#autumn: an anthology for the changing seasons
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Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
George Eliot, from a letter to Maria Lewis, 1841; published in ‘Autumn: An Anthology for the Changing Seasons’, ed. Melissa Harrison.
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top 5 horror book recommendations? it's spooky season and i need to get my read on...
Hell yeah! Gonna break this down a little. First an obligatory rehash of books I always recommend for this, these are like all-time faves for me
Wounds/North American Lake Monsters by Nathan Ballingrud - can't choose between these two, so they're tied for my favorite single author short story collection. Nathan Ballingrud is one of my favorite writers of all time
Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado - a very very close second for my favorite single-author short story collection. Machado is a beautiful writer and finding an author writing such powerful horror from a queer woman's perspective was world changing for me.
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson - COME ON!!!! You might have already read this but consider reading it again! Absolute classic.
The Cipher by Kathe Koja - dark, fucked up meditation on art and addiction and toxic relationships. I think about this book all the time. A guy finds a weird hole in his apartment basement and then everything goes wrong (first slowly and then very very quickly)
Red X by David Demchuk - talked about this a lot before too but I really do love it. Fictional story inspired by real life serial killings that took place in Toronto's gay village over decades. The author inserts essays throughout the book that makes it part memoir as well. A supernatural story about real queer trauma.
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Okay with that out of the way, here's some recommendations for stuff I think would be fun for Halloween specifically
Echoes edited by Ellen Datlow - OKAY CHEATING I ALSO RECOMMEND THIS ALL THE TIME BUT IT'S A PERFECT OCTOBER BOOK!!! Fuck-off huge ghost story anthology. Huge range of tones, pretty diverse group of contributing authors, it's my all-time favorite anthology.
Slewfoot by BROM - this one's got major autumn vibes. It's a story of a woman in Puritan New England who's accused of witchcraft. It's also a story about the devil. Kind of. The print version has really amazing paintings by the author, but I've heard this is also good in audio.
Come Closer by Sara Gran - this is a great little novella. Possession story that really packs a punch. I can't really say much more than that, but it's not a huge time investment and I think it's really worthwhile.
Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan LeFanu - if you can, get the version edited by Carmen Maria Machado (she adds in some great footnotes and it has some neat art too). This is a classic and also quite a brisk read. The original lesbian vampire story.
Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia - here's a new release for you! I always watch a ton of horror movies in October, and if you're anything like me maybe you'll want to read a horror novel about horror movies. This story follows a female film editor in 90s Mexico and her washed up actor friend as they help a retired filmmaker complete his famously unfinished last film, which he had been making with a former Nazi occultist before strange misfortunes and the occultist's mysterious disappearance forced production to shut down.
Okay that was double the amount of recommendations requested so I'm stopping here. Haha don't look in the tags don't worry about it there's nothing there you're crazy
#ALSO YOU SHOULD READ THE LAST DAYS OF JACK SPARKS BY JASON ARNOPP. GREAT ON AUDIO#ALSO THE HELLBOUND HEART BY CLIVE BARKER WHICH IS THE NOVELLA HELLRAISER WAS BASED ON#ALSO RING SHOUT BY P DJELI CLARK WHICH IS ABOUT BIRTH OF A NATION AND THE KKK BEING LITERAL DEMONS#ALSO THE BALLARD OF BLACK TOM BY VICTOR LAVALLE WHICH IS A BLACK RETELLING OF THE HORROR AT RED HOOK#ALSO THE RETURN BY RACHEL HARRISON WHICH IS A BOOK ABOUT FEMALE FRIENDSHIP BUT ALSO LIKE. COMING BACK WRONG#ALSO HOW TO SELL A HAUNTED HOUSE BY GRADY HENDRIX WHICH WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH BUT ALSO WILL MAKE YOU HATE PUPPETS#ALSO THE GOOD HOUSE BY TANANARIVE DUE WHICH IS A HAUNTED HOUSE STORY ABOUT BREAKING CYCLES OF GENERATIONAL TRAUMA#ALSO NIGHT OF THE MANNEQUINS BY STEPHEN GRAHAM JONES WHICH IS A FUN AND SHORT NOVELLA ABOUT A HORROR BUFF TEEN VS. WELL. THE MANNEQUINS.#book recs
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First Times Anthology, ch.7: all of me
work summary » Intimate, vulnerable, gentle. Concepts Levi is a stranger to, until you.
ch.summary: Just when you think you know everything about each other, Levi has a way of surprising you after a close call. In wake of the worsening odds against the Titans, you "punish" him for taking an unnecessary risk.
content/warnings: ACKERBOND, hurt/comfort, LEVI RAGE MODE, canon-typical violence, minor injuries, softcore porn tbh, nervous breakdown/some descriptions of dissociation&reactions to post-trauma events, oh my god is that a reference to canon??, heart-to-heart talks, oral (f!receiving), creampie (f!receiving), Levi is always so careful idc, praise, resolved misunderstandings
wc: ~9.7k
a/n: i call this the 'learning to unconditionally love every facet of each other' chapter in addition to the more general name of the fic, 'levi therapy hour'. alternatively, the 'oh my god, is that a reference to canon??😱' chapter.
it's autumn year 849.
originally this chappy was gonna be split in 2 parts, but since every other chap is centered in one period of time b/n longer stretches (because it's an anthology, duh), i decided the last one is too separate to call it pt2.
BUT this is the real bonafide guaranteed second-to-last chapter. i mean it this time lol. that one is v close to being finished (i am stubborn and refuse to finish the closing paragraphs w/out finishing the one last singular scene, which.. is smut) and im thinking mid june or so!
ps: for all intents and purposes of getting railed by levi, pregnancy doesnt exist. pps, fingernails grow back. youll understand later, i just worry abt misunderstanding.
previous part・work masterpost・last part
Listened to while writing:
taglist: @peace-for-levi | @sckerman | @jayteacups | @levi-my-beloved | @alominum | @mwuah | @midtwenties-angst | @ackermandick | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @notgoodforlife | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | + link to sign up
Your first time is that following autumn, in all its golden-browns, dashes of fiery red, and silver skies. The summer season had finally burnt itself out, and it was time to breathe a sigh of relief for another season you both left still fighting.
Levi returned in the early evening from a days-long trip to Mitras on official business between him and the Commander. With paperwork out of the way, you had made a warm, filling dinner (with real butter, too, though meat was too expensive)—for no other reason than you had missed him, and you knew how irritating he finds those trips.
Afterwards, in bed, he stirred against you and leaned over to kiss. You kissed him harder. It was certainly no surprise when he crawled between your bare thighs, hands stroking up and down your freshly-shaved legs—nor when he pulled away and asked, “Did you change your mind while I was gone?”
You knocked away the covers, as it’d quickly grown too muggy, and shook your head, heart suddenly pounding.
Before he left days before, you had asked his thoughts on going further than you ever had in the past, on him being inside you. His eyes had grown a touch wide, but he had nodded, and since he had been gone, the anticipation took over your mind.
But that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous.
“You think you need more?” he asks now, earnest, but his voice is muffled against your slit, lapping, then suckling over your puffy clit. He licks in maddeningly hot, lazy circles.
You shudder with a light cry, hands in his hair combing it backwards. His heavy tongue has you clenching down around his three fingers that slowly fuck into you.
“No.” At least, you don’t think so—he’s been so thorough, and so fucking careful—but the bunches of butterflies fluttering in your chest want to say otherwise.
You stammer, “T-Two times not enough for you?”
“Believe me…” He sits up on his haunches, three fingers curling inside you, his other hand idly pumping his red, swollen cock. “It is.”
You make a blind grab for the sheets and rock your hips to meet him. “Then hurry.”
He licks his swollen lips and gently withdraws his fingers. While clambering on top of you, he nonchalantly licks your sweet cum from them, though his nerves beat like a racehorse in his chest.
Your hand replaces his around his reddened shaft, the slide so easy from how much he’s leaked all over himself. More than before, you take in his size and realize how thick he is.
“Levi,” you whisper.
He rocks into your loose hand, and sighs in bliss. “Yeah.”
“C’mere,” you plead, but before you can finish your buttery lips are already moving together.
“But you—” kiss, “—stop me—” kiss, ”—for any reason.”
You admire the sheen of sweat on his hairline, the heat on his cheeks, the slope of his jaw, and almost forget to reply. “You say that every time, and guess what happens every time?”
“This is different.”
“Nu-uh. Same, ‘cause it’s you.”
With a huff, he hoists your knees a touch higher around his slender hips and lines his cock up level with your mound—to see how deep he’ll go. You shiver.
He cradles your hip as he feels you draw tense. “I assure you it is.”
Your teeth hook into your bottom lip. You're so damn nervous, it’s easier to think so. Levi will take care of you, though. That’s guaranteed.
“I’m nervous,” you surrender. “But it’s probably not much different, right?”
He shakes his head into the shade of your neck; even without knowing what it’s like with a woman, he's confident you’re wrong.
In return, you throw one leg over his back, digging your heel in.
“Hey,” he gasps, “you can’t just—”
You drag him that much closer, caging him in with both arms and thighs. Between your spread legs his hips involuntarily twitch towards, then grind down against your sticky wet slit. He nudges your clit with the head, just to see how you’ll react, and your hips bow up against his, whining miserably.
To reassure him, you massage his lips with yours. You don’t want to feel anxiety crushing you while you ache and clench for him around absolutely nothing. You need him. You need him.
“C’mere,” you beg again, and he lines himself up. Something hot, round and hard catches on your rim, and then pushes inside.
Levi’s desire pounds between his thighs and thunders in his ears. The drag is hot, soaking wet, and hugs his cock so tight that his jaw falls completely slack.
He’s certainly never felt this before.
For a moment his mind is utterly blank, reeling, and you cling onto him so tight.
“Fuck,” you croak by his ear. He’s only halfway. “It’s so big.”
He says nothing—if he opens his mouth a string of noises will tumble out; showing how good he feels when you’re not there yet doesn’t feel right—and cradles you between both thick biceps, panting hard. It’s like your pussy is tightening to suck him deeper inside.
You shakily whine his name, seeking purchase by the strong planes of his back.
All you can think of is the uncanny feeling of your body stretching to take him. Levi isn’t big by most standards, but he makes up for it in thickness, and it’s plump even while flaccid.
It feels like he’s splitting you in half. Like all that preparation hardly made a dent in this blindly intense feeling. He was right.
“I know, it’ll feel better soon. Jus’ a little more, sweetheart.”
He watches your features carefully and bullies his hand between you to fall over your mound. In firm, easy circles he strokes you, kisses your temple, then the side of your parted lips. “That better?”
A sigh is punched from your lungs. “Yes.”
Pleasure licks up your spine when your hips finally kiss. He’s here. “Levi, Levi.”
He says your name in return, his breath fanning over your face. It’ll get better from here. His hand moves away from your clit upwards to cradle the back of your head.
You crack your eyes open, only to find his shut above you, jaw tight and features pinched in pleasure. His bangs dangle in his eyes, so you push them back, and his eyes flutter open.
Bright eyes the color of twilight blink back at you, his pupils like two round black pools. It doesn’t feel like much else needs to be said.
His calloused fingers hug the thick of your thigh, where you’re shaking slightly. “I’m gonna go slow at first. Relax—can you do that for me?”
His endless care is anything but lost on you, which helps you relax all by itself. You nod, physically going soft and lax in his arms.
A small gasp sounds against your lips to feel you throb gently around him. He will last, certainly, but never did he imagine it’d feel this good before even properly starting. It frazzles his mind as much as it seems to do yours.
“Baby,” you groan, scraping down his back. “Move.”
Experimentally, he grinds into all that heat. You whimper. Then he goes further, rolling his hips, and rocks in slow, shallow thrusts to the feeling of your own twitching up to meet him halfway.
Actually doing this, there was nothing—and is nothing—he feared more than hurting you at all. Pain should never be a given in this, like he falsely assumed in the past—which is why he burns brightly to take in the pinched bliss on your face now; even though he wants to lay you back and slam into you so bad.
“There you go,” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your lips. “Good. That’s my girl.”
A soft moan falls off your lips. Pleasure apart from the feeling of Levi rocking into you, but just as intense, writhes in your chest. Your walls flutter hard around where he’s begun to properly fuck you, and then he catches your rim, and your hips abruptly buck up into him.
A louder groan rumbles by your ear. “Fuck, you’re so tight—”
“Please! F-Fuck me so good.”
Deeper, faster he buries himself inside you enough to hear his balls slap against your pelvis. If you want more, he will give it to you gladly. Hearing you beg for him, moan his name, winds him up hotter and hotter.
For once, his embarrassment evaporates—it doesn’t even register. It’s how sweet your voice and how good your cunt feels taking him so deeply, so readily.
All of it: all of him, all of you.
The bedframe whines, and he can’t remember when, but at some point your palm snakes over his forehead, tossing his bangs back so you can grab a good handful and coax him in for another breathtaking kiss. Immediately you take his bottom lip between his teeth, and his mouth parts obediently to let you in.
“Fuck,” he groans. You can’t even think to lick into his hot, sticky mouth and rather gape into his mouth, crying out when he slams into that perfect spot. “Right there?”
Your ankles lock around his lower back, moaning shamelessly right by his ear, which is enough of an answer. He squeezes your inner thigh, spreading you wide open, which changes the angle enough for him to slam into that perfect spot every time.
“Yes!” you gasp in approval, head falling back to expose your neck to him. Your chests heave together, and it suddenly and swiftly registers in your mind—he’s fucking you, taking you, on top of you, all around you. You feel yourself getting close.
He feels you too—that subtle lift in your back and the added sting of sweet pain from your tight hold on his dark hair. Where he grinds, his thrusts, splitting your pussy wide open, he feels you spasm and tighten.
“Look at me,” he begs quietly by your hairline. Heat rolls through him. Quieter, “Please.”
You pry your eyes open half-lidded, and you do—you look deeply into his soft, blazing eyes, inspiring your whole body to shudder. A hot blush paints his sharp features, tight from pleasure.
Just watching him somehow hurls you closer to the point of no return. His pink lips are perpetually parted for you, and once, his eyes flutter, a fragile moan escaping, and you grab for his hand. He locks them on the pillow beside your head in response.
Your tits bounce along with his quick thrusts. You try to tell him you’re close, but you can’t. Each sound ripped from you is punctuated by another wet slam of his hips.
A grunt is punched from his chest, so much so his sweaty forehead falls on yours and his rhythm skips. He’s about to come, too.
“Fuck—” He noses your cheek, panting, “—you hear yourself? Fucking gushing around me—”
“Yeah, yes.” You paw for his sturdy shoulders as heat like an electric bolt rolls over your whole body, drawing you up tight. His fat cock splits your sticky cunt now in a flurry of hard thrusts. You uncontrollably struggle to writhe when a hand bullies itself between your bodies, and the frantic attention he gives your clit shoves you into your climax, dashing your vision in bright white.
“Fuck!” He slams into your cunt, “Good fucking girl.”
You don’t have enough mind to hear yourself let go, but Levi does—the loud cry ripped from your throat, your babbled whimpers, and his name and his name and his name being moaned at the ceiling. You’re so fucking loud that if someone was walking past, the sound would be unmistakable.
You writhe so fucking hard in his arms that he has to hold you down to fucking you through the silky-soft spasming of your cunt. You go so nice and tight, practically milking him, and combined with the rest runs his blood white-hot.
His end hits him close behind yours. It slams into him hard and sudden, making his cock surge, making him gasp. His hips stutter and his balls give a deep throb, and then he falls into it just as you’re coming down from yours.
Shaking and shuddering, these little mewls fall off your lips as you get to watch his jaw fall slack and utter bliss take over his blushing face. You get to hear a loud, rasping moan above you and feel him fuck you to completion, then his hot cum shooting deep inside your pussy, making your toes curl. So much, and a little more.
And then, when all that’s left is for him to slow and the swift heavy sounds of both your breaths, you feel him throb softly as he starts to soften inside you. His face is shaded in your neck, and neither of you move at first. Your sweaty hands are still squeezed.
He makes a noise. Idly, he realizes the mess that’s begun to dribble out between where you’re both connected, and pulls out slowly, rubbing the tremors out of your thighs.
Softly, you whimper at the sudden sense of loss you feel, stroking his messy hair with tingling fingers. A completely whole sense of warmth drapes over you now, leaving you sleepy.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly from beside you. He feels it’s the right thing to do no matter what.
“Yes,” you whisper, and roll over towards him. You squirm to feel it—a creamy mix of his mess and yours caking your inner thighs. You’re a little sore, but completely fucking satisfied. Your limbs are heavier than steel.
He shakily shuffles out of bed, and you stay still, spreading your legs so he can clean you up with a lukewarm washcloth. After he seems satisfied with his own state, you lug yourself up into a sit and kiss him tenderly.
It’s slow, and it’s lazy, but it rattles you to the core.
Levi still occasionally gets overwhelmed after. He stutters to pull away first, looking spent in a strained way, doesn’t reach out to touch you. Only if you initiate—this time by stroking his sinewy arm does he relax slightly.
“Are you okay?” you ask him in return, and immediately he nods, eyes softly closed. You take his cheek towards you and kiss his forehead reverently, like you mean to bless him, before you decide to take a bath.
He, ironically, likes bubbles and soaps with the softest smells; mostly fresh daisies and sweet smells. After helping you into the blissfully hot water, causing you to sigh softly, he sinks in behind you.
Washing has to ask for less time. As he does your hair, you take a small handful of bubbles and plop them on top of his head.
He is thoroughly nonplussed by this. “You’re such a brat,” he tells you quietly, in that same tone he uses to compliment you.
You shift back around, rocking the water, and hum as a pair of strong arms close around your waist. “My legs are still shaking.”
And for that, Levi clearly doesn’t give himself enough credit.
With one wide palm he rubs the aches out, and busies the other with smoothing your hair back so no shampoo stings your eyes. It took quite a bit of practice for him to get both good and gentle at doing it; he used to wash Isabel’s hair, but that was a long time ago.
“Thanks,” you murmur. Bubbles wobble around when you shift to make room so he can stretch his legs.
In reply, he kisses the shell of your ear. It’s nice, but it can’t last forever, either. An expedition is coming up soon—the last of the summer season.
You’ll be breathing clean air while your comrades’ blood is spilled for two weeks straight.
And spilled it is.
You haven’t seen running water or a warm bed in almost two weeks since departing from Karanese District. Some days are better than others, even some mornings less dire than nights, but considering how little you can bring yourself to sleep out here, you catch yourself thinking of it as one eternal, bloodsoaked day often.
However, today was—to put it lightly—especially dire.
The night is humid. The sun stole away the worst of the heat a while ago, but the air is thick, leaving dew staining the grass. Your mind is muddy, abandoned on the battlefield, but the adrenaline never really dries up outside the Walls. You could spring into battle the very next moment if the situation called for it.
The tent flap collapses shut behind you. As soon as the strategy for tomorrow and the day after was charted, Levi pushed himself off the wall and fled.
You always give him space when he needs, and you had concerns for the Commander: mainly a couple of caches that were abandoned after Maria fell, and whose retrieval was the main objective of this expedition.
But after today, you’re breaking that rule.
Levi being Levi, no one questions what he does. It's like him to skip pleasantries, but he isn’t waiting for you outside the tent, nor at the makeshift canteen (a glowing bonfire) where watery stew and ration crackers are being handed out.
It’s easy to pinpoint when things went awry, which makes the fact that you don’t understand what exactly happened all the more frustrating.
ODM was nearly useless in those long stretches of plain green fields. What made the situation more precarious was the old riverbank in the area that—back before Maria fell—used to carry ferries back and forth between districts with a metal pulley system. Given its size, it’s impossible to cross, and the rushing water is a drowning risk if the underlying metal didn’t break your back first.
And that’s exactly where Titan numbers grew overwhelming today. At the time, Gunther and Petra were elsewhere in the formation to assist other squads, leaving you, Eld, and Levi to yourselves.
With every step, if you focus hard enough you can still feel giant footsteps rattle your bones. Shitty luck had it that you were swatted by an Abnormal close enough to the steep riverside to be hurled into the water like a stone into a pond.
When you were a girl, your father’s political standing with the royal government allowed you the privilege to take swimming lessons. They would have, for once, proven useful if your loose hadn’t tangled you in a steel web after you hit water.
One free arm and as little as you could kick your feet didn’t mean a thing as you were tossed from rapid to rapid. Weeds and algae had infested in the absence of the ships, making what sparse rocks there were too slippery to grab.
You’re sometimes pushed to believe that Levi is attached to you not by heart or feeling, but an invisible twine. Lack of air combined with the constant red flood of adrenaline dragged the nightmare out exponentially, but you were told later it was a minute, if that, before Levi did one of the most reckless things he’s done in a long time and dove in after you.
In his defense, Eld told Levi that he couldn’t swim, so Levi lied and said he could. Otherwise, you would’ve drowned. Eld covered your backs during that time.
You remember a force stronger than the rapids taking hold of you, you remember hacking out lungfuls of water, shouting, the shove and yank of the water, and the scrambling—for something, anything. Dirt, even now, stays clotted underneath every single one of your fingernails—except two, for you no longer have them.
The only thing he did that was more bad than good was hold onto you, causing the tangled wires to be pulled tight like a snake around its meal. It was you who managed a snag on a fat, bulbous root wider than your palm could wrap around, but he was the one who plunged his sword into the wall of muddy earth, snapped his blade in half like shattering glass, and cut you free as much as the chaos you were neck-deep in allowed.
He ordered you, hold still, and then dread, as thick as oil. You don’t remember how he lost his hold on you—it all happened so fast—but as if in slow motion you can easily recall pivoting downstream, your palms greased from the wet earth in order to save your savior.
Levi can’t swim.
But then the surface of the water broke in the center of it all. Your shoulder is still killing you from where he first seized, then hauled you back to the wall with one arm, the other pushing the water aside.
You hadn’t froze up in years in battle, not until today, because who was carrying you just wasn’t Levi—not with glowing, unseeing marble in place of his eyes, not saying a word, not with that look on his face.
The next thing you knew, air was punched from your lungs with the force you were thrust upwards. Dirt smeared your cheek in ugly clumps and you clawed for purchase—ripping out earth for all you care—14 kilos of equipment and all.
Despite the fear running through your blood, you were about to call out to him when earth squelched and his elbow hooked around yours. He was himself again, with the command to either shed your gear or move faster.
So, you leaped. Wildgrass, stringy and thick, was all you needed—besides him shoving you by the bottom of your boot—to swing yourself over the precipice like a climb out of hell.
He was still normal when you literally dropped your arm over the edge and helped him the rest of the way—eyes sharp and determined, but still normal. If he hadn’t been, you have the feeling now that he wouldn’t have even needed your help.
That was somehow scarier to imagine.
Eld, blood steaming off his face, rode by on horseback to escort you due to the wretched state of your bloody hands. Levi stayed behind to clean up the rest of the Abnormals.
There’s nothing anyone should, or even could discuss in the heat of battle, but you still waited for a second look, something, even though that was foolish.
At first, you managed to convince yourself it was the white-hot adrenaline, or the pain so sharp it made your working mind feel somehow outside your body that conjured up what you saw. But after emerging from sleep in one of the wagons for the injured, you refused to doubt.
Levi is strong, but no one is unstoppable.
This rift wasn’t because you were slow to react for those few moments, or even that you launched off the wall to save his life. In fact when the two of you next spoke—before charting strategies with Erwin and the rest, but after the sun sank into the earth—he didn’t seem to understand at all beyond what was only obvious to him.
He asked, “How bad is it?”, and all you could bring yourself to do was shake your head. It felt so hard just to look at him; you were afraid if you did, you would see that other person again.
You haven’t spoken since, but to be fair you needed to recoup, to gather your wits again like a bunch of loose feathers. For all the scrapes, cuts, and contusions, you put the most energy into processing that power that overtook him for those few precious seconds. You struggled.
But it’s time to do something.
You grip the belts of the ODM tethered around your waist so you don’t end up picking at your bandaged fingers. Nervous habit.
You can’t forgo what little reprieve from the fight you now have without discussing it, and it’s guaranteed Levi won’t be the one to instigate the conversation—not until his frustrations completely boil over. He’s always needed help communicating, and this is certainly no exception.
Near the barricade at the entrance to the village is where you find him, seated on a log before one of the smaller campfires. It’s not necessary: where buildings don’t cover, makeshift barriers stand, and green capes in full ODM stand posted around the perimeter, but Levi is nothing if not vigilant.
“Hey,” you say.
He grunts, not so much as twitching at your approach. The roles are reversed now: he can’t seem to look at you.
You both bathe in the heat from the fire in silence until you can’t take the quiet anymore. Hands on your hips, you watch the flames. “You saved me today.”
“You would’ve done the same.”
“That’s not the point,” you argue softly, making yourself heard over the crackling firewood. “You can’t swim.”
Dirt scuffs behind you. Once his warm palm lands on the nape of your neck, tears immediately spring to your eyes. You feel yourself pull towards him—something almost scarily inevitable, like gravity pulling rain to the earth.
You return the gesture and sway there gently in silence. Both of you smell like dead fish dipped in blood, leather squeaks, and your gear clunks together, but neither of you care.
“Your injuries?” he asks against your lips, a little blandly.
You sway a little. “I’ll live.”
In response, he bullies the fingers on his free hand under the belt tethered by your hip, and holds you there.
In terms of an apology, he won’t give you one: there is no risk from today that he wouldn’t take all over again, but in terms of an explanation, he can’t.
“I just… knew what I had to do,” he attempts to explain, only to watch the look on your face turn pensive.
He recalls the look on your filthy face, eyes blown wide in fear once back on solid ground. By the time he rejoined the formation and you woke up, it hadn’t gone away, not completely.
A fear of his own seizes him, so he pulls away. He can’t look at you. He fears that if he does, he will see it oozing from your expression again.
Very rarely does he see you truly afraid. You’ve almost met death multiple times. It’s him, it must be, because he can’t fucking swim and yet he saved both your lives despite every facet of the situation that should have made survival impossible.
In that moment, he felt, or was, unstoppable. He’s felt that way before, and you’ve seen him do the impossible before—he fails to understand what’s so different this time.
“What is it?”
He makes his voice carefully even, but you know him better. You take a steadying breath before launching into an explanation of your side of the story: what you saw, how you didn’t believe it at first, and how you felt—how the fine hairs on the back of your neck stood up when he grabbed you, how your blood froze and how astounding his sudden strength.
Now he’s sitting, arms crossed over his knees while you scuff the dirt with the toe of your boot. When you describe the way he looked, he asks, “What was wrong with them?” and you look away.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
He frowns. “Spit it out.”
“It was like you weren’t even there. They—well, glowed.”
Silence. You attempt to make the one-sided conversation light. “It’d be impressive, if it wasn’t life-or-death, of course.”
“I don’t remember any of that,” he admits quietly, barely audible over even the crickets.
Shadows dance across his face as you ask what he means by that.
He shakes his head and repeats himself like a broken record. He never remembers those moments. It’s an experience only comparable to spectating your own falling body while it expertly kicks and flails in search of solid ground.
Maybe it isn’t that he knew what he had to do, but his body. It acts sometimes without his permission, but only to defy death when he himself cannot. At that point he’s instinct alone, an empty mind, a blank slate.
“Have you ever had moments like that?” he ventures to ask, not looking at you because he’s confident what you’ll say.
You give it some genuine thought, raking through your memories. “No, Lee. I haven’t.”
As he thought. He says nothing, but scooches to make room for you to sink down on the log beside him. You ask why.
“Forget I asked.” If you were scared of him then, or now as you described it, then there’s the possibility of tomorrow; it’s better the conversation ends here.
You drape your bandaged hand over his scraped knuckles. “It’s okay,” you say.
Levi measures the breaths he takes. There must already be alarms going off in your head, alerts that he’s upset, but you wouldn’t understand no matter what he said. He understands it very little himself.
“It really was impressive,” you go on, squeezing a little despite the pain. “And I wanna know what you think.”
“Were you scared?”
You look up, but his hollow eyes are on the fire. The way he’s turned only lets you see half of his face.
Feeling frayed, “Everyone’s scared to die, aren’t they?”
“Not dying.”
“...You mean—” your heart falls, “—of you?”
He says nothing. Frowning deeply, you carefully put your hand on his shoulder, giving him the freedom to shrug you off, which he does, albeit hesitantly.
“Levi—”
He stops you. “You’d have every right to, if you were. Or are. Don’t spare my feelings because you’re—you.”
“I wouldn’t,” you protest. It stings that he assumes you’d lie.
“I know.” His expression turns hollow. “I’m just saying I’d get it—if you were scared. I didn’t know all that until you said it. So, if you’re scared–”
You’re happy to hear him out until he starts to repeat himself.
“Levi, stop.” You shake your head, incredulous with him. “That’s ridiculous.”
He scoffs.
“I mean it. I’ve never actually been scared of you; except in the beginning, maybe.”
Who wasn’t? One time, a Scout remarked that Isabel was a ‘snot-nosed bitch’ within Levi’s earshot, and he marched right up to the guy and said nothing before kicking the absolute shit out of him. He was put on medical leave for weeks.
In no way does he look or sound amused, but at least he doesn’t rebuke you. You go on, remaining truthful: the situation itself was at the root of the terror you felt, not him. In that moment, yes, you were scared, but it never crossed your mind that he would hurt you.
“Would I be here if I was scared of you?”
He scans your expression for a hint of deception, but finds none. This conversation is new to you both, not because he went out of his way to hide it from you, but he always excused those blank moments away as heightened instincts.
He’s used to it, that power. He was as defenseless as any kid before it awakened in him. As for you, he can’t recall ever being in such close proximity when those instincts took over—not surprising, since it’s near-impossible to keep your eyes on each other when there’s a battlefield raging around you.
Again: “Why did you ask if I’ve ever had a moment like that before?”
Levi looks away, feeling his eyes ache when he closes them. “It’s kind of unbelievable.”
“Try.”
Your pinkie closes around his own, and he links them. “The man who raised me had those moments too.”
He opens his eyes. There are a plethora of reasons why Levi would rather not think of himself as related to Kenny in any way. He felt that way before he left him too, but the difference is that assuming he was explained away why he saved his life. Few things could explain why Kenny left.
So that conclusion is trembling, it’s cruel, and it’s shameful. It was enough that he had to come to the conclusion that Kenny left him that day because he couldn’t measure up to the strength he always spoke so highly of.
“...Can I ask a more personal question?”
“Try.”
“Did—your mom ever mention anything?”
For an endless stretch of time, he doesn’t reply. His knitted brow tells you he’s wracking his memory for something, anything; if not something about the power, then anything out of the ordinary.
“I was too young, so not really.”
You quirk a brow suggestively. Not really isn’t a Not at all.
“She told me once that we don’t have a last name because we’re good people,” he finally says, then pauses. “So, as I said, no. Not really.”
And you know even less. You decide to let this topic go. “How I feel about you is the furthest thing from scared,” you murmur.
He gives you a small, meaningful glance, then nudges your temple with his lips. “Thank you.”
You rest there in silence for some time, just like that. Crickets sing their songs and lightning bugs blink in the darkness. It’s still sinking in that you’ve both made it through another day. He doesn’t want to forget, so he can’t bring himself to admit he needs to be alone right now. Not yet.
“Will you sleep?”
He gives you a look, because you know the answer to that question. Still, you encourage that he get a few hours at least.
“Later.”
If he’s not mistaken, a majority of the force is sleeping in barns, so he’s in no hurry.
You kiss his temple, and leave him.
Levi makes himself at home in his head until his backside falls asleep and the flames die down in the heart of the logs.
He’ll never know the answers—hell, if only he knew the questions. Power—the power—was Kenny’s religion, if some idiot could ever think him a religious man. Kenny loved to talk, but he never bothered to tell Levi anything important those years he looked after him. He never even learned Kenny’s last name.
It doesn’t matter, he reasons, because no matter the reason he possesses the power, no matter where it came from or if it’ll ever leave him—it’s his to use.
It’s the perfect strength, the keenest of instincts, and it’s his.
One thing is terribly obvious to him now. The reason, then, that he’s so often left behind is because he’s not good enough, compared to the power. There’s in the end no one, and nothing else, deserving of more blame.
But today he was good enough, and for that he can forgive himself. Just for today.
The most notable thing about the charge back to Wall Rose is the incessant rain: the ground more resembles mush than earth, the rivers spill over into the soggy grass, and everyone is waterlogged in one way or another, most from head to toe.
As a result, it takes three days longer than it should to reach the gates: visibility is worse than terrible, the horses have a hard time moving in it, and the quickest route runs beside the main riverbanks. It isn’t an option.
It goes without saying that Levi is jumpier than usual. He’s snippy you decided not to ride with the injured, and with the rain on top of that, he might as well have a stormcloud over his head (and Oluo too, for how hard he tries to imitate him).
But he never complains. Scouting leaves no room for bitching about the rain when any one of your friends got swallowed before your eyes days before. He very much wears a stony mask on expeditions, where he’s no longer himself, but fierce in his role as Captain; you as his Lieutenant.
Still. Through the mist and the haze and the rain clinging to your bones, as the visage of Rose plastered to Trost’s gate broke through the fog, you just about tear up. For once, it isn’t the rain. Petra laughs out loud and Oluo admonishes her for it, but then he starts laughing too.
“And just when I thought we wouldn’t make it!”
Gunther whistled. “What a sight.”
“Not until we’re all inside,” you caution them, remembering yourself, and the glimmer of celebration dies down.
Levi tosses a look back at you and motions towards the head of the formation, where Erwin is sure to be. Inevitably, Hange and Mike are already parting their squads to join him, as is customary.
You’re not obligated to join him like the rest, you two sharing leadership of the squad, so you shake your head. You’re not thrilled for the crowd of disgruntled townsfolk to crowd you all, to hear—no matter how hard you try to tune them out—their gasps of dismay, for them to jeer at the blood spilled and say: “Those damned Scouts. It’s like they want to die,” and so on and so on and so on.
Levi nods. “Meet back.”
That is Levi-speak for, See you at our place as soon as you’re finished showering.
You wonder if you’ll have the energy. You could doze off on your trotting horse.
A nod. “Sir.”
You spot the second most notable thing, ironically, once you’ve trudged past the gates ahead of the rest of your squad. Your mind is a waking fog, the world mere background decor, but it’s difficult to miss kids at a funeral. It’s the Cadet Corps.
You toss a look over, and spot them in a row with no sign of Shadis, unsurprisingly. It’s customary for them to attend the return of the last expedition before graduation.
Very few, as usual, are doing anything but paying attention, but three watch on raptly enough to make up for the rest. It’s easy to tell which ones saw Maria fall.
The bold stare on one of them unnerves you. Running away from Titans isn’t the same as slaying them, and even then…
The split-second the blond one catches your eye, you turn your head forward, feeling nothing but dread.
The rest is a blur until that first spray of hot water pelts your head, but even now you might as well be a ghost. Water beating the floor bounces off your ears, the saddle once beneath you now only an echo of an ache on your thighs and backside. Distantly, your entire body stings, sorest of all your hands. Even where you stand, scrubbing mud and grime and clotted blood still clinging to your hair, you waver on your feet.
On the way back, Alina died. Eaten. It’s hard to believe she was on your squad so long ago when even yesterday feels like an eternity ago.
She was always clumsy, you muse, hating yourself. The last time you saw her personally was Mayfest last year. Who was she with? What did you talk about?
You search for meaning in the meaningless. It was as simple as scanning the composite list of casualties two days ago, and catching her name. A life, a memory, a name—blinked out of existence, just like that. There’s nothing you could’ve done.
“Those goddamn Scouts. It’s like they want to die.”
Abruptly, a sob bubbles up in your chest. It’s dry, silent weeping at first, but then tears. Then more, and more, and you’re blubbering in the shower, the ache on the inside intertwining with the physical. Your head pounds.
You don’t register it when the water begins to bleed cold. With your bare legs folded against your chest, you sit against the wall dry-heaving because you’re out of tears to cry. More than Alina, it’s a pain that’s hard to explain.
You’re so tired of saying goodbye; the friends you’ve grieved, whose families you’ve had to give your condolences to, usually, if not always accompanied by either Hange or Levi. Your heart is a bottomless graveyard. You couldn’t possibly spare enough tears for each of them, but your heart is stubborn enough to try.
Levi finds you this way after he knocks on the door, hearing the water, but not you. You’re not quite there to comprehend his voice, nor his warning that he’s coming in—not until he appears in the open curtain, parted just slightly. Suddenly, you’re far too aware of everything.
“I’m sorry,” you hear yourself rasp. “I wasn’t thinking, wasted water, sorry.”
He tugs it a little wider. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he tells you gently.
The wooden mechanism cries as it’s shut off, followed by the drip-drip-drip, then the quiet, which is somehow deafening. You notice his cravat is gone, and he’s already peeled his jacket, boots, and waistskirt off, but other than that he’s still in uniform; it’s hard to imagine his shirt ever once being pressed and white.
Another apology sits on your tongue—eventually Levi was always going to come scrub the filth of the past two weeks off him—but you keep it to yourself, as he said.
“Can I come in?”
“Please,” you whisper.
He does, and crouches down heavily. A fluffy towel is draped over your shoulders.
“I’m still disgusting,” he warns, “but do you want help getting up?”
“Please,” you say again.
He rolls up his filthy sleeves, then helps you rise to your feet. Now that you don’t have to keep it together anymore, it all comes crumbling down. Even Levi isn’t impervious to it.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”
On the lid of the toilet you wring the towel through your hair. He does the rest, thoroughly, which reminds you that you have little idea how you’d cope without him.
He leaves you for only a moment to retrieve a fresh change of clothes for you, and it’s only with the stiff way he drops them on the counter that you start to worry it’s more than post-expedition fatigue.
Your jaw tightens. “Are you hurt?”
Either you’ve both been through enough, or he’s too tired to argue. “It’s not bad.”
First of all, he needs to clean up. You’ll get dressed, and he’ll join you soon.
You relent, unsurprised when “soon” turns into a half-hour. Levi’s brief, combat-style showers are unthinkable just after an expedition. It’s no wonder why, but this time you have reason to worry.
Too sick to even think of eating, you chip away at the paperwork at his desk—numbers to add, death certificates, field reports, numbers to subtract—while you wait. He must’ve spoken with Erwin. You wonder what they talked about; not even Erwin is immune to everything, no matter how his own mask portrays him to be.
While you work, you think of nothing, but at the same time, everything. Every second, every sound, every sensation. The snapping of jaws.
You rub your temples and rationalize that if Levi is injured that badly, he would have no choice but to see a medic, but never without some push and shove. Even if he was bleeding out he would claim it was a waste of resources.
After listening like a hawk for the water to shut off for an eternity, it finally does. In short sleeves and baggy pants, you meet him in front of the bathroom door, him staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
“We still have shit to do,” he states blandly.
You ignore him and ask, “Where are you hurt?” as you lead him by the small of his back in the direction of the bedroom.
It takes a little push and shove for him to relent, as always. He mentions something about a mother hen and a little bruising and more words that, at their root, mean, It’s not bad, up until you ask him to show you, and he hesitates.
“Levi.” Sat on the foot of the bed beside him, you remain firm. “I’m not asking anymore.”
“...It’s unnecessary.”
“To you.”
He scowls at you weakly. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“...To you.”
He straightens up when he hears your voice shake, then winces a little. “It’s—It’s not. I wanted to see if tightening my belts would make me more accurate, and it did. They’ll be gone by next time.”
You could scream. “You idiot. You run yourself into the ground already—what’s hurting yourself gonna do?” Your next breath shudders. “You’re too important, and not just to me.”
“It saved more lives,” he argues stubbornly. “Don’t you get sick of watching your comrades die?”
You stop, hanging onto your last breath, and hang your head a little. You’d think after so many years seeing death everywhere you look, you’d be used to it by now, but this was an old friend.
“Who doesn’t?” you remark, staring at a crack in the floorboard. “But you’re not just someone’s comrade, and you know that. You’re being careless.”
“…You lost someone, didn’t you?”
It’s less of a question, more of an observation. Calmly, he takes your twitching hand in his own to rub the aches out of them—always from the ODM triggers—careful to avoid bandaged spots.
With a shake of your head, you tug on his knee to encourage him to face you. “Let me see.”
He shuffles towards you, but he doesn’t look happy about it. “You were crying.”
“I cry at everything,” you dismiss easily, guiding his chin towards you. Though his frown is weighted by stones, waiting to see what you have to say, his cheeks are soft cradled in your hands.
Reverently, you lean in and press a fragile kiss to his forehead. “Levi, love of my life, this is stupid,” you tell him as lovingly as possible. “Even if I wasn’t here to worry about you, you can’t do this. All you can do is all you can do, and even then… I’ve seen you do more than anyone.” Always. “I’d feel a lot better if you showed me. There’s solutions to bruises.”
He melts—a little at first, then like butter in a hot skillet. “...Fine.”
With a little help, he stiffly pulls his shirt over his head. Forcefully, you put on a mask of careful indifference. You know how guilty he feels every time something like this happens as a result of good-intentioned, but self-sacrificing actions.
Bruising, as he said. Where his harness once was—four corners stretching both under his arms and over both shoulders—there’s bruising. Bruises criss-cross in an X shape following down his lower back, which disappears under his trousers. His chest is no different: a mess of purplish-bluish-black stretches across his stocky chest, follows down his midsection, and disappears in a V shape below his waist.
You again resist an urge, this time to shake him. You’re willing to bet more circle around his upper thighs, that they wind down his legs, and dig into the bottoms of his feet.
You stand abruptly to dig through the bathroom for lotion and first-aid, but not without petting his head first so he knows there’s no more anger waiting to be spewed. “Stay here.”
He nods.
You’re more worried than even disappointed anymore. If it’s as you suspect and there’s no exception to where his ODM was strapped on, then the only places he was spared are his arms, his lower legs, and (of course) from the neck up.
That’s it, no more work tonight. You’ll strap him down if you have to.
Back in the bedroom, he did as you said, but with the favor of dressing down to just his briefs, which makes you feel a little lighter. There are bruises on his thighs. His clothes are neatly folded by his side.
He straightens up just as you climb onto the bed behind him and uncap the bottle. “I met with Erwin earlier. There’s death certificates to take care of. Letters too, after you’re done.”
“It’ll be a little cold at first.”
Then cold, cold cream lands on his shoulders, which you immediately begin to lather. You dig your fingertips in just a little, and he knuckles the bedspread, fighting a groan.
“Look, I heard what you said, but we shouldn’t keep those families waiting.”
“You look. If Erwin knew about this—” you pop your head over his shoulder and gesture down, “—he’d tell you to do the same thing I’m doing now. Say, hypothetically, he somehow found out…”
He’s not impressed by your threat of blackmail, but doesn’t argue. Erwin is a bigger force to be reckoned with. Levi could get put off-duty, or worse, lectured.
The stuff you’re massaging into his back, right between his shoulderblades, must’ve been expensive: it’s actually thick, actually consistent, and actually doing something. Eventually, the cold fades into an icy sort of burn that’s so powerful he feels his muscles physically loosen.
He had no idea just how tightly he was wound until you start kneading your palms in—not too hard, mindful of the bruises themselves—and he has to fight his eyes on shutting, then his mind on dozing.
This and that can wait until tomorrow, you keep saying. You keep rebuking him, and he starts to have real trouble arguing now that you’re almost through with the muscles on his lower back. It has to be the worst there, because it’s never been so hard to resist showing how much he’s enjoying this.
“Your hands—”
“—feel good?”
“No,” he huffs. “Your injuries—”
“Oh? They don’t? Should I go harder?”
He knows what you’re doing. Maybe it’s better he just suffers the consequences of his actions. His thighs throb dully.
Breathing hard, he finally manages, “What if I can’t sleep?”
“For once I doubt that,” you retort, sounding very pleased with yourself.
Fuck you for always reading him so well. He shudders a breath as you get through with his hips, and says nothing.
Now you round his other side and kneel down, looking almost scarily determined. There really is no changing your mind, let alone stopping you.
Strange. When he actually lets go a little, he feels less stressed. Nothing exists except for your magic hands and the focused little frown on your face as you work, and the sounds are your breaths and his much heavier ones.
So he doesn’t fall asleep, he watches your face as you move over his pecs. His middle isn’t as bad, so he can focus to talk, and explain.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that recruitment is in the ground—ah—has been for years now, and our living-to-dead ratio per expedition isn’t great, either.”
You click your tongue as you settle between his legs. “It’s better than before Erwin came up with the long-range formation.”
Not that he’s wrong.
The lotion is terribly slippery in your hands, shaded a very diluted yellow that makes his skin almost shine when you rub it into his twitching belly muscles. It’s obvious how well it’s working—not that you plan to tell him how expensive it was—but you also notice, with unease, the way it makes the violent bruising brighter and somehow angrier than before.
He grunts in disagreement, though you aren’t wrong. While Shadis was Commander—and before that, he’s told—a great deal of what the Scouts used to do outside the Walls was group up in squads, ride together, and recover as much territory as they could, until they could no longer.
Thing is, Titan country is never short on Titans, which frustrates Levi to no end.
As far as they know (as far as Hange’s figured out, rather), the way they breed is a complete mystery. Where they come from, why, and for what horrific reason they like to eat people has been a mystery since history became history.
He thinks, dejectedly, that the most compelling piece of data they’ve collected since he joined up was that notebook a Scout named Ilse Langnar was found clutching. His and Hange’s squads recovered her from the depths of a hollowed-out tree a Titan had stuck her in. It spoke to her, called her by a different name, even.
Now that he thinks about it, forget data: all they reaped from that day was a heap of more questions.
“I spoke to Erwin about a fortnight ago before we left,” you’re saying. You’ve skipped past his thighs for now, and sit cross-legged on the floor massaging the bottom of his foot, which is propped up on your knee.
He practically punctures the bedspread from clutching so hard in order to resist twitching, flinching, and especially launching into a fit of laughter.
“What—” He moans under his breath,“—What was it. What’d you talk about?”
You’re forced to pin his ankle down so he doesn’t twitch away from you. So ticklish. He’s lucky he’s cute.
“We—”
Levi squirms.
“Captain Levi, you better sit still.”
He huffs petulantly. “Fuck you. It’s your fault. Deal with it.”
“Is it really?” You dart your thumbs on his most ticklish area just to rile him up. You hear a gasp, then only a hint of a raspy chuckle before he nearly kicks you in the face—accidentally, of course.
Maybe it isn’t your fault. He’s willing to agree with anything you say if it’ll get him to sleep sooner.
His bruises pang dully, an amazing improvement from before. A profound heaviness drags him further and further into a warm nothingness. You make it very easy.
You decided to be generous and massaged his calves anyway. Up you go now. Almost done.
You return to what you were saying before. Erwin briefly confided in you and Mike over drinks when the discussion of future expeditions came up about two weeks ago; sealing Shiganshina bled heavily into that conversation.
Levi’s right that they don’t have enough bodies. The Survey Corps has always been an unpopular regiment for obvious reasons, and what’s worse, there’s no doubt numbers would be even less by the time you made it to the gates.
Even if you all traveled during nightfall, you’d have nothing to seal the gates themselves with. Stone is too heavy for the horses; Hange claims Titans aren’t tricked by tarp, nor canvas, nor wool, and even if they thought up a solution, there’s a good chance most of who’s left would die on the return home—if anyone is left.
You’re in a bad way, to be very vague and very blithe.
Levi grunts. You’re molding your fingertips with each side of his knees now, a fresh dollop of lotion making him shiver.
“Those Abnormal idiots haven’t been seen in almost five years.” He groans. “Fuck, not so hard.”
You ease up, flex your smarting fingers, and wait until he goes boneless again. After what he just said, you almost want to knock on wood.
“Yeah, but that’s no reason to get comfortable.”
His hands planted back behind him are all that’s keeping him upright now. “Obviously. I’m just taking account of our shitty situation.”
“I know, angel.”
His eyes are closed. “Erwin will figure something out. He always does, is. His brain never stops working. Probably doesn’t sleep, that bastard.”
You chitter a little, amused. “You don’t sleep.”
“Yeah.”
You don’t think he’s listening. “Why don’t you lay back?”
He peels his eyes open. “With this slime all over me?”
“I’m not asking,” you tell him again. You will strap him down if it comes to that.
With a little effort, he manages until his head is on the pillows. The bruises on his back throb a little, but the good pain wins over the bad until he floats at the very edge of a pleasant, dull sleep. The next thing he knows, you’re back between his legs, massaging more lotion into one of his heavy thighs.
He shades his eyes with his arm and ignores the fact that he’s somehow half-hard. After the past two weeks, how is that even possible?
“Almost done,” you sigh softly, sounding pleased.
All this attention generously given to him when you never addressed who you lost out there earlier. You never snap at him, and after what he said, that’s how he knew.
He wishes it was more rare that he found you in such a state upon coming back. Part of him too is still out there, fighting, so much so that the sight of you standing after he showered stunned him for a moment.
What can be done about those things? Nothing. There’s no fixed solution, no light at the end of the tunnel guaranteed, but there’s always something he can do as far as you’re concerned.
Whatever that thing is that makes him fearless, and somehow completely safe, and happy, but also scared—he can at least share that with you. Let it consume you both. He knows there’s a name for it, but he doesn’t want to name it, not right now.
His pensive eyes are on you as you finish up. Watching you so candidly leaves him feeling excruciatingly sappy even when all the grief forces him to feel nothing.
He gets like that after every expedition. Tomorrow, without fail, he’ll be on a cleaning frenzy (he’s been antsy; two weeks gives dust plenty of opportunity to collect), and you’ll likely be forging his signature so there’s less work for you both to do later. His name looks better in your handwriting, anyway.
HQ will be somber, quiet, in mourning. Unlike Shadis, Erwin mandates a day off after each expedition. In the worst of cases, two.
Much later—or not, time has blurred together—he instinctively rolls over to you and lays his head down on your chest. He’s wearing pants again.
Then, he sees the light dim down behind his eyelids, and remembers himself a little. “Your fingers.”
“Bad, but not that bad,” you murmur, combing his hair backwards. “I cleaned up while you were asleep.”
Overwhelmed, his jaw moves a little uselessly. “That’s not fair.”
“Tomorrow,” you assure him, but he insists on asking, just in case, about whoever you lost. The pain on your face earlier was palpable.
“No, I’m happy right now,” you sigh wetly. “It made me feel better to, to make you feel better. So please.”
He uses the very last of his energy to lean up and kiss you somewhere—he thinks your jaw.
“Fine.” He’s whispering this. “But that goes both ways. Tomorrow let me—”
“Always.” You kiss his hair. "I will."
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Morbid Curiosity - WIP Intro and Masterpost
Genre: Horror / Thriller
Rating: M (17+) [ may change or vary by installment ]
Status: Conceptualization / Plotting stage
Anthology series spanning several subgenres of horror, highlighting the weird, the paranormal, the terror in the mundane, and those who can't help but go looking for answers.
Master tag: #wip: Morbid Curiosity
🎪 #1 Funfair
Paranormal
▸ A college photojournalist visits the site of an abandoned amusement park harboring dark secrets and horrors unknown.
Aesthetics: the cold and wet of autumn // eerie calliope music // echoes in dark tunnels // jumping at your own reflection in a funhouse mirror // creepy clowns.
Influences: Stephen King's 'It' // Jordan Peele's 'Us'
✯ Intro post
✯ Teaser moodboard
✯ Playlist
✯ Character meme (Tens But tag game)
Tag: #wip: Funfair
🌾 #2 Backroad Blues
Southern Gothic
▸ A big storm's brewing in Uncertain, Texas, home to a population of 80 citizens devoted to preserving the town's rich history... however gruesome it may be.
Aesthetics: banjo, harmonica, violin // old farmhouses and lakeside cabins // rusted silos and water towers // scary rednecks with double-barreled shotguns.
Influences: Supernatural // Resident Evil 7 // Jeepers Creepers
♞ Intro post coming soon!
♞ Spotify playlist
Tag: #backroad blues
🏰 #3 The Fall of Strömberg
Gothic/Macabre
▸ In 1520, a banquet was set ablaze, killing a family of Swedish nobles, along with their guests. Since that night, nobody has entered the castle ruins and lived to tell the tale.
Aesthetics: fire against the night sky // gargoyles perched above you // moonlight peering in through stained-glass windows // dark dungeons and long corridors // twisted alchemy.
Influences: Dracula // a dash of Midsommar
❋ Intro post coming soon!
❋ Spotify playlist
❋ Snippet (last line tag game)
❋ Character meme / first look (Tens But tag game)
Tag: #the fall of strömberg
🛒 #4 Night Shift
Slasher
▸ Retail employees on the night shift usually have to fight to stay awake... but tonight they must fight to stay alive, as an unseen killer attempts to pick them off one by one.
Aesthetics: mannequins and their blank smiles // fluorescent lights // loud music blaring over the speakers // handprints on fogged-up freezer doors.
Influences: Scream // I Know What you Did Last Summer // Until Dawn
☾ Intro post coming soon!
☾ Spotify playlist
Tag: #wip: Night Shift
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TAG LIST INFO:
With autumn writing vibes kicking in, and spooky season right around the corner, I'm hoping to be pretty inspired and active with these for the next few months :D
I'll be doing separate tag lists for each installment, since the aesthetics are pretty different. If you're interested in being added to the tag list for one or more of these, lmk! <3
#wip intro#introducing my wip#introducing my wips#wipnook#writing#my writing#horror writing#horror wip#suspense fiction#fiction writing#gothic horror#wip: Morbid Curiosity#wip: Funfair#backroad blues#the fall of strömberg#wip: Night Shift#tw murder#tw gun mention
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Doodle’s Anthology: Winter Things {3/3}
Last but certainly not least as it’s common knowledge that sometimes the best things come in threes. Hello my Miraculous Lovelies, this is the last part of my first set of anthology entries. If you have read the previous parts I hope you enjoyed it. If this is your first time encountering one of these parts then welcome.
This is the last installment and other parts links will be provided below. Due to all the entries length I had broken up into three sections and will place links below to make everything easier here:
Section 1. Section 2. Section 3.
I hope you enjoy what I have been working on. So let’s continue with the third story: Winter Check In.
Winter Check In
Theme: Winter Things
Winter, just like any season, has many of its gifts that do not last forever. Time marches on no matter the placement of the year. Within the air, a wintery chill still permeated throughout the formerly snow draped Paris. For the past couple days, layers of snow began to dissolve little by little. Only a few spots appeared to be untouched. A natural closure to one of life’s many chapters.
Tonight, the city was gifted with a starless sky leading its glow to become a guiding light for those above it. Night had fallen quickly, like a thick stage curtain. A little cover was given to a certain black cat. However, this was no mere cat, instead it was Astrocat: the flying suit version of Chat Noir. He glided through the air while carrying a filled brown paper shopping bag by the handles. Each second that passed his mind continued to become more and more within a stir.
He wondered about the relevance of tonight. It wasn’t like he had seen her yesterday when plans could’ve been verified. It was all based on the assumption. Something he had learned multiple times was not always the best indicator of the truth. His curiosity had peaked about the state of everything. But he would rather have pure intentions rather than retreat due to the fear of looking foolish.
A few moments went by as the airborne feline passed over a few blocks taking advantage of switching from his usual tread on the rooftops. Astrocat had learned that lesson this time last year after slipping on an unsuspecting patch of ice. Almost falling off the rooftop in the street during the process. Once he had gotten close to his destination the cat made his descent, swooping down before landing. His boots hit against the gray wooden floors of the lavish rooftop patio before scanning the area. Not much had changed since the previous month that he was here. Two gray L-shaped couches still sat parallel to each other.
Although this time they were covered with about ten winter themed pillows each and thick fluffy gray blankets. Replacing the autumn themed pillows and macaroon blankets from the previous visit. Between the couches was an built in gray wooden table with a rustic black tray that had an array of lit plastic LED tea lights. The patio’s safety railing around the perimeter was wrapped with white string lights giving the patio a snowy glow look. In the middle of the table was a long flat rectangular box wrapped in blue and white snowflake wrapping paper, tied with silvery ribbons.
Nestled between the ribbons and the wrapped box was a white notecard with red ink scribble across it. The cat picked it up reading the words:
Hey, I got your note and gift. Here’s a late holiday gift for the both of you. Thanks for everything.
Sincerely,
-Ms. M
He couldn’t help but smile before placing the card back between the box and the ribbon. After reverting back to his default suit, Chat Noir started to unpack. He pulled out of the brown shopping bag a few plastic food storage containers that consisted of pretzels, crackers, pre-sliced cheddar cheese and grapes. Before taking out a box of assorted winter themed sugar cookies. Plastic wrap was peeled off the large black thermos of hot chocolate in the cat’s hand as he had sat it on the table with the others. Followed by a can of whipped cream and a bag of mini marshmallows. The pang of worry still ran through as he pulled out a bag of disposable to-go coffee cups.
It had been nearly two weeks since he had seen her.
But before the burden of this thought could leave much impact, his cat ears perked up. A familiar zipping sound filled the perimeter. Followed by a soft thump behind him. Chat Noir turned around to greet the familiar presence behind him.
Ladybug.
The cat smiled as his worries had been dispelled. “Hey Ladybug.”
“Hi Chat,” the bug greeted while wrapping the yoyo around her waist. “It’s been a bit. How are you?”
“I’m fine. But I’ll admit that I was wondering if you were going to show up.”
“And miss our monthly check in? At this point it’s better to assume that something horrible happened to me before I willingly flake on you. But maybe I shouldn’t tempt fate like that.”
“Agree. I know that it’s just been almost two weeks since Shadow Moth has done anything. But it did not stop me from missing one of my closest friends.”
Ladybug gave a gentle smile. “I missed you too.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing like going without the fun of several near death experiences and violent explosions for over a week to make the heart grow fonder.”
“Leave it to you to say that’s fun. You’re always been the risk taker between the two of us. And that’s saying something.”
“What can I say, it’s part of my charm.”
“I thought you had said it was telling jokes?”
“Well, that too.”
“Is that all for us?” the bug asked while her eyes lingered over the table.
“Yep after the stuff you bought last month,” he told her. “It’s only fair that I stepped up.”
“It wasn’t that much,” she waved her hand nonchalantly. “It’s just the stuff I had put together that night. It would’ve been better if I didn’t have other commitments.“
”So you don’t think the Christmas tree cupcakes, the eggnog, peanut butter fudge, chocolate chip cookies and that cracker candy wasn’t a lot? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Well, that was the holidays. It’s never been a competition.”
“You still raised the bar but before I forget,” the cat reached over to pick up the wrapped box. “Look what I found when I got here.”
Ladybug looked over the box in his hand reading the card. “Aww from Ms. Marseille. She must’ve liked the flowers that we left last time for a thank you for letting us use this place. Do you know what it is?”
“Nope,” Chat Noir shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”
Both of the heroes started to undo the ribbons and tear at the wrapping paper to reveal a white box with a brown cursive font : Houde’s Assorted Chocolate Sampler.
“A box of chocolate,” Ladybug announced. “From the size I’m going to guess that there are about fifty to one hundred chocolates in here.”
“That’s sweet,” Chat Noir smiled.
“Pun intended?” Ladybug asked.
The cat’s eyes widened, completely baffled. “Actually no, but that was so oblivious. Why didn’t I think that? Wow, I haven’t been out of the suit that long and I’m already rusty.”
“As long as your fighting skills aren’t rusty, the bug plucked the card from the wrapping paper pile. “You’ll be okay.”
This had no intention of this becoming a habit, meeting up like this. It had started a few months ago when Chat Noir had noticed his partner suffering from another round of serve burnout. Instead of her liveliness she could be easily described as weary, stressed and paranoid. He had tried to approach the topic a few times as time sailed by but it seemed that she became more and more sealed off. However, there was one attack that made all his concerns impossible to ignore. It seemed that day Ladybug was suffering from a creative block as she was struggling to find a use for her lucky charm.
Their time crunch had almost become disastrous as their opponent had geared up for his final attack while his partner’s timer was running out. Instinctively, Chat Noir snatched the cinderblock from her hand and chucked it at the villain knocking him out. Before pushing the bug into a nearby alleyway to prevent her from revealing her identity. Crisis was averted but clearly something had to be done for the benefit of everyone. So the same night instead of doing patrol he led her to the patio so they could talk. This wasn’t an intervention but to have a conversation partner to partner, friend to friend.
Ladybug admitted that multiple people in her personal life had already asked the same thing. She had still been reeling from losing Master Fu and stumbling through not only her guardian duties atop of everything else on her plate. That she had been feeling like a lost soul. After their discussion, it felt nice to bring those feelings out in the open. The next patrol night Ladybug had given him a bag of chocolate chip cookies as a thank you. This became a pattern of them meeting up and talking. At first, it seemed this was a way for his partner to air out some grievances.
Eventually it had gotten to the point of becoming therapeutic for the both of them. Chat Noir had opened up about a few things himself. Not having the fear of what he would say would tarnish the Agreste brand. Or even worse, it somehow got back to his father. It had turned into a monthly custom coming here with permission from the apartment building’s owner Ms. Marseille. Chat Noir had met and struck a deal with her a few months ago after falling asleep on the patio due to exhaustion.
The heroes communicated with her through a string of notes, giving her as little information as possible for everyone’s safety. If she fell under Shadow Moth’s influence there would not be not much to tell. The point of this was not about romance although a version of himself from not so long ago would have jumped at the opportunity. Instead things had changed, starting with his partner’s unceremonious shift to guardian.
“So…do you think he’s hibernating?” questioned Chat Noir as he sat on one of the couches. He had finished up the sugar cookie he was eating in one hand while holding a cup of hot chocolate in the other.
Ladybug looked up from the cup of hot chocolate in her hand. She had wrapped herself in one of the fluffy blankets. “Who…wait are you talking about Shadow Moth?”
“Well we haven’t heard from him since a few days before the snowstorm,” he said. “Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard from him lately.”
“It’s not like he’s a bear, Chat. If he was it would be some shapeshifter bear,” she told him. “We have seen him in person multiple times and he looks human.”
“You seem to be forgetting that we live in a world where magic beings can grant people superpowers through jewelry. That with one word I can automatically destroy whatever I touch. You can fix millions of euros of property damage and heal the injured by a magical swarm of ladybugs.”
Her eyes shifted to the side. “Well, when you put it like that.”
The cat’s lips spread into a smirk. “So a shapeshifting bear doesn’t sound so crazy now, does it?”
Ladybug shook her head. “I don’t know if I can accept that without legitimate proof. Even if you might be right. Remember the last time that I had jumped to conclusions. Does Gabriel Agreste ring a bell?”
Chat Noir’s smirk tightened into a lip bite. “Yeah…it’s good we realized it was a dead end before accusing him. He definitely would’ve taken offense.”
“Who wouldn’t? It’s not like it’s a compliment. I thought it made sense at the time. But the truth is it really could be anybody and that is what makes it scary.”
“Have you ever considered that it could be someone that we actually know?”
“It has crossed my mind a few times,” the bug took a slip of her hot chocolate. “I also would have passed him on the street. My earrings could be taken anytime if he knew. It would become the beginning of the end. There was even a moment when I thought it was.”
“Wait really? When did this happen?”
“A few weeks ago. It turned out to be a false alarm so that’s why I didn’t bring it up sooner. I wouldn’t have kept it from you if it was serious.”
“Can you still tell me?“
“Sure, I went to that popular burger shop downtown with my friends. When it was my turn to order and pay, the cashier who looked around his forties asked me where I got my earrings. I just froze, since no one really comments on them.”
“What happened next?”
“It turns out that he was asking because his daughter’s birthday was in a couple weeks and thought they would be a nice gift for her. I told him that they were a family heirloom. I directed him to the Sparkle Boutique across the street as they sell a lot of pretty earrings. After I got my food I stayed close to my friends making sure I couldn’t be caught alone, just in case. Nothing came out of it but…”
“You can be too careful?” the cat finished her sentence.
“Exactly, after all we’ve been through,” the bug sighed. “All that we had lost… there is no such thing as being too careful.”
There was a beat of silence between them, for the oblivious.
“I know how you felt, a while back after getting my ring my father noticed and asked about it.”
“What did you say?”
“Something along the lines of was the only thing that he noticed about me. It’s been a while since it happened.”
“What about things with your dad? You mentioned last time we did this you were concerned about the holidays with him after an incident the previous year.”
“Things were fine, we had a holiday party. He was actually pretty involved in the planning. Something that he had never really done before.”
“How was the party?”
“It was fun but it didn’t go off without a hitch. Behind the scenes some of the presents had gotten switched around. So I fixed that before the gift exchange. The caterers came late so we had to eat later than planned. Luckily, there were snacks to tie people over until the food got there. However I had heard nothing but good things from my friends so it seemed that no one but us noticed.“
“That’s a relief right?”
“Yeah. But since then he has been nothing but closed off. I guess his work has spiked up after the holidays as he mostly stays in his office. There’s nothing much to report besides that.”
“Was it at least better than the previous year? From the tiny bit that you had told me it was pretty bad. Not only that but we also had to fight Santa Claws.”
“It was. Honestly, I was expecting to slip out at least once that night. I was surprised that I didn’t. Maybe Shadow Moth was able to spend time with some family or friends. Those poor souls.”
“Chat-“
“What? Considering all that he had done. Do you think that he’s a good friend? A nice uncle, a sweet grandson or a generous father? I don’t think someone like that can keep all that evilness in until putting on a mask.”
“It’s possible, don’t think that I’m defending him. I’m not, but it’s also possible that he was hiding in plain sight. A lot of people put on facades to hide their wrongdoings. For all we know he might be one of the sweetest seeming people around.”
“What would happen if it was someone you knew.”
“Huh?”
“When we eventually unmask Shadow Moth, what would you do if it’s someone that you know?”
“It depends on who it is. If it was someone that I liked or respected. I would be deeply disappointed especially if we were close. Or the only way that I know them is because they’re close because of someone like a friend. That would hurt.”
“What if it was someone you didn’t like?”
“It certainly will be a lot easier. Depending on who it is, everything might suddenly make sense. Either way the outcome would be the same. I can’t let that slide and they need to be punished for their crimes.”
“Even if it’s someone that you know?”
“All the damage and harm that’s been done doesn’t suddenly vanish because he was one of my school teachers or a friend of my parents. I already gave someone a second chance against my better judgment and we both know how that turned out.”
The cat’s eyes shifted to the side, aware of what his partner was alluding to. After the events of Miracle Queen and the fallout from it. It had made him question the legitimacy of second chances when it comes to this area.
“I’m not saying that people shouldn’t give others second chances. But I learned from what happened after the Miracle Queen incident to be more selective with them. In my opinion, Shadow Moth shouldn’t be allowed not to face any consequences for what he did. Why? Are you trying to tell me something?”
Chat Noir shook his head. “No, lately it’s just I’ve been wondering what could happen when we get to that point.”
“It probably won’t be happening for a good while.”
“How do you know?”
“Based on what we learned during the Time Tagger attack. It’s clear that we are going to be doing this for the next couple years.”
“That actually doesn’t sound so bad. Who wouldn’t want to be a hero for the next couple years.”
Ladybug seemed to slightly flinch. “So what about you? What would you do?”
“About what?”
“We haven’t really talked about this much as we don’t know how the scenario is going to play out. There’s a possibility that you might have to make the decision in retrieving the butterfly miraculous, alone.”
“Alone? What about you?”
“It’s not like I’m going to try not to show up. But depending on the situation. I might not be able to do it. So, what would you do if Shadow Moth is someone that you know? You think that you can put your feelings aside?”
“Of course,” he spoke brazenly before faltering. “I mean…I like to think that I would be. If not, that would mean what I’ve been doing for over a year would be for nothing.”
“It wouldn’t be for nothing. The city had been saved multiple times by us. Many times I would’ve been in danger if you hadn’t been there with me. You had stepped up the day I had trouble figuring out my lucky charm. So don’t base your worth on something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“You’re not the first person that has said something like that to me. But you’re right. I feel the same way as you. Shadow Moth has done so much for him not to face any consequences. How many times have we almost died because of him?”
“About two hundred and fifty times.”
Chat Noir’s eyes widened. “You actually counted?”
“Well…it’s a rough estimate,” Ladybug admitted. “So take it with a grain of salt. But I do have a knack when it comes to keeping records. Remember, I’m the one who put together the villain database for the reserve heroes.”
“Based on that fact alone, I would rather it be a stranger. That’s easier than knowingly fighting who I thought was good, at least deep down. But again, maybe it was fate for me to be picked to do this if that is the case. If it’s true then it’s really my responsibility to bring them in. At least that won’t have to be for the next couple years, luckily.”
“You didn’t seem bothered about still having to do this for the next couple years.”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Are you?”
Ladybug bit her lip before putting the cup in her hands on the table, like she was stalling. “I should just say it. Especially since I recently had a discussion about not swallowing my feelings with important stuff like this.”
“With who? Was it Guitar Strings, Sneakers, Cap, Glasses…”
“Wow, when you list my friends’ fake names like that. It sounds like my whole social circle is made of things you find in a scavenger hunt.”
“You were the one that picked them for privacy. Which is fair as I don’t know anyone named Hand Sanitizer.”
The bug chuckled softly. “That’s why I chose it. But…I don’t like the uncertainty of it all. Naturally things are going to change in a few years. So what else that I might have to give up because I’m Ladybug? Even not hearing from Shadow Moth kinda has me on edge.”
“Really? I figured you of all people would have enjoyed the break.”
“I do, it’s nice to have a couple days off. To be able to rest and not rush through everything so I can drop it at a moment’s notice. But it gives me this uneasy feeling that this break is because he’s planning something big. I don’t plan to leave Paris hanging. It’s just the uncertainty that gets me. How does it not get to you?”
“It’s probably because of the life that I had. Before getting this ring I never had many choices. There were many times I wanted to get away from it. Where everything had been planned for me without my input. The next thing that I knew there was a random box in my room.”
“So it gave you a chance.”
“Exactly, for the longest time that I thought that would be enough. It wasn’t until recently that I realized there’s more than that. The problems don’t disappear once I put on the mask. In fact, more happens because of it. But me becoming Chat Noir was one of the few choices that I solely made on my own. So I would rather sit with uncertainty knowing it’s my decision rather than going back to structure without choices.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“You don’t have to see it the same way. Those are my personal reasons. You just have to find your own way to make peace with the situation.”
“Hopefully I will, someday.”
Seconds ticked by, as the two looked at each other with a new understanding with each other. The type couldn’t be achieved without taking heed of one another.
“Whoa, things got super heavy all of a sudden,” the cat quipped, breaking the silence. “So how about we lighten the mood a bit? I didn’t come here today just for the heart to heart confessions.”
“Really?” Ladybug raised a brow, almost if she sensed the direction her partner was trying to lead them. “What else did you come for then?”
Chat Noir reached forward grabbing the brown shopping bag on the table. He pulled out a deck of playing cards bound by a rubber band. “We have a score to settle.”
A smirk spread on the bug’s face. “You mean the score where I had beaten you 30-19 in cards?”
“That’s the one,” a competitive spark gleamed in his eyes. “You in?”
“Only if we can open up the box of chocolates from Ms. Marseille to share,” Ladybug bargained.
“Deal,” Chat Noir undid the rubber band. “By the way, nineteen isn’t so bad against a strategist like you. Have you ever considered that all this time I have been luring you into a false sense of security?”
“Well, let’s see. I’m always glad when we get to hang out like this. So you pick the game especially since you brought the snacks.”
“How about… the game of pure strategy,” the cat shuffled the cards. “But I must warn you that I have been practicing since the last time we played.”
“Bring it on,” the bug dared. “You’re not the only one around here who isn’t afraid of a challenge.”
“Good, I was waiting for this all week,” Chat Noir started to deal the cards. “There’s nothing better than checking in with a friend.”
It’s a suitable way to keep the light fading in the overwhelming darkness.
The End.
Thanks for reading! 😊
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I hope you enjoy all the stories that I have written. I thought this was a nice story to have Ladybug and Chat Noir just simply talking like good friends. I have noticed in my recent works I didn’t have them really socialize. They interacted but it’s more like here what we do to reach our mission statement. So I had to fix that. They’re still talking about hero stuff but it’s in a more relaxed environment.
This story is also available on Wattpad.
Since this is the final part, will do the closing statements here. If you are reading this the day it was originally posted then you are aware that today is Saturday. After posting my previous story Promise? on Saturday. I realized that I like posting on that day gives me more time to put everything together. So my official post day will now be Saturday.
At least for now. Another change is I have decided to do once a month posting. I’m going to face big changes in my personal life soon. And while I don’t want to give up posting, it seems more fair for everybody to just post once a month. This way each story can get the proper time it deserves without me being overwhelmed by prior commitments. Readers won’t get large gaps between content.
I will still be on the platform reading and appreciating other people’s posts. But posting myself will be a once a month period now. For those who have been following me all this time. I really appreciate your patience and support.
The song for this week is “Winter Sound” by Of Monster and Men. I believe it gives an all encompassing feel of all three stories.
youtube
See you next time. 👋
#miraculous ladybug#ml fanfic#ml chat noir#ladynoir#ladynoir fanfic#miraculous fanfic#ml ladybug#mlb ladynoir#mlb ladybug#mlb chat noir#fanfic#ml ladynoir#my writing#miraculous au#Youtube
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Getting to know you meme
Thanks for the tag @jamlavender
Favourite time of year: I would have once said Autumn because it’s when my birthday is and I do enjoy the changing of the seasons into those colder months, when things gets crispy and the leaves turn and there’s this nostalgia to the air that’s inexplicable. However, it was a really long dreary winter this year, and we’ve just got into summer here in NZ and I’m really loving the longer days and balmy weather so I may have been converted recently into a summer-lovin person.
Comfort foods: To quote Oprah, “I love bread. I love bread!” I love carbs and pasta and cheese and pizza and I always always will. I also have a raging sweet tooth and chocolate is my downfall.
Do you collect anything: Not really in a deliberate ‘I’m a serious collector’ way, but I do have quite a stash of Funko Pops, although I don’t keep them safe in their boxes or anything. In fact, my little cousins enjoy playing with them when they come round, and the other day we had an epic game where I acted out the whole of ‘The Amber Spyglass’ with my Lyra, Marisa and Asriel Pops. I used Will Byers as Will Parry, and a tiny lego dinosaur as Lord Roke who my 6 year-old cousin renamed ‘Lil Rick’.
Favourite drinks: My go to alcoholic drink is a G & T, or a Pina Colada if I’m somewhere that does cocktails. I love anything creamy, milky and sweet, so if there’s ever the opportunity for a thick-shake, I will slorp that up.
Favourite music artists: Completely and unequivocally my number one fave is Cher. I’m absolutely obsessed with her. When I was 5 my mum sat me down to watch her big farewell tour which was on TV over Christmas. I don’t remember much except being utterly transfixed by her, and when my mum explained that this was the last tour she would ever do (ha!) my young brain thought this meant she would literally never be seen or heard from again (something akin to death), and I distinctly remember lying in bed that night wishing with all my might that she would come back. Skip forward 15 years and I saw her live in Auckland (a transcendent experience), so my wish really did come true!
Current favourite songs: I’m still listening to Taylor Swift’s Midnights on repeat, my Spotify says that my most played song right now is ‘You’re On Your Own Kid’ which I loveee. I’m currently obsessed with Lorne Balfe’s ‘Love Across Worlds’ from the HDM S3 anthology soundtrack, it goes so hard. I’m also still really vibing with Michael & Michelle’es EP, especially ‘The Watching Silence’ which was apparently my most played song this year! It does crack me up that they’re just Lady Mary and Andy the footman from Downton Abbey though lol.
Favourite fics: Literally every single thing @jamlavender has ever written, we are sooooo lucky to have her bringing Masriel to life in all their beautiful deranged sexy messed up glory. My two greatest favourites of hers would have to be ‘Unholy Ghosts’ because it was something I requested specifically and Ellie was so generous in fulfilling my prompt better than I could ever have imagined. I’m also obsessed with ‘Aelysium’ which hit me so damn hard but gave Masriel a bittersweet and perfect ending.
Favourite video games: I am not a gamer unless you count the childhood years of Poptropica and Neopets which were epic times!
I tag @a-whole-tempest-in-a-teacup @queenofnabooty @oceanssapart @cozcat and @andallthatmerrymishigas (and anyone else who’s interested!)
#long post#asks#i know i got tagged in several of these and never did them#so here i am actually filling one!
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I want you to breathe on me, your lips pressed to my cheek.
My ear getting a glimpse of crested mint.
I want you to sleep on me.
Maybe then you can feel how my body beats irrapidly whenever I'm around you.
But, I do, want our hearts to sync - innerlocking pulsation as they thump against each other.
Making love with our hearts is the sex talk I want you to speak.
And I do, want you to speak dirty to me like "baby let me wash your sheets so we can pillow talk all night".
The birds and the bees are not only for springS, but winterS summerS autumnS too.
And when they all fall just like the river does down a cliff, beautifully I might add, into a sift of powdered emotions.
I too will fall asleep with you.
seasonS Change by Mr. PoetAll, a poem from The Leaping Lessons of Love Anthology
#sagetocasey#sageandcasey#sage and casey#my ocs#ocs#gay ocs#leaping#lessons#of#love#love lessons#llol#poems by mrpoetall#lgbt poetry#poetry community#writing community#story writing#book writers#writing is my outlet#writing is my therapy#book writer#book writing#calling all writers#fiction#fiction writer#writing group#discord community#message me#i love hard#pisces and cancer
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Autumn Studying Challenge 🍁
01 October - What is your favorite thing about autumn?
So much to love! Sweater weather, the changing seasons, Halloween. I get really nostalgic this time of year because this used to be peak marching band season when I was in high school, so between the vibey atmosphere outside and my favorite holiday, and the nostalgia, it's just a lovely cozy time of year.
[Image ID: The Norton Anthology of Poetry and The Odyssey on a tan and white plaid blanket on a gray blanket End ID]
#contrespeaks#autumn studying challenge#bookblr#the norton anthology of poetry#margaret ferguson#tim kendall#mary jo salter#the odyssey#homer#walter shewring#classics#western canon
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Autumn Evening with Full Moon on Musashino Plain, early 1600s, Cleveland Museum of Art: Japanese Art
The Japanese view of the world is a temporal one, guided in its major rhythms by the seasons. Poems of the four seasons have been crafted since the ninth century and compiled into anthologies that, in turn, spawned a legion of new poems and anthologies that, cumulatively, are regarded as the origins of Japanese literature. Of those poems, those with autumn themes predominate.
The close association of the changing seasons and the stages of life, and the corresponding references to specific emotions, created through the centuries a framework in literature and then visual imagery for developing a common, recognizable vocabulary of flora. Specific flowering plants became signposts of a season, perhaps a place, and certainly references to an emotional landscape synchronous with the journey of life. The millennia-old exploration and codification of this terrain has resulted in such well-recognized phenomena as flower arranging, gardening, and architecture--all of which reflect enduring attempts to incorporate nature into everyday human existence. Gatherings such as the "seven grasses of autumn" (or the "seven grasses of spring") evolved out of their close association with harvest (or planting) festivals.
The sense of well-being and accommodation in a place is remarkable in these byøbu. A broad vista of golden brown wild grasses reaching out of dense green undergrowth toward a blank gold-foil sky sets the stage. Dispersed among the crisscrossing network of grass blades are isolated clumps of autumn flowers. The perspective is low, and any suggestions of far distance are concealed in favor of immediate visual and emotional engagement. A large tarnished disc of silver quietly announces the arrival of the moon, rising above a field of grasses taller than the traveler through this wild plain. Flecks of cut-gold foil descend from the receding sky to help illuminate the day's passage into night in this elegant, optimistic view of nature. The uniformity of color, suppression of spatial references, and almost ceaseless linear rhythms coalesce with determined grace in this alluring but somewhat artificial disclosure of natural beauty. We see the autumnal plain "cleaned up," as if offering a paradigm for achieving the human equivalent. Here design merges with nature in a dance in which the two sway to the words and imagery of an anonymous tenth-century poetic muse: Japanese poetry has its seeds in the human heart and takes form in the countless leaves that are words.
Size: Image: 170.2 x 346.7 cm (67 x 136 1/2 in.)
Medium: One of a pair of six-fold screens; ink, color, and gold and silver foil on gilded paper
https://clevelandart.org/art/2000.4.2
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Cassian’s already by a carriage, the horses neighing as the owner feeds them. The male grins as Cassian sidles up and not a moment later, the fae is guiding him to the front, pulling out a stack of blankets. Burgundy plaids and chestnut knits. Cream and candy wool.
Cassian looks to them, jutting his chin to the back.
“Hop in!” He calls.
Nesta and Emerie need no other suggestion. They race to it, Cassian laughing at their excited sprints.
The carriage must be more for carrying produce than people, she thinks. The back of the ride is open and there are a few stalks of hay still tucked in the corners. Emerie settles in between, her wings shifting between straw and Nesta follows, embracing her friend. Emerie tucks her close.
All the trees above her rain down its October hues and there is nothing more beautiful than the view she sees. Yet, there must be because her heart is a constant beat and her friend’s laugh is a song.
Cassian sits next to the driver and his voice reminds her of wind chimes. He makes idle, genial chit chat as if he and the driver are long friends. They might as well be... perhaps that’s what autumn does—makes friends out of all of them.
Cassian looks back to see the two of them cuddling up, and he smiles sweetly at them. She feels the warmth of his palm on her cheek as he reaches for her, and she can’t help how she leans into the warmth. Her mate. Her love. Her friend. It’s a beautiful thing to know him, too—to know this.
“Everyone comfortable?” The fae asks.
At their muffled agreement, the driver sets off with a lurch. Nesta doesn’t know exactly where the road leads or how far their destination, but the clomp of the horses and the steady thump of the bumpy road tells her to enjoy it while it lasts. To savor every minute.
Besides, the outskirts of Velaris is a magnificent sight to see. She picks out every shade of fall woven in the trees, thinking on Emerie’s words. The forest watches and it listens.
The forest must be watching now, curious about its visitors.
Nesta finds she’s curious, too.
“What do you usually do in Illyria when the seasons change?” Nesta asks, her voice soft. Emerie leans her head on her shoulder, chuckling low.
“In Windhaven, there’s only two seasons. Winter... and not winter. So, there’s really no celebrations for this time of the year.” Emerie looks up at her cautiously, seemingly weighing her words. Nesta nods encouraging. “I read this book once, about major holidays—”
“In Prythrian?”
“In the human lands,” her friend says. She pauses as if waiting for Nesta to shut down the conversation, to give her time to do that if she wants. For all intents, it is Nesta’s world. It was Nesta’s life.
Emerie’s silence is patient as she waits. Tell me if this is okay, it says.
Nesta doesn’t know if it is... but, she does know there’s no harm in telling her. She has no doubt that if she says nothing, they’ll still be cuddled close. If she reads an anthology about every custom she knows, it won’t make a difference.
Still... Nesta hasn’t thought about that world in a long time. It’s another lifetime away. Her old self must be long dead and buried by now. Somewhere across that fallen wall. Perhaps, she’s mourned her long enough, she thinks.
Nesta doesn’t know what to say, so she looks for her answer in the trees.
All the leaves are falling. Before she blinks the trees will be bare. If the color of death is a crisp orange, a candy apple red, a bright, burgeoning yellow, why then does she feel so alive?
Maybe that’s the answer.
If the trees can awaken in the spring, she can talk her old self back to life.
“The human lands,” her lips raise lightly. “What do you want to know?”
Emerie squeals excitedly.
~
Why do I always try to make things deep? Is it not enough to just have a simple activity be completed. But nooooo, Nesta has to have a character. I need to stop writing like I’m writing for a telenovela.
This is your fault--> @arinbelle
@ladygabrielli1997
#nessian#nesta archeron#emerie of illyria#this is why I have problems finishing things#bc for all intents I could have said hey they go in a carriage and they leave to a pumpkin patch#but NOoooooooo#I have to have a conversation in between#fire me as a writer
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MONTHLY MEDIA: September 2021
Oh we’re leaving the heat and embracing the cold chill of autumn. I welcome it. And I welcome you to check out the stuff I watched, read, heard, and played this month!
……….FILM……….
Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021)
The trailers didn’t really grab me all that much but after hearing lots of positive reactions, we checked it out. Lots of fun! The family stuff really worked and while it went a bit...bigger...than I was expecting, there were lots of cool moments and all of the action worked. I just wish it had stayed away from world-ending stuff, you know?
Rumble in the Bronx (1995)
Jackie Chan is a treasure. I want to watch (and revisit) more of his movies and this is my first entry. So much fun! Stunts and general set pieces were great, 90s New York City gangs took me back to the original Ninja Turtle movie, and the finale is just bonkers. And the fact he injured himself and continued filming (in what looks like a sock painted like a shoe to cover up his cast) is just wild.
Candyman (2021)
I don’t like scary movies but this one was okay. Maybe it’s that 14A rating. The body horror stuff got me more than the slasher stuff and I admit that a big pivotal scene (towards the end, in a church) was more confusing than I think it needed to be? I mean I’ve read the wikipedia entry for the movie and am still not sure what was happening. Everything outside of that, very very good. Oh and really beautifully shot!
Malignant (2021)
Another scary movie I read up on before seeing. Knowing the general tone helped me prepare for...just what exactly this movie is: a wild ride. It pivots so hard into something that I may not have exactly enjoyed watching, but respected that it was made. It was weird.
……….TELEVISION……….
Ted Lasso (Episode 2.07 to 2.10)
This continues to be as great as the first season. It’s not feeling as focused as season 1 but I also have the benefit of seeing all of the first season, so I’ll reserve judgement until the season wraps up. In the meantime I’m still enjoying the ride.
Marvel’s What If… (Episode 1.04 to 1.08)
When they’re free to be weird, I love it. But I have to admit I was disappointed by the episode 8 twist. I love overlapping stories as much as the next viewer, but I thought we were getting a genuine anthology series here.
Watchmen (Episode 1.01 to 1.03)
So beautiful. The set and costume designers really know the power of colour and simplicity and it feels like a comic book series come to life (more so than many other adaptations). A little more pro-cop than I was expecting, but I’m only 3 episodes in so we’ll see if that changes.
Reservation Dogs (Episode 1.01 to 1.08)
Maybe not as much outright comedy as I was expecting, but so much more heart. Really great sense of community and the four leads are all fantastic.
Bachelor in Paradise (Episode 7.05 to 7.10)
Drama is abundant on the beach and I wasn’t super into the cast at the start but they’re really growing on me.
……….READING……….
Soul Music by Terry Pratchett
(Page 192/377)
I’ll sing the praises of Terry Pratchett and his Discworld series until my voice is hoarse; it just resonates that much with me. I’m only halfway through but so far the maguffin feels similar to the previous book (Men at Arms) and I’m hoping there’s a twist or progression that changes that. Either way I’m still enjoying every page.
Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for Lifetime of Love by Dr. Sue Johnson
(Complete)
Another relationship book and a really interesting perspective! While this may be reductive, it’s really interesting to think about most confrontations in relationships being resolved/healed through exploring core feelings. It seems so simple and obvious, but it really was a fascinating read. And helping to define different patterns of conflict was insightful as well! A little niche but worth checking out if this at all interests you.
Rat Queens Volume 3: Demons by by Kurtis J. Wiebe, Tess Fowler, and Tamra Bonvillain
(Complete)
I went back and picked this up after finding out it’s not included in the deluxe volume because of some weird, petty dispute between the author and artist and that...just sucks. I’m not great at separating the art from the artist and knowing the author cut out this artist’s work from the deluxe volumes at the expense of a complete reading experience feels really alienating as a reader. Also the story and characters didn’t really connect here.
Rat Queens Deluxe Edition Volume 2 by Kurtis J. Wiebe and Owen Gieni
(Complete)
There was something magical about the starting arcs collected in the first deluxe collection and I think it’s missing here. Or maybe I’ve just found other fantasy comics in the meantime. Or maybe I’m just not the same reader I was when Rat Queens first came it. It’s just not doing it for me anymore, which is really disappointing.
……….AUDIO……….
God Is Partying by Andrew W. K. (2021)
You know I just love the music of Andrew W. K. so so much. So upbeat. So inspirational. So party-centric. I need to give this album a few more listens but I’m getting hints of Meatloaf and that’s just...so perfect.
……….GAMING……….
Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing)
The group has a dinner party planned with Hook but got distracted by suspicious Mermaids. There are always some twists and turns in Neverland. If you want to read more in-depth campaign diaries then they’re here on reddit!
And that’s it! As always, let me know if you have anything to suggest and happy Thursday!
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But then, above the tumult in the sea and skies, other, wilder voices of war are heard: stags are corralling their harems and defiantly readying themselves for battle. Their roars and bellows ricochet from crag and hill and echo along the riverbanks. It is the rut. Wild, glorious autumn is here.
Annie Worsley, from ‘Autumn: An Anthology for the Changing Seasons’, ed. Melissa Harrison.
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yoooo MAE you’re so based. And I want Season 2 to be different too! Like, a sort of anthology with the same themes and vibes, but kind of like the group being reincarnated in different settings and time periods as one Tumblr post talked about.
If they try to repeat the same magic of Season 1, it would fall flat, so I’m excited with the new stuff they come up with.
I heard a rumor that there might be a date this Friday. You didn’t hear it from me though
i think i'd rather things be as close to s1 as possible in terms of i want it to be "basically vanilla other than the three lives". the appeal of 3rd life to me is how it's very mundane hardcore survival, but in a very lord of the flies-esque situation and therefore a ticking time bomb of how long it'll take until they beat the shit out of each other. it's great, it doesn't need any other gimmicks.
so i don't need too much to change, in fact i'd probably like it a little less if they massively change it from s1! when i say they won't be able to recreate the magic of s1, all i really mean is that they shouldn't even bother worrying about it. like, they know how much we analysed and overdramatised season 1, and i don't want them to feel any pressure to recreate that for us. we're going to do that regardless - they don't need to over-plan anything like alliances. if they go into it with the same attitude as they did in s1 - record every week, pretty much unplanned like a three hour improv session - i will be completely satisfied with it
i haven't heard anything about a date being dropped but i will be keeping an eye out for that for sure! we're definitely coming up on the date being released, jimmy made it pretty clear that they'd decided one and, well, we're into autumn now. my personal prediction is either 28th september or 5th october, but who knows!
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Review for ‘A Curse So Dark and Lonely’ by Brigid Kemmerer
Aaaand here’s yet another popular retelling of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. So something to know about me - I LOVE fairy tale retellings. I grew up on a lot of fairy tales, lots of Disney princess movies (most of which are based off fairy tales or in the case of Mulan, a ballad/folk legend). I’m pretty sure growing up I had this giant anthology of a bunch of old European fairy tales that had been adapted for children’s reading. I’m pretty sure my love for magic, fantasy, and all kinds of other-worldly things stems from how much I read and re-read everything in that kid’s anthology as an eight year old or something. Nowadays, I am on the lookout for anthologies with adaptations of folk lore from other cultures. Hopefully I will soon find some that seem promising.
So A Curse So Dark and Lonely is, interestingly, not a stand-alone and its sequel came out earlier this month. I opted to stop after the first book and not pick up the sequel, for reasons that I will divulge in later. A Curse, like The Cruel Prince, has incredibly favorable reviews on Goodreads, and for good reason really. It’s just unfortunate that neither of these two books quite hit the spot for me. Perhaps in the future I will pick up the sequel for A Curse, but with the third book planned for a late 2021 release I probably will not be reading A Curse So Fierce and Broken anytime soon. Something already tells me that I may have to put recreational reading on the back burner for an extended period of time once again when I go back to school. Sadface
A Curse So Dark and Lonely loosely follows the widely known story line for ‘Beauty and the Beast’, with notable changes in that the main character (Harper) has cerebral palsy and is transported from our non-magical contemporary world to the magical kingdom of Emberfall. Our Prince Rhen does not adopt the appearance of a beast 24/7, but rather transforms into one at the end of the repeating autumn season. In his transformed state, he has a penchant for violence and generally does not retain any sense of mind or humanity. When he yet again fails to win a woman’s love, the season will restart to the day of his 18th birthday and he will have to try again with a new woman. Rhen is accompanied only by the sole survivor of his first transformation, a royal guard named Grey. Grey was given the power to go to Harper’s world and take a woman to bring back to Emberfall for Rhen to court. This entire curse was brought down by an enchantress named Lilith, who apparently exists only to torture everyone’s existence. Harper wasn’t originally chosen by Grey, but Harper witnessed Grey “abducting” an unconscious woman and chose to interfere, which leads to her transportation into Emberfall.
So let’s talk about the obvious; the representation of disabled peoples in this book via our protagonist Harper. She has cerebral palsy, and this is made very clear within the first chapter of the book. Props to the author for not OVER-emphasizing Harper’s disability, though. I love representation, and I believe in the power of representation, but I’m not a fan of when representation goes too far and it becomes the sole definition of a character’s existence. It comes off as lazy writing when a character brings no substance or value aside from the fact that they represent some kind of minority group. However, this isn’t the case here and I think Kemmerer did a wonderful job of blending Harper’s cerebral palsy into the background, yet not enough for the reader to completely forget that she is living with a disability. There are times when Harper is in a lot of pain and isn’t able to do certain things as easily as other people can, but her perseverance/grit/determination shows us that she is still just like any other human being trying to get by. She doesn’t view herself as a victim of her disability either, it’s just something she was born with and has learned to live with. It is a part of her, and even if she doesn’t like it she has learned to accept it as a part of her. I think Kemmerer sends a beautiful message in portraying Harper’s attitude with her cerebral palsy: there is no need to feel victimized by one’s disability, and there is no need to hate oneself for it either.
Outside of Harper’s disability, she is a very standard YA fantasy heroine - hardworking, passionate, cautious, determined, guarded. Is it bad that I’m getting a little bit tired of this character trope? I kind of want to see a heroine who isn’t so perfect, and I kind of want to see someone who is a little whiny or bratty at first but then grows from their hardships and experiences. Harper, like many YA fantasy heroines, just seems to start out incredibly likable (or maybe too likable) with the perfect package of personality traits. Now I’m not necessarily complaining about this, but I definitely would’ve liked to see a little more substance from Harper outside of just “I need to find a way to get home and I’m going to keep rebelling until I do”. Obviously this wasn’t her as a character the ENTIRE book, but it definitely was more or less the only thing passing through her mind for maybe the first 40% of the book. Another issue I took with her (or maybe not even her as a character, maybe it’s an issue I have with the book itself) is her wishywashy-ness in regards to her feelings. For pretty much the entire book up until Grey takes her home, Harper at best only deeply cares about and respects Rhen. But in the last 20% of the book when Grey takes her back to Emberfall to face the transformed Rhen, Harper suddenly proclaims her love for him and is willing to pretty much give herself up to Lilith to spare Rhen and Grey. That’s a huge change in emotions, and according to the book timeline this change of feelings happens over the course of like... 36 hours or something. And then the book ends on a MASSIVE ambiguity over whether the curse was broken because Harper truly loved Rhen, or if it was because Grey had succeeded in killing Lilith. So, we went from “I deeply care for you and I find comfort in your company” to “I would DIE for you” to “did the curse break because I love you? Idk” over the course of like... 3-4 chapters? Uhhhhh. Yeah I’ve got questions.
Now I know this review is coming off as pretty negative, and not gonna lie I don’t think I was a big fan of this retelling but I certainly don’t think it was bad either. Rhen’s character development was so captivating and surprising because most YA authors generally don’t pay much attention into developing the male lead as much as the heroine. In all honesty, Harper began pretty perfect with very little room for growth so she her character progression just seemed to stagnate to me. But Rhen starts off as a meh character who didn’t seem to learn all that much from his countless failures of wooing women during his cursed time and progresses into a very selfless leader (re: true KING). He goes from isolating himself in his castle while trying to break the curse to nearly ignoring the curse so he could focus on protecting and caring for his people. I guess it’s pretty obvious that I really liked Rhen as a character, and I personally think he deserves a lot better than that ending we got. It wasn’t a bad ending, and I think Kemmerer wanted to be original in creating a somewhat ambiguous ending. But as a hardcore romance junkie I think I may have a narrow scope of what my heart can tolerate for any retelling of ‘Beauty and the Beast’.
And finally, let’s talk about Grey. He’s not a POV character in this first book, but he’s in almost every single chapter and he plays a pretty big role. At the beginning I thought I was going to get a load of a love triangle, but thank GOD that wasn’t the case. I’m all for originality, but my mind will never be okay with a love triangle in ‘Beauty and the Beast’. It’s beauty and the fucking beast!! Not beauty and the beast featuring Ludacris!! Is it obvious that I don’t like love triangles to begin with? Yeah. Anyway, Grey is an interesting character. I kind of saw the epilogue coming, because for a side character Grey was too fleshed out and well developed (considering side characters rarely are, except for my one true love Despina from Wrath and the Dawn). But nevertheless, I quite enjoyed Grey! In the beginning of the story I felt like he served almost as a foil to Rhen. They were quite the opposites in terms of personality, but they ultimately are working towards the same goal. Watching Grey’s relationship with Harper unfold on paper was also quite nice. Unlike Rhen, Grey starts off kinda antagonizing Harper (with good reason, considering their first encounter consisted of her attacking him). Rhen is kind and very elaborate in his words and manners with Harper, but Grey very much the opposite. He speaks simply, he’s a man of actions, and is mostly very detached from his emotions. I actually felt his character complimented Harper’s character quite well (considering her own emotional detachment), and I think this is what Kemmerer was going for anyway since Harper does actually warm up to Grey much quicker than she warms up to Rhen.
Some last thoughts to wrap it up - while I understand that Kemmerer wanted to bridge the gap between this book and its sequel, I felt that she pulled WAY too much of the spotlight from Rhen/Harper and onto Grey. The ending between Rhen/Harper felt incredibly rushed, and again I just don’t think I like the ambiguity over what actually broke the curse. I was thinking about giving A Curse So Dark and Lonely a 4-star rating for most of the book up until the end, and now I’m thinking it’s more like a 3.5 star from me. The last couple of chapters were heavily action-packed, and Kemmerer’s way of tying up the lose strings (pushing the foreign army out of Emberfall) was very creative. But the ending following all of that action was just so... bland and unexciting. It was like dumping a large tub of water on a small campfire that was just starting to grow warm. I like Grey as character, but not enough to want to read the sequel where he stars as a POV just yet.
#a curse so dark and lonely#cursebreakers#ya fiction#ya fantasy#brigid kemmerer#book review#beauty and the beast#retelling
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11/11/11
I waited too long to do this, so now I have 44 questions to do. RIP. Tagged by @writersblockandapotoftea, @arwallace (I know you tagged @expositionpreposition but it’s easier to do it here!), @shit-she-wrote, and @atinydino
Cap:
Who was your childhood hero?
Honestly, probably JKR. Again, RIP.
If we didn’t start the fire, who did?
People like my dad who say “millennials” like it’s a derogatory word probably
What made you start your wip?
Reading too much Dresden Files and also looking at magic academia posts on Tumblr (Gutter Witch); Reading Eragon (Companion to Dragons); Wanting to make an open magic world (Witches Anthology); Reading too much Stucky fanfiction (Fractal); Listening to the Magnus Archives three times through in a month (CHAF3k); wanted to go on a magic adventure with my high school friends (Children of the Light)
Hogwarts house?
Gryffindor!
Star Trek or Star Wars
Star Wars, though I like both
What was your pre-teen bop?
Uhhh Taylor Swift’s whole second album
If you could have a fantasy creature as a pet, what would you pick?
A dragon about the size of a cat that could sit on my shoulder and talk to me
What’s your pet peeve?
Feeling like people are upset with me but won’t talk to me about it
Dracula or Frankenstien’s Monster?
Haven’t read Dracula so Frankenstein’s monster, I guess.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve said to a friend?
I mean I had a conversation with two lesbians about dildos yesterday, soooo
If you had to murder someone, who would it be?
No one. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to live with myself after.
A R Wallace
Which book(s)/series would you compare your current WIP(s) to?
The Dresden Files. Though I did have someone say it was like reading a better-written Mortal Instruments. I was tickled.
Would you be willing to adapt your WIP into a movie one day? Why or Why not?
Yes. Please. Let me see my work come to life.
What is your ‘writing ritual’? (do you make sure you’ve made a cup of tea, sit in a particular spot, etc.)
I don’t have any particular ritual, I usually just try and seize the energy when I have it. Right now I am trying to sit at my actual desk to work, though, and during school if I had anything that I desperately needed to get done I took my ass to a coffee shop and told myself I wasn’t allowed to leave until it was done.
How much has writeblr helped you with your writing?
It helped me find a writing community that inspired me to get back to work after the depression had taken it away from me. I’m not as active on writeblr as maybe I could be, but the writing discord I found through it has been a lifeline.
If you could be one creature (real or mythical), what would you be?
A dragon. But like, one of the ones that can shapeshift. I also like being human.
Sum up your favorite WIP in one sentence
Oh god I’m supposed to have a favorite? That’s not gonna happen…
Gutter Witch: Local teens sick and tired of prophetic bullshit
Children of the Light: Estranged assholes learn to love each other again and also stop the apocalypse
Fractal: Hell on Earth in so many ways
Companion to Dragons: Girl’s asshole father sends her and her sister on a suicide mission and thinks that’s the end of it (surprise!)
Witches Anthology: literally a whole bunch of short stories so I’m not gonna try
Which of your characters is your favorite?
Whyyyyyy idk in GW probably Hunter, he’s fun to write. Overall maybe Sterling, my enby necromancer in the anthology
Which of your characters is your least favorite?
Hunter’s mother. Like honestly, every time I write about her she gets worse.
What do you believe is the most overused trope in your WIP’s genre(s)?
Melodrama.
Favorite season?
Autumn
If you could travel anywhere in the universe, where would you go?
Several places in Europe, in no particular order.
Eva:
1. What’s the first story you remember writing?
A story about a cat and a mouse becoming friends.
2. How has your taste in books changed since childhood?
I’ve tended a lot less towards high fantasy. I think it’s too much of an energy investment to try and understand the worldbuilding right now, whereas you can usually just jump into urban fantasy. I’ve also gotten a lot more interested in horror.
3. Do you see any similarities to your favorite books in your work? If yes, what are they?
If I’m being real honest, most of my wips are direct rip-offs of stuff I’ve read/watched/listened to, at least in the first draft. I usually try and direct my obsessions into creative energy at some point, with differing amounts of success.
4. What sort of music inspires you?
Stuff with strong beats/baseline and vaguely rebellious lyrics. So like, lots of Imagine Dragons and Fall Out Boy. But also trailer music like Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell
5. Favorite book?
These are the most evil kinds of questions you guys.
I can’t think of any published books I’d call my absolute favorite, but I do have a handful of fanfics I read on at least an annual basis: War, Children, by Nonymos; To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most of All, by perfect_plan; and Schroedinger’s Romance by lesbuchanan
6. Favorite mythology (Greek, Norse, etc.)?
Probably Celtic? I’m really rusty on it though
7. Dream vacation?
A long, long trip through Europe without having to worry about money
8. Favorite writing snack?
I don’t really eat when I write because its too much of a distraction :P
9. What tea do you drink the most while writing?
Irish Breakfast
10. Do you have a special writing cup, that you drink tea out of specifically when writing to fill you up with inspiration?
I have a couple I’m more likely to grab, like my Night Vale Community Radio mug or my white Starbucks mug with the gold lettering
11. Write your favorite quote from your recent wip!!
Just outside the beam of light was a circle of what looked like black paint, tiny sigils scratched into it, shimmering uncannily in the dark. Wisps of that grim light drifted from the sigils to the figures at their center, dancing around Mara’s hands, clutching at Hunter’s shirt. Anywhere they touched his skin, blood seeped from a new laceration, sluggish and dark and horrible.
“Hunter,” she breathed.
Then she heard him.
“Run, Cady,” he croaked. “Tell my mom...she’s a bitch.”
Ames:
1. What’s your favorite season and why
Autumn! I love rain and also that it’s not super hot or super cold
2. What’s your favorite food?
Bread.
3. Who’s your favorite character in your most recent WIP?
Hunter Bishop, asshole extraordinaire
4. Do you hide easter eggs in your writing? If so tell me a few.
Hm. If I do, I don’t consider them easter eggs, just references. Though I did have someone in my creative writing class ask if the sandwich my protagonist was eating was based on one served in one of the restaurants on campus (and he was right)
5. Would you prefer your WIPs to be turned into a movie or tv series? (feel free to tell me about more than just 1)
Gutter Witch should just be a movie, and I’m leaning towards that for Witches as well. Fractal could go either way, though I’m leaning towards TV show. Children of the Light could go either way. CHAF3k will hopefully be a podcast at some point.
6. If you could have a writing studio anywhere with anything in it, what would it be like and where would it be?
I like the nook I have, though I think I’d adjust the height of my desk chair and add a coffee maker and a closer bathroom so I don’t have to walk all the way across the apartment. Oh, and I’d get a massive whiteboard so I can go all conspiracy theory on my wips.
7. What music do you listen to to get you in the zone? (the writing zone)
Trailer music! Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell. I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I try to make the words go.
8. What’s your worldbuilding process?
Panic.
But actually, I think of the aesthetic I’m after and then try to make everything build off of that. Along the way I usually try to figure out what thing I’m consciously or unconsciously basing it off of so that I can make necessary changes.
9. Who are your most influential authors?
JKR (sorry), Laini Taylor, Juliet Marillier, Tamora Pierce
10. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?
French macarons
11. Give me your favorite excerpt for your recent WIP!
“I wanted to talk to Madge.”
“Madge is dead,” Hunter said, confused.
“I’m aware,” she said. “I asked Death to take me to her, but she said she couldn’t and suggested projection instead.”
Hunter turned from the stove with the most dumbfounded expression Cady had ever seen outside of cinema. “You asked Death,” he repeated.
Cady snorted. “Yeah. I asked Death.”
“The cosmic power, Death.”
“The cosmic power, Death. We’re good friends. She comes over for tea on occasion.”
Hunter stared at her, expression halfway between disbelief and suspicion. “You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not fucking with you,” Cady said. “Death is the whole reason I came to this Coven. She sent me here when I was thirteen.”
Hunter sank back against the counter, looking almost faint. Whatever he’d been cooking began to sizzle alarmingly. “Death has been...in this apartment.”
Cady nodded.
Not tagging anyone else on this one. I’ve learned my lesson lmao.
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11/11/11 Tag Game! Round 3
I think it’s round 3? Maybe 4? Who cares! Fun times ahead!
Big thank you to @writeouswriter for the tag! Sorry for the huge delay, brains are dumb sometimes. 💜
Bilbo Taggins: @moonbeam-muse @quilloftheclouds @vhum @nerocael @pantheion @ink-flavored @queen-of-ice101 @elliswriting @witchywrite @elisabethrosewrites @capricious-writes
rules: answer 11 questions, ask 11 questions, tag 11 people!
My Questions:
What’s your favorite snack?
What’s your personal theme song?
Who would be your superhero sidekick? What are your names/uniforms/powers/aesthetic(s)?
If you could have one author/writer give you advice on something in your story, who would it be and what would you ask?
Which of your characters has changed the most from your initial concept of them?
What’s your favorite title? And how do you title your own stories?
What kind of pens do you like?
How willing are you to change/tweak parts of your stories based on feedback you receive anonymously or from a respected friend?
What interests/fascinates you about the setting(s) you chose for your WIP(s)?
Of what you’ve written so far, what is your favorite scene/part?
What do you love about stories?
1. What’s the weirdest thing you were ever inspired by for one of your WIPs?
Most of my story inspirations are super out there. I’ve been inspired by taking a history test, this video of Sebastian Stan, cool body paint art, the blue colander in my kitchen, Hubble’s Law, and this song, to name a few.
2. Do any of your OCs have famous face claims? If so, who are they?
I don’t really like doing face claims for my characters. I like people to imagine what they look like themselves. (Also, I never have one set appearance for anyone. Everyone’s looks are constantly changing until the final draft. And even then, I interpret them differently depending on how I’m reading the story at the time.)
Harry reminds me of Ming-Na Wen, though.
3. What’s your favourite season and why?
FALL. Or Autumn, whatever. The colors, the crunchy leaves, the scarves, the sweaters, the coziness. When it’s just cool enough to bust out my sweater collection and my boots. I live in the desert and fall is my favorite month of the year.
4. Do you have any superstitions?
My mom won’t throw away pictures (and as a result, I won’t, either). Don’t keep fortune cookie fortunes in the car. Spill salt, throw it over your shoulder (not because Devil things, but for Reasons). Knock on wood (if no wood is available, I use my head). The “Scottish Play” theatre thing. Respect the ghost light and the theatre ghosts. No whistling in the theatre. Actually, most of mine are theatre-based now that I think about it...
Most of my friends kiss the roof of their car when they go through a yellow light.
5. Rural, suburbs, city, in which do you live and which do you most often write about?
I live in a city! I don’t enjoy this city too much, though. Hopefully I’ll be moving to an even bigger city soon! This is an interesting question because my stories are often set in single locations, like single rooms and fire escapes and stuff. I think it’s an even split between rural towns and cities.
6. What’s your favourite book series?
The Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher! And The Gentleman’s Guide / Montague Siblings duology!
7. Is there a book/series that ever left you intensely disappointed? (Or one that left you pleasantly surprised?)
Most of what I read in college, HA. The only book I remember putting down was Replay by Sharon Creech. I was like 10 when I tried to read it.
The most a book has surprised me is The Secret Loves of Geek Girls. I thought it’d be a cool look at fandom and stuff, but NOPE, surprise, it’s a nonfiction collection by a bunch of badass ladies in the geek industry (comics, movies, fanfic, writers, tv, etc.) about love and life. It’s AMAZING. Please, for the love of all that is holy, go read it. I recommend it to everyone. There are three anthologies and they’re all amazing.
Here’s a link to more info about it.
8. What’s one of the weirdest/funniest out of context lines from your WIPs?
From any of them? Oh, man. Let’s see. Oh.
Oh, I’ve got one.
“Mussolini was delicious.”
[One of my favorite comments on that story was “you just wanted an excuse to use this line didn’t you.” Yes.
Yes I did.]
9. A movie/show that made you cry? (Unless you’re dead inside)
I could make you an itemized list sorted by the level of weeping, but I won’t. Instead, here’s a short list of tear-jerkers off the top of my head:
The first ten minutes of P.S. I Love You. Yes, I know it’s the happy part.
Recently, a few episodes of One Day At A Time (#SAVEODAAT).
The animated short film One Small Step (saw this one with a friend in theatres. We both bawled openly in public).
One or two episodes of the new Queer Eye.
Big Fish
[there are so many that it’s getting hard for me to remember individual cries]
The plane episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. You know the ones. Ugh.
The last episode of the first campaign of Critical Role - oh my God thank the heavens my roommate was out that night I was a mess. And episode 44. And any episode that has really emotional bits (you know the ones).
The end of The Adventure Zone. Oh MAN.
I can’t think of any more right now...
10. What movies or books or shows do you think are criminally underrated?
Galavant! It’s so GOOD. I really like Babyface, which is a movie from the 1930s, so I dunno how underrated it is. The Magicians show is really good, too. The White Queen. Rat Queens. I follow a bunch of webcomics, too! They’re all amazing:
Heartstopper. Jamie. Autophobia. Miss Abbott and the Doctor. Wilde Life. Patrik the Vampire. Heart of Gold. Novae. The Glass Scientists. Finding Home. Magical Boy. Long Exposure.
11. Which fictional character would you like to steal borrow from any world for a crossover with your own WIP?
Felicity Montague would have a ball with my setting. Oh, man. Medical science and magic at the same time? A playground. I’d like to see how Harry Dresden handles himself, too. That’d be entertaining.
#writer tag#writeblr#amwriting#tag game#writers of tumblr#11/11/11 tag#writers on tumblr#tag meme#writing#wow I am so behind on CR I gotta watch like 20 hours of content
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