upon the disappearing figure. "He might come back."

Ahkmen sat back down on his butt, the pebbles beneath him scratching as he adjusted himself against the wall. You glanced to him for a moment, offering a small smile when you saw his furrowed brow, lessening his anxiety if only minutely.

The two of you talked quietly for a little while longer, keeping up your cover as vagrant friends, until Ahk was assured the guard wouldn't be returning. He kept a continuous eye on the garden, and was quick to move to his feet after he decided it was safe. Your hand slipped into his without him asking, a grip he solidified as you jogged, looking up and down the street you crossed.

No one.

The flap the man set over the doorway was a meek form of protection, and was easily bypassed with nothing more than your hands. It rippled behind you as you entered, but soon fell silent, hiding you and Ahk from view of the street.

Inside the garden's storeroom was even darker than the night outside––the flap blocked out the light of torches, and a ceiling concealed the sky. You squinted as you tried to see, eventually making out the shaky forms of closed caskets and containers. Most of them had lids made of pottery, but some had nets wrapped around the high necks, secured tightly into place with complex knots.

"You must see for it," you whispered to him. "I do not know the smell, or the look."

"I don't really know how it looks either, I'll be honest with you," he said. "I've only ever seen it fully processed in one of the kitchens."

"Why did you not say that?!" You hissed.

"I didn't think it would be a problem!" He whispered harshly.

"You –" you sucked in a breath, "– you find the thing, I will go see that we are not found."

"Yes, dear," he said in a drawling tone he had used many times for those two words.

Before he knew it his back was slammed against a wall, sending pain shooting up his spine and into his cranium. He nearly let out a pained cry, but your hand zipped up to cover his mouth, your other arm keeping his chest pinned to the wall. He stared wide-eyed down at you, shocked at the force you so easily used.

Your fingers over his lips.

Your hand on his chest.

Your leg slotted between his.

His cheeks were set ablaze.

"You do not get the bad part of the times in Egypt, when you did steal and make fun with guards," you said, glowering up at him. "But this is not a place where you are rich. You can not pay for innocence. Not here. And this price is death if we are seen, like it is always for me, in Egypt and Babylon."

He gulped down the knot in his throat, only breathing when you gently pulled away. You still glared at him, but it was less intense, and you put more distance between you.

"Do see the cardmoms," you mumbled before you left.

The flap settling back into place was the last sound he heard from you, your fabric shoes allowing you to pad quietly away without making any noise. An intense, overpowering silence followed, darkened hands rubbing it like lavender upon his skin, familiar and uncomfortable.

He spent the following hour or two searching through the assorted jars, carefully raising up mud lids or untying thick rope. Many of the spices were ones he'd tried before––some reminding him of Egypt and others bringing memories of the few countries he travelled to during his time as Prince. Now he was stealing not just for fun, but because he had to. He couldn't afford what he was taking.

Cardamom, who carried a sweet, fruity scent, ended up being at the opposite end of the room, making it one of the last he inspected. Its' scent was also incredibly distinct, and the moment he found it he knew most certainly it was cardamom. He grinned.

It wasn't the seeds, either––it was the actual powdered spice, meaning it was already ready to put in the beer. But there was very little of it, the whole of the container being around the size of his head.

He sighed almost wearily, leaning sideways against the wall.

If you were still here, he could've apologized, and you'd both probably be gone by now. As he phased out at the thought of you, he mindlessly stroked the clay pot.

Approaching footsteps broke his trance. His eyes shot up, automatically tucking the cardamom into his clothes and running off into the night garden, in which the medicinal herbs were grown. He sucked in a sharp breath, realizing acutely that he was now ankle deep in wet earth, though fortunately, in-between the rows instead of on them.

The tarp at the garden's entrance flapped again as the stranger entered. There was little protecting him from being discovered now, and he fled off to the sun garden, careful to not slosh his feet in the mud. It was then, when mud had splattered up to his calf, that he remembered his leather shoes were still inside the storeroom, waiting to be discovered.

Thoughts flew wildly around his head, his quick-thinking talents melting away into timed panic. Wide eyes flickered from the archway between the shadow garden and the storeroom, and then to the arch leading into the sun garden, then back to the stranger, who pivoted on their heel.

He fled into the next room the moment the steps even hinted of growing louder, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his chest heaving up and down.

Again his frantic eyes searched the room for anything that might aid his escape. Tarps were stretched taut between wooden poles, blocking access to the outside, but allowing sunlight to stream in. He looked up and realized with sickness that the only way out was up.

Digging his teeth into the inside of his cheek, he tied fabric around the clay pot, ensuring it wouldn't fall from his grasp. He tensed his muscles, preparing himself mentally before he jumped up and grasped the top of the pole with his fingers.

Steps continued to get closer, now treading through the silted earth and sparking a dreadful terror that shivered down his neck in much the way it had when you slammed him against the wall. He scrambled up, his bare feet digging into the splintered pole before he threw himself over the other edge of the tarp. A loud thud came from him as he fell on his back––once more injuring it––bringing from him a pained groan.

Footsteps grew even closer, marking the sign of running feet that had Ahk clambering to his legs, cradling the cardamom to his chest as he ran. Bits of gravel and hay dug into his bare feet, bringing with them sharp pains that had Ahk convinced he was bleeding. When he looked behind himself, however, he found no trail, and slowed his sprint as he crossed the gate into the main city.

Deep breaths wracked his chest and he collapsed partways, leaning the weight of his upper body on his knees, fingers splayed out on the heated skin. He quickly looked behind him to be sure, and after finding nothing continued on into the city. It would take a while before he reached the brewery.

He paused in an alleyway for a short few minutes, checking the state of his heel and finding it alright. Reddened and dry, but unpunctured, despite the pain being sent through his muscles. With a sigh he leaned back, closing his eyes.

What a nightmare.

He could not pull his thoughts from the image of you angry, blazing with an inequality that had clearly been irritating you for a while. Even with his lie he alienated himself from you.

You would forgive him, but not for the reasons Ahkmen wanted you to. You'd forgive him because you had to, because the only other option was fending for yourself through another country and a half until you got to Harappa, where even there safety wasn't assured. But you wouldn't forgive him because you loved him, or because you knew he could do better. Horrible guilt flared in his chest, turning to bile in the back of his throat.

Whether or not you intended this reaction, it was there nonetheless, and Ahkmen did his best to force it down with logic. It wasn't a big deal. He could do better. And, he supposed, he got the cardamom, so that had to count for something.

His hands were still wrapped around the pot discreetly when he entered the vacant city plaza, heading quickly down the steps into the brewery. From the entrance he could hear the soft sounds of burning fire, and when he pulled away the door he noticed immediately warm light and soft voices, stirring with a mixer that clunked gently against the side of the cauldron.

The two of you went quiet when Tiamat noticed Ahk standing awkwardly at the doorway. He glanced between you before reaching into his clothes, pulling out the cask of cardamom so highly coveted in the last couple hours.

Tiamat gasped, a wide grin instantly spreading across her face. Your mouth fell open in shock.

"You did get it?" You asked, stepping around the boiling pot to stand in front of Ahk.

"Yeah," he said, still reeling from his escape. "Almost got caught. I had to jump over the tarps 'round the sun garden."

"Jump??" You asked.

"Well – more vaulting over them," he said. That didn't clear it up at all, but you were grateful anyways.

He sat in the corner of the limestone room, watching you and Tiamat mix a handful of the spice in the large cauldron, and testing the scent as you stirred. You continued to talk in hushed whispers of Akkadian, your shadows casted long against the low fire. Sleepiness was already beginning to take over him, leaning his head back against the cool wall, and letting his eyes slip shut.

When he came to, Tiamat had gone, and you were left alone to tend to your beer. You still stood atop a box that lifted you up to look over the jug, slowly stirring the thick mixture. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the strands of your hair that fell in front of your eyes casted shadows on your cheeks and brow.

After a yawn and a stretch, he lifted himself to stand, and shuffled over to your side.

"I'm sorry for endangering you," he said quietly, hesitant to look and even more hesitant to touch.

"I do not know that word," you said without looking up.

"Putting you in a place where you might get hurt."

"Oh," you glanced up to him, but didn't linger before you returned to the vat. "It is okay. I know you do not know very much better."

"It's not really okay, I should've thought beyond my own nose."

"A little," you agreed before falling silent.

After a minute he asked, "is there a way I can make it up to you?"

"You had the cardamom, that is good," you chuckled. "But you almost got caught?"

"Ah, that," he said with a long sigh that made you giggle again.

He recited to you the events of the evening that progressed after you left. He conveniently left out a few details––such as almost crying because he'd upset you––but included how he'd injured himself, how the garden official was hot on his trail, and how he accidentally left his shoes in the storeroom. You nodded along.

A beat of silence passed after his story ended, broken only by the bubbling of beer.

"You are filthy," you said.

"Thanks," he said with a frown.

You set a lid over the cask, feeding the fire only a little more before you stepped down from the pedestal.

"I know where we must go," you said, stopping in front of him to look up and meet his eye.

"To bed?" He asked hopefully.

"No."

His heated skin finally calmed down enough to feel a cool breeze as you led him out of the brewery, and back into the empty town center. For a few minutes you walked in silence, and every now and then you'd turn down a street, directions he thoughtlessly followed.

The scent of water hit him before he saw it, and soon the brick path led out to a crystal-white terrace, holding descending steps on either side of the raised platform. Below sloshed the inky waters of the canal, reflecting his warped features. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was halted when you took his hand, gently pulling him down the glazed brick steps. Their tops were white, and the rims beneath carried a familiar shade of blue.

Olive-colored trees grew on the riverside, barely reaching any taller than the platform that now stood proud above him. Only a single other person was there––a bald man drifting on a skiff at the other bank of the river. He was easy to ignore, which you did gladly, and continued to pull Ahk to the riverside.

"You have dirt," you said, scanning him up and down. "And here is where you do clean your body. This is your forever. No more of the home baths, and your smelly things."

"You mean my lavender?"

"Etuvaka. You know what I say," you said with a stern look.

"I know," he said quietly, sitting on the ledge of the stone dock with his feet swinging in the water.

You took a seat beside him, slipping off your shoes and rolling up your pants before you dipped your legs in beside his.

"How are your feet?" You asked.

"Alright," he said as he massaged the bottoms of them. "I thought they were bleeding, but they aren't, so I must be alright."

"Take your clothe off," you said, suddenly moving up to your knees and scooting behind his back.

He chuckled but undid the tie around his waist, pulling the green shawl off his shoulders. It fell easy to the crook of his elbow, and you tugged it down further, eventually pulling the fabric out from being tucked into his skirt, and tossing it aside to the marble floor.

"You have... color," you said quietly after a moment of just staring at his back.

"Sort of dark? Like dirt?" He asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at you, but settling for staring at the wall beside him.

"A little," you said.

Your fingers touched the top of his spine, trailing down the bumps and ridges showing prominently through the skin of a man overworked and weary. When you pressed harder, even slightly, he hissed and jerked away.

"Careful there," he said, clearing his throat to mask his whimper.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

Ahk continued to wash his feet and legs free of the mud while you stayed knelt behind him, your touch brushing against him every so often. He finished rather quickly, but enjoyed your hesitant fingers so greatly that he pretended to keep washing himself, hoping to feel you at his back and shoulders again.

"You are Shu fully equipped," you began to murmur, your palms settling on his shoulders and digging softly into the skin. "You have not been taken to the God's place of execution, for you are covered with the kenu-garment. You were not made to enter into the God's place of execution, for you are the Great One, baboon-shaped; you have not entered into the God's place of execution, the knife has no power over you."

He sat in silence for another moment, his mouth hanging subconsciously open.

"That was... perfect Egyptian," he turned around, dragging water on his leg, "where did you learn that?"

"My time in your class, in Memphis, was not for nothing," you said with a giggle, as though it was inconsequential, as though you were normal. "It is one of your spells, for being killed by a King. It is best, because that is your crime."

He could do nothing but stare, confounded.

"I could fall in love with you," he blurted out, watching with dread as your expression fell.

You pursed your lips softly, your gaze falling to the river behind him. To his credit, he hadn't given everything away, though by the look on your face he might as well have.

"I am not a person that people fall in love with," you said quietly.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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thesleepy1 · 3 years

Text

Spearmint Tea With A Teaspoon Of Milk And A Dash Of Honey

Tik Tok Writing Prompt

A/N: I saw this prompt on Tik Tok and have been thinking about it none stop for the past three days. I just had to write it. It may make no sense, but that's fine. I enjoyed the writing process for once. Completely unbeta'd because I'm lazy and this was written in a hurry before it left my mind. If you see any mistakes please let me know.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMdVg7jBL/

Pairings: No pairings

Summary: “You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now. Today, you’re enjoying a drink at a nearby cafe, when someone approaches you and says, “Hey, remember me? Peru, 1821?”

Word count: 2,578

Warnings: mature, suggestive themes, wump, angst, derealizion, mentions of depression, more warnings to be added,

You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now; if not more. After a certain set of rotations around the sun, you hardly bothered to keep track of exactly how many times you’ve been around the block. You were something of a myth, a feared, terrified, creature of torn legend, a monster that stole little weaning babes from their mother’s arms and spun silver out of corn! A beast that ate beating livers from stray canines, ordered temples to be built out of bones, a ghastly creation by a bored god with too much time on his irreligious hands. Frightful!

All this hearsay and word of the street, were tall and monstrous tales that were overrated in your educated opinion, when simply you required very little to be content with the ways and whims of the vast, wanton world. No new born lamb’s blood or poor, ill timed virgins sacrifices were necessary in your, for lack of a better word, creation. You were merely one breathing thing and then the next; though you’ve fallen out of the habit of remembering to breathe after a while. There was no shedding of skin, sweat producing prayer, or historically inaccurate rain dance that resembled the pirouettes of toeless ballerinas involved. You just were, and quite frankly, isn’t that enough? Existence is never enough is it, though? You just had to think, and speak, and do much more than simply exist; because no one can be happy with the mere existence of another; there just had to be more to it, had to be.

You still vaguely recall the moment where you realized that you were no longer tied down to the laws of the cycle of the unnatural thing called life; a thing like a dream someone else had and merely inflicted you with the useless knowledge. Still having no need for surplus of red blood cells or hastily made offerings of sweets to the traumatized gods; you recalled the transition and the fact that it was a boring process, with no set of rules, or instructions, or any way for you to fully understand exactly what happened. From one form of existence to a new one, like a crawling larvae to a flying insect with big beady eyes and a habit of crashing into windows.

You were in a battle field one moment fighting tooth and nail with a long sword, or a bow and arrow, or a scythe from your own garden, or a hatchet from your home; and the next, you watched your substantially short life flash before your eyes; when ebbingly, you realized that your wounds had closed up and the battle had unbeknown to you, ended. Something over nineteen years after your self assumed death, that is. Your body; with its two legs, two arms, two ears, and two perfectly functioning eyes; as long as it wasn’t pollen season, were still by fair means or foul, in tack. Much to your dismay, for you still felt cursed plague such as irritation, displeasurement, the action of rolling your eyes as an emotion, annoyance, exasperation, and worst of all a hankering for spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey. Unfortunately, only one of which was curable.

And while you contained a great many vapid opinions of the flutterings of wingless avians; one of their creations you could never develop a disdain for, for they were simply far too grand, great, and good, were cafes. Magnificent things created by an italian man, a french man, a german man, an Englishman, or a combination of the four, you hardly cared; were the very reason you still wished to see the light of day. Candidly, the comfort that came with cafes; roasting coffee beans with such sharp and acidic aromas, the tinkering of ceramic mugs with adorable little glazes, scrumptious sweeties and colorful pasties that settled against your mind like ringing gunshots to war torn innocent unimpeachables. Cafes were just delightful, there were no two ways about it; an unassailable fact.

That was why, today; sunny, cloudless, and boundless today with skies as blue as incest mutated eyes, you were enjoying a nostalgic drink at a nearby cafe. The coffee house was a mix between modern and vintage, though for a creature such as yourself, you could hardly tell the difference. Their teas and coffees, and assortment of beverages were made in the classic fashion from even as far back as your day, and that was saying something. The walls were painted with a deep maroon, a shade of fine wine on a brick of vinegar; except one, which was left a bare, textured concrete with growing vines and dangling fairy lights the color of loose leaf chamomile offering a soothing dim lighting. The tables and chairs and any sort of decor hung up on the ways were mismatched, not one thing belonging to another; not one round mahogany table with spanish carved to the legs matched with any neon cushioned seats that looked like something from a feverish dream. Four paned windows were like eyes towards the street front, small enough to see outside but with an air of privacy from the delicate handmade lace curtains that were tied up with a sash of the same design. You could see the wayward world beyond the door from the faux safety of your table; couples biking with helmets strapped on too tightly, dog walkers with malnourished dogs, and a quartet of friends that were so obviously in love with one another.

Their love for each other was so clear, the baristas behind the repurposed bar counter were making bets on who would be the first to cave and spill out their love like guts from a deep heat, blistering sword wound. The barista with dyed gray cornrows and nose piercings betted ten pounds on the tallest of the quartet, who couldn’t stop playing with something in his pocket; a nervous reaction to being around the people of his affections if you had to guess. The barista with the rigid scars falling like uncrossed tallies down her arms betted twenty pounds on the shortest of the quartet who seemed to be the glue holding the quartet together in the first place. You personally betted on the fellow trailing the group from behind, a brother of one of the quartet members; from the shared features, and an ex lover of another if you had to predict from the way he walked and looked at them with an unhealthy yearning. He was going to pull them apart and in return be left with nothing as they rebuilt what he had destroyed. You had an intuition for these sorts of things, the passing lives of strangers and what they decided to do with themselves with their limited time. It was game to you, their lives seemed to end in days like a good book that you can’t set down; and like a book, you could flip it close at any given time with a flick of your wrist.

Your attention was drawn back to the present by the sound of the cafe bell that rang out through the small room with high ceilings, the simple pulley system alerting the baristas and yourself of a new occupant. Your hand instinctively wrapped around your cup of spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey protectively. The heated ceramic warmed your otherwise cold skin, your whole body was icy to the touch; you had no need for impractical things like a respiratory system or body heat; they were merely things you did when you remembered to, a delayed afterthought.

Like socialization for one, speaking to others was not your cup of tea; quick compliments and orders were one thing, however holding conversations were another. You sat alone at your seat, a red velvet cushioned sofa pulled up against a square oak table. Not once have you attempted to make conversation or even make eye contact with any of your fellow cafe goers; when you know for a fact that you would have gotten along swimmingly, only you’re too afraid of starting anything that’s doomed to end. The immortal existence was a long one and it tended to feel more drawn out when you had no one to spend it with.

Too deep in thoughts; the depressing thing the living chose to lose themselves in; a subject that you have yet to be rid of, you didn’t notice when someone approached your table. Whoever stood in front of you stared at you for a moment as if to make sure you were real, something you had to do for yourself every now and again, before saying in an astonished tone full of life, “Hey, you look familiar. I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I?” You looked up to meet their eyes; taking note of a face that could blend in during any time period, during any moment; a dime a dozen, a face that could be recognized for hundreds of others. “Remember me? Peru, 1821?”

You were hard of memory despite the centuries of existence in your pocket; unable to ever recall important dates and places, or those deemed important by those who still pondered what after truly meant. No wars that had cost thousands if not millions of lives lingered in your narrow mind, no treaties that had never been written in the blood of the man holding the pen; no discoveries stolen from their true inventors and instead repurposed and rebranded. Naught of which mattered; were paramount enough to be stored in the file cabinets so old, they perhaps predated the university of oxford. Those with an expiration date, nitpicked which dates and places were worth keeping record of; which war really mattered to one side, but not the other, and most definitely not the third party who lost the most in terms of wealth during the whole skirmish. Which treaties were worth putting up an act of righteousness and which were lit to ashes the moment the feather left the parchment. Which discoveries to credit the inventor, or the distributor, or the man with the large enough pockets with lots of loyal friends with not quite, but still ever so deep pockets. You cared little for the whims of those who philosophized and wrote the inaccurate, hyperbolized tales of the lawless, anarchic children with graying hair, wrinkled skin, and groaning bones.

Instead, your quite narrow, yet wrinkled mind remembered the seemingly dull things in life that only an immortal and tired soul would recall. You remembered the estonian woman with thick curly hair who flustered when you commented on how her fetching silk blouse brought out the brown in her eyes, as if you had just seen her on your way here. You remembered the blazing, aged guinean sailor with hair as red as sedimentary clay layered with crimson and bone marrow, who tricked you out of the very last shining coin in your pocket that you had saved to return to the mainland; as if you had just spoken to him the week before last. You remembered the french street performers who gave you the most complexing, suspicious looks when you loitered as they tuned their instruments, your hands clapping and tossing coins into their open cases before they had even the chance to play their trip the light fantastic ditty; as if you had spotted them as you left your home for the day; perhaps because you had just spotted the cellist, violinist, and fiddler some hours prior.

But you just can’t seem to recall ever seeing the face in front of you besides that of the paintings reusing the same model over and over again. This person was familiar, that you knew for sure, but you couldn’t recall exactly where. 1821? Peru? You had gone to Peru before, you thought, you must’ve been everyone on the pandering planet at least once by now; statistically speaking. You existed during 1821, though you don’t recall much from the time besides some man being crowned king of some small islands, some paintings being painted, some lives being born, and some lives taking their last breath. Things that could have happened anywhere else in the woebegone world, during any time that your breathing counterparts inhaled and exhaled; a simple date and simple country rang no bells.

This person that approached you, must have known you, having recognized you and walked up to you free of will. Yet, as you stared at them, pondering how they must’ve known you after all these years, decades, and centuries without a mere mention of another immortal roaming the weak world; here you were, with another person just like you. It was astonishing, made your non beating heart skip a beat and stop again; because you’ve been so out of practice. It was almost unbelievable; a person with a limited mind would have fallen heart first into the claims and thought of them as gospel. You were not as blessed with the same ignorance that came as second nature to the rest of the parasitic population, because you recalled your trips to Peru; suddenly remembering just what you got yourself into in the year of 1821; you would have memorized a face like dozens of others; the similarities causing the sameness to be abstract. You would not have forgotten a face like that, a voice of naïve wonderment like the one you just heard. Immortality was not just something that was thrown like a swear, caught like a flu; there was no rhyme or reason to it. You would know; in the almost eight billion people in the wide, withering world you have not met another like you, and for this day, today; radiated, and diaphanous day with skies as blue as hypothermia stricken bodies; you were alone and had yet, still yet, to be proven otherwise.

You solemnly shook your head, having gotten your hopes up so far beyond the atmosphere; falling back down was misery like the first moment immortality had dawned upon you. This person must’ve mistaken you for someone else; a picture book with pages too bright to warrant your attention, a history book that pictured a person that shared your features or that of your long gone siblings who must have children because they were the type to yearn, and hope, dream, and live their lives instead of solely subsist; anyone but you. For you were alone on this endless path, just like how your life was now boundless, and had been for a while longer than you can remember. You cleared your throat, your voice unfortunately grating from years of hardly any use; hoping to make the interaction quick and to the point; something that was truthful and that would cut this painful conversation short so you could return to your envy filled hobby of assuming other individual’s lives because they had indisputable ends while you repeated in this endless pastime.

The person who claimed to share a curse with you, had a voice that rang out like a fencing rapier, cutting through the air with such precision that it hurt without even slashing against you; could stab you with words instead of metal, “I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I? Remember me? Peru, 1821?” And like a fencer running on the necessity for revenge for someone that wasn’t himself, you answered,

“No, I do gay porn.”

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

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[A/N: I finally updated "Dead Ivy" after a good year. Here is Chapter one if you haven't checked it out yet!]

Beca could feel the soil beneath her fingertips. It was soft, freshly overturned, and in a way, comforting. She was careful not to let her knees touch the ground- not privy to the dark stains that would splay against the fabric. The tree stood tall above her, stretching its large oak branches towards the pluming blue sky. A nice summer breeze tussled her hair, and she was sure that if she breathed in, she would smell freshly cut grass and chlorine from the neighbor’s pool.

The treehouse had long since been torn down to make room for her mother’s garden. Something that stood at the end of the fenced in yard. For a while, she grew tomatoes and zucchini. Beca could still remember the first red bulb that poked its head from the dirt. They made a salad from store-bought spinach and divided up the little thing, no bigger than a golf ball. It was still the best tomato that Beca had ever had.

She sighed at the hand that squeezed her shoulder gently. Her father smelled of aftershave and bourbon. His tie wasn’t fastened all the way to his white button down, and he had strung his suit jacket over his arm. He held a sad look that was shielded by the sun as Beca squinted at him. She pulled herself to her feet, feeling the age of her aching bones as she stepped back from the large oak tree and stared up at the branches.

“Do you remember when I fell out of this tree and broke my arm?” She asked.

Her fathers’ eyes crinkled at the memory as he gave her a sad smile. She had needed him to run beside her when he first took the training wheels off her bike. She had needed him when she learned how to drive and took out the Johnson’s mailbox. But when she dropped from a higher spot in the oak tree and felt something audibly snap, it was her mother that came to the rescue.

She had been clipping up sheets to the clothesline, claiming that the summer air was always better for stuff like that. A beautiful woman that would beam endlessly and cradle Beca in her arms with her stormy eyes and eerie calm. Beca needed that right now. Needed it to get through the handshakes and the hugs. The baked goods and casseroles that people deemed necessary when something like this happened.

“I do.” He chuckled wearily, “I got a call at work that something had happened. You scared the hell out of me that day, kid.”

Beca snorted at the nickname. She and her father had gotten along significantly better since she moved out on her own- took up a place and a prominent career across the country in Los Angeles of all places. She had, of course, taken time off work to come back for the funeral. To pull into the sleepy little Georgia town with a giant oak tree that shook in the summer breeze. She squinted at the bark, at the carving so crudely made by a grooved pocket knife.

C + B FOREVER & EVER

The second half was etched in different handwriting, something more elegant and thought out. It was funny, really. When they were kids, it was easier to think about the future in terms of relationships. Of course, they would always be with one another- they wouldn’t fathom being apart. But then college. Careers. Plane rides. Marriage, kids, and divorces. All inevitable. All anything but forever.

“She still lives around here, you know? Owns a little café in the far side of town.”

“That so?”

He grunted and sniffed away any feeling that still leaked in his voice. No one would question them for standing out here- but they still felt obligated to go back inside the old farm style house with the wrap around porch and the honeysuckle bushes. Beca didn’t know how he could still live here. “Yeah. You should pay her a visit while you’re here. I bet she’d like that.”

Beca simply nodded and let the tips of her fingers trace of the words that had been weathered over time, but they were still there. They had stood the test of time, unlike her treehouse. Unlike the little plants of tomatoes and zucchini that had rotted away to decaying vines that stretched like deadened ivy up the side of the fence.

“Right. Well, we should probably go back inside. The quicker we talk to everyone, the quicker they can go home and mourn their memories.”

It was a grim thing to say, but it was the truth, so her father let the words die in the air before sliding on the suit jacket to cover up the sweat stains against his dress shirt. She let her hand fall and looped it around his arm like he was escorting her down the carpeted floor of a chapel on her wedding day. Instead of white, she dawned black, though. And so, did he.

She thought that drinking and sadness walked hand and hand. It was why the only two bars in town did so well on any given night, and if things were bad, any given day. The other place, the snake eye, had karaoke on Friday nights and Beca didn’t think she was well equipped to listen to TLC, so she chose The Red Sun instead.

There were repurposed Christmas lights strung against the bottom of the counter, hot to the touch. A low rock ballad cracked over the loudspeaker. She wasn’t sure if the jukebox that changed light settings every few beats actually had a purpose or if it just ate up quarters. Either way, Beca Mitchell was in her own world.

She tilted her head back and let the bourbon burn on the way down. A nice and subtle sting that washed the taste of stale crackers out of her mouth. It was the only thing in her stomach- despite the spread that was now packed with tin foil in the fridge. Her father was drinking too, she was sure, at home in his study. The house was too quiet for her, though.

Beca felt a twinge of guilt in her gut.

She had ignored the last call from her brother. She was in the middle of the meeting, and at the time, the buzzing of her phone sounded louder than anything else in the world. She flushed instantly and clicked the side of the device before staring back down at her notes and sunk further into her seat.

He had died the next day, she had forgotten to call him back. A car accident and a drunk driver. Which, she supposed, defeated the purpose of being here- in this stupid some-hazy bar with nothing but time on her hands. She considered switching her flight to something earlier. But then reconsidered as quickly as the thought entered her mind. Her father needed her, at least for now.

“Beca Mitchell?” The voice startled her, it broke through the garbled focus of the next song. She blinked a few times and turned her head to the side. Stacie Conrad. She looked older, wiser even, but maybe that was the glasses. The smile on her face aged her, but in the best way. Still impossibly attractive, and confident, it seems. “Is that really you?”

“As I live and breathe.”

She winced at her use of words, but Stacie didn’t seem to notice as she quickly wrapped her in an awkward hug, Beca still half-sitting on a bar stool. Still, she craved the embrace and hugged back naturally.

“God, how are you?” She pulled away, “That’s a stupid question… I mean, as well as you can be, I hope.”

Before Beca could answer she lifted her hand in the air and signaled the bartender, the woman busied herself with preparing Stacie’s usual and pouring another sour edge of bourbon into Beca’s glass. She wasn’t sure if she would drink it or not, but she appreciated the sentiment behind it. Stacie settled into the seat next to her.

“I’m doing fine,” She finally managed, earning a detrimental look. “As well as I can be.”

The bartender set two glasses in front of them and Beca wrinkled her nose at it before focusing her attention on Stacie, the way her own drink looked like radioactive fluid. It was always the fruity things that packed the most punch. Not the gritty glass that she would be nursing for the rest of their conversation.

“I’m sorry to hear about him, you know.” Stacie finally said after a beat of silence.

Beca simply nodded. She was numb to the situation at this point. Her whole body felt like a lead pipe. She and Jason didn’t get along too well. He traveled the world and she resented him for that. But they played nice during the holidays and smiled for family pictures. He got divorced young, married even younger. It still ached her whole entire being.

“You and most of the town,” Beca chuckled dryly, begging for a change of subject. “I haven’t seen you in what? Eleven years?”

“Twelve. God, we’re old.”

She was thankful that her high school friend could take a keenly dropped hint. The two of them encircled the same click during those years. It was better than giving in to the southern tenacity of it all. They would smoke behind the bleachers and drink if they were feeling lucky. They usually were.

Beca caught a glimpse at the wedding band that took over Stacie’s finger. It was simple, not overstated with large diamonds. A simple one that was surrounded by two smaller stones. She smiled “You’re married now?”

She took another gulp of her fruity drink and hummed in response, instinctively twirling it around her ring finger. She got a goofy grin on her face and twirled slightly to make eye contact with Beca. Sure, she had seen the social media posts. The cute announcements and the picturesque scenes.

“Happily, at that, we invited you to the wedding, you know?”

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“S’alright,” Stacie said with a beaming smile “Rose loves the panini press.”

Beca scoffed and picked up her glass, chancing a sip of the molten liquid. It hissed as she swallowed, and she blinked away the residual prick of pain that collected behind her eyes. Stacie glanced behind her at the group of girls that she had come in with- doctors like her, she supposed. They all had that tired professional look that the woman beside her carried.

“Listen, uh, how long are you in town? I’d love a chance to catch up in a setting with better lighting.”

“A couple of weeks, at most. We have to settle his estate.” She grimaced at the technical term. “I’ll be around.”

“We’ll catch up, promise?”

She gave Beca a squeeze on her shoulder and a sympathetic smile, but she didn’t say it again and Beca was thankful for that. She watched as Stacie went to the four other colleges that were in her inner circle. They all asked questions and cast wary looks her way- she lifted the glass and gave a smile before turning back to the bartender. She was cleaning out a glass and eyeing her.

“Promise,” Beca mumbled, tipping her head back the rest of the way, finishing the glass of bourbon she hadn’t even ordered.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fic

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sambinnie · 3 years

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1. Happy Mabon! Every autumn, I forget that the darkness comes clanging down in a great rush in the mornings. One day, I am greeted by a pinking sunrise. 48 hours later, it’s so dark on my run to the river that I have to stop a passing runner and check the time, in case my disturbed sleep sent me dressing and leaving the house at 2am. This summer may not have given us those mornings where it’s so hot I can barely get out of the water, where those early hours feel like full silent days carved out just for me to sit in the light and wait for everyone else to wake up, where the only extra thing I put on to run home is my trainers — I look at my waiting winter gear, neoprene socks and gloves, head torch, two more thickening jumpers, hat, thermal mittens — but every season, every day, is beautiful.

Today we go early for celebrations, and the water is silky, and Orion hangs over us with his phallic sword dangling and Betelgeuse winking on one shoulder. The near-full moon spotlights us and I feel almost ready for the shortening days.

2. Hilary Mantel continues to be a literary god. How does she write with that clarity? How can I ever speak with her calm good sense and wit?

3. We have two main problems at the moment, as far as I can see. a) What we’re doing (“curating” our lives; twitter spats; purity spirals; division and isolation; wanting ‘debates’ that can only be won or lost; encouraging people to buy more things; trying to buy our happiness; letting marketers tell us how we feel about the world rather than encouraging major moral lessons from throughout the ages to challenge us on our weaknesses; refusing to accept that life is suffering; asking self-care to be a plaster for everything we don’t have) and b) what we’re not doing (joining together to stand against those with more money and power; protecting the people who have even less power and voice than we do as a matter of course; learning from history; protecting nature above all else; prioritising going for walks; learning to repair things and campaigning to make things repairable; having a basic belief in human dignity for all, not just those with whom we agree; accepting that truly, we are all different and no amount of shaming or disgust will change that; working to shape our societies, culture, economies, production, food supplies and communications around improving — not just sustaining — the air, water and land, and fighting to ensure all of those new shapes protect women and children).

Individualism has morphed into something so completely self-destructive that we’ve forgotten we need nature more than anything — literally, more than anything — and we need to unionise and unite and put aside differences and work together even with people we don’t like.

Because when there are wicked people in power, when it’s genuinely exhausting to think about all the corrupt, venal, toxic, divisive, false, and cruel things they have done since coming to power, those people love to watch everyone below pointing their fingers at one another, saying, You, You’re The Enemy, You’re The Problem, while corrupt populist leaders rub their bellies and chuckle at another promise broken, another mass death on their hands, another building site on a protected forest. Do you understand the stakes here? Do you understand that it’s actual survival? It’s not about being right any more, it’s not about besting someone in the argument. It’s about having decision makers who can not only ensure there is still food to eat and air to breathe, but that relations both within a country and between countries are built on care, and support, and compassion, and believing in human dignity. And while it sounds wishy-washy and hands-clappy it’s the schmaltzy, sentimental truth. It’s the only one, really.

If we instead continue to believe every single day that my feelings are the most important, that my beliefs are the right ones, that I’ve got to prove those baddies there are evil and awful and wrong, then honestly, what the fuck? If we’re happy to live in a country where hostile architecture is the starting point for all public builds, where we send refugee boats away from our shores, where affiliate links are a career goal, where we haven’t stormed the Daily Mail offices with accounts of all our lovely immigrant friends and family and had a huge feast together and compared our long and tangled family trees, then come on. It’s only a race to the bottom if we all keep running.

Because, pressingly, whatever the spark of a major global conflict — assassination, fuel shortages, hyperinflation, invasion — the kindling is almost always a populace fed pure hatred for months, for years, until they can’t even taste it anymore but are ready to spew it out again, and are ready to use another populace as the receptacle. And hatred is brewed up in silence and isolation, and in the ashes of bridges burned between disparate groups.

And on that note, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, mainly because I don’t believe governments are generally competent enough to manage Grand Plans, but it’s annoying that technology and social trends and culture have developed in such a way that no one knocks on anyone’s door for a chat as a matter of course now, that it’s a given that a ringing phone triggers anxiety, that it’s not the norm for cups of tea with your neighbours, that we don’t know each other’s neighbourhoods, that we don’t even talk on the phone, with live words and intonation and synchronised laughter, but in text, in WhatsApp chats, in tapped out words and symbols that we know can be screen-grabbed and misinterpreted, that we know are kept, filtered and sold by the tech companies. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s just a reality that every single one of us can choose to do differently.

Sometimes exactly the right thing comes along at the right time. All of us here watched About a Boy at the weekend, a film which is so wonkily weighted and oddly rhythmed, but a perfect depiction of everything I’m banging on about here. Hugh Grant’s character likes being alone. He’s happy that way. It suits him. It’s his choice. Then, between one thing and another, he finds himself drawn into a world of a suicidal single mother, a duck-murdering young boy, more single mothers, more tricky teens, plus exes and mothers-in-law and awkward support groups. And it turns out that actually, being with people is better. Being uncomfortable often develops you as a person. Constantly prioritising only yourself produces a waxen, pointless baby. Making shared sacrifices might just be the point of being alive. Remember that to be human is to be flawed. That no one is ever completely right, and no one is ever completely wrong. That the boring stuff makes us feel good, and the glossy stuff, if all we strive for is gloss, doesn’t.

If you want anything practical, here are the things that have really helped me over the last few years:

Writing a letter or email regularly to my MP, to CEOs of organisations, to anyone I want to communicate my strong feelings and how I’d like things to be done better. Tweeting eats your soul. It’s a horrible myth the media pretends is important. It really, really isn’t.

Inviting people to go in front of me in queues, in traffic, getting on to buses and trains. It lowers my stress levels right down.

Learning the names of my neighbours and people I meet regularly on walks and letting them learn mine. (I definitely haven’t just decided I loathe a neighbour because they cut a bird-hatching tree down in their garden on the last day of the year it was legal to do so. It’s fine.)

Joining a few political parties, and the closest thing I have to a union

Making something, anything — everything can be done with love, and learning to not get sucked into the capitalist conceit of having to make it perfect, sellable, exhibitable is a genuine gift to yourself; making a cake or a film or a coaster and not putting it on social media, letting it be ugly or serviceless and loving it anyway. I felt extremely overwhelmed the other evening, but instead of doom-scrolling I knitted a… I don’t know, something flat and woollen, and it helped to have my hands and eyes working on directionless introspective creation.

Trying to stop hating. Every time I want to tell a negative story in my head about someone, I attempt to turn it into something positive: how unhappy that person must be, what they must be missing out on. It’s so nauseatingly Pollyanna-ish, and of course it isn’t always successful, and of course every single day brings a hundred thousand examples of cruelty and injustice and wickedness, but the alternative only makes my life feel worse, so why would I indulge that?

Teaching myself the names of birds, trees, flowers, clouds and constellations. I’m still at the most basic levels on all of these, but the difference one feels in the world when you can name things — let alone use them and know their stories — is a very real sort of magic. (For that reason I hope to read this book very soon.) This episode of The Cut is also good on the wonder and power of learning the names of the weeds that grow in your nearest pavement crack.

4. Creating anything is always a gamble, isn’t it, but writing a book you actually like for once and seeing it slowly and beautifully sink to the bottom of a river never to be seen again is ever so slightly crushing. However, it turns out even Thom Yorke feels that way, so I am comforted.

5. I’m sure I’ve mentioned plenty of these before, but if you want some suggestions of where to find joy, here are my favourites from the last year or so:

I was given Lucy Easthope’s book, When the Dust Settles, for work recently, and I was surprised and delighted to discover the most uplifting, hopeful, human and rightfully angry book I’ve read in a long time. Do yourself a favour and preorder it. I bought this other book for my own birthday, gave it to a housemate to give to me, forgot about it, and was delighted to later unwrap He Used Thought As A Wife. Laughed a lot, cried twice. Marvellous.

Now even the youngest housemate here can recite John Finnemore sketches and sing the songs. Has also taught them various composers, gods, logical fallacies and gothic story tropes. Also v funny. Oh, Kate Beaton! Her two books (Hark! A Vagrant and Step Aside Pops) are a bit like a comic-book version of Finnemore, but swearier and sexier and utterly unsuitable for all the housemates who have read it and been educated about the Brontes, Katherine Sui Fun Cheung, Tom Longboat, Nancy Drew, Ida B. Wells, Sacagawea, and the Borgias.

Had to give Inside a restraining order against me for the sake of us all, but Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade is a masterpiece of writing, acting, sound design and optimism. Spy is dumb action comedy polished to perfection, and Yasujirō Ozu’s Good Morning seems like the inspiration for almost all US arthouse films since 1990, and is also beautiful, funny, thoughtful, and good.

Taylor Swift’s Evermore, like all brilliant albums, isn’t completely perfect. But most of the songs are. And Hole’s classic Live Through This is still just ideal for turning up very, very loud after a tricky day, for the enjoyment of any neighbours who may have hacked down a bird-friendly tree on the last day of February.

Watched both series of Liam Williams’ Ladhood when I had a week off this summer, and really relished the location, the intention, and the writing. More please.

Miles Jupp and Justin Edwards continue to be my comforting bedtime listening in In and Out of the Kitchen. Has it ruined Nigel Slater for me? Well, a bit, but no more than any of us deserved.

I thought this would be a book I’d mumble through the first chapter of, then let get buried in my To Read pile, never to re-open. Instead, I found Whatever Happened to Margo? laugh-out-loud funny, drily written, and full of humanity. Excellent Women has made me want to read everything written by Barbara Pym, a goal I am slowly but surely working towards.

6. I’ve spent the last few years trying to find hazelnut trees, and finally found a copse between a car park and a play area, full of nuts the squirrels hadn’t noticed. Now I’ve found them, the spell has been cast and I see hazel trees everywhere, on walks and on pavements and running along motorway slip roads. A tray of green and brown frilled hazelnuts now dries with the laundry. They are so beautiful.

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flovey-dovey · 4 years

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Part 2 of my thoughts on Klaus

Spoilers! Did I mention that already?

When they watch Margu playing in the light of dawn, Jesper puts his hand on Klaus’ arm and keeps it there rather than excitedly pat it once or twice to get his attention like a simple platonic friend might. And while Jesper watches her, Klaus watches Jesper with a very warm, affectionate look that Jesper doesn’t try to shirk or shrug awkwardly off.

When Klaus puts his hand on his back, Jesper just smiles wider, and when they return to Klaus’ property the look on the woodsman’s face as he listened to Jesper talk like a doting parent and his solid “I do” in reply to what he was saying says even more.

Heck- part of Klaus’ tragic past was that he and his wife never got to have children no matter how much they wanted and waited, and here comes Jesper with every child in Smeerenburg and beyond at his heels. Klaus even tells him this past, openly, freely and even with a chuckle or two, and right after saying how his life had fallen into aimless misery turns to say “and then you came along.”. Klaus even has Jesper blindfolded before showing him the sleigh with both their names carved into it at what was most likely his request.

Very couple-like and very sweet in my opinion. After the “liar revealed” scene, Klaus sees his name as he climbs in and hesitates, clearly thinking of him.

(also, notice in this shot how Jesper is centered with Klaus- not Alva)

And let’s not forget the mountainside scene after the big chase or the look on Klaus’ face when Jesper echoes his wife’s words with full conviction: “A true selfless act always sparks another”.

Now we’re nearing the end of the movie, so let’s talk about Jesper’s father some more. In the last quarter of the movie, his father comes back and he and Jesper go to the boat that would take them back home. Before they cast off, though, it’s said not long later that Jesper told his father “everything” and how he thought he’d be mad at him. Why? If it was work related, why would Jesper be afraid his father would get upset by him wanting to stay and do the job he gave him? That he wanted him to have? Why would he be afraid his father would get mad at him for finding love in Alva, if that truly was the case? Could it be that part of “everything” was how Jesper did find love, but that it was in someone who didn’t fit into society’s unrelentingly heteronormative mold (gonna be using that word a bit but I’m tired so bear with me), and as a result meant he wouldn’t fit either? Which brings me to a minor point of my opinion: did Jesper ever fit? It could’ve been another reason why his father was trying so hard to impose socially acceptable opportunities on him, or why Jesper had rebelled against them so stubbornly. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

(also, notice the look on Jesper’s face here when confronted by his father’s silent urging for him to come out with whatever he knew he had on his mind)

Before I wrap this up, here are a few other bits and pieces I wanted to mention:

* When Jesper talks at Margu after realizing their toy inventory was running low, he says “they” were running out of toys rather than “he” (Klaus) was running out of toys, which his arrogant self in the first half-ish part of the movie would’ve surely said.

* During one of the times Jesper talks at Margu and asked what he was supposed to do if he failed, he mentions Klaus and doesn’t even bring up Alva.

* Jesper, while talking to Alva about the school’s turnaround and her own change in outlook, looks and sounds more confused/baffled than teasing, flirty or pleased.

* The strongest moment Jesper and Alva share, emotionally, is never more than the one they share while helping Margu write her letter to Klaus. To my memory, he and Klaus share two very prominent ones, with a possible third or fourth (or fifth or sixth) on top of that.

* Alva gives Klaus a peck on the cheek instead of Jesper, who she presumably now has romantic feelings for. Why don’t they kiss before the ending “where are they now” bit? At all?

* Alva, when watching the townies ice skating with Jesper, doesn’t move to pull him out onto the ice for some potentially romantic happenings if she had turned to see the troubled look on his face, laughing and smiling to try and cheer him up or going out on the town to partake in the festivities. This could’ve shown us more of Alva’s character and it would’ve been better than just NARRATING IT AT THE ENDING. And, yes, I know movies have deadlines, but it didn’t have to be more than ten seconds long and could’ve given a look into the town’s culture as it started to reform, and afterwards Jesper could’ve still gone back to the post office to build Margu’s little sleigh, possibly with some encouragement from Alva. Nothing had to change, but it wouldn’t have hurt to at least show their romance forming since a few seconds can go a long way.

* During the ending chase, Klaus and Jesper are literally having a lover’s quarrel.

* Klaus acting like an embarrassed husband when he steps up all covered in red from head to toe and Jesper joking with him about it, earning another hearty laugh from Klaus with ease, and Klaus’ apparent concern when Jesper urges his father outside to talk privately.

* The entirety of the reindeer scene and as they ride off, laughing, when their eyes meet and they realize they were having fun in each other’s company- very naturally, at that.

* Klaus lamenting how their time working together was coming to an end and with it their main reason for being with each other, as underplayed as the both of them make it seem.

* Jesper makes Klaus laugh; them sharing laughs together where I don’t recall seeing Jesper having the same thing with Alva, nor do I remember seeing her making him laugh.

* Klaus picking up and just holding Jesper will never not be cute to me.

So, in short, I hate heteronormative romances- especially when they come out of nowhere and have to be NARRATED at the END of the movie with little to no prior build up or implications that, yes, this is how you should’ve been expecting things to end up (yes I’m still upset about the ending). I saw it coming the second I saw the official trailer and after witnessing all the bonding between Klaus and Jesper I can’t help but feel cheated- dragged along for the ride like I was watching the Titanic sinking as someone was describing an entirely different outcome at the same time. They built Klaus and Jesper’s relationship- romantic, platonic, what-have-you- and then ripped it away to shove something completely unwarranted into my face instead.

If they’re going to have the guy get together with the girl, if they have interactions that show the feeling is mutual and more than friendship, trust and respect (which every good romance should have by default), if they WANT to be together and feel attracted and desire to be together, then I’m all for it- that’s what I expect love to be. But I still feel betrayed and sad and angry at the ending, especially since I feel like Alva and Jesper got together for the simple reason of deterring people like me from thinking Jesper and Klaus would or should end up together, even to the point of killing him off. I can’t prove it, and I’m sure that’s not why he died, but I’m going to say something that I know sounds mean but I don’t mean it spitefully:

I don’t care.

I don’t care if Klaus’ death and the ending it was attached to was poetic or happy-sad, bittersweet or what-have-you. I can’t help but not care because I literally haven’t seen anything break the relationship mold in a movie since I was shown my first movie or read my first romantic novel.

In any case, this movie came so, so close to being the most cathartic thing I’ve ever seen and it makes me so, so sad to have it fall prey to a completely standard method of storytelling endings when it presented such a vibrant and unique setting with the done-to-death theme of Christmas. You don’t even know how sad it makes me where, in this world of cowards afraid to make art for fear of losing money (which, I understand, everybody needs) or properly represent underrepresented groups of individuals or have a man and woman become friends and REMAIN purely friends- maybe even being the wingman/woman for their own relationship- I, against my fears, genuinely thought this film, this beautiful, inspiring masterpiece of animation, would be able to give me the shameless, unabashed and genuine non-heteronormative love I have still yet to see in a movie that doesn’t end in tragedy or act to disgrace anyone from that spectrum.

Klaus and Jesper saw parts of each other- ugly, angry, funny and secret- that nobody else saw, did things for each other that for the life of me I couldn’t find being done for the romance we were “supposed” to root for or even see coming (but, come on, “of course” they got together- what were you expecting, you wishful idiot?). For a movie with the underlying theme of how love was always better than letting spite fester into hate, it sure didn’t give me much to believe in terms of Jesper and Alva hooking up in the end. They could’ve had a friendly sort of love, but we can’t always get what we want. On that note, Pumpkin and Olaf (if that’s what his name is- I forget) getting married in the ending could’ve posed to the two clans “you hate each other, but don’t you love me?”, putting the leaders of both clans in the position of questioning their history and tradition of generations past so they didn’t lose the bonds they have in the present and that new traditions could be worth the effort for the sake of a better future. It’d be nice to see.

Anyway, no matter how it ended, you can’t tell me that Klaus and Jesper weren’t pining for each other more and more throughout the film. You can’t. Because I saw it, and no amount of ham-fisted “oh by the way” narration had to tell me it was happening or was planned “all along”.

Peace out and Merry Christmas to you all, gosh dang it.

- Flovey~Dovey

#Klaus #text post #Jesper #Alva #Klausper #TALL AND SMAAAAALL #part 2

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isitreallyok · 3 years

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Super Hero Time and My Very Own Kamen Rider Club

[A quick note before we get started here. In this post and likely in all posts to come names of people in my personal life have been changed to maintain anonymity.] After last week’s heavy topic regarding the pressures of positivity, I thought it would be better to at least start this week off lighthearted. It’s very likely that the vast majority of the readers of this are going to be from the US and as such likely have grown up with or at least seen an episode of Power Rangers. While there are a lot of things that the Power Rangers franchise does that are beyond silly and seem absolutely ridiculous to many of us that see them as adults, the things that are presented in these shows seem absolutely incredible to their target audience. These shows are marketed towards children in case that wasn’t obvious.

Power Rangers is a nostalgic thing to watch for me and I still greatly enjoy it!

Well dear reader, I am glad we agree on that. I grew up watching Power Rangers and as time has gone on I have found that I still enjoy the monster fighting, transforming, masked heroes presented therein. There are even a number of series in the franchise that I have enjoyed even as an adult. Though as I have grown older, and in turn begun to use subtitles on everything I watch, I have developed a fascination with Asian television as a whole since it tends to feel vastly different from most of what is made available in the US. This fascination extends to tokusatsu television shows including but not limited to Super Sentai and Kamen Rider.

For those who aren’t aware, Power Rangers is actually based on the long standing Super Sentai franchise in Japan. Each week on Sunday mornings, similarly to the Saturday morning cartoons of yore, a television block called Super Hero Time airs. This consists of the most recent annual series for both Super Sentai and the annual series of another long standing series called Kamen Rider. Both of these play into the gimmick of transforming masked heroes that have a different theme with each season. Of late I have been enjoying watching episodes of each of these series with a small group of folks on Discord and let me tell you all about the joy of finally finding a group of lovely people that are interested in these series the same way I am.

Sounds like it’s time for a story. Shall we queue the “Long Ago In A Galaxy Far Far Away…” scrawl?

You know what. That sounds fun. Lets imagine this as an opening to a cinematic experience. Lets travel back to June of the COVID times, a mere six months that feels like it is 87 years ago . At this point depression had grabbed a hold of me and thrown me so deep into the pits of despair that I wasn’t sure where I was going to find a light at the end of the tunnel. I had just been through a breakup with my first girlfriend in four years, I was living at an extended stay with my father taking care of him as best as I was capable, all while sacrificing my own ability to take of myself and cope with the emotional break down that was happening as my social life and many of my friendships were falling to shambles.

Enter Kenshiro. I started interacting with Kenshiro on Twitter earlier in 2020 and saw that he posted a lot about One Piece (which I was actively catching up on at the time) and things in the tokusatsu genre. Eventually I noticed that he had posted about a small group of folx who ended up getting together on Tuesday nights to watch Sentai together. I managed to quickly, and very temporarily, overcome my social anxiety and asked if it would be possible for an invite to this group. Kenshiro had a “the more the merrier style” approach to this group and I was welcomed in with open arms. Thus beginning a journey that has lasted six months and is still going today.

I think it’s wonderful that you managed to overcome your social anxiety to get into the group, but don’t social interactions overwhelm you regardless?

Though I was able to get an invite into the server and start enjoying these watch parties with the crew, the social impact was still quite overwhelming. On any given night that we were watching Sentai shows there were between 14 and 20 people all typing (we mute our mics when we watch) at the same time and the wall of text that forms while there are four to six different discussions going on about the show was really overwhelming at first. I struggled to really feel like I belonged even though people were engaged and encouraging me with everything that I was talking about.

That all changed when Ex-Aid started up Rider Time on Thursdays. When I first joined up we were watching intermittent episodes of both Carranger and Gokaiger on Tuesdays and it was a blast. Carranger, the series that Power Rangers Turbo was based on, was easily the most 80s nonsense I’ve seen in a long time with multicolored jobber baddies that ended up being completely over the top and I loved every second of it. Eventually though we moved towards watching Gokaiger, a pirate themed anniversary season of Sentai, in its entirety. Once we moved to the stick to a single series and watch it all the way through it only made sense that someone would start up a different night for us to watch Kamen Rider.

This was originally an effort spearheaded by Ex-Aid to further the scope of the tokusatsu shows that we were watching as a group. We were running Sentai on Tuesdays, Kamen Rider on Thursdays, and Ultraman on Fridays. It was a wonderful time to have such an incredible community to surround myself with even if I was a little bit intimidated by the amount of interaction on some of the busier nights.

It sounds like a really nice time. How did you manage to overcome your social anxiety though?

Oddly enough, it came pretty natural to me when I started actually plugging myself into the Thursday night crowd. When we first began the Thursday night watch parties it started off with Kamen Rider Drive. This was a series that I had tried to get into before but never really managed to enjoy so I was a little hesitant to go through it because I didn’t think I’d enjoy it. Since we were only watching 3 episodes a week I figured I could carve out an hour and a half of my time to watch some stuff with like minded individuals even if I wasn’t the biggest fan of what we were watching. Guess what, it turns out that my gut reaction to the series was completely wrong and now I absolutely love it and am excited to revisit it when the show is a little less fresh in my mind.

The first few times I tuned in on Thursdays I was a little bit shy. I didn’t say much, I didn’t want to really engage because of the smaller atmosphere, and I sure wasn’t willing to divulge anything going on in my personal life to this new found group. Within two weeks that all changed. I began to joke around with people and participate in the call and response type stuff that we now do during opening and endings even if it’s just typing in all caps the English lyrics in the opening song.

I think the small environment really did wonders for my anxiety because since I wasn’t heavily invested at the start if I felt like I butted heads with any of the group I could have just politely backed out and stopped watching with that small group. By having this group of four to six other people instead of the routine fifteen to twenty that we were drawing on Tuesdays, in time, I felt much more comfortable putting myself out there and letting my voice and opinions be heard. In a very short time, I managed to get very comfortable with this small group and even was more confident and open during the Sentai streaming on Tuesdays with the larger group as well.

Though I absolutely adore the entirety of this community that has been built surrounding both One Piece and tokusatsu shows as a whole, I particularly enjoy the time that I’ve spent with my very own Kamen Rider Club!

Kamen Rider Club?! Frankly that sounds a little childish when worded like that.

It kind of does, doesn’t it? It is what we in the Thursday night crew call ourselves. It is also a reference to what the main cast of Kamen Rider Fourze call themselves. One thing that this weekly gathering of the fans has taught me it is that its okay to enjoy childish things. I’ve even bought myself some of the toys that have come from various Kamen Rider series as I have seen them during our very own show and tell segment where we all showed off our collectibles and various toys. So while yes show and tell is a bit of a childish thing to do it brought joy to our little group. The amount of serotonin I have generated in the last few weeks by playing with the aforementioned toys is astounding. Getting in touch with my inner child and remembering that it is actually rather fun to play pretend has been a real delight.

As adults, we often work ourselves day in and day out to take care of mundane tasks that are essential to our survival. We wake up, go to work, come home, make or order some dinner, eat, and then get ready for bed. I’ve chosen to add finding happiness in doing the things I wasn’t able to do as a kid to the list. Staying up late to find that next save point in a game, buying toys neither myself or my family could afford as a kid, watching nostalgic b movies that brought me some joy as a child, and following along with all the tokusatsu shows my heart can desire are just a few ways I’ve managed to embrace my inner child and cater to my own personal and emotional needs in doing so. There is nothing wrong with being a little childish from time to time. Doing this has introduced me to so many people that I never would have met otherwise.

It really does sound like you’ve managed to build yourself a group of friends here. Isn’t it pretty cool what can happen when you trust that others aren’t going to have your worst interest in mind.

You’re right. I let some people in and was actually surprised with the results. I absolutely adore this little crowd I’ve got. They have all done so much for me without ever realizing it and I am beyond appreciative. Ex-Aid started the KRC on Thursday nights and drops some incredible trivia all over the place. OOO and I have a ton in common and they are an absolute delight to talk to. I am always excited to see them pop into a conversation on the Discord because we tend to have a similar line of thought and form of humor we do have some differences in personal taste that account for unique perspectives and I absolutely love hearing about them. Epsilon and I both are not afraid to make lewd jokes about what we are watching. Tastefully of course. … Most of the time. Epsilon has also offered to be a conversation partner as I continue to get back to my study of the Japanese language! Zi-O has managed to convince me to revisit series I had otherwise written off because I didn’t think they would be of interest, but they managed to sell me on them so I now have an expansive list of series that I want to watch and a planned order to revisit them. Kiva and I aren’t particularly close as I haven’t done much to actually talk to them, but I’m excited to see things develop more in that regard because they seem like a really fun person to talk to. Finally there is Chaser. They are our newest member of our Thursday night group and they have managed to have me laugh so hard I’ve done spit takes. I appreciate each and every one of our little Kamen Rider Club more than words can ever say.

Quick aside and mushy feelings bit here, but if any the KRC are reading this I want you to know that you all have absolutely made 2020 better for me. We’ve had an incredible amount of laughs together. We’ve seen each other through being both happy and sad. Frankly, you all have reminded me that I do have people who I can call friends on days where I didn’t think there was anyone who wanted anything to do with me. I appreciate you, I absolutely adore each of you, and words can not express my gratitude for the warm welcome that I have received into this lovely community. You all have helped me grow as a person in ways that I didn’t expect going into this group. Shaking off my depression blues and finding confidence to embrace my love of these silly kids shows has been in large part thanks to you all. I love you all. Thank you.

Outside of our usual Thursday crew there are so many more people in this community that have put a smile on my face and some joy in my heart, but there is one other person that I would like to take a moment to express some gratitude for. Scipio was one of the first people I actually felt comfortable bantering with in the Tuesday community before the creation of our Rider Time segment on Thursday. They had an incredibly warm and friendly demeanor about them and naturally I didn’t mind bantering with them during the Sentai watch parties. After a while I followed them on Twitter and recently I reached out to them there and they were willing and able to listen to me when I was feeling overwhelmed about the state of chaos in my life and that alone solidified my feeling of being appreciated inside of this community. Thank you Scipio for taking the time to support a stranger and make them feel like they are a part of something bigger.

I’m so glad that you managed to find these people. It seems like they are really helping you in a lot of ways.

They truly are. The joy of it is that they aren’t even doing anything special. They are simply treating me like a comrade and that alone has done wonders for my self esteem. This year has been among the most challenging in my entire life for a myriad of reasons and just having this community to be a part of has honestly saved my life. I don’t know where I would be without them, but I do know that I would be a lot worse off.

So to wrap things up here for today I want to challenge my readers to do two things. Firstly take a moment to appreciate the people in your life that make you happy. If you feel inclined to tell them how much you appreciate them that’s great. If you just take a moment to reflect on it that’s great too. Secondly, I want to challenge everyone to embrace the things that might embarrass you if you talked about it to your friends with more conservative interests. Embrace the wild things that you enjoy. Don’t let anyone take the joy that these things bring you away. Finally as a reminder to all of you, you are stronger than you think, you are beautiful, and by goodness you are worth it. Lets go into this week ready to kick some butt and join some fandoms.

#tokusatsu #inner child #friendship #fandom #Mental Health Awareness #depression #coping mechanism #watch party #appreciation post #Kamen Rider #Super Sentai

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pensurfing · 3 years

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I Surrender.

By the time I actually post this, it’ll be near the end of the year and I’ll be near my burnout. Each year, usually I take an unannounced, but quiet, break.

2020 feels different this year. Usually, I return in January; but this time I don’t think I can return. Too much happened in so little time and as a small creator, business, entrepreneur, small EVERYTHING I can’t ignore what lurks over my head. An ultimatum.

I was in denial about it.

I thought maybe if I pushed making the decision back as far as I could, something would change. That as long as I worked hard, promo’d my sales and merch, did as many virtual cons as I could, something would change. Networking in newer groups, looking around for clients, and wanting to make new merchandise; name it. I did it. Work hard and reap the benefits later; while that is true there is also no shame in knowing when to quit as well. I was in denial about how long the pandemic in the States would last. I was in denial about needing help with my mental health. I was in denial about so many things in my surroundings. The biggest thing I was in denial about was my importance, impact, and ability to move forward with where I was with my art journey. The biggest reason why I was able to keep it up was due to the constant questions of “How’s it going? What are you up to? How are you?” No one (at least the way I see the world) actually answers this truthfully. So I just kept saying fine and for a while, I genuinely believed it. I lied to them. But to be fair, I lied to myself too.

I was angry about it.

I stayed here for so long.

SO.

Long.

I was angry that I felt ignored; angry that I reached out and others had their hands tied as well; angry that I still managed to make sure others didn’t drown like I was drowning & didn’t think to help myself because I’m stupid; angry that the pandemic did last this long in the States; angry at me for not pulling some magic trick out a hat that I’m not sure existed; just angry. (tw: self-harm, vivid imagery) I was so angry I took it out on my debit card and self-sabotaged my good spending habits. I took it out on my legs and arms and broke a seven-year long streak of not hurting myself; I carved myself up entirely and punched the bricks of my house. I took it out on people. I don’t quite know how yet, but I feel like I did. Maybe I had a shorter temper than normal; I stopped reaching out and making sure I fully listened to their problems. I kept caring more about them than myself during this phase. And they just kept taking. And I became an empty cup, they moved on; I see that I’m just disposable. Which, isn’t wrong. All I could handle and still can handle is heavy convos with my therapist. (I don’t have her anymore, that’s right. I can’t afford her anymore.) All I could handle was trying to write it out, map it out, talk it out.

I was angry I didn’t see a point anymore. I felt like I didn’t deserve the tiny wins I did see because I didn’t go through some kind of threshold of pain and suffering to earn it. I was angry and the crumbs tossed my way in the name of “diversity” and “trying to hire black” because of guilt and white performance. I was angry being lead on with a tiny thread of hope because that thread was bigger than the nothing I’ve gotten this entire time. I was so angry and blaming myself for things that were completely out of my reach and capability. I was just really angry.

I tried begging my way out of it.

I looked for online classes of any sort to traject myself into a sort of hope. Buying hundreds of dollars in books, classes, anything in information I just didn’t have prior to the pandemic; and now because of the pandemic, the information will be obsolete as the world adjusts and readjusts to its changes and collapse in remaking itself. Making flash sales on my website if it meant seeing eight dollars by the end of the month.

I didn’t stay here long because of my own twisted viewpoint of begging.

I was depressed about it.

I stayed here the longest. It was already enough having the above marinate within me; add to the mixture of new relative drama, relatives passing away, and just not being in a healthy household... I grew tired. I stopped taking care of myself. Anyone with depression can tell you that dealing with that darkness is an uphill battle; usually, the first to go is my hygiene. But I just slowly stopped drawing altogether. I don’t draw when I’m not together. I’ve mentioned this many times over the years verbally and in written form on here. So I just kept taking breaks. I had a small string of commissions here and there, but that was the only illustrations I could create and that was its own battle.

I tried mentioning it to people I was close to, but after a while hearing “it be like that sometimes” just isn’t helpful and isn’t worth explaining the story. So I just stopped talking. And not having my therapist made it harder. Especially because I have a lot of emotional dumpers who don’t understand boundaries. I don’t blame them, but after a while of nonconsensual emotional dumping I had to stop listening to another group of people because I just couldn’t handle any more weight; either they didn’t see I was drowning or didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.

I couldn’t enjoy the walks recommended by many; not even my favorite restaurants; or shows; or books/mangas; food in general; people in general.

Listening to music at least helped the “I’m sinking” feeling. But it was quickly ruined with “well intent” friends with; “Maybe if you drew something you’d feel better”, “Sketch, paint, it’s therapeutic”, “dRaW”. You get the picture. It had a double sting because it acknowledged two things: These ‘friends’ don’t know much about me and what brings me happiness; This isn’t about my happiness, but more about their own selfish requests to see more work from me because they don’t know anything else besides “I’m an artist, I draw, therefore that is all I am and all that can ever make me happy”.

See it this way: You have a friend. Friend is a musician. Your friend is slowly going deaf and loses their hearing. You can at least do small, everyday sign language. But not enough to handle a full conversation. Until your deaf friend can afford that hearing aide, talking to them will be a bit harder. But instead of learning more sign, you complain about how the person can’t hear as well anymore, so they become “quieter” and you stop reaching out to them. Projecting the “why can’t you just listen”. “You know what will make you feel better? If you play your music again, make mixes. We miss that.” “You sing, why not sing to make yourself feel better.” If the person cannot hear, how can they continue to make sure their craft is correct? In tune? On tempo? If a person is not in the mood or mental capacity to draw, then how can they draw? If all you can see is that you only know about friend is that they are a musician, can they really be a friend? Or just acquaintance?

Projecting the thing you get joy from said ‘not ok’ person and just demanding they do more of the thing you enjoy isn’t helpful; but selfish. Because in that case it isn’t about the person, but you and your expectations and things that you get from said person. Once they stop giving you the thing, then it’s about ‘how-dare-you-not-give-me-my-thing’. And I stopped caring to go through this consistent loop and being talked over when trying to explain myself.

I sat in my bathtub more than I had in years; the irony is this is comforting. So for weeks, this is where my mind and mental capacity have been. Sitting in my tub, with a blanket, my phone, and my switch. I’ll stay there all day and go to bed; sometimes I’ll sleep in the tub and stay there all day. I listened to music. Just daydream. I write a bit more now for my own purposes. It’s been nice. But not enough to get me out of a funk.

I finally accept it.

I’m just a person to be there and happy for others and their things. I think I finally get that now. I’ve slowly removed myself from social media and with the expectation of performance. I’m not a performer; I’m supposed to just be the audience. While this isn’t an “I quit” because this is all my job experience the past few years now, this is just an “I surrender”. I’m used to the fact in my waking life I’m no person’s ‘favorite’ or ‘go to’; so I guess now I’m coming to terms with that with work and with drawing in general. I have company clients I’m wrapping up work for but after that, I’ll be taking down my commission information and artist alley gallery. etc. I’ll shut down the store; I’ll do one last sale and either give away/throw away my extra items.

I just have to start entirely from square one. Maybe negative one? I went on what feels like the world’s longest pity party to say I’m taking a break, and seeing how the world broke in 2020 there is a chance I won’t be able to come back. And I don’t want people jumping me say “how dare” “you don’t try hard enough” or “shut up and just wait until next year/try again next year”

I’m covering my bases. If things look up then I’ll just happily delete this later.

But I can’t just ignore the reality of it all. I’m not ok and I haven’t been. And I just want to stare at my ceiling guilt-free for a bit. (I did this last night and it is fucking gross looking, gotta clean it.)

Stay safe, stay indoors, and stay clever.

[[TL;DR: After continuing to get beat down by the world the past two years, this year pushed me past a tipping point. I can’t keep being a lukewarm illustrator at best and I am slowly wondering if I even want to; I want the space to figure that out. And don’t want the same friends who tell me “draw this, color this” to hound me on that decision either: it has the same energy when a kid with asthma can’t breathe and you talk over them and say “just inhale and exhale”.]]

I hereby release me from the pressure to post consistently because honestly, it is the only time I hear from anyone anyway So this is me choosing silence for a bit.

#ramble #vacaymode #goodbye #for now

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playmebackwards · 4 years

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hey y’all, i’m velouria and i’m always late to the frickin party! well, better late than never, right? i’ll introduce you to all my kids but first up, binyamin ‘benny’ katzer, jewish werewolf with a whole lot of trauma!

&. 【 sh, do you hear I WAS A TEENAGE WEREWOLF by THE CRAMPS playing ? that must mean BINYAMIN ‘BENNY’ KATZER is coming, the 23 year old CISMALE that goes by HE/HIM, currently employed as a GRAVEDIGGER AT OLDGATE CEMETERY. they’re a WEREWOLF in oldgate for eh, i’d say about TWO MONTHS. tough luck, huh ? least they got their REVERENT, INTELLIGENT, GUARDED and FEEBLE stuff to fall back on. anyway, it’s best to get out of here. their ( silver chai necklace glinting in the sun, worn comic books with the spines cracked, a bookcase filled with mel brooks films, bits of leaf found in dark blond hair nowhere near the forest ) vibe gives me the creeps !

trigger warnings: mentions of bullying, mass murder/massacre, ptsd

grew up in santa barbara, ca in a conservative jewish family (conservative as in the branch of judaism, not like republican lol); the younger brother of tovah katzer, park ranger. binyamin grew up as a regular class clown, a rather jovial kid that used humor as a defense mechanism. he was a decent student, but suffered from bullying over his small stature and religion.

because of the bullying at school, binyamin grew very guarded and only felt very close to his mother. though he had a few good friends in his social circle, he was very much a nerd and somewhat obnoxious, so he wasn’t well liked by most of his grade. he had a pleasant relationship with his older sister tovah but they were not socially close, even as children.

a stereotypical nerd, he spent most of his free time playing violent video games or at school band practice. he grew up very observant of his religion and spent a lot of time at the local jcc.

benny, as he was commonly called by his peers, wanted to be a stand-up comic as a teenager. his hero was (and still is) mel brooks, humor was the only way benny could really relate to other people and it shielded him from the world when relating to others only ended up hurting him.

as the years went on and high school was coming to a close, things lightened up at school and the bullying ceased majorly from its height in middle school and early high school. while he was never considered popular, it wasn’t so hard to get up and go to school in the morning during his junior and senior years.

he chose to go to usc santa barbara since it was a state school and not too far from his childhood home. while his dreams of being a stand-up comic had diminished, binyamin was still considering it when high school came to an end, but ultimately he picked a computer science major at his father’s insistence that he have an actual career, and if he really wanted to do stand-up comedy, he’d at least have something to fall back on if it didn’t work out.

usc santa barbara was a lot different from a small suburban high school and binyamin felt isolated and elated simultaneously. a few people from his former high school also elected to attend ucsb, so he had a social circle he could rely on but he was also able to branch out and accumulate new friendships from the people in his classes and social clubs at the school. by his junior year, binyamin had carved out a good group of friends.

benny had always known his family was different; his father, while a good man, was often quite secretive and left for weeks at a time. they blamed it on his work, but it seemed these business trips would always take place around the full moon. it wasn’t until his older sister tovah developed her shifting ability that their parents revealed that their father is a werewolf; they were unsure if, being the children of just one werewolf and a human, that the werewolf gene would pass onto the kids. while tovah had shifting ability, binyamin didn’t develop his at the same time and by the time he was 19, they were all pretty sure only tovah was a werewolf like their dad.

but that was only until he was 19. while on a road trip for spring break with his college buddies, a man sabotaged their vehicle and then hunted them down with a rifle, picking them off one by one. (think wolf creek and texas chainsaw massacre) benny was the only one to survive—all thanks to his inner wolf. halfway through the event, benny finally acquired his shifting ability, tearing apart his assailant and ending the massacre. benny doesn’t remember much about the event, only that some of his friends had animal bites on them, and he feels an immense amount of guilt over the very idea he was responsible for any deaths (besides the killer).

the nevada farmhouse massacre, as dubbed by the media, split benny’s life into parts: before, after. normal, werewolf. having developed ptsd from the event, it took years for benny’s life to get somewhat back to normal. he avoided leaving the house, taking care of himself, scaring his family. while he was cleared of all wrongdoing by the cops, benny hasn’t forgiven himself, though he’s not exactly sure what he did or did not do during that time. after a year or so, benny went back to college, but in ohio instead, trying to get as far away as possible from california as he could. he completed his remaining credits for college and earned a degree in computer science. he started to go by the name b. chayim katz.

working as an i.t. specialist for a little while, things were going good for him, but then it was discovered that he was living under an alias in akron and his location/information posted on all the true crime subreddits/blogs. fearing further harassment and having another breakdown, benny called finally his sister tovah, a park ranger in california, and they made plans to live together as benny couldn’t handle being by himself.

they decided to move to oldgate, louisiana, where tovah could continue being a park ranger and benny didn’t know what he was going to be (though he had a degree in computer science, it had been tainted by the doxxing), but he couldn’t be in ohio anymore and he vowed never to live on the west coast again. #anustart

the siblings katzer have only been in oldgate for two months now, benny picking up a job as a gravedigger at the cemetery as it would give him something to do and very little interaction with people. they haven’t registered with the local pack yet, figuring they’re the only wolves in town, but the katzers have always been on the outside of wolf society due to their religion and their general quiet nature. they’re not rogues/lone wolves, but they try to keep to themselves as much as possible. benny definitely ain’t no alcide lmao.

connections:

a fellow werewolf! the first one, besides his own sister, that benny comes across in oldgate, and really anywhere. the katzer wolves tend to keep to themselves, not exactly labeled omegas but they don’t subscribe the whole macho persona that a lot of packs have going on.

someone to recognize him! while benny was never a celebrity, anyone that’s a true crime fan would be sure to recognize him as the farmhouse case has been covered in many podcasts and blogs. as he left ohio because he was recognized, he’d be totally freaked out by someone in this new small town realizing who he is, but the connection in question agrees to keep his secret/not harass him abt it.

someone he can get close to! benny is very reserved and quiet, even before the massacre, but doubly so now. he doesn’t talk very much, rarely makes eye contact, and spends most of his time alone; it would be very nice if someone could coax him out of his shell and become a good friend to him. extra points to anyone that wants to turn this toxic later down the road and have them manipulate benny, bc i’m fucking messy lol.

someone that’s very anti-werewolf! since werewolf society is still in the dark compared to the vampires and benny doesn’t make his wolf status known to most people, the person in question doesn’t know he’s a werewolf and basically talks shit abt them all the time. benny’s too afraid to speak up and let them know how much they’re insulting him lmao.

i can’t really think of anything else right now! but message me to plot and we’ll cook up something fun :) im me on here or ask for my discord!!

#fangfmooc #hold your horses honey. i’ve got coupons for the pringles. ( ooc. )#massacre tw #ptsd tw #bullying tw #i only proofread this once lmao sry

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hippocampus-studies · 5 years

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Hi maybe this is random but im in college and i am so stressed and anxious. How do you overcome study anxiety and the fear of failing. I feel so scared of doing badly and being stupid that i cant do anything sometimes. It feels like a self fulfilling prophecy. Any advice would help thanks✨

Hey!

I’ve dealt a lot with study anxiety over the years, and I know what if feels like to be paralyzed with the fear of failing. It seems like the cycle is pretty universal: you’re scared that you’re going to fail so you have trouble starting whatever you need to do which just makes you more scared and anxious than before. It’s something I’m still trying to work through, but I have some things I’ve picked up that have helped me.

Have realistic expectations of yourself

Fear of failing has a root in perfectionism. I think college is especially rough for perfectionists because the unfortunate truth is just about everyone fails once or twice in college. I’ve done so more times than I care to admit, and what I’ve realized is that it’s really easy to fall into all-or-nothing thinking about classes. Being 100% perfect and “on” all the time is not realistic, nor is it helpful to completely shut down when things begin to get difficult. Finding some sort of middle ground is not always easy, but I promise it’s achievable. For example maybe you have a bunch of things you need to get done today but they’re all difficult and you can’t figure out which one to do first, and the next thing you know it’s 8pm and you’ve gotten none of them done. Next time that happens, try to rank your to-do list in terms of what needs to get done right away, and what tasks are easiest/fastest to do. Start with the easy tasks to get momentum and then try and do at least one of the urgent tasks. That way even if you only get half of your to-do list done that day it still ends up being more than if you hadn’t started, and it’s likely that it’ll seem more manageable at that point.

Reach out for help

College has the deceptive ability to make you think that everyone around you is doing fine (especially if you’re in a competitive major or program) but I promise that you’re not the only one of your friends or classmates that is feeling this way. If you have peers in your life that you feel comfortable talking to about this, it can be extremely helpful to know that you are not alone in how you’re feeling. My only caveat is not to fall into what I call the Stress Olympics, which is where you and your stressed-out friends go around and try and compete to see who is the most stressed/under the most pressure. It’s not a helpful thing to do, and while venting to a trusted friend or friends can be great sometimes, if you catch you and your peers trying to one-up each other to see who is the most busy or who has had the least amount of sleep, you’re just going to end up making all of yourselves more stressed and worried than when you started.

It’s also worth it to talk to professors or school counselors. A lot of colleges offer counseling/life coaching, and most of them have been trained specifically to help with student-oriented issues (test anxiety, overcoming perfectionism, etc.).

Talking to professors can also be helpful! Most have had students that have felt overwhelmed by the workload or the subject matter, and most are also much more likely to work with you in terms of extensions for papers, extra tutoring, etc. if you go and talk to them in person. I know it’s really scary, (I still get nervous every time I go to office hours if I’m being honest) but most professors genuinely want to see you succeed in their class, and the more you’re open with them the more they’re willing to work with you.

Organization!

Okay I know there are about a million organization masterposts on studyblr so I won’t go too much into it, but there a couple things I’ve found to be very helpful. I’ve noticed that I end up getting more overwhelmed when I find dates for exams and projects creep up on me unexpectedly, so I have a set of calendars printed off (just from google, nothing too fancy) and the only thing I put on them is when all of my quizzes and exams are, when my projects are due, and other relevant dates for the semester (holidays, days off, etc.). I check it once a week when I put my weekly schedule together so I’m never caught off-guard by quizzes and exams that are a couple weeks down the road.

The other thing I do is make sure all my papers for my classes are organized. I have a pending box on my desk, and every couple of days I go through the papers in them and either recycle them or put them in a binder for the respective class. That way all my study material is in one place, and I’m not sifting through other classes when trying to study or work on a paper, nor do I lose papers at the bottom of my backpack.

Take care of yourself

Another thing that can lead to the paralyzation of procrastination is burnout. Taking care of yourself is incredibly hard in college, but it’s also one of the most important things you can do. Self-care usually falls into three broad categories:

Physical—this is usually what people think about when it comes to self-care: eating right, exercising, and getting enough sleep. The important thing to remember is that physical self-care looks different depending on the person. Not everyone has the energy to work out every day, and some people need more or less sleep than others. The important thing to do is listen to your body, especially when it comes to sleep—neuroscientists have shown that sleep is imperative for cognitive function like memory, so I would always advise getting the extra few hours of sleep instead of trying to cram in a little more studying.

Mental—taking care of your mental health is one of the most important things you can do to avoid burnout, but I also think it’s one of the hardest things to do. Humans are not machines; we cannot be switched on 24/7, and we need time to do things beside studying or working. My advice is to try and do at least one thing a day that you would classify as taking care of your mental health, whether it’s taking a 20 minute study break to watch rip vine compilations on youtube or taking an unplanned nap in the middle of the day. If you have some sort of a creative outlet like drawing or singing or cooking, it’s a great idea to try and carve out a little bit of time every week (even if it’s just half an hour) to express yourself creatively.

Social—whether you consider yourself to be more introverted or extroverted, spending time with people you care about is imperative to avoiding burnout. Finding friends in college can be hard, but I know that a great way to find people with common interests is to join clubs—specifically clubs that aren’t about your major or career. I’m in a voter advocacy club despite the fact that I’m a STEM major that will not academically benefit from being in the group. What’s infinitely more important is that I have a time once a week where I get to talk with friends about a subject that brings me joy and passion without ever bringing up my major or classes. Finding a group like that, whether it’s a friend group or a club or an intramural sports team, is going to help you in the long run far more than that extra hour of studying a week.

Just get started

This is the hardest thing on the list, in my opinion. The reason that studying anxiety can lead to procrastination is the mindset that you have do whatever you’re doing perfectly or it isn’t valid at all, and I can’t put into words how important it is to try and break that mindset. Just starting something, even if it isn’t perfect, or even if it’s starting to study later than you’d rather, is so, so much better than doing nothing. The moment you try and start doing what you’re doing, even if it isn’t perfect, is the moment you start to beat the perfectionist/procrastination mindset.

It’s easy to fall into the anxiety➡procrastination➡working too hard to make up for what you missed➡burnout➡procrastination cycle, but one of the best ways to break out of it is to not be too hard on yourself if you get anxious or procrastinate. Remind yourself that you’re human and you’re allowed to be imperfect. If you make mistakes or procrastinate along the way, make sure to speak gently to yourself—being unnecessarily harsh with yourself is only going to hurt you in the long run, and one of the best things you can do for yourself is to do your best to be kind to yourself.

These are just some things I’ve picked up over the last couple of years. If anyone else has something I missed please feel free to add it, but otherwise keep ur head up bby!! College is hard but I promise you’ll get through it 🌱

#i know how ur feeling anon i've been there before #but you're not alone and you can get thru it !!#my stuff #study #studyblr #studyspo #motivation #study motivation #studying #college #university #mental health #also I'm always around if you want someone to talk to :)

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unholyhelbiglinked · 5 years

Text

Dead Ivy | Chapter One

CHECK IT OUT FROM THE START | AO3 LINK

“Do you remember when I fell out of this tree and broke my arm?” She asked.

“I do.” He chuckled wearily, “I got a call at work that something had happened. You scared the hell out of me that day, kid.”

C + B FOREVER & EVER

“She still lives around here, you know? Owns a little café in the far side of town.”

“That so?”

“Right. Well, we should probably go back inside. The quicker we talk to everyone, the quicker they can go home and mourn their memories.”

Beca felt a twinge of guilt in her gut.

“As I live and breathe.”

“God, how are you?” She pulled away, “That’s a stupid question… I mean, as well as you can be, I hope.”

“I’m doing fine,” She finally managed, earning a detrimental look. “As well as I can be.”

“I’m sorry to hear about him, you know.” Stacie finally said after a beat of silence.

“You and most of the town,” Beca chuckled dryly, begging for a change of subject. “I haven’t seen you in what? Eleven years?”

“Twelve. God, we’re old.”

“Happily, at that, we invited you to the wedding, you know?”

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“S’alright,” Stacie said with a beaming smile “Rose loves the panini press.”

“Listen, uh, how long are you in town? I’d love a chance to catch up in a setting with better lighting.”

“A couple of weeks, at most. We have to settle his estate.” She grimaced at the technical term. “I’ll be around.”

“We’ll catch up, promise?”

“Promise,” Beca mumbled, tipping her head back the rest of the way, finishing the glass of bourbon she hadn’t even ordered.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfiction #pitch perfect

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demifiendrsa · 6 years

Photo

Kohei Horikoshi x Eiichiro Oda interview that was featured in My Hero Academia volume Origin.

The man that Horikoshi looks up to –Eiichiro Oda. In 16 years the boy now walks shoulder to shoulder with his hero as a “serialized artist”. What kind of conversation will they have now that they're here?

Having an extreme formative experience in manga (comics):

In the illustration corner of “One Piece” Twenty Third Volume: Usopp Gallery Pirates, is where the two made first contact. Horikoshi-sensei, how did you feel about having your work published for the first time?

ODA: That was a good volume. It was the last for Alabasta, with the famous “Proof of Friendship” scene.

HORIKOSHI: I was shaken.

Shaken!?

HORIKOSHI: Yes. I believe that was when I was in high school, and to discover that one of my drawings was printed there on the page caused me to break out in the shakes. I was still shaken when I showed my mom the picture too.

ODA: It's good you're close to your family. (Laughs).

How many drawings had you contributed?

HORIKOSHI: Just the one.

Incredible! What made you decide to send it?

002

(Side text- Young Horikoshi meets his hero.)

HORIKOSHI: My friend and I love One Piece so we both decided to send artwork in. We both drew incredible things, but only mine made it into the gallery.

ODA: It's as if you were the one to get the green light at an idol audition. (Laugh.)

HORIKOSHI: Are you the one who writes the commentary, Oda-sensei?

(Side text- My name has been engraved into “One Piece” for eternity!)

ODA: Yup, I do. I write it as Usopp.

HORIKOSHI: I'm so thankful....ahh, I mean overjoyed.

I think it's incredible you managed to make it in with just one submission. Did this experience affect your life as a mangaka? HORIKOSHI: To be honest I was quite satisfied with that drawing....(laughs).

ODA: Oh in a “My art was good enough to be published” way?

HORIKOSHI: No, more like a “Wow it was published! Now my name will be carved into One Piece for eternity!!” Sort of thing. I was totally satisfied with just that.

Everyone laughs.

ODA: I wonder if it would have been better if you were more frustrated (laughs).

Might you have been more inspired if it had been rejected instead?

HORIKOSHI: No, no, it took a bit of time but I did believe that I should take manga more seriously.

You mean between the experience of success and the actual feeling of making it?

HORIKOSHI: Right.

ODA: At the time, social media hadn't yet become widespread, so there weren't as many opportunities to give people a place to display their artwork. So that's why having it published in print gives me a strange sense of happiness. Even I like to give as many opportunities as possible to show off people's artworks on that page I've created.

Inquiring about the confession five years into serialization.

Horikoshi-sensei, you were able to tell Oda-sensei about the artwork in 2015, after quite a bit of time had passed, right?

ODA: Even before “HeroAca” was serialized we met at New years parties, right? Although you hadn't yet had a “hit” right?

Oda-sensei at that point you were in volume 77 of One piece..

003

And you wrote “You should have said something sooner!” (Laughs.)

ODA: That's right! You shouldn't have been so reserved!

HORIKOSHI: I was just too embarrassed. For me to speak up about something like that when my serializations were in the back of the magazine...even if I had the opportunity it just didn't feel right.

ODA: I see, that might have been the right decision. It'd be more helpful for me to cheer you on if you had a manga currently serialized. (laughs.) So you spoke up because now you had the pride of serializing a hit manga then?

Horikoshi: Hmmmm....

--Shouldn't you be more proud of your achievement? (Laugh.)

HORIKOSHI: Where you say pride, I more feel embarrassment.

(Side text- So you spoke up because now you had the pride of serializing a hit manga then?)

Any Oda-isms that have had a huge influences on you?

--Horikoshi-sensei has One Piece had any influences on you?

HORIKOSHI: How do I put this...I suppose having characters say things that I feel naturally is one influence I've taken from One Piece.

ODA: Well, when I first started serialization, things were different –a character saying things that Luffy does was seen as embarrassing.

HORIKOSHI: Ohh? But it feels like everyone in my age group was writing like that.

ODA: That makes me happy. Back then I was pretty young and it felt like I was rebelling against current fads. Back then it was pretty popular for girls hair to be braided inward, so I did the opposite when I drew.

004

--So you proceeded by doing the opposite of the opposite?

ODA: It just didn't feel right to me unless it stood out. At the time I was told a lot that my art was really weird, so I didn't dare to dream that anyone would be influenced by me in later years.

HORIKOSHI: I was influenced by how your characters have very small eyes. However I couldn't quite draw it all that well and had a lot of trouble....So lately I've been drawing them a little bigger than before (laughs).

ODA: I've been doing the same thing (laughs).

--Horikoshi-sensei has One Piece influenced you in any other areas –aside from artwork?

HORIKOSHI: I love the Arlong Arc. Especially the exchange (between Luffy and Nami) “Help me...” and “Of course!!” I thought that part was especially cool, and I wanted to draw a Luffy like protagonist. Oh and this week's One Piece chapter was crazy good. (Jump has a scattered turnover)

--Lots of past characters showed up during the Reverie, huh?

ODA: It was pretty shocking huh? (Laughs) The serialization has gone for a long time so I'm able to have characters who appeared in the past show up again, but there are probably many readers of Jump who don't quite get what's going on. Maybe the people who read by volume are deeply familiar with what's going on, but those who read Jump probably haven't read everything...

005

ODA: So I had to include the past events so they wouldn't miss anything.

HORIKOSHI: Huh? Does that happen?

ODA: Quite often, to a surprising extent. When they aren't doing the polls it's like “I'm so happy that this character is popular!” And then when I draw them people say “I don't know who this is.” (Laugh).

HORIKOSHI: Huh!!~

ODA: When the serialization runs long those things happen.

--The one who's easiest to draw is not surprising oneself.

Oda-sensei what are your impressions of Horikoshi-sensei?

ODA: As the face of the next generation of big hit hero artists.

HORIKOSHI: I can't believe that.

ODA: My daughter will happily sing the “HeroAca” anime theme songs on bus outings, and it'll get everyone in a good mood. At home she'll ask “Dad is your manga going to be okay” She's really worried about One Piece.

HORIKOSHI: I'm thankful to hear that, but it's a bit....(laughs).

(Side text- My daughter will happily sing the “HeroAca” anime theme songs on bus outings, and it'll get everyone in a good mood.)

ODA: But I am a little concerned since it's a manga with a lot of characters.

--Why's that?

ODA: When there are a lot of characters to draw it gets difficult to unify the work as a whole, and properly, but if you are able to properly establish and understand the characters then the work will be a hit. It can lead to a lot of needless anxiety. I will say this though, I've always been impressed by Horikoshi-sensei's comic covers. They look great, and the sense of style is on point –and you're able to come up with some very good ones.

HORIKOSHI: Thank you so much that makes me so ridiculously happy.

ODA: What do you use to color them?

HORIKOSHI: Photoshop.

ODA: Oh so you use computers?

HORIKOSHI: Yes, I did get a little tired of using them so for volume 18's cover I went back to using analog (hand painting) it was overwhelmingly fun.

ODA: You like American Comics right? Your style of artwork is influenced by them.

HORIKOSHI: Yeah. I've read all of “Spiderman” and “Deadpool”.

--And what about character personalities?

HORIKOSHI: Ah, for this Oda-sensei is a huge influence. I thought to myself “I really want to draw a lively character like Luffy!!” But in the end I ended up drawing a character nothing like him and more like myself –an otaku who has a penchant for over analysis.

006

(Top text- A Shikishi that Oda-sensei drew ahead of time. To keep from dirtying Luffy, Horikoshi carefully draws beside him.)

HORIKOSHI: and at the end of that, just a bit of brightness added in for good measure which harmonizes into Deku the protagonist.

--The relationship between weekly manga artists and movies.

--How were you involved in this movie?

HORIKOSHI: I was involved and contributed to the script phase, and did the final character designs. If I had more time to, I would have done more.

ODA: If I said something like that (laughs) it would be endless. From the start, I said that the weekly serialization is most important to me, and I didn't want to do anything to disturb it.

HORIKOSHI: M—My stomach hurt. I thoughtlessly said “I want to do more”....

--This is the first movie for HeroAca. At the time it was confirmed how did you feel?

HORIKOSHI: I was really happy. I thought that getting an anime confirmed was the peak of my happiness –my dreams had come true. I really didn't think I'd get anymore than that so when they said the series would get a movie, I was like “Seriously?! No way!!”

ODA: I attended the screening on the morning of it's premiere and was moved by all the people lined up to see it.

HORIKOSHI: You were in the audience....

ODA: But I wasn't really able to talk to any of my readers live there.

(Side text- I was really happy. I thought that getting an anime confirmed was the peak of my happiness –my dreams had come true. I really didn't think I'd get anymore than that.)

007

HORIKOSHI: Then I'll definitely have to do that.

--Lastly, please give the moviegoers a few words.

HORIKOSHI: It'll be a lot of fun for those who don't read my manga, and more fun still for those who do. It's a kind of work that anyone can come into and enjoy. The movie is the only way to see a fight where All Might and Deku fight side by side! So by all means come on down and have a good time!

--And now a shout from you both.

ODA: Let us keep fighting together for popularity in Jump from here on in too!

HORIKOSHI: Of course...ah, no....

ODA: How many volumes do you estimate the series will be?

HORIKOSHI: Honestly I thought about 30 or so would be about right, but I hadn't really been counting at all...

ODA: Then shoot for about 50.

HORIKOSHI: Can I really do ten years though...? (Laugh).

ODA: Rather than if you can, it's more like you'll end up doing it.

HORIKOSHI: Then you had already decided on how many volumes One Piece would have from the start?

ODA: Of course. Though it's gone about triple my original calculations.

HORIKOSHI: It it because while you were drawing the series the amount of things you wanted to portray multiplied?

ODA: They multiplied and broadened.

HORIKOSHI: Yeah, even for me the Sports festival arc was about twice longer than I had originally expected.

ODA: That's what happens when lots of characters get together and act at once....it gets really difficult to predict how things will go. But I wish you luck on the battlefield that is Jump.

HORIKOSHI: Ah, yes...

ODA: How about a proper response with resolve?

HORIKOSHI: I'll do my best to to overcome even One Piece!!

ODA: I won't lose, you know.

HORIKOSHI: Ah, I said it. (laughs). Thank you very much.

Translated by Bomber D. Rufi.

#My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Kohei Horikoshi #One Piece #Eiichiro Oda #Monkey D. Luffy #Izuku Midoriya #MHA #BnHA #HeroAca #manga #long post #Oda's daughter is cute

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

Dread and Hunger: Prologue

You can read the Prologue on Ao3 Here

Prologue: Syrah

Three Years Before:

Hannibal didn’t often enjoy having to commute to DC –what with the traffic, the rude drivers whose identities he’d never learn, and the utterly impossible FBI he oftentimes consulted with, he would oftentimes not reach his lovely home until the late hours of the night, far too long after a proper dinnertime.

That, and if he did find the time to stop for a relaxing glass of wine, the waiters were just snippy enough that he found himself contemplating the many ways in which their bodies could be carved into a lovely form of art.

All in all, not entirely relaxing for a Tuesday evening. Not when one couldn’t very well murder all of the wait staff of Belle Bleu and get away with it. No, no; if one is going to kill, they have to be patient about the entire ordeal, otherwise they end up like the last gentleman he’d aided the FBI with: Terry Dougan, a clumsy sociopath that cut his way through a Denny’s in a pique of rage after he’d eluded the law for four years and twelve other known bodies.

It truly was a troublesome state of affairs.

“I’m off, Will! We’ve just got that guy in the corner, and two tables just over there. Those guys I just followed up with, they’re fine, and Dr. Lecter is a regular. Just make sure he’s got a good wine, and he’s not too much trouble. Don’t put him out or anything, right?”

“Okay.”

“Remember your eyes, right? Eye contact, dude, eye contact. That’s half of tips. If you want tips, you gotta act like you care.”

“I do care.”

“Show me, don’t tell me, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, hun!”

Hannibal watched his bumbling waitress grab a bag out from behind the bar before she disappeared down the hall where he assumed a break room lay. She wasn’t entirely too much of a problem for him, unless he asked for a wine she wasn’t familiar with. To compensate for her lack of knowledge, she tended to bluster, and although commendable, it was mostly just annoying.

He glanced to the side where a young man struggled to pin his name tag on straight, and he let out a quiet sigh, unable to help himself. The young ones, while aesthetically pleasing to look at, knew next to nothing. On a day where he felt charitable, he’d help them learn their own menu, but he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. When the boy, no older than twenty or so, walked over to him with an askew nametag, he took a sip from his bold glass of Syrah to compose himself.

“Good evening, sir,” he said, like Hannibal hadn’t heard his earlier exchange with Cassie. “Cassie is off for the night, but I’m Will, and I’ll be your server for the duration of your stay.”

He had a soft voice, that of an introvert. Hannibal glanced up at him, met eyes that glanced away after not even two seconds, and he hummed lightly.

“Good evening, Will. Are you new? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m newer, sir,” he said, “but I’m learning as much as I can. Are you here often?”

“On and off, enough that Cassie has dubbed me a regular.”

Will flushed at that, the embarrassment of realizing they’d spoken too loudly. Hannibal tracked a hand that twitched and drummed noiselessly against his leg, a nervous habit.

“I’m sorry, sir, if we said anything-”

“Not at all, don’t worry. If you like, you can practice your trouble with eye contact on me.”

A not-so-kind dig, but it did make him feel marginally better about his day. Rude, all things considered, but rather than turning a ruddier shade of red, the boy surprised Hannibal when he looked back up from his tie –a pleasant plaid of red, purple, and black –and met his gaze again.

“I’d appreciate it. Practice makes improvement, or so I’ve been told.”

It was the tone change, Hannibal figured much later, that got his attention. The drumming fingers stopped their twitching, and his back stiffened, an impeccable posture from the youthful and disparate slouch before. The uncertain twist of his lips became an almost-smile, much like his own when he’d told a particularly clever joke no one understood, and his tone was that of something sophisticated, someone that knew more than they let on.

Truth be told, it sounded almost like Hannibal had spoken through someone else for the briefest of moments.

“I do enjoy that turn of phrase, moreso than ‘practice makes perfect’. If one is not practicing perfectly, they may only learn poor habits,” Hannibal replied after a beat. He watched with amusement as Will nodded and shifted his weight.

“If I begin a poor habit, Dr. Lecter, please let me know. I’ll adjust accordingly.” He didn’t wait for Hannibal to say anything on the matter. With a half-smile, he continued, “I see you’re drinking a Syrah. We have four different varieties, if you’d like to try another.”

Bemused, Hannibal couldn’t help but reply, “I’ll try another. Pick your favorite.”

Will left him with a curt dip of his head, and Hannibal couldn’t help but follow him with his gaze for most of the night. He brought a marginally better version of what Cassie brought him, and over the lip of it, he observed as the somewhat-new-but-learning Will seemed to become what was necessary with each of his patrons. For the loud, distasteful group, his voice seemed to grow and take on a dry edge of disdain for society as they made conversation. For the girl with an eager disposition and daddy’s money to burn, he chatted aimlessly and validated her need for attention. For the couple in the corner celebrating their anniversary, he gave them space and laughed at their poor attempts at corny jokes. For Hannibal, he only returned to refresh his glass and finalize his bill.

Hannibal tipped nicely. At the bottom of the receipt, he added, Excellent eye contact, Will. Your tag was askew, but it seemed to only add to the charm you displayed to the rest the patrons in the bar. Tell Cassie that her regular wasn’t put out in the least.

He decided to go back next time he visited DC, simply to see if this Will was some sort of charlatan whose social skills were an excellent façade to make more in tips, or if there was something more to him than met the eye. His own shift and borrowing of Hannibal’s persona made it difficult to decide which was the truth.

He was no charlatan, Hannibal realized. It was something so much more interesting than that.

A new client whose disability gave him weekly, necessary trips to DC took him back to Belle Bleu on a Thursday, and he lingered in order to avoid the six o’clock rush hour and traffic jams. A recent art piece of his design left him with the sort of buzz and tingle in his veins that made him more than happy with the turn of events of the week, and he perused the articles on his tablet with genuine pride.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter,” Will said, and Hannibal looked up from a particularly gruesome photo of his work in order to meet Will’s eyes. He didn’t quite catch his gaze that time; there was a lull in his aura, and the smell of lab chemicals on his skin that suggested he’d been hard at work elsewhere that worked with iodine and silver nitrate.

“Good afternoon, Will. You appear tired.”

There was a fumbling of words as he seemed taken aback by the blunt observation, and he swallowed thickly. To lie or to acknowledge? Indecision warred in his eyes for the briefest of moments.

“It won’t stop me from giving good service, don’t worry,” he assured Hannibal. It was a good reply, professional and distanced.

“Are you in school?”

“Yes, at GWU.” He lifted his small receipt pad as though it were a shield, and he cleared his throat. “What are you in the mood for today?”

“You informed me just this past visit that you had other options for a Syrah. I should like to try another today.”

“Would you like food with it?”

“Oh, no. I tend to prefer cooking my own food.”

Will nodded and jotted his order down. It was as he was turning to leave, though, that his eyes whose stare was fast avoiding Hannibal’s intent gaze caught the tablet, instead. At the sight of the gruesome photo, he stilled, foot struggling for a step before it came down a little too hard on the floor.

Hannibal looked down to the photo of the body, splayed out and impaled with far too many blunt instruments, and he couldn’t help the buzz of pleasure that lit his veins on fire. The Wound Man was one of his favorite medical photos from centuries before, a lovely version of the many wounds and injuries one could sustain during the medieval era. When he looked up at Will again, he was surprised to see a twisted, uncertain expression on his face, something half-pained and half-afraid.

“Had you seen the news?” Hannibal asked. “It appears the Chesapeake Ripper struck again.”

Rather than mention something about how disgusting or terrifying the Ripper was, Will nodded slowly, uncertain. “The Wound Man.” A pause as he licked his lips. “He was found in his shop.”

Perhaps it was something in the way his mouth twisted, but Hannibal couldn’t help but press, “I’m sure they want you to take safety precautions at GWU.”

“They say to travel in groups,” Will said, tone not so much derisive as it was dry.

“You don’t think there is safety in numbers?”

“Sooner or later, you’re alone,” he replied. “And if he’s eluded the FBI for this long, one can assume he would simply wait for the right moment. Patiently.”

“You think he’s a patient man,” Hannibal clarified, pleased. Will wasn’t wrong.

“I think he doesn’t like the name Chesapeake Ripper,” said Will.

“Oh?”

“His work is refined enough, I think, that something as easily made as Chesapeake Ripper would be offensive. Yes, he has a name, but names have power, and they gave him one that even a two-bit hack could make with a finger of whiskey and a little bit of ingenuity.”

His eyes didn’t move from the photo as he spoke. There was a certain sort of hunger in them, something that made Hannibal shift in his chair, to better see into his eyes.

“What name would you give him, if you were the one to create it?” he asked curiously.

“…My friend Beverly wanted to call him ‘Vlad the Impaler’,” Will replied. He licked dry lips, cleared his throat. “I don’t…I’m not one that thinks much on names and things like that.”

“You don’t?”

“…No,” he said, sounding much more like a ‘yes’.

It wasn’t until the page reloaded, reconnecting to the network, that whatever spell it’d woven on him broke. He gave a quick start, then fumbled with his pad and strode away quickly, leaving Hannibal with a heart pounding oddly in his chest.

He was left with a glass of wine, and Will busied himself with cleaning up the bar, washing glasses from a loud and obnoxious crowd of persons. The longer Will worked with them, the more drawn he seemed to become, their emotions bleeding into him with such a force that Hannibal could almost smell the exhaustion wafting off of him. He continued to peruse articles about himself, but there was a stab of bitterness every time his eyes roamed over the name. Chesapeake Ripper. Will wasn’t wrong with that sort of observation, although how he’d come to such a thought process was curious, to say the least. One as young as he seemed to be didn’t stare at a photo of The Wound Man and simply know such things.

No, not a charismatic charlatan. Something more. Something…better.

There was a quick, sharp sound of shattering glass that cut through an otherwise white noise of churning water from the sink behind the bar and the classical arrangement from the speakers overhead. It was enough that Hannibal looked up from his tablet, and in doing so, he was privy to something absolute marvelous. It wasn’t quite extraordinary in of itself, all things considered, but it was the reaction that made Hannibal pause in order to better look, to better understand.

“Shit,” Will muttered, but that didn’t seem quite like what he wanted to say. Held aloft in the glow of the ambient light in Belle Bleu, Will’s hand ran with blood pink from soapy water. The blood didn’t concern Hannibal; at least, not as much as the shards of glass that jutted out in a haphazard way in Will’s skin did. He thought to walk over and see just how bad the damage was, but as he stood up, the surprise on the bartender’s face faded, shifting from a natural, instinctual reaction to something with a hint of curiosity, of excitement.

Any other person would have either screamed, cried, or hurriedly tugged pieces of glass from their hand in an effort to silence the nerves just underneath their skin that complained. Instead, the peculiar expression seemed to darken as the boy turned his hand about and studied the mess, an almost clinical aspect to the way he pursed his lips and slid a finger from his uninjured hand along a particularly savage piece. Hunger was the expression, Hannibal decided, but the sort of hunger that made the room seem too small, that made chatter fall to a stop.

Hannibal, unable to help himself, licked his lips.

“Oh my god, Will!” a waitress exclaimed, and Will looked up. Unlike before, where he’d seemed to snap out of himself and become himself again –rather, the self he seemed to project –Will also licked his lips, mouth too tight against his teeth.

“Just a scratch,” he murmured, and the girl dragged him away, calling for someone in the back to grab a first aid kit. If either worker noticed Hannibal standing like a fool beside his table, they gave no indication. He sat down, fingertips gliding around the rim of an empty glass.

He decided that he, too, was hungry. So dreadfully, dreadfully hungry.

Will returned seven minutes later with a bandaged hand and dilated pupils. Hannibal tracked each twitch of his muscles, each flutter of lashes as he looked down at his pad and finalized the bill.

“Are they sending you to a hospital due to the blood loss, or are you about to leave because customers complained about the inconvenience?” Hannibal asked, withdrawing cash from his wallet.

“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable, Dr. Lecter,” Will replied, not looking up.

“That wasn’t quite an answer.”

“That’s not really a fair question.” Will paused, a grimace about his lips as he realized just what he’d said. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. It looks like I need stitches.”

“Yet you came to finalize my bill for me.”

“…Yes.”

“I admire the dedication to finishing what you start.” Among other things. “You must have a rather high pain tolerance. You don’t seem too troubled by your injury.”

Will nodded, an awkward jerk to his head. “I’ll be alright.”

“Keep the change, Will. Go and see a medical doctor.”

As he was walking out, Will intercepted him, messenger bag across on shoulder, hand cradled to his chest. Blood seeped through the bandage already, but he didn’t seem interested in it, as though it were no trouble to him.

“If I were to name the Chesapeake Ripper, Dr. Lecter, I’d call him Shesmu,” he said.

“Shesmu?”

“He was the Egyptian Lord of Blood, known as He Who Dismembers Bodies,” Will continued. “I think…if I were to name someone like that, that’s what I’d refer to him by.”

“You would lift him to a godhood, Will?”

Will didn’t hesitate. “I think that…someone like that would find it funny. Someone that kills people like that already thinks of themselves as a god, choosing who lives and who dies. They would be amused at the comparison and pleased at the historical ties.”

He walked away before Hannibal could reply, head dipped and pupils impossibly large. Hannibal couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he tucked his hands into his pockets and saw himself out of Belle Bleu, and when he saw a news report later on the television discussing the mind of the Chesapeake Ripper, he found himself smiling even wider.

One Year Before:

“Someone call the cops!”

“Oh my god, I think he’s going to kill him!”

“Dude, get back!”

“Fuck you, I-”

“Will, what are you doing?”

It was the name that pulled Lecter from his observations. Comfortably unharmed beside his vehicle, he watched two college-aged boys rip into one another, fists flying and blood staining two perfectly good work shirts. Well, not perfect –Hannibal noted a low thread count and a messy seam as one of the men went flying and landed nearby, hard.

He looked up at the sound of the name, though, and spied Will just across the parking lot. Looking at him gave Hannibal the same sense of purpose that he always felt whenever he saw him: an odd hunger, a sort of drive that made his blood run just a little faster, his heart beat just a little harder.

A girl beside him seemed to be doing her best to stop him from whatever it was that he was doing. Beside Hannibal, one of the assailants leapt onto the other he’d thrown to the ground, and punches flew, landing haphazardly in the man’s fury. Hannibal wasn’t too concerned with it, though, if he was being honest. People fought, and the two weren’t dangerous enough to do real damage to one another just yet.

No, no, he was more interested in the way Will Graham seemed almost excited to join them.

“Sorry, I…what?” Will didn’t look away from the fight as he spoke to the Asian woman beside him. His breath came short, and there was a wildness about his face as he took another step closer, closer. At a particularly vicious curse beside Hannibal, Will’s breath caught, and his hands curled to fists at his sides.

“Dude, don’t stop them, you’ll get hurt!” She grabbed his shoulder, and that seemed to snap him out of his daze. He looked from the fighting to her, then seemed to realize someone else was watching. His eyes flicked up, then around the crowd that watched with rapt horror, then found Hannibal’s stare just across the way.

Hannibal, unable to help himself, smiled.

Then, with practiced finesse, he shifted around the onlookers and leaned down, hauling up the main assailant by the back of the neck, dragging him away from the other that laid sprawled on the asphalt, coughing and spitting up blood.

“Get the fuck off of me!” the man spluttered, attempting to swing around and hit Hannibal. He’d had enough fight from victims to easily dodge it, though, and he smiled, side-stepping around him.

“Be reasonable. The police are almost here, and you don’t want two charges of assault against you,” he said. His grip tightened on the back of the man’s collar, and he pushed him against a car, leveraging his weight against his back with ease. “If it will make you feel better to hear, he still hasn’t gotten up. You’ve won.”

It probably wouldn’t feel like he’d won, given the usual jail time given for things like this. When the police arrived, they relieved Hannibal of his burden, then left him with paperwork and a slew of questions that made it seem almost not-worth the effort to step in and help.

Will was his waiter, though, so that made it marginally better.

“How are you doing this evening, Will?”

“Are you used to breaking up brawls?” he asked rather than answer. There was an anxious buzz about his skin, something smacking of bad decisions and bar fights. Rather than bother with a pen and pad, he kept his hands free, drumming against his leg with nervous energy.

“In my spare time, I try to keep things interesting. It was better me than you, though.”

“What?” That stopped his tapping. He looked up from the tablecloth, really looked at Hannibal, and whatever it was that he saw made his breath catch.

“You looked as though you were going to try and stop the fight.”

“…I wanted to help,” he managed.

Hannibal, a skilled liar, knew them as well as he knew himself. He smiled politely, nodded. “Yes, but the difference being that you would have been fired, and I would have been thanked. Most restaurants have a policy about their staff not stepping in to stop violence due to potential lawsuits.”

“They do,” Will agreed.

“Therefore, better me than you.”

Whatever Will had been expecting to hear from him, that wasn’t it. He nodded all the same, hitched his pant leg up idly, and ducked his head, breaking eye contact once more.

“Well, thank you, Dr. Lecter. This job pays for school.”

“That’s what you’d mentioned, yes. I’d hate for there to be complications in that.”

He ordered a Syrah, since he was feeling rather nostalgic. As Will walked about, almost in a dream-like state as customers hashed and re-hashed the events outside, Hannibal wondered just what it’d take to make someone like Will Graham unable to stop from joining in the next time –how hard would one have to push to make him snap?

Something to table for the time being, he supposed. He did have school to think about, after all.

Present Day, Belle Bleu:

Hannibal knew something was wrong the moment Will walked back towards the bar in his regular clothes. There was something in the way his shoulders tilted, the way his mouth curled down. Time had given Hannibal the ability to see each and every twitch of his person, know them for what they were. His general profession had given him the tools to explain the why behind the how.

“You out of here?” Bryan asked. Will glanced at him and nodded, unplugging his phone from a charger behind the bar.

“Yeah.” His eyes were shuttered, expression shutting down. Will didn’t share his feelings well with his co-workers.

“Was he an ass about it, or did he tell you why?” Bryan pressed. As close as he was to the bar, Hannibal heard every inflection, and an odd knot formed in his gut at the realization of what he was hearing.

“It was pretty professional,” Will said, shrugging. He tossed a cherry into his mouth, feigned nonchalance.

“That’s super shitty, man. Teresa over there hasn’t checked up on her people in over twenty minutes, but she’s been getting the best tables for over two weeks,” Bryan groused, and Will laughed bitterly.

“She can have them…I’ll find a new job.”

“Did you hear the cooks talking? They all knew about it before you even got here.”

“It’s fine, I’m just…” Will gestured towards the phone, then glanced about, always conscious of people nearby that could overhear. Hannibal tried to pretend that he wasn’t listening, but the more they spoke, the tighter the knot in his gut grew, twisted and wrenched about.

“Do you have an idea of a new job?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Will assured him. He walked around the bar to leave, leave because he’d been fired, and the idea was just enough that it made Hannibal call out to him.

“Were you let go, Will?” Will looked over to him, gaze pausing just at the knee of his trousers.

“Sorry that you had to hear that,” he said awkwardly.

“On the contrary, I’m sad to see you go,” Hannibal replied, and he lifted his glass of wine, taking a small sip of it. “Who will recommend such fine wines or inform me when something new has arrived?”

“Bryan trained me, so he’ll know just as much as I do, if not more, Dr. Lecter,” Will promised

“I will have to rely upon your word of his expertise, then,” he said, and his gaze flickered from toe to head, eyes settling on his face. He didn’t make eye contact with Hannibal, fixated as he was on the stem of the wine glass. “Will you be looking for another job, then? One without the strains of…social obligations?”

“That’s what was recommended,” Will said wryly, and Hannibal laughed.

“I’d imagine it’s difficult for someone going to school to find such a job. The foundation of the customer service industry was forged by students such as yourself, as they’re the only ones to tolerate the sometimes taxing needs of the general population.”

“We do our best,” he said.

“Will you be able to find one soon? You’d mentioned paying for classes out of pocket.” Will nodded, fingers tapping lazily on the leg of his trousers. A nervous tic, one bred from the worry of no longer having a job. The knot in his gut tightened, twisted.

“I’ll be able to manage, Dr. Lecter, don’t you worry about me.”

“Perhaps it is the occupation, but it is in my job description to worry,” Hannibal replied, smiling.

“Well I’m not your patient,” Will replied. From anyone else, it would sound rude, dismissive. From Will, it sounded like his own blunt form of attempting to convince Hannibal not to worry, that everything would be quite alright without him.

How very wrong he was, though.

“That’s true,” he agreed, and his smile grew somewhat. “Well, if you attain such a job where you work in a place much like this, do let me know. I am particular about just who pours my drink, and you’ve never disappointed.” It was an innocent enough statement, all things considered. It was said with such a turn to the words, though, that Will looked up at him, met his eyes, and as they stared at one another, his pupils dilated.

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m sure if you inform your acquaintance, Bryan, he’ll pass along the message,” Hannibal added, lips curling.

“I’ll…be sure to do that,” Will assured him.

“Please do.” He turned to his wine and swirled it gently. A dismissal, and Will picked up on the cues of it without thought.

That was what made him so special, though, wasn’t it? He was a person that saw without seeing, that knew without knowing?

He finished his drink, and he lingered for a while at his table, thinking. Hannibal often lost himself to his thoughts, his mind palace filled with many doors and halls and dark things that took thoughts and ran with them, making them something great, something grand. His thoughts were particularly unpleasant, though, as he ruminated on a singular problem:

Will Graham had been fired. He wouldn’t see Will Graham anymore.

That was a troublesome turn of events, indeed.

The knot tightened; tightened as he finally left, tightened as he made dinner and ate alone, tightened as he brushed his teeth and changed into silk pajamas, tightened as he lay in bed and attempting to focus on slow breathing so that he could sleep.

When sleep refused to come, he sighed, changed into one of his few pairs of denim pants and a basic t-shirt, and he went for a drive.

Where that drive took him wasn’t anyone’s particular business, but he did find it odd that colleges were so open about the living arrangements of their students –why post their private information online for just anyone to find?

Still, as he stood outside of Will Graham’s apartment, he supposed it made things far easier for him. There wasn’t much in the way of detective work for him, which was nice, and the lock to the door was picked with relative ease.

Since he couldn’t see Will Graham anymore, it made sense that he would simply have to elevate him to a place where he would forever be able to access him.

He passed through a living room, the air cool on his skin, past a dining room table whose sole occupants were an empty TV dinner tray and cardboard from a Digiorno. Gloved fingertips grazed the wall along the hall, and feet paused just outside of his bedroom door. The knot tightened, twisted, and as Hannibal eased the door open, he wondered just what sort of things someone like Will Graham dreamed of.

Such a thought would have to pause, though, since Will Graham wasn’t in his bed at 2:00 in the morning.

A quick scan of the small apartment told him that no, he wasn’t anywhere within, and with a curt sigh of utmost disappointment, he saw himself out, turning the bottom lock behind him as he went.

As he headed to his car, he reasoned that it only made sense he wouldn’t find him. Someone like Will Graham wouldn’t take termination easily, and as a college student he had access to more than enough cheap beer, cheap bars, and cheap friends to aid him in drowning his sorrows. The thought didn’t sit quite right, though. He didn’t think Will was the type to have many friends, let alone cheap ones.

And sure enough, as he sat outside and waited, ever-so-patiently, within twenty minutes Will was dropped off by a not-so-cheap friend who helped him stumble from her car, drunk. Underneath the glow of the lamplight, Hannibal studied him move about, trip over himself, and fall into her with a low laugh that eased from him, smooth as molasses.

“You drank too much,” she admonished, propping him up. “You shouldn’t have let Margot goad you like that.”

“Margot loves to compete,” he said, waving a hand as he headed towards the apartment stairs. “So when I see her, I love to compete, too.”

“Oh, Will,” she sighed like she knew his burdens.

“I’m feeling a little irresponsible, Alana,” he said by way of apology. “Prob’ly best if I sleep.”

“Yes, probably,” she agreed with a laugh. “Do you have your key?”

“Do I have my key,” he scoffed, and he produced it as they made their way up the stairs. Their voices faded, falling away the farther they walked.

Hannibal waited until the Alana was gone before he also saw himself to his own home, thinking.

Perhaps he wouldn’t elevate him, but instead he could help him Become.

The thought sat rather nicely with him; it helped feed the hunger that curled and twisted inside of him.

And what did Hannibal know of hunger, of the thing that crept deep and nestled far inside?

It needed to be fed.

#The end #LiaS scribbles #Dread and Hunger #hannigram #the beginning of the end #hannibal #hannibal fanfic #hannibal x will graham #someone help will graham #he's found an admirer

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