writing a oneshot about a very specific scene and suddenly there’s so much worldbuilding about Houses and Lordships and Family Magics and we’re at *checks notes* 2.6k words and the prompt hasn’t even been touched yet 💀💀 like i could take this and plop it into any other postwar fic, and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

i am,,,,very consciously not complaining because of how much fun i’m having (after a long time) and i do not want to jinx myself into forced-writing again. but by god, my ability to spin bullshit astounds me sometimes.

Mirror Mirror

Summary: No Outbreak AU. After an upsetting encounter with a young girl at Sephora, Joel has to show his wife just how beautiful she is. Established relationship. No physical description of the character, just that she’s female and has hair long enough to gather into a ponytail. She = You. I just wanted to try a different format. Inspired by the many Sephora brat TikToks I’ve seen and my own depraved imagination. There may be a sequel later.

Warnings: Dom!Joel, Daddy kink (slight dd/lg vibes), throat fucking, choking, fingering, squirting, oral (m and f receiving), face sitting, spanking, mirror play, unprotected sex, creampie. So…just general depravity. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Word count: 3,692

This has been edited. I realized I missed a whole chunk of text 😩

“Joel, have you been using my good shampoo? I just bought this bottle and I’m almost out.”

Joel Miller’s wife appears behind where he’s sitting on the couch, shampoo bottle in hand. She walks around to stand in front of him, brandishing the mostly empty bottle.

“Oh…yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I like the way it makes my hair look.”

“No wonder you’ve been extra irresistible lately,” she giggles, tousling his very soft hair. “I’m gonna make a run to Sephora to get more. I’ll just get a bigger bottle.”

She grabs her purse, gives Joel a swift kiss and makes her way out the door.

When she enters the store, she heads straight for the shampoo. She picks out the biggest bottle of Living Proof Perfect Hair Day they carry and starts to walk towards the checkout counter. She passes a Drunk Elephant display and notices that exactly one bottle of the coveted drops is available. She’s been wanting to try them and decides to grab one while it’s there. She reaches for the bottle, and her hand is about to close around it when another slightly smaller hand snatches it.

“Ha! Got it!”

She turns to see a girl who could’ve been no more than twelve holding the drops with a triumphant and smug grin.

“Wow, uh, okay. I was gonna buy that.”

“Looks like you’re not now,” the girl says. Before she struts away, she turns back and says: “By the way…no amount of makeup in this store is going to fix the ugly on your face.”

She’s taken aback by the girl’s unsolicited insult. She waits to see if the girl meets back up with a parent (or adult of any kind) but she doesn’t - she buys the Drunk Elephant drops and exits the store alone.

“Jesus, kids just do whatever the fuck they want now I guess,” she thinks to herself. She buys her shampoo and thinks about the interaction for the entire twenty minute drive back home.

Upon her arrival home, she kicks off her shoes in the foyer and makes a beeline for the bedroom.

“I’m just gonna put this away, I’ll be right back,” she tells Joel. She does put the shampoo away, but she can’t help but hold onto what the girl at Sephora said to her. Before meeting Joel, her confidence level was near zero. He spent a lot of time convincing her that she’s beautiful, but this little girl obviously saw something Joel doesn’t.

She stands in front of the beautiful antique mirror Joel had gotten her as an anniversary gift after she fawned over it at an antique store. She picks herself apart in the full length mirror, pinching skin between her fingers and looking for any sign of aging, no matter how subtle. The longer she looks, the more she hates what she sees. Her nose isn’t right, her skin isn’t clear enough, her pores are way too fucking big. Her bottom lip trembles and tears spill from her eyes. Defeated, she shuffles to the bed where she buries her face into a pillow to stifle her sobs. This is how Joel finds her. He rushes to her side, kneeling beside the bed and rubbing her back soothingly.

“Whoa, hey…what’s wrong love?”

She tearfully recounts what happened to her at Sephora and Joel’s face turns stoney. All the work he’s done to make her love herself, to see herself the way he does was all undone in an instant - and over a fucking bottle of overpriced skincare.

“It sounds like you’ve forgotten everything daddy taught you, huh little one? Maybe you need a reminder.”

She sits up on her elbow and looks at him incredulously through her tears.

“Does it really look like I want to fuck right now Joel? How can you even want to fuck me anyway? Look at me!”

“I always want you baby girl. Always,” he replies earnestly. Then, he lowers his voice and his tone becomes dominant. “And now, you’re gonna be a good girl and let daddy show you. Right?”

She can’t deny him when he speaks to her this way. His dominant affection for her never fails to get her going. She sits up fully and wipes her tears.

“Yes daddy,” she responds. He gets to his feet and takes her hand in his, leading her around to the foot of the bed. He stands her in front of the mirror and, standing behind her, slowly begins to undress her. He starts with her top, placing his hands at her sides and pushing the fabric up her body. She raises her arms so that he can pull the top off and he discards it somewhere to the side.

Next is her bra, and he makes light work of unclasping it. The straps fall off her shoulders and she lets the bra slide to the floor. He cups her breasts in his large hands, kneading them and pulling gently on her nipples. She moans softly, arousal overriding the self pity she’d been feeling. Joel’s eyes meet hers in their reflection and the look of pure adoration and love on his face makes her feel silly for her insecurities.

“Look how fuckin’ gorgeous my wife is,” he tells her, his lips right next to her ear. He kisses just below her earlobe and she tips her head to the side to allow him to nuzzle her neck. She shivers as he sucks her skin, leaving red splotches behind that will surely be purple later.

He hooks his forefingers into the waistband of her leggings (and, simultaneously, her panties) and drags them down around her feet. She steps out of them, kicking them away with the toe of one foot. He straightens up and admires her naked figure in the reflection.

“You see this body, hmm? I love this body.”

He brushes his fingertips up the curves of her hips and the sensation elicits another soft moan from her. He takes her jaw in his hand and turns her head for a kiss, his other hand dipping between her legs teasingly.

“Mm, wet already? And I’ve barely touched you,” he muses. He walks the two of them backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sits and scoots back far enough to give her room to situate herself between his legs.

“I want you to watch yourself in the mirror while I play with your pretty pussy, okay?” he instructs. “I want you to see what I see.”

He rests his chin on her shoulder and she meets his eyes in the mirror.

“Look at yourself, not at me.”

Her eyes, which are still puffy from crying, shift back to her own reflection.

“Now, say ‘I’m a pretty girl.’”

She hesitates and he smacks one of her breasts. The action catches her off guard and she gasps, but an unmistakable pang of arousal follows the stinging and she whimpers quietly.

“Say it,” he commands harshly in her ear and this time, she obeys.

“I’m a pretty girl.”

“There’s a good girl,” he praises, now massaging the breast he’s just smacked. Soft, sensual kisses are pressed to her neck as his free hand squeezes the flesh of her inner thigh. “Spread your legs for me now.”

She opens her legs and he begins rubbing her clit slowly, teasingly. Her eyes flutter as pleasure takes over and he whispers a reminder to keep them open in her ear. She lets her eyes focus on her reflection and, to her immense surprise, she kind of likes what she sees. Her mouth is parted to let her breathy moans escape and her pupils are lust blown. Her eyes flit to where Joel is rubbing circles on her clit; his hands are beautiful and watching his long middle finger trace the sensitive bundle of nerves makes her eyes roll back.

“That is actually so hot,” she moans. He grins satisfactorily.

“I know it baby. Got me hard as a rock back here.”

He slides his finger into her slowly and she begs him for another. She attempts to watch as he fingers her in earnest, but her eyes eventually slip closed. It’s hard to keep her focus on the mirror when he’s making her feel so good.

“Keep those eyes open,” he warns. “Don’t wanna miss the best part.”

“S-sorry daddy. It just feels so good.”

“Mm, I can tell. You’re fuckin’ soaked.” He curls his fingers and hits that spot inside her that would’ve made her eyes fly open if they weren’t already glued to the mirror.

“Oh fuck,” she swears breathily. “Please keep going like that.”

He can see on her face that she’s almost at her peak. He brings his other hand to her throat and gives it a light squeeze. She likes how she looks with his hand around her neck and his fingers inside her. It makes her cunt throb that much more.

“Oh god…daddy I’m so close, please don’t stop.”

“Got no intentions on stoppin’,” he says in her ear before nibbling on her earlobe. She feels the pressure building and with just a few more curls of his fingers, the coil snaps.

“Fuck!” she shouts. “I’m cumming…oh my god!”

He removes his fingers and a spray of fluid comes out of her. She squirts so hard that it hits the mirror. Her eyes roll back in spite of the effort she’s putting in to keep them open and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Joel rubs her clit furiously and doesn’t stop until she clamps her thighs around his hand.

“Jesus Christ baby, I love it when you do that,” he tells her before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Did you see how pretty you look when you cum for me?”

She had, briefly. And she had to admit, it was pretty hot.

“Yes daddy,” she answers. She’s a little sheepish as she admits: “I kinda liked it.”

He chuckles at this.

“As you should baby girl.”

He kisses her and she reaches her hand behind her to squeeze the bulge in his sweatpants. He groans and she squeezes him just a little harder.

“Fuck, get on your knees for me,” he says. The two of them shuffle off the bed and she drops to her knees in front of him. He rids himself of his t-shirt and she yanks his sweats down. He’d forgone underwear and his cock springs free when the sweatpants go past his waist. He gathers her hair into a makeshift ponytail in his hand while she teases the tip of his cock. She drags her tongue along the vein that runs on the underside of his shaft and he hisses.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me woman.”

She smirks, looking up at him and batting her lashes.

“Sorry daddy,” she giggles.

“Don’t let your newfound confidence get ya a punishment, princess,” he warns. Heeding this warning, she wraps her lips around the tip of his cock and takes him in until her nose touches skin.

“Ohhhh yeeeah,” he sighs, gripping her hair just a little tighter. “Love that mouth baby.”

She bobs her head back and forth a few times, pushing him a bit deeper down her throat each time. She gags just a little when he starts fucking her throat, but she’s able to recover.

“God, fuck yeah, swallow my cock baby. You’re so good at this.”

He thrusts forward a few more times before tugging on her hair and making her look up at him.

“What are you?” he demands.

“I’m a pretty girl,” she gasps, voice horse from having his cock in her throat. He taps her lips with his tip and she opens obediently, allowing him to continue fucking her throat. Tears spill down her cheeks as she gags.

“That’s right; and whose pretty girl are you?”

He takes his cock out of her mouth long enough for her to answer, “Yours sir!” before shoving it back in.

“God damn right. Good girl,” he praises as he continues to fuck her face. The ache between her legs becomes too much to bear and she slides a hand between them to play with her clit. Joel doesn’t miss this and he moans at the sight.

“You like getting your throat fucked, huh baby girl?”

She manages to make a sound akin to “uh-huh” and he chuckles through his nose.

“My good fuckin’ slut.”

She gasps for air when he pulls his cock out of her mouth, drool connecting her lips to his tip. He runs his thumb across her puffy bottom lip and smiles at her affectionately.

“Fuck baby, that’s a stunnin’ sight: red swollen lips and tears runnin’ down that pretty face,” he compliments. He bends down and kisses her roughly before helping her to her feet.

“I want you to come sit on my face,” he tells her. This is his favorite position to eat her out in and he insists on giving her multiple orgasms before even considering giving her (or himself) a breather. Not that she’s complaining.

“Don’t you dare hover,” he reminds her as he lies flat on the mattress. She straddles his face and lowers herself onto his outstretched tongue. He wraps his arms around the tops of her thighs, holding her in place as he flicks his tongue over her clit.

“That feels so fucking good,” she moans. Joel’s eyes are glued to her face in anticipation of the moment she falls apart. That moment is going to come sooner rather than later; it only takes about a minute of him swirling his tongue around her clit to make her cum. He doesn’t stop there, cleaning up one orgasm and reveling in the taste while simultaneously leading her to another. He laps at her pussy while she unashamedly rides his face, chasing her next orgasm.

“Oh my g - fuck, please I’m cumming again!”

He moans into her pussy and reaches a hand down to wrap around his cock. He’s so hard he can’t stand it any longer. He strokes himself as she writhes above him, being anything but quiet. She falls forward and grips the headboard to steady herself. Joel sucks on her now swollen clit relentlessly and she orgasms again. He feels an immense satisfaction as she ruts against his face, babbling about how she can’t stop cumming. After three consecutive orgasms, she feels that familiar pressure building and she knows she’s about to soak him down.

“G-gonna squirt,” she manages to warn him. She lifts off his face in enough time to not completely waterboard him with the spray coming out of her. She shouts profanities, her thighs trembling, and she hears the telltale signs of him jacking off furiously.

“God damn princess, you are so fuckin’ sexy,” he compliments through gritted teeth. She collapses onto her back with her legs squeezed together, trying to catch her breath and recover from the intensity of the last several orgasms.

“Are you good?” he asks, panting a bit himself.

“Yeah, I just need a few seconds,” she replies breathlessly. He sits up and rubs her leg soothingly as she recovers. When she’s ready, she relaxes her legs and lets them fall open. He settles between them on his knees and rubs her pussy with the tip of his cock. Her hips jolt upward, clit still sensitive. He does this a few times until she’s rubbing herself on him in desperation.

“Please put it in daddy, I need to feel you inside me,” she whines. He’s as desperate as she is and he fulfills her request without hesitation.

“Fuck baby girl, you’re soakin’ wet. My cock went in so easy. S-so good, so tight, fuck,” he babbles. She loves how vocal he is and it gives her a confidence boost to hear him whimpering because of her pussy.

“You feel how fuckin’ hard I am inside this little cunt baby doll?”

“God yes, you’re stretching me out so good.”

“That’s what you do to me - make me so hard it hurts. Why do you think I’m always pawin’ at ya, huh?”

The way he’s snapping his hips into her renders her unable to answer. All she can provide are pathetic moans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She registers a smack across one of her breasts; the sting is delicious but the smack is still enough to get her attention.

“Answer,” he growls.

“Be-because…I - oh fuck - cause I’m a pretty girl,” she manages to answer.

“Atta girl. My beautiful…sexy…fuckin’…bombshell.”

He punctuates each word with a snap of his hips and she cries out each time. He fucks her harder and harder and she knows he’s determined to make her squirt again. She holds her legs back so he can go deeper and he leans in for a sloppy kiss.

“C’mon sugar, squirt all over me. Gimme that fuckin’ cum,” he says into her ear, his voice low and gravelly.

“Now, gonna cum now,” she pants in warning. He pulls out and she explodes, fluid coming out of her like a fountain and splashing against his chest. He rubs her clit with four fingers to prolong her orgasm while she writhes and shouts underneath him.

“Oh yeeeahh” he grits out when a few more spurts of fluid come forth. “Gimme all you got baby girl. Such a pretty little mess for me.”

When her hips still, he spreads her legs open once more and stuffs his cock back inside, going at it full force. He holds her under the crooks of her legs and grunts wildly as he chases his orgasm.

“You ready for my load baby? Daddy’s gonna fill this sweet little pussy so full.”

“Oh god yes, please fill me up daddy! Wanna be so full of you.”

“Oh fuck, here it comes. You’re makin’ me cum so hard,” he moans. He stills and shoots his load inside of her, groaning and rubbing her swollen clit with his thumb. She feels his cock pumping ropes of cum into her and his orgasm lasts for what seems like thirty seconds. When he pulls out, she doesn’t fail to notice he’s still hard. He flips her over on her stomach and pulls her hips back toward him.

“You see baby?” he says as he slides his cock back into her. “I’m still so fuckin’ hard. You make me crazy.”

He gathers her wrists behind her back in one hand and smacks her ass repeatedly with the other. All she can do is whine and whimper while he pounds into her relentlessly.

“Fuck yeah, take this cock. Daddy’s pretty slut,” he mumbles. He reaches forward and grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling slightly as he fucks into her forcefully.

“Who’s it for baby, huh? Who does this little pussy belong to?”

“Y-you daddy, belongs to you.”

“Damn right darlin’.”

Her hands grip the sheets beneath her hard enough to pull them off the corner of the mattress as he brings her to yet another orgasm. She’s lost count of the orgasms at this point.

“Look at how fuckin’ good we look baby,” he grunts, directing her attention to the mirror once more. She looks at their reflection and the sight is erotic. Joel’s body is flush, sweat droplets forming at his hairline. One hand is in her hair, the other gripping her hip. Her breasts bounce with each of his thrusts forward and both of their eyes are wild with lust.

“Oh fuck…so hot,” she moans.

“Yeah? Does my pretty wife like watching herself take daddy’s cock?”

“Yes sir!”

“And you take it so well, too. God, you’re so pretty with me inside.”

“D-daddy,” she whimpers. “I’m gonna cum again.”

“Nu-uh baby, wait for me this time.”

“Daddyyyy,” she whines.

“Don’t you cum until I say so,” he growls. As he chases his orgasm, his thrusts speed up and make it almost impossible for her to obey him.

“Look at me,” he commands. She lifts her eyes and meets his in the mirror and it’s all she can do not to cum right then.

“Please daddy, please! I need to cum, fuck, please!” she begs.

“I know baby, I know. Doin’ so good for me. Just a little longer, you can do it.”

He lets go of her hair and grips both hips so that he can pull her back to meet his thrusts. He can’t stop watching his gorgeous fucking wife take his cock in the mirror. She’s biting her bottom lip, her expression a mixture of pleasure and concentration as she attempts to stave off the orgasm she so desperately wants to have. His cock twitches inside her and she knows that he’s close.

“Cum for daddy now baby. Oh god, let me see you cum.”

She relaxes and lets the coil snap. Her vision goes white as her eyes roll back. She cries out and she hears Joel saying filthy things while he pumps her full of cum again.

“Yeah, that’s right, take this cum. My little cum slut. Fuck, I’m cumming so much.”

When both their orgasms subsided, he pulls out gingerly, his cock sensitive and spent. Her pussy is the same, red and puffy and still throbbing. They both fall onto the mattress, breathing heavily. She flips so that she’s facing him and gives him a soft smile.

“Thank you,” she says. He returns her smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“For the confidence boost or the dick?” he jokes. She giggles.

“Both.”

“You always have been, always will be, the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he tells her sincerely. He places his hand on her cheek and kisses her sweetly. “The only thing I can think of that would make you even more beautiful is if you’d let me put a baby in here.”

He pats her stomach and looks at her hopefully. Her face breaks out into a grin.

“You wanna have a baby with me, huh?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

“It’s settled then,” she says, snuggling into him. “We’ll try for a baby.”

if i may ask, is it difficult at all to re-edit/organize the comic pages from the webtoon format to fit the graphic novel format?

on another note, I'm so happy that your kickstarter was funded!!! I love time and time again, im so excited to see this all happen <3

I'll just turn this ask into something of a guide for the process! Because yes, it is difficult, but there are also many ways I have been preparing from the beginning for this very situation to make things easier for me!

I've worked in both print and scroll in the past, and have done this transition once before for a short story, so I already had familiarity both with my goals for print, and struggles with the transition!

How I prepared from the beginning for this transition:

1: My panels are 2500 pixels wide, so they can span my page (which is 8.3x5.8 inches) at 350 DPI (which is print quality)

2: My layers are organized: Text, FX, Foreground, Characters, Background

3: I draw one very large (twice as big as any panel would be, minimum) background for my major locations, as well as drawing furniture assets in isolation. This not only saves me time when making my actual episodes, but it also offers me INCREDIBLE flexibility when making this transition to print.

These 3 things let me pull the character art to the page by itself, scale it up or down to fit my panel, and then fill in the background behind the character.

So, I read the scroll version, decide how many and which panels I want on the page for the pacing (I also keep page spreads and page turns in mind while I am doing this), and then I pull those panels over from the scroll version to the page.

Then, I make the panel borders/page layout that I want, fit the character art into it, paste in the backgrounds, do any art editing that I need, add FX, and then re-do the text!

Sometimes I do need to draw parts that are missing (shoulders or elbows getting cut off is an extremely common one) and sometimes I need to adjust facial expressions, cut panels, or rearrange panels to make things read more clearly. Since it's my comic already, I know how to do these things while maintaining the original intent, but if I were working with someone else's comic I would need to work closely with them to know what can and can't be cut.

(original panel vs an expanded version)

Another common issue is that VERY tall panels will inevitably lose a lot of information when they’re turned to pages. Identify the purpose of the panel (pacing, showing a lot of detail, etc) and then replicate that with your page layout.

examples (in order) are: scene transition, being overwhelmed, suspense, and establishing shot. All of these were a single panel in the scroll version!

Another issue when converting pages is that panel order is a lot less straightforward than when starting from print format. Conversational back and forth that's fine in scroll often messes up the flow of reading in a page (characters facing out, not looking at eachother from panel to panel, etc) and so some creative solutions are necessary to keeping the reading order.

For the first page I had to delete and rearrange some panels, and in the second the dialogue bubbles guide us to read this page in a circle. (dialogue guides through a lot of my pages lol)

And the last really common issue that pops up is that height differences can be really difficult. Usually in print this is solved with clever angles, but I’ve already drawn everything. So, I’ll either resort to vertical shaped panels, panel pop-outs, or editing a character up or down to fit into the panel.

(examples in order)

So, yes, it is difficult! But I have a lot of experience with both formats, and having prepared for this from the beginning I've been able to make the transition a LOT more smoothly than I otherwise could have.

I hope this helps!

And, thank you about the kickstarter! I'm extremely excited I'll be able to print these, the proofs I've received so far look just absolutely stunning and I'm so so so excited to get to send them to people!!!

Obligatory self promo, if you want to see the kickstarter page and get these four books for yourself, then you can check it out here ^^ It's been funded, so at this point we're just reaching stretch goals and placing orders!

I finally decided to listen to the Perfect Brains podcast, did all four episodes that are out so far in the last couple of days. And, okay, I wasn’t going to say this because I didn’t want to be pointlessly negative about something people enjoy – but now that I no longer hold this opinion, I can say, I was pretty skeptical when this was first announced. It felt like a weirdly manufactured pairing, since as far as I knew Sam Campbell and Lucy Beaumont had nothing to do with each other before Taskmaster, and it’s not even like they clicked with each other especially well during Taskmaster.

It felt like one of those things where people on Reddit (or, to be fair, Tumblr) see two people on a panel show and say “Oh my God, they should have a sitcom!” And then Avalon just gave them a sitcom podcast, not because there were any artistic reasons to believe that would actually work, but just because fans thought it would be a funny concept. This seemed especially true since they didn’t even have a format when they launched, just said “Okay you guys liked these two on Taskmaster, well here, subscribe to this then.”

And I wasn’t convinced it would work. Sam and Lucy don’t have anything that would make them work well together except that they’re both weird, and they’re not even the same type of weird, or particularly compatible types of weird. Zany characters can be very funny on their own, but when bouncing off someone else, the “straight man” role exists for a reason. The weird one has to be paired with someone who’s been tailored to fit with them.

I can say all those now because it turns out my concerns were unfounded – this shit’s hilarious. It still seems like a bit of a cynical idea that might have just got lucky, but it really works. Possibly because I didn’t need to be worried about the lack of a straight man. They have a “straight man” in the podcast, and his name is Sam Campbell. And it turns out it’s amazingly funny to listen to Sam Campbell playing the straight man. He’s surprisingly good at it.

There’s a kid at the autism centre where I work who speaks almost entirely in “scripts”, in which he’s repeating things he’s heard elsewhere (songs, TV shows), mostly talking to himself, sometimes he can be persuaded to answer a question but only if it’s a very simple one and he can answer with something from his repertoire of quotes. By last week, I’d spent probably 50 hours with him one-on-one in various sessions over several months, and I was very used to his voice. But then we introduced a new program that he didn’t like, and when I started doing it, he suddenly said “All done all done!” in a completely different voice that I had never heard before. It was significantly higher-pitched. He normally mumbles a lot but this was clearly enunciated. If I heard that voice out of context I’d never have guessed it was him. It was shocking to realize I’d heard him say thousands of words and this was the first time I’d ever heard his “real” voice. How he sounds when he’s talking as himself, and not scripting from other things he’s heard. (Not relevant to the story but just to be clear: I didn’t finish the program after he said that. I do not torture children for a living.)

That’s what I thought of the first time I heard Sam Campbell respond to one of Lucy Beaumont’s most absurd statements. Sam stays in character on everything, even situations where most comedians break character (Taskmaster podcast, Off Menu), so the first time Lucy caught him so off guard that he just gave a genuine surprise response, his answer shocked me almost more than her statement. I had that same moment of “Oh shit, I’ve heard you say a lot of words before but I think I’ve just heard your real voice for the first time.” It’s not constant or anything, Sam’s still mostly in character throughout this. But every once in a while Lucy will throw him right off and it’s delightful. Her mother had him unable to keep up any persona for pretty much the whole time he was on, I think he nearly forgot he was meant to be acting and just enjoy the stories. (Please note: That moment of “Oh shit, you became a different person for a moment there and I think that’s the real one” is as far as this analogy goes, I feel the need to clarify because I know the internet is full of speculation about Sam being somewhere on some spectrum or other and that’s not the point I’m making here. I have no theories as to what spectrum Sam Campbell may or may not be on. But I do have views on how funny it is when someone gets emotionally pushed to the point of suddenly turning into the “real” person, my view is: not particularly funny if it’s a child confronted with a therapy program they don’t want and you should probably back off, but very funny if it’s a comedian who’s too confused by another comedian’s mother’s holiday anecdote to remember to do his inflection.)

The biggest downside to this podcast is I just can’t imagine anything living up to that guest episode. Tim Key was so good that by the time his segment finished, I felt bad for Lucy and her mother trying to live up to that. But I needn’t have, as by the time Lucy’s mother was done, I felt bad for Tim having given his time to that podcast only to be comedically upstaged by someone who isn’t actually a comedian (although Lucy’s mother is a playwright, and she sure crafted some theatre in that episode).

I’ve gone through various phases in my assumptions about Lucy Beaumont. It started with – well obviously that’s a character, it’s funny. Then – she is committing to that bit really hard, is there any chance she’s just actually like that and has lucked into her career? Then – oh that was some shitty misogyny of me to even consider that, no one wonders whether someone like Sam Campbell is a character act, obviously Lucy Beaumont also has a differently-pitched voice of a completely different person that she uses in real life, she just never lets it come out in a performance. Then I listened to her on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast where she started talking about how all famous literature was written by ghosts, and Stuart Goldsmith gave her so many opportunities to clarify herself, he kept saying that’s an interesting idea but she means it metaphorically of course, and she kept saying “No I mean it completely literally, I think people are possessed by spirits”, and you could hear the moment when it clicked to Stuart that he wasn’t going to get her to admit she’s doing a bit because she’s not, and he finally said “Are you pulling my leg, Lucy?” and she said no, and then he hurried off the topic. And after that I stopped feeling bad about wondering whether Lucy Beaumont might be actually just like that, not some carefully crafted character. I mean, obviously some of it is crafted. Obviously she couldn’t get where she is if she didn’t know what she was doing and understand that some of her absurd thoughts are funny, and funnier if she plays into that. But I think she does mean this stuff.

Hearing her mother on that podcast has broadened my view of Lucy Beaumont further, to thinking – oh, she might be the normal one. She might be genuinely like this but only because that’s her compromise between the normal she was taught and objective reality. And she, being very intelligent (and you can’t have as successful a career as Lucy Beaumont with having lots of intelligence, even if that someone goes alongside the belief that 1984 was written by an angry spirit), figured out where to find the humour in that compromise and in the gaps, and it’s worked out great. That’s my current working theory. I’ll let you all know how it evolves in another ten or so episodes.

The guests were great, but the three episodes with just the two of them have been funny too. Sam Campbell obviously brings a lot to the table, I’ve had the theme song stuck in my head for 48 hours straight, so fuck him for that, and Paul Williams too for good measure. It is fun to listen to them pass the brain cell back and forth, jockey for which one gets to be the weird one, and Sam Campbell normally loses, which is funny. But he still gets to be the weirder one often enough for that to also be very funny. Four episodes in and I'm sold.

Are you a convert to Judaism? When did you get interested and how long was the process? Im thinking about it

Hi anon, yes I'm a convert. I was orthodox for many years before going the more liberal/non-denominational route.

"How long is the process" really depends on:

Your denomination: Reform and some conservative or non-denom can have you done within a year. Orthodox may take longer unless you're getting married and/or have a lot of money.

It took extra long for me because I'm pig-headed and tried to be frum when I shouldn't have. The frum world didn't deserve me *hair flip*, and doesn't deserve any of the amazing queer people who still try to make it their home.

Don't be orthodox, anon.

Anon, if you want to learn about Judaism, read books, learn Torah, join a community, please don't get all or even half your information from Tumblr (and that includes me). Facebook groups can be a bit better but still not great.

This sounds like a TV pharmaceutical ad ("Ask God if Judaism is right for you!") but do try praying. Learn Jewish prayers in English, pray psalms in English or Hebrew or whatever language you want. Talk to God like you'd talk to someone you trust. (Some Jews call this "hitbodedut" because they think a hasidic rabbi invented it, but I don't think anyone can claim to have invented the practice of speaking to God outdoors.)

See if this tradition speaks to you. The Bible is free, and you can access a ton of English-language commentaries and prayer books (siddurim) for free on the website Sefaria.org. opensiddur is an online source with free prayer books, some have transliteration. Lots of synagogues stream their services to youtube. Judaism is not a closed tradition in any meaningful sense--you can visit, learn, eat all you want. Very few things in Judaism are truly reserved only for Jews, and you won't do them accidentally.

I don't have many book recs because most books people give orthodox conversion candidates are not worth the time you spend reading them. Some liberal Jews like "choosing a Jewish life" by Anita Diamant but I haven't read it myself.

The Book of Legends pulls the narratives/stories from the Talmud and puts them into an anthology, but the book is formatted terribly and it's not in the public domain yet, so nobody has fixed that. A lot of those stories made it into Nathan Ausubel's Bible Stories section in A Treasury of Jewish Folklore, which is a bit more accessible.

Anyone is welcome to comment book recs on this post for anon and I'll add them.

I can recommend you more books or resources if I know more about your theological background and/or current interests in religion.

Anyway.

Here's a copy-paste of my journey to Judaism that I wrote in August 2023. Entitled "Why Stay Jewish?" as a play on "Why Be Jewish?" It does not touch on the current genocide being perpetrated by Israel in the name of Judaism, but in case someone who doesn't follow me comes across this post:

Free Palestine from the River to the Sea. Zionists f off.

Everything below this line was written in August 2023:

Why Stay Jewish?

Aka “a religious Jew who still hasn’t read Heschel tries to assemble a coherent testimony for Judaism”

A few days ago, a friend asked me what drew me to Judaism. (Background: I decided to be Jewish almost 10 years ago, gave it up for a bit after burning out in orthodoxy, and ended up coming back a few years ago.) The TL;DR is that I’ve always been fascinated by religion, and my conversion was more driven by religious faith than by anything else. 

This is a bit disjointed, but I don’t want to spend weeks editing a Tumblr post, so just going to post it as-is. I talk a decent amount about the theology of orthodox Judaism as well as that of various Christian sects, but I’ve tried to make this readable for anyone with a different theological background. 

In 2015, progressive Christian leaders Nadia Bolz-Weber and Rachel Held Evans (RIP) started the “Why Christian” conference. The conference, which had its last meeting in 2019 shortly before Evans passed away, sought to answer the question “why be Christian in the twenty-first century?” Christian theologians such as Peter Rollins, Gustavo Gutierrez, and James Cone have all addressed this question when dealing with issues of race, class, and other axes of oppression. Evans and Bolz-Weber held “why Christian” conferences to discuss these questions, inviting both Christian leaders and lay people to talk about the role of Christianity in their own lives and in the world. 

While my friend asked me “why did you become Jewish,” I feel (like Bolz-Weber and so many others) that the more pertinent question for me is “why do you stay Jewish?” Because if you’ve followed me or known me personally for any length of time, you know that I wrestle a lot with Judaism, and not in the cute “my lesbian rabbi makes jokes about fighting G-d in a Denny’s parking lot” way, and have done for the past decade. (No hate towards those who experience their religion this way; I imagine that’s a much easier path than the one I took.) 

The short version is that I am a theist, someone who believes in God and revolves my life around this belief, and that I believe Judaism is the truest way to connect with God. I do not believe in intermediaries between people and God, not priests, rabbis, or any person. 

My religious journey started off with me as a young Roman Catholic who chafed against the idea of priests as gatekeepers between people and God. Eventually my anti-intermediary philosophy applied to saints, Jesus, or any human institutions. Some people on here will say “Judaism isn’t Christianity minus Jesus!” but for me that was definitely part of the progression, stripping away useless layers that clung to my religious faith. I don’t think my conception of God himself has changed much since I was a child, and there’s good and bad in that. I wonder how many Christians have a similar concept of God that I did, loosely modalist with very little focus on the incarnation, that Jesus was always secondary and that the New Testament was interesting but not a theological guide except for its reinforcement of Old Testament concepts (Matthew 25 in particular comes to mind). Atonement theories were confusing and none really made sense. I was always the “odd Christian out” for preferring Matthew’s ethics-focused Gospel to John’s word-become-flesh. 

When I learned that much of Jesus’ teachings came from the Torah, I decided to study those texts instead. The Jewish view of God (is there such a thing?) resonated with me far more. God as omnipotent and all-knowing creator, one who loves but whose love can be incomprehensible to the point of terror–I experienced the world and my religion as overwhelming at regular intervals, so it all made sense to me. I can be a bit more rational now (my rabbi is a philosophical though not political disciple of R. Slifkin), but the idea of God as imperfect in the Harold Kushner sense never sat right with me. Maybe I’d be happier if it did. 

An aside: People online often tell Christians that “Judaism isn’t just Christianity without Jesus,” but I have an issue with that statement. There is no Christianity at all without Jesus. Even naturalist Christians who reject the idea that Jesus is literally God, or that God is a personal being rather than a nebulous force, even these Christians center their religion around the life and teachings of Jesus. Even Christians who view Easter only as symbolic are not practicing a “Christianity without Jesus”. They may have a very low christology, but their religion does not “lack Jesus” in any meaningful way. Even liberal Protestant Biblical scholars who agree that Jesus is not foretold as a messiah in the Old Testament still view the text through Jesus–they just filter their Christianity through liberation or womanist theology (both of which are Christian worldviews which believe in Jesus as a teacher and redeemer of some kind). This is not to condemn Christianity at all, conservative, liberal, academic, or otherwise; just to say that anyone who claims that Christianity minus Jesus is a religion or philosophy at all is mistaken. 

I sought out Judaism because it was what I had been searching for all along in a religion: largely unencumbered access to God. What with learning Hebrew and realizing the difficult path that converts are put on (often unfairly), the “unencumbered” part became murkier, but still I stuck with it. Not all the rules made sense then, and not all of them do now. I used to be more comfortable davening with a mechitza, but now praying separately from women feels wrong and misogynistic. 

My favorite Jewish communities have always been lay-led, using folding chairs rather than pews, and arks made from ikea cabinets, and plastic table bimahs. I’ve never been a fan of purpose-built synagogues. (Liturgically-inclined Christians would describe this as being “low church”.) I’m very no-frills in this way. Unfortunately, there’s a not insubstantial part of the Jewish world that also loves the casual, baggy mismatched clothes of the pop-up minyanim that I used to go to. It took me far too long to grasp this, perhaps out of denial, but the large knit kippot and colorful tichels and guitar music that I loved in the “left-wing” modern orthodox communities I was in are also widely popular among settlers, and have been for longer than I’ve been alive. (That and the music of Shlomo Carlebach, but that’s another post. TW for the all-too-common #metoo stuff.) 

A lot of converts say they fell in love with Jewish culture, and that religious belief came later, but for me it was the opposite. Part of this may have been that unlike the vast majority of converts, I came to Judaism alone, without a romantic partner. (The vast, vast majority of converts to Judaism are heterosexual women converting to orthodox Judaism.) To me, God is central and always has been, and that’s one reason I fell into orthodoxy when my sexuality and politics would have otherwise made me more comfortable in a different denomination (thanks, Mordecai Kaplan). The New England frum culture I found myself in at age 19 was totally alien to me, and the misogyny and racism that I witnessed was both antithetical to my life philosophy but also something I was in no position to fight against. There is no single “Jewish culture”, but you wouldn’t know that from davening with the orthodox minyanim where I was. I became Jewish first as a young single man, with a tentative, arm’s length liking for the man-made tongue-and-mustard-eating, upper middle class world I found myself in. I did not love the Jewish world at first, and I still find it difficult to love my fellow Jews uncritically. Racist grandfathers are all too common among people of all backgrounds, and Jews are no exception. 

In this century, I don’t believe my love for the Jewish world will ever be uncomplicated. It’s been poisoned by nationalism and chauvinism, some of which has roots in trauma, but most of which instead has much deeper origins in centuries of racism learned in Europe and the USA. And much of the Jewish world has no love for me, either. But still I pray three times daily, often in English and rarely from a siddur except for Monday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings. I wonder if I’m just wired this way. Since Sinai, since birth, since learning that praying was something I could do, perhaps. 

I remember speaking to an evangelical pastor many years ago about my relationship with God after I had left orthodoxy and was trying to do church again, seeing it as the next best option. I realized that while I had had little trouble setting up theological discussion places for LGBT people of faith since I was 15, I could not speak of my own religious experiences easily. I told him that God had been my comfort since I was young. That I turned to God in times of strife and also saw God’s beauty in the world (sorry, Karl Barth). God was refuge, redeemer, source of wisdom, sometimes in the world and sometimes not. I had no experiences with Jesus directly, and this pastor never pressed me on my christology. He seemed, as I was at the time, fine with me not knowing which “person” of the Trinity was the source of my theological experiences. I saw God in my experiences, and while I liked reading theology, I never found Aquinas or Tillich particularly interesting. I preferred Buber and Nouwen with their deeply personal writings. I felt there was more soul there. I left out the fact that if I’d discovered that I was halachically Jewish, I would have jumped ship immediately and stopped practicing Christianity. 

I don’t have many points that I could point to as a “testimony”, a particular life event that convinced me that God was real, or that a particular stream of Judaism was my lifesource. In his Varieties of Religious Experience, William James describes “peak experiences” as intensely religious experiences that someone can have. My journey has had few of these, preferring to take a more slow, scenic path. Not every journey of the mind and heart has moments of blinding light or burning bushes. But I’ll try and pick out a few, in loosely chronological order. Not all of these are directly Jewish, but I’m including them because they help frame my “spiritual autobiography”. 

----------------

The first is a recurring dream I had between 2015 and 2019. It drew on the story of Thecla, an early follower of Paul the apostle. When she was led into the arena to be killed by lions, she baptised herself first so she could be baptised before her death. I had a similar dream that repeated itself every few months, minus the lions, in which I immersed myself in water while those around me refused to baptise me. I don’t believe in clairvoyance, but I do think of them as the brain’s way of communicating with itself. In this context, I had been prohibited from joining any religious community, and was willing to do almost anything to achieve that. 

Another experience I had was in a class on Catholic mysticism. (Most of my study of academic theology has been in Christian environments, largely because Christians are more amenable to teaching in English.) I experienced something not-quite akin to psychosis, in which images and sounds from my old Jewish life flooded my brain. I spent the entire two-hour lecture drawing the pictures of the shul that came to mind (the Ikea-branded ark, the men in assorted hats and yarmulkes, the mechitza a cheap cream-colored curtain hung on a washing line, etc.) At the time, it felt like part of me was dying. Perhaps it was, perhaps it still is–I’m no longer orthodox, and in good conscience can’t be again. 

My experience with religion has always had large positives and large negatives. When I finally did my mikveh a few years ago, I told one of my (only remaining) frum friends, and his immediate response was “that’s lovely news, especially after [proceeds to infodump all the depressing queer frum news that I’m not privvy to living outside NYC.]”  

I’ve talked about this next one before, but I got to attend a mostly-secular Jewish retreat last year, and went with the bf. The one genuinely non-secular part of it was an optional kabbalat shabbat service led by a former-haredi now non-denom rabbi and a cantor from a similar background. They didn’t have siddurim or anything, so we all just sang from memory. I got to sit next to my bf with my arm around him–the very concept of singing yedid nefesh while being openly, visibly gay was insane to me, but I got to do both there. I’m always glad that my partner (or his being secular) pushed me to explore outside of orthodoxy, because it’s been a much better experience. Sometimes the familiar isn’t always what’s safe. (A more innocent example of this would be my cat, who used to be a street kitty. He still prefers sleeping on plastic bags or pizza boxes to sleeping in a real bed. In the same way, I felt more comfortable in environments that placed heavy restrictions on gender and sexual identity, even if they didn’t kick you out the door.) 

People have described me as “passionate” and “obsessive” about my faith, and I don’t think this is a false characterization. Someone who felt less passionately that God alone should be worshiped could have been happy in a UCC or Unitarian church, but such was not true for me. I won’t weigh in directly re: Christianity being avodah zara (idol worship) except to say that much of orthodox Judaism doesn’t see it that way. (Tovia Singer does not speak for most orthodox Jews in most matters, and I think that if people want to worship literal or figurative idols, we should leave them alone and not harass them in the street.) Rather, I would compare Christianity to any sect of a religion which demands its followers approach God through a human intermediary (make of this what you will). Rebbe Nachman has some interesting ideas, but I don’t chant mantras with his name as some of his followers do. I finally tried learning kabbalah last year, and I found it surprisingly dry. Very intricate, but why split God into a tree of life when you have God already? Perhaps I’m too single-minded. If I had more faith in myself, I would say I'm Maimonidean. 

It’s interesting being a scholar of religion while simultaneously being religious. Last spring I had to do a systematic theology course to finish my Master of Divinity degree, and I failed to articulate my personal theology very well, and I didn’t do very well in the class. I had a passion for God and for what’s right and wrong in the world, but even after decades of study, I still couldn’t make my theology make sense to my liberal protestant professors. (And I don’t think I’m doing the best job now.) If I had known more Maimonides at the time, I would have invoked him rather than trying to explain Judaism on my own, convoluted, contradictory terms. 

I was always more theologically comfortable around evangelicals because they didn’t mind me talking about God and not circling back to Jesus and his lessons. There’s an almost Marcionist impulse among some liberal Protestants to insist that every book in the Old Testament be either discarded (side-eyes the Revised Common Lectionary), or viewed solely through the lens of Jesus.

Brian Zahnd insists on this reading in his Sinners in the Hand of a Loving God, a condemnation of what he sees as “fire and brimstone Christianity.” To his credit, Zahnd argues against literalism in the New Testament just as much as he insists the “Jesus lens” be applied to the Old Testament. This isn’t to condemn Zahnd or his theology–the man has theological chops, something that can’t be said for much of the often-fundamentalist neo-Anabaptist world (David Bercot et al.) I just don’t personally find Zahnd’s worldview convincing with the weight I give the Old Testament. 

For so much of my life, Judaism was orthodoxy. It’s hard to construct a systematic theology outside of that, especially when I find myself frustrated with Buber and Rosensweig and their insistence on mischaracterizing Christianity in treatises in order to give Judaism an identity. A Jew who wants to read about Judaism without passive aggressive lashon hara about Christianity often ends up reading orthodox work. Ironically, I know now that in modern orthodox Jewish works, this lack of antagonism is largely because of R. Soloveitchik’s strong aversion to interfaith dialogue, especially with Christians, as expressed in his Vatican II-era essay Confrontation. So while I saw orthodoxy as less opposed to other religions, it was in fact the opposite–there was so much opposition, they barely even acknowledged that the Reform movement existed after 19th century Berlin. Maybe this is a sign to try reading Heschel again. He, Kaplan, and Judith Butler can have a race to the bottom on most incomprehensible philosophy, but people tell me I’ll like his ideas. 

One thing my rabbi has taught me (same former haredi rabbi as mentioned above) is that ritual and religiosity don’t have to go hand in hand. I can decide not to bench after meals if it makes me happier and still pray as often as I want. The phrase “religious Jew” often obscures the many non-orthodox Jews that exist. I can be fulfilled without scrubbing my oven with a toothbrush every March. God is everywhere, so relax, I guess. 

We’ll see. 

Added today, February 5 2024:

A friend later pointed out that I talk a lot about God and not a lot about Torah in this post. I'll reflect on that again sometime and see if I can come up with something. I forgot that I tried to psychoanalyze my dreams to try and construct a testimony last year. That's funny.

I've been reading a lot of Elmer Berger, and while his books aren't systematic theology, they describe a liberal religious Judaism that exists apart from Zionism. Highly recommend reading him because any Jew or Jew-curious individual should. Most of his books are free on the Internet Archive.

Oh boy anon, bet you didn't expect something that long-winded, huh? I think we almost hit 4000 words there.

Feel free to ping me with more questions.

What does your planning process look like? You mentioned not usually doing a full script, do you do something like page 57) knives get stabbed page 58) knives stabs the other guy page 59) intense backstory reveal or is it structured in a different way?

(replying to old ask, hope you dont mind!)The way I structure my scripts is in a very different way. For starters, I’ve never broken down it by panels/pages, as that comes when I am finally sketching them to give me more flexibility with pacing. It also just doesn’t make sense for me to, as I haven’t drawn them yet. The way I have constructed my scripts has changed a lot over the many years or making comics, but that hasn’t ever been part of the process. My scripts are written scene by scene, and broken down by character action/dialogue, sometimes including both and are written in script style. Sometimes I include notes for lore or something to keep in mind for myself, that might be a visual detail or something about an expression I want to remember. I don’t always write dialogue but I usually keep a rough draft of the dialogue exchange or purpose of what might say so i understand the goals intended, or include jokes I want to remember. The dialogue usually changes the most even if the end result functions more or less the same, just because of how the panels end up being drawn in the end usually changes up the flow and I will have to accommodate that. I break down the comic script scene by scene, then section by section, and usually end up with about 8-10 parts to a comic script and each of those parts can vary in page number of script. Its not exact, but usually 25 pages of script is about 250-300 pages of comics. FFAK comic scripts have been, when I write them, over 50 pages. But I chapter 16 is going to hopefully be the last of these, as its 47 pages long and I have made the other chapter scripts in arc2 around 20-30 pages long instead. Most NRD scripts barely reach 20 pages, but those sometimes have been even shorter as I tend to prioritize slow paced scenes, which don’t really require me to write a lot in script format.  They read more or less like a script for a screenplay for a movie but a lot rougher since I don’t need to polish these more than what i need. When I finish a scene I will grey out the text to make it easier to find where i left off. When the scene is done, I mark a date when it finished so i can see my progress at a glance. I slowly transitioned into writing scripts around chapter 10-12 but only fully was writing them by 13. I also only had a rough outline for NRD before I started to full scripts, although I can’t remember when that process also happened. It was probably chapter 2 or 3 though. Now, all of NRD/FFAK are written out this way until the end, but I still make edits along the way (mostly for FFAK, as its so long) to change up the pace of chapters and make things more compact.

(example of the top of the script to track progress, this ones for chapter 16! i have hidden the titles for parts 10-12 lol)

To Keep // 4

Prev/Next - Ao3 Link

A note from Cub: Scar’s entries were not separated very clearly, so I have done my best to assemble them in a format that makes sense. I hope to keep his journal, but in the case that something happens to it, I have copied his entries into my own notes. This is for the best; his handwriting is atrocious. It is clear he did not intend on sharing these with anyone.

1

From the night after Scar’s return from Hermit Island.

When I changed out my bandages, the wings started moving on their own. Apparently it was the fabric from the island keeping them down, because the bandages I switched them out for did fuck all to restrain them. It’s annoying. I can’t really feel them besides a phantom presence, but they itch like hell at the bases. I’m glad I’m in my room now, I don’t know if the other pirates will be able to see them.

I don’t want them to.

///

I didn’t think to look in the mirror yesterday, so the new blonde strand of hair was a surprise this morning. At this rate, half my head will turn white. At least this one is small.

I also learned humans can see the wings. Cleo stopped by and made sure to tease me about it for the whole five minutes we talked. At least she tried to help me get them back under my clothes. Unfortunately, she couldn’t touch them.

I haven’t seen my ghosts at all today. I guess that’s not too abnormal, but I usually see at least one or two of them wandering around. I usually see Mumbo. He must still be angry with me. I can’t say I know what the hell set him off in the first place though. We were having a nice time, I thought. Ghosts will be ghosts I guess. I hope he gets over it soon, my back is killing me.

2

I stayed inside my room trying to figure these things out all day, with no luck. If I could just control them, I could force them under my clothes and out of sight. No need to ask questions. But then Sausage started to get on my back, telling me I had to ‘go outside’ at some point.

Tonight he asked to come in. It wasn’t really a question.

I pulled a blanket over my back before he opened the door, but go figure, the wings phased right through it. It’s safe to say all the Kestrels know now. I wish they’d all just mind their own damn business.

Sausage felt bad, which I didn’t expect. He said he never would have suggested I go with Cleo if he knew the ghosts on that island would try and hurt me. Don’t like that.

3

I moved them. I think. It was just for a second, where I felt them really be part of me, just like an arm or leg. But it was more than the wings.. there was something else too, something… deeper? Bigger?

I looked in the mirror. For changes. I didn’t see anything but.. I don’t know. Something just isn’t right.

I’m definitely dying.

At least my ghosts, wherever they ran off to, seem to be having a good time. Honestly, it’s been months since I’ve felt this good, not just with my back, but my eye and my throat and everything. I don’t know what they did at that island, but if it keeps me in this good of shape, I might just be glad I went. Well. Not really. I’m still surprised though that I haven’t seen my ghosts. Maybe not Grian, Pearl, or Impulse, but Mumbo has been attached at my hip for weeks. I wonder what they’re up to.

4

I can’t shake the feeling that something is different. I keep looking in the mirror, but nothing has changed.

I also feel like I’m being watched, but I think that has more to do with my nosy ass ghosts than anything. I keep getting these twinges in my back and stomach? Mumbo and Pearl must not be happy about something, but Grian and Impulse still seem to be fine. I still haven’t seen any of them, but I think Pearl has been keeping an eye on me while I’m out and about in the Faction Isles. I can feel her. Well, I can feel the discomfort in my stomach. She doesn’t like it when I talk to Cleo in particular. Whatever. Pearl can throw however many fits about it she wants, that won’t change anything. She’s dead. If she didn’t want me making friends, she should have killed me when she had the chance.

Mumbo is different. He only comes around at night. Again, I haven’t seen him, but I know he’s around, especially when he thinks I’m asleep. I’m not really sure what he wants or what he’s upset about. Well, Mumbo’s always upset about something, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. I wish he’d just hang around normally though. I like having him around.

The area around my new wings has been healing quickly. Abnormally so. Though, my experience with injuries and stitches starts and ends with physical, alive humans, so maybe this is normal for ghost medicine.

5

A SCARCATION! THEY’RE CALLING IT A SCARCATION! I can’t believe it! My own ghosts are taking a vacation from me and they didn’t even tell me about it! WORSE! They told Cleo! AND CLEO DIDN’T TELL ME! Not until today at least! I can’t believe this! I have horrible friends!

I’m so snitching on Mumbo and Pearl.

6

Still, nothing has changed, not physically anyway. I admit, I’ve gotten a bit obsessive over checking mirrors, to the point where I think the Kestrels have noticed, but I don’t care. They don’t know what it’s like.

I haven’t been able to move the wings again since I did the first time, but in all honesty, I haven’t been trying very hard. Most of the time, I forget they’re there. It’s awkward to run into pirates from other factions, but that’s the only time they’re a nuisance. They don’t even hurt or itch anymore. Honestly, I barely feel anything at all back there. I guess I should be concerned, but I’m not overly bothered. I’d rather be numb than deal with Mumbo’s angst manifesting in my back. Though, it’s been more difficult to sense him lately. I didn’t realize how much of my ability to do so was tied t

The entries end here. I don’t know everything about what happened after this, but I believe Scar must have been interrupted before he could finish this entry, possibly by Mumbo. It would make sense, given that he wouldn’t have time to continue it after revealing to Mumbo why he killed him and the others. I am curious about that, but it’s none of my business. I don’t even think Grian and Impulse know. I wonder if I gave Scar a new journal now, if he’d write in it…

😍 I’ve been scrolling through your blog all evening, your work is BEAUTIFUL! I had no idea you could make books look so gorgeous. I’ve been interested in book binding for quite a while, but have been intimidated to take the first step. How did you get into it? Did you take classes, or follow something online? Or, do you already have a post where you talk about that? Seeing your work makes it seem so worth it, even if it seems intimidating to tackle 💖💖

Oh my goodness, than you so much!!! Sometimes I feel like I have a long ways to go, but then sometimes I take a step back and say, hey, this IS fairly rad, isn't it!

But I completely know what you mean about the craft seeming intimidating. I am here to tell you that the way it feels too overwhelming to get started is one of the main speed bumps about this craft, including for leveling up while inside it. I've got a number of projects I'm wrestling in terms of intimidation right now, even though I know I've dealt with this before, and what I do is probably going to be just FINE. Books are such, like.... iconic objects, it's hard to look at a fancy one and decide that you can totally do that too. But this is honestly a craft where I have an easier time encouraging beginners than many of my others, and I've got resources for you.

Where I got started!! It was honestly super trivial stuff, my dad doesn't love reading documents on his computer for work, and he showed me how he was printing off booklets and folding them in half and doing a line of stitches down the middle, and I was like '...........SO IF I WANTED TO PRESERVE A WEBNOVEL--' and things WENT from there. I started with what I could scrounge up on google, but there are better options, and a LOT of them, and a thriving ficbinding community which is pretty good (on tumblr at least) about sharing resources with each other.

So, what I'm about to go into here is largely focused on ficbinding and webnovels and other books with CONTENT, I know some people have a great time making blank notebooks, but my mind has always slid off those. If you're intimidated by the steps involved in formatting text for printing, that may be something you enjoy!!

I think I've got a few asks about this in my spock-replies or my bookbinding tag that go over similar information in different form, but this was the first one I tripped across, with my personal rundown of what I would use to get started with a casebound book (which is most of what I've done. If you're intimidated by a full hardcover with a covered spine, then a coptic bound book will provide similar function, with different construction and an open spine, but I still haven't gotten off my ass to do one of those yet, so I don't have resources on hand. I found my footing using Sealemon's videos, not just the one linked but some of the others as well. I tend to make beefy books that aren't suited to decorative binding styles, but I want to try that, someday. But I also have like ten projects in progress and things are kind of oh-god-let-me-off-mr-toad's-wild-ride, so... not yet.

After I got comfortable with Sealemon, I dug into the DAS bookbinding channel, which is a DELIGHT. The guy who runs the channel is incredibly chill and soothing to listen to, and he knows so much and has SUCH an archive of different techniques and styles. I still haven't gotten super adventurous, and honestly this is still a channel where I get intimidated about trying something new, but there's material that's not an intricate four-part series, there's things like doing a pamphlet binding. Other youtube channels with bookbinders tend to be very helpful as well, and some like annesi binding tackle cool topics that can be hard to find elsewhere. Part of the trouble with bookbinding is that a ton of cultures developed similar ideas independently and riffed on them for CENTURIES, so there is unimaginable variety in the creative space. Video works better for me to understand how it goes than written accounts do, but it's a huge space to find a comfortable nest in.

And!! In the middle of all this, i was pointed at @renegadepublishing, which is a community largely focused on ficbinding (but also open to other endeavors as well), and just a lovely place that's been so helpful to me. There are resource documents that I believe are in the sidebar, and I think there's a dreamwidth community as well where I think they've been crossposted. I know some people involved in that community also post on r/bookbinding, though if you're more interested in binding fanfic, there's also an r/ficbinding community that may be more tailored to your passions. I'm delighted that you liked my books, but renegadepublishing regularly reblogs things from other binders that leave me absolutely starry-eyed, and it's fantastic for inspiration as well as education!

Okay, I think that's what I've got for now. That was basically the slippery slide I fell down, where I just desperately wanted to preserve mxtx's books in english, before there was any hint of an official license. That directed me down a path of learning how to make Big Books, and my own attention span drove me to figure out how to do it fast. There was a long youtube spiral while also using the renegade resources to give me a second bonus perspective that helped me understand WHY i was doing certain things. Part of what helped me out is that I have a stubborn thing where 'what do you mean i can't buy X? fine, then i'm going to MAKE X.' and that served me well here. But also, I can't undersell the excitement of holding a book you made from a piece of beloved fanfiction for the first time (no matter how crooked it is!) and opening it, and seeing the words on the page, physically, and shaped like a real book, and that thrill has carried me forward through a year and a half of this nonsense.

7/29 - 8/6/2023

I started last weekend really excited about writing Renji 2, and had a good time with that. And then proceeded to have no writing time past last weekend. =_= I just need to chill out and accept that life is going to be about driving and People and racecars and the Women's World Cup rn and not about my blorbos and stories. Not that I don't also like the aforementioned but also MY BLORBOS AND STORIES THO. ):

As excited as I am about this chapter I'm still not sure if it ~works because Renji is just infodumping about 79 different things, and the part I wrote was about written vs. actually-followed easement policy in West Rukongai and how long it takes to run places. Which on one hand, Renji Why, but on the other, Why Not, Renji.

Something I have done a lot of this week, though, is driving—more in the last 7 days than in the last 7 months, to be specific—and I got reacquainted with my nemesis, audiobooks. I still don’t think I actually like audiobooks, but all of the books I listened to were very enjoyable in spite of the format, and I recommend all of them! This is especially exciting because these choices were guided by "what is currently available at the library."

The week’s roadtrip audiobook selections:

H is for Hawk, Helen MacDonald (2014)

Psalm for the Wild-Built, Becky Chambers (2021)

Orange World, Karen Russell (2019)

The Nickel Boys, Colson Whitehead (2019)

H is for Hawk, Helen MacDonald (2014) I’ve been wanting to read this book for a long time, but I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to until now, because coming off of condor!Tobiume this book was especially exciting. I didn’t realize until listening that it drew so heavily on The Once and Future King (and TH White’s biography in general) as intertext, which has really made me want to re-read that book, since I haven’t read it since the summer after I graduated high school. H is for Hawk is a falconry memoir, and it is quite a bit about birds—the goshawk Mabel in particular—which I figured would be a good time, from a creative nonfiction, ecology writing POV, two genres I generally like. But oh my god it is so much better than I already thought it was going to be! MacDonald has such strong analysis of masculinist, neoliberal cultures past and present, and the kinds of mythologies falconry comes from with regard to class and gender (and sexuality, re: TH White), and her own parsing of these things as she grows up. I want to read this book again.

Psalm for the Wild-Built, Becky Chambers (2021) I am OBSESSED with this book and I keep recommending it to everyone I see. It’s about a tea monk on a future moon where, in the distant past, robots developed to work in human factories gained sapience and left the human places to go live freely and separate in the wilds. Yearning for something missing from their life, the tea monk sets off into the wilds and encounters a robot who has been sent out to check in on the humans, and to answer the question, “What do humans need?” I don’t know that I am usually a robot person—but I am a traveling tea monk person haha—but I love these robots so, so much. They name themselves for the first things they see, so they all have plant/animal names. They hyperfixate on watching stalagmites grow, for centuries. This book is so soft and thoughtful and incredibly thought-provoking. It’s about a future that doesn’t rely on post-apocalypse; nothing overtly dramatic happens but everything is gripping.

Orange World, Karen Russell (2019) This is collection of short stories—I was able to pay attention to some far more than others, but Russell had the most interesting prose for me. There were lines where I was like, man, I wish I were reading this so I could copy this down.” Really strong sense of region and place in each story, and the world building (as one might hope of a book titled Orange World) is superb. I was familiar with Russell conceptually but hadn’t read anything by her before. My favorites were the story about Plains State/Midwestern storm farmers, who captured, husbanded, and rented out storms of various stripes—and now their industry was being affected by climate change. And the story about four sisters who are gondoliers, and use echolocation (of a sort) to navigate the span of a short story.

WIP-wise, I guess LOL I’d love to write as beautifully as Karen Russell does!! But more seriously I guess it’s about being bold about the mechanics of a world and how much it is possible to accomplish even in the span of a short story.

The Nickel Boys, Colson Whitehead (2019) I’m only halfway through this one, but it’s historical fiction about a reform school in the South during Brown v Board of Education, and the false promises experienced while attempting to integrate the South.

As far as where this could be WIP research, Whitehead does a great job of minor timeskips across the parts of the novel, including skips of actually writing out major precipitating events, which makes me feel more embolden about how I’ve structured some of this WIP.

hi jo! firstly, thank you for being such a positive kind influence in the community, you deserve all the love!

secondly, pls don’t feel pressured to answer if you wouldn’t like to, genuinely!

but i was wondering if you have any advice for writers on here that severely lack getting feedback from readers. i can’t help but feel extremely discouraged receiving virtually no comments (no matter how small) about my works when i post them. it’s a bit disheartening and it’s starting to affect my confidence in my writing, especially when numbers/notes don’t mean anything to me. i know that creativity and skill is not reflected by any parameters on social media whatsoever, but i just can’t help but self-doubt when i feel really proud about a work yet receive no feedback.

thank you for taking the time to read and i genuinely appreciate you < 3

hiii, that’s so sweet. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but I thoroughly appreciate it! thank you so much! 🩷

I shall be completely honest, I am not entirely sure how to answer or what answer I can provide. but as always, I shall give it my best go:

getting people to engage is a tricky thing, and something unfortunately you can’t make happen. on some occasions, it’s instant and with others it takes time. I know stories that have had so much interaction in the comments but then on others there’s been none—and they’re written by the same person. equally, even some of my pieces get very few comments and then others get a lot. so it’s difficult.

my first advice on what you can do to help is consider making sure your piece indicates what you’d like someone to do. sometimes people are scared/nervous, because they don’t want to do it wrong. so if you haven’t, adding a simple “If you can let me know your thoughts in the comments, be much appreciated” shows an indication that you warrant that kind of feedback.

if you’re already doing that and still struggling, I recommend seeing if you can reach out to some friends or writers you admire and create a ‘buddy’ group. this way you can share amongst one another your works, give each other feedback (and also then scream at one another about plots and characters). by creating a circle for yourself, it can make it feel less like you’re shouting into a void, and at least then if interaction is slow, you know there’s someone more than you who is invested in your story. if that’s something you feel would benefit you.

I had a group like this for a different thing and it was ahhhmazing. we bounced off one another, but we were also one another’s cheerleaders (and that’s such a nice feeling).

lastly, you love your story, right? remind yourself of that. something I’ve told a friend to do is before they upload and share it, copy and paste quotes or passages that they love from their work. put it in a fresh document somewhere just for you. and, when you begin to feel disheartened, remember the beauty in which you created. put it in a cool font, add it into a graphic (if you make them) or just have it in a format that tells your brain it isn’t on tumblr or where else you post.

I know it’s cliche, but the person who has to love your work first, is you. and while I know it’s disheartening (like honestly, you’re not alone in it), and unfortunately there isn’t a spell I can cast or a bit of helpful advice that I can offer to let you know what makes people interact.

and while I know I said this on the “be kind” post, but I like the phrasing. you just haven’t found your people, and that takes time. and by that I mean, the people who love your work, the words, the places, the descriptions you create—not just the character or fandom.

again, I am not entirely sure if this has been helpful. I feel i give such poopy advice and I’m so sorry if it is. but just know it’s okay to feel whatever you feel, just don’t let it smush out your flame (if you can help it) 🩷✨

equally, if anyone has any advice, please drop it below. I am very aware I am not that good at the advice hahaha!

asdfhjkl this is fuckin,,,,,, 17 pages of unfinished and rewritten dp/msa crossover. from TWO THOUSAND FRICKIN FIFTEEN. i am not going to be able to resist editing/adding more to this (which is the ENTIRE REASON IT NEVER GOT POSTED IN THE FIRST PLACE COUGH COUGH SELF) so i am sticking it under a cut, pressing send, then going to do errands in order to physically stop myself from spending 16 hours nitpicking it. also tunglr.hell deletes all the original formatting when pasting stuff in so all the italics/bold/strikethrough are missing rip.

please note! this is an original draft and then a rewritten (but mostly just different parts of the outline) second part.

im just. gonna paste the second one’s author note here (written circa 2016) and leave y’all to it:

stern fatherly disapproval I've been going back through the old dp/msa posts and I have to say, I am very disappointed in all of you. honestly, with such pride we take in over-angsting for BOTH fandoms, that there wasn’t much if any discussion to be seen on this is shocking. (Though, to be fair, I just now remembered I wrote this all the way back then and never published it, buT THE POINT STANDS. My inability to write more than ¾ of a fic before getting distracted and forgetting to finish it is only moderately related to this discussion.) At least it’s edited now, I guess? By which I mean completely rewritten. (you can still tell the parts connecting the main sections are a bit ‘eh’ but, well, ‘eh’.)

Summary: Danny captures Lewis in the thermos (as he does) and tosses him in the Ghost Zone like the rest of the town’s ghostly visitors. This is a bad thing.

“dp/ms zone - Created Aug 27, 2015″

The Skulls are driving through amity park, arthur at the wheel, vivi shotgun with the current traveling deadbeat curled at her feet (the rest are at home guarding the mansion), and Lewis in the back with mystery. Danny's ghost sense goes off as this van passes by, almost as ridiculous looking as his parents own vehicle. he looks in to see a large ghost apparently hiding in the back, the two tourists up front unaware. whatever it's planning can't be good, so he shoots in, sucks up the ghost, and flies off to the alarmed shouts trailing behind him. rather than just being startled at a ghost in their van like Danny thinks (though they are, at him just popping up suddenly), the humans cries are at seeing Phantom abduct their boo for seemingly no reason. not even mystery could react before the kid was off, grinning and waving back at them like he'd just had a job well done. the poor deadbeat is terrified, master has just been taken by a ghost hunter but they have to stay with mistress vivi and mister arthur. arthur slams on the breaks, throwing the van around to tear after the ghost, but he's disappeared. the four are devastated, turning back to the hotel, vivi clutching the now crying spirit like a lifeline. immediately they set to work researching phantom, hoping for any clue to find him and their taken spirit. the next day, Danny comes downstairs to find his parents talking to... visitors? clients? they look exhausted but kind of familiar, so he listens in from the steps outside the kitchen. please, you have to help us. phantom took our friend and you're the people who study this town you must know where to find him we just got him back we can't lose him again please help us we've looked everywhere please- what do you mean, phantom's taken your friend? had the ghost finally started attacking humans outright? there was this big flash and he was gone and he was holding this metal thing and oh honey, its okay, don't worry, there's no way that could have been your friend. phantom uses one of our thermoses and it only works on ghosts. but Lewis IS a spirit! how can you be friends with a ghost, that doesn't make sense. they're too violent and unstable to have consistent rational thought, let alone form attachments... what? how could you- how dare you say something like that! we've been paranormal investigators for years and Lewis is our best friend, don't you dare accuse him of being a mindless creature! how can you call yourselves scientists when you're just as prejudiced as all those stupid hunters we meet! if you won't help us, we'll find phantom ourselves, and we'll get our friend back no matter what we have to go through to do it! Danny sits frozen as the two storm out, guilt creeping in as he absorbs the conversation. he'd just done what he normally did on patrol, how was he supposed to know this ghost was somehow different? he was just taking it out before it could do anything funny, but now he was the one in the wrong? (he won't admit he sees ghosts like his parents do, always up to something malicious and never just innocent bystanders) not liking this feeling, he slips out of the house and trots after the group, quickly catching up. uh, hey. i, uh, heard about your friend and I think I can help... meet me outside Fentonworks at 11 tonight, my parents will be asleep by then so don't ring the doorbell. before they can get a word in, I have to go back, so dont be late! and runs back, turning a corner and going invisible before they can catch up. okay, he's just bought himself some time to fix this, he just needs to make some calls first... he'd just tossed the disoriented ghost (Lewis?) through the portal, not dumped him further in like he does with some of his enemies. he shouldn't be that hard to find. 1030 finds the three living members of the mystery skulls standing before the fentons house. at her side, vivi clutches a bag housing their remaining spirit, warded with nearly every spell in the book and some others besides. if phantom tried to take their deadbeat too, he was gonna have to fight for it. the research they'd done that day didn't make their moods any lighter. video clips of fantastical ghost fights helped them piece together that phantom took his captured enemies to a place called the ghost zone. further study had pulled up dozens of reports on the place, from an incident stranding part of the town there. while interview descriptions of the event ranged wildly, the common details said it was huge, green, and swarming with aggressive ghosts. and from the videos of some of these fights, no matter how strong he might be, Lewis's chances weren't looking good. Sam and tucker round the corner to see three unknown silhouettes clustered on the sidewalk ahead. reflexively their hands dart to their weapons, before they connect Danny's descriptions to the group ahead. damn, they were early then. hopefully Danny was ready and not just doing something stupid. (oh who were they kidding, he was always doing something stupid.) as they approach, the dog tenses, and the two humans whip around to stare at the teens. seeing as they've been spotted already, they close the remaining distance with quick strides. the woman is the first to speak, suspicion bleeding into her worried voice. and who might you two be  then? I'm sam, this is tucker. we're here to help Danny find your ghost since he's a horrible driver and couldn't read a screen to save his life. so since you're here already I'll just text him to come let us in. they get a grunt in acknowledgement from the male, but it's otherwise silent for the few minutes they spend waiting for the door to open. greengreengreen EVERYWHERE, no ground beneath your feet to stop you falling, falling... the space scattered with thousands of pointed rocks and green fog twisting through them... and if this is Arthur's reaction, Lewis is even worse off. and he's been stuck here not for minutes, but hours, days. reliving his death over and over, no reprieve from the constant memories. the team is so focused on Arthur's reaction it's not until mystery renders him unconscious they turn to vivi. standing stock still, unfocused eyes staring unblinking out the window, trembling with near invisible tears trailing down her face. because her boys aren't the only ones with memories of the cave, and while she may be the "strong" one of the group, when it comes to reminders of that night her ptsd is no less real. there you are dipstick! I've been looking all over for you! not now, ember, get out of the way. can't you see I'm busy? not until you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to toss a spirit into the ghost zone. are you completely mental? huh? don't play dumb with me, not even you wouldn't be able to tell. he looks nothing like a ghost! it's all we've been able to do by keeping guard, none of us can even get close to the guy with the state he's in! what are you even talking about-! vivi shoves his head away from the glass, calling out to the flaming musician. yell at him later, tell us where Lewis is now! ember looks down at the new human, sizing her up before nodding, gliding away. I still don't get it, what was she even going on about? I mean yeah, I shouldn't have tossed the guy in here, but the rest of that? what did that even mean? I believe I may be able to explain, a voice calls from the back, and all three kids jerks their heads around to stare at the (talking!) dog. (what the hell?) sam nearly crashes the speeder into an island before she collects herself enough to glance back at the window. ignoring their reactions, mystery continues to speak from his place in Arthur's lap, the mechanic petting him robotically (heh.). I didn't recognize it at first from the descriptions, but now I'm here I can tell this ghost zone, as you put it, is one part of the realm of the dead. the place we just left, your real world, is the realm of the living. ghosts, at least the ones that you know, are formed and exist in this dead realm. it's where they draw their energy from, regardless of whatever focus or reason they have for their being. a ghost that spends too long in the human world would begin to break down, the very reality chipping away at them piece by piece. similarly, a human spending too long unprotected in the ghosts world would suffer similar effects, their body fighting against what knows they should not be there. that's why, for instance, demons must be summoned from their own realm and strike deals with humans to stay on that plain. he looks straight at Danny beings that have rights, as it were, to both places may come and go as they please with no ill effects. i, for instance, may pass through both living and yokai realms if I were to so choose.

[anchor is physical, ties to world]

Lewis, however, is a spirit, brought forth and tied to the living realm. he's one of the, we call them ghosts, but imprints might be a better title, that make up the majority of 'ghost' activity humans encounter... well, outside of this town, at least.

I assume the ghosts you know of fall into different types or species, probably based on their power level or abilities. our own ghosts, or spirits as the name here for them seems to be, are much the same. they can range anywhere from vague wisps of an idea to a fully formed consciousness equal to or even above their former human status.

[these former-living are connected to physical objects, vessels, their soul reside in. this anchor, as we call it, thus ties them to the human realm, being a real, semi-physical object. it's a shell of sorts, breaking a ghost's anchor destroys the (self contained environment), releasing and exposing their soul, which unprotected dissipates very quickly.]

as for how this relates back to the idea of realms, well, the lower the power of an entity the easier it is to be torn apart... he pauses at Vivi's sudden realization, dashing to the forgotten bag on the seat. tearing open the pouch, she lets out a quiet 'oh thank the gods' as a tiny pink head pops out, chirping in concern. it winds its way into Vivi's arms, nuzzling her cheek. the woman looks at mystery, hoping that protection he had talked about was working on the deadbeat too. he nodded, as long as they were to stay in this vehicle, they'd probably be safe from harm. probably. I'd also suggest arthur stay too, even if he wasn't already... compromised, he looked over to the teens, still listening closely. suffice to say the scenery would certainly not be good for him. and for him to be the first thing Lewis sees after such an episode, arthur stiffens and the dog looks up at him sadly, even if he knows rationally it's not the you he thinks it is, he won't be in his right mind... it's gonna be okay, arthur. vivi settles beside the blond and leans against him, careful not to squish the spirit nestled in her arms. it'll just be like those first few weeks with the dreams. which i mean isn't ideal, obviously, but we've survived it once already, we can do it again if we have to. and it's not like before where he'd been alone for a year, it's really only been, what, a few hours, a day? um, actually... the trio (plus one) looks up, having already forgotten they weren't alone in the vehicle. i, uh, so that whole thing with different realities your, uh, dog? was talking about? heh, yeah, so... funny thing about the zone is, um. time goes differently in here. so like, an hour here is only a few minutes in the real, or, erm, living world... vivi completed the kids thought ...and a few hours on our side would be... days... oh gods no, Lewis. Danny flinches, another shot of guilt stabbing his conscience. ugh, of all the ghosts (or, er, spirits?) he could have snagged yesterday it had to have been this one. the only ghost in the whole town that couldn't live (unlive?) in the zone and was apparently afraid of the color green. just perfect. good Phantom, best hero. the speeder slows as ember approaches a group of ghosts, floating in a protective circle around an island about the size of a small house. they turn to glare at the vehicle, but at embers dismissive wave part to let the craft land. as soon as the door opens a blue blur shoots out, followed closely by a smaller white figure and finally the ghost child. the sight of Lewis when they finally reach him is horrible. he'd flown blindly until he found a larger rock to land on, one with a sort of raised wall on one side to keep his back to. images from the cave played out in a high definition loop before him, even curled on the ground he could still feel himself falling, falling...

now his hands are digging into the flesh around his eyes, still desperately begging the images away. even scrunched into a ball the gaping hole that is his chest is obvious, the constant trembling and whimpers only adding to the gory display. his heart, golden and whole before, has gone pitch black, more cracks than actual pieces at this point and only held together by the strange atmosphere of the zone. the same atmosphere doing a number on the rest of him, draining his power to dangerous lows. they can see the rock behind him, and not just through the bloody window in his chest. it's been so much longer for him, even without the flashbacks draining him at this point he'd still be pretty bad off. he feels like he's been left to rot, abandoned for days, months, years, only his mind for company. maybe karma has finally caught him up and dragged him to hell, just like he must deserve for what he's done. what else would this place be for, catered so perfectly to his failures? he doesn't know how long it's been, only that he's so, so tired. even the agonizing pain in his chest has faded, his whole body numb. cold. who is he? he can't remember, his mind is too foggy. where is he? he shouldn't be here. why? this place is... bad. green. green makes bad things happen. the green had laughed. not-green had been hurt. when? who was green? why? (Lewis!) L..ew...is? something about it sounds familiar. like purple and pink and warm and happy. but. no. Lewis is black and white and cold cold cold. like him. is he him? he can't tell what his color is. was. are? something is touching him. it moves the dark away and he sees blue. blue... what is blue's name again? it says something, but all he hears is static. he can't move and blue is raining. no, that's not right. blue is happy and smiles and love, not sad, never sad, why is blue sad?

his last coherent thought, before finally fading out, is please don't be sad, blue. as vivi reaches the collapsed spirit, her fear of losing Lewis again somehow worsens. she knows what lengths Lewis would go to before using this form, and that she can see straight through him means his energy is even lower than she'd feared. grabbing a wrist she pries a hand from his eyes, only for the revealed pupil to be a dull and cloudy purple. there's no sign of recognition, though she hopes some of her panicked rambling is making it through the haze. a whimper at her side draws Vivi's attention to mystery, worriedly sniffing the abused and battered locket, which looks like it's one small breath away from crumbling completely. we need to get him inside and home, now. she doesn't have to look to see mystery shifting, the gasp behind them is enough. the kitsune can take care of Lewis, she needs to focus on his anchor. unwinding her scarf, she makes use of the wonky gravity to wrap it around the locket, both preserving its shape and making sure pieces can't fall out when she moves it. with her part done and mystery gathering Lewis in his tails, vivi grabs the delicate package and hurries back to the waiting craft. she shivers as the static feeling of the speeder's shield passes over her, but it's a small price to pay to keep everyone safe. not from the ghosts, who she really needs to thank now she thinks about it, but the reality itself.

the shield, built on the presumption all ghosts held this strange ecto energy, blocked based on the presence of it. thus, the human Danny, locket, and eventually Lewis, all pass through it no problem.

Sam and tucker had stayed in the speeder as the trio ran out, ready to make a quick getaway if this all turned sour. they couldn't really see what was happening outside, but Danny could handle it (probably). he'd call if he needed them. (maybe.)

they kept to watching the last stranger still in the back of the vehicle. well, stranger plus the weird… pink... thing.

“zone new rewrite - Created Nov 15, 2015″

stern fatherly disapproval

I've been going back through the old dp/msa posts and I have to say, I am very disappointed in all of you. honestly, with such pride we take in over-angsting for BOTH fandoms, that there wasn’t much if any discussion to be seen on this is shocking. (Though, to be fair, I just now remembered I wrote this all the way back then and never published it, buT THE POINT STANDS. My inability to write more than ¾ of a fic before getting distracted and forgetting to finish it is only moderately related to this discussion.)

At least it’s edited now, I guess? By which I mean completely rewritten. (you can still tell the parts connecting the main sections are a bit ‘eh’ but, well, ‘eh’.)

Summary: Danny captures Lewis in the thermos (as he does) and tosses him in the Ghost Zone like the rest of the town’s ghostly visitors. This is a bad thing.

The Skulls were finally arriving in the famed Amity Park, having driven for hours now to reach the paranormal hotspot. This rotation found Arthur at the wheel, Vivi riding shotgun with the current travelling deadbeat curled at her feet, and Mystery and Lewis lounging in the back. Perhaps the hours watching mile after mile of fields and trees fly past had dulled their reflexes, allowed what happened next to be, none reacting fast enough to stop it.

~

Danny had watched the orange vehicle with a vague passing interest as it turned down the street, the van’s appearance almost as gaudy as his own parents’. Probably another group of "ghost hunting" tourists, here to putter around a few days buying overpriced souvenirs before running back home at the first sight of the Box Ghost. Nothing he needed to bother dealing with.

But as it passes by, a cloudy wisp escapes his throat, and suddenly it does become his business. Shooting from his post he flies through the van's wall, barely taking in the sight of the big hulking skeleton hiding behind the two oblivious tourists before sucking it up in the thermos. He only pauses to shoot the passengers a quick smile as a “you’re welcome” for his job well done before barreling straight back out, ignoring the alarmed shouts that follow.

~

Startled at the sudden apparition, it takes the living members of the team a few seconds to react, but by then it’s far too late. Phantom’s already abducted their Lewis, their friend, trapped him and flown off to who knows where, grinning all the while. Arthur slams on the brakes, whipping the van around (sorry girl, he’ll apologize for the rough treatment later, but Lew’s far more important right now) to tear after the fleeing ghost, but he’s already disappeared.

The poor deadbeat is terrified, Boss has just been taken, and their connection to Him feels cut off, blocked somehow. All they can do now is cling to Miss Vivi, hope she and Mister Arthur will fix this.

After nearly an hour barreling down the streets seeking the white-haired spectre, the four are forced to give up the frantic searching, turning back to the hotel. Vivi clutches the shaking pink spirit like a lifeline, this is the second time Lewis has been taken right in front of her and she could do nothing to stop it. Immediately upon entering the room they set to researching Phantom, praying for any clue on how to find him and their stolen spirit.

~

The next morning, Danny comes down the stairs to find his parents talking to… visitors? clients, maybe? They sound anxious but look kind of familiar, so he listens in from the top of the steps, out of view from the kitchen.

“You don't understand though, Phantom’s taken our friend! Come on, you’re supposed to be the experts in this town, you must have some idea what happens to them-” That must be the girl he saw speaking.

“But honey, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.” His mom sounds like she’s trying to calm down a small child, “We may think that Phantom is malicious, but he’s never directly hurt a human, as far as we know.”

“Has the Ghost Boy finally started attacking humans? Yes!” His dad’s outburst is cut off by what must be three very angry glares, before he sheepishly clarifies, “Er, wait, no, not like that, it's horrible. But I mean, this will finally prove to everyone he’s dangerous! So they’ll stop thinking they don’t need protection from him!”

His mom takes the conversation back over before Jack can drive it even further (if unintentionally) into the ground.

“Okay honey, can you tell me what happened again? When the ghost boy took... Lewis, was it?”

“We were just driving around and Lew was in the back just sitting there not even doing anything and then there was this big flash and he was gone and then he was holding this metal thing and then he was gone too and we can’t lose him again, not so soon after we finally found him again, please-”

There’s a small silence, the woman stopping to regain her composure, the two hunters taking in the information. And then,

“Oh! Oh then it’s okay, sweetie, (well I mean no it’s not because your friend is still missing but), you don’t have to worry about Phantom having taking him! See, the ghost boy uses a Fenton Thermos he stole from us, but it only works on ghosts, not humans. So whatever he captured couldn’t have been your friend, don’t worry. He's probably still out somewhere you visited before and whatever it was was just impersonating him to follow you.”

“But Lewis IS a spirit!”

There's a pause.

“Er, what? No, that can’t be right…”

“And why not?” There’s a fourth voice, quieter but hard, with the same undercurrent of exasperation Danny himself has when discussing ghosts with his parents. “Don’t you think we’d know if our bo-best friend was a spirit? I mean, if the floating and the skull wasn’t obvious enough there’s always the fact that we had to- had to... to...” He trails off, but it’s easy enough to piece together the unsaid words.

Still, that doesn’t stop his dad from speaking, the large man prone to rambling in tense moments.

“No, we mean… How do I say this, it just, it isn’t possible! Ghosts are just too emotionally unstable to have consistent rational thought, let alone form attachments… regardless of whoever they might’ve been based off of in life. That’s what makes them so dangerous to be around, even for us. I know it may be hard to hear, but-”

The halfa jumps as something very heavy slams down on the table. It sounds almost like metal, but what-?

Then it’s the man's voice again, dangerously calm and dripping with venom that makes even Danny go still.

“You call yourselves scientists, but you’re not, are you? You’re too blinded by your own prejudices to be anything more than the next hotshot group we come across, shooting anything just for not being human. Never matters they were perfectly normal before, now they're just monsters to be shot at! Because anything that isn’t 100% human can’t really think, really feel, they’re all just mindless things to you. Hell, I don’t have a human arm, does that mean I’m not sentient? Do you-”

“Arthur that’s enough.”

If his voice is a rock hers is cold hard steel.

“But-”

“Taking our frustrations out on them does nothing but waste time and energy we could be using to find Lewis. And don’t you dare give me that look, I don’t like them talking about him like that any more than you do, but now is not the time.”

There’s the sound of a chair being pushed out from the table, and the woman takes a deep, steadying breath.

“We’ve been paranormal investigators for years, we know when a lead is bust. We came here in hopes you’d have some information to help us, but I can see now it was a lost cause. With that mindset, there’s no way you’d be able to follow the dead’s thought process, let alone accurately anticipate their next move. Ghosts work in patterns just like humans do, we have enough experience that we can get Lewis back without your help.”

There's a deep, resigned sigh.

“Look, I know we aren’t going to change your view of the dead from this, but I hope one day you reexamine what exactly makes you think about them the way you do.”

“Now come on, Arthur, let’s check in with Mystery at the hotel and see if he’s managed to dig up anything actually useful for us.”

~

Danny stays frozen on the steps as the door slams shut, guilt slowly creeping in as the situation unravels. It had just been a normal patrol yesterday, how had it managed to go this fantastically wrong? Just fly around, suck up some ghosts, and toss them back through the portal. How the hell was he supposed to know this one was any different? All he’d done was take out the guy before he could do anything funny, stop the problem before it even started, but now he was the one in the wrong? (He won’t admit he’s much like his parents when it comes to judging ghosts, even when he knows plenty of them aren’t malicious. Guilty until proven innocent, but with his track record meeting ghosts he couldn’t be to blame. Shoot first, ask questions never, but wasn’t that the same thing he chastised his parents for? …No, best to cut that train of thought off right now-)

Not liking these feelings of guilt, he slips out and trots after the two, following them down the street until he judges it to be a safe enough distance from the house his parents won’t see them if they look out the front door.

“Hey, uh, you’re the guys looking for your... friend, right?” He shuffles his feet awkwardly as they stare at him, unsure how to actually go about doing this. Damn him and his lack of planning.

“So, I overheard what happened and er, I... think I could help? Like my friends and I know lots about Phantom… My parents don’t know about it but I can show you where I, uh, where the ghosts go. When he catches them I mean. Except they’re also there whenever they aren’t in Amity so I guess then too, which would be most of the time then? but, uh.” Jack isn’t the only one in the family to ramble, but the blond man (Arthur?) is tapping his foot impatiently and giving him a look that reads ‘just get on with it’.

The blue haired girl, who he still doesn’t know the name of, looks suspicious, but they’ve followed worse leads before, and if this kid knew what he was talking about, well, it would certainly help…

~

Of their group Vivi is generally the one known to be impatient, not one for idling, nor interested in “just going over the transmission again, Vi, I swear it’ll only be like ten minutes, honest.” But right now Arthur is upset, and angry, and an upset, angry Arthur is a snappy Arthur, and also an Arthur that just wants this kid to get to the god damned point already so they can leave and keep looking for their missing teammate.

~

“Right, sorry. So, uh, come back to Fentonworks tonight at, like... eleven thirty maybe? Mom and Dad should be asleep by then so don’t ring the doorbell or anything, it would probably end up being the only time ever that they didn’t sleep like rocks, with how my luck tends to be…”

Before they can press for more information, he’s off like a shot, throwing a “sorryseeyagottagobye!” over his shoulder at the two. They may give chase, they may not, but he isn’t looking back to check. He’s never been great at lying, and if these guys are as actually experienced with ghosts as they say, their questions will likely be a lot harder to weasel his way out of. He’s not gonna chance being found out any sooner than he has to. So as he rounds a corner he flickers invisible, and sure enough the woman rounds the bend mere seconds later, pausing to catch her breath and swear (quite creatively, he must say) as she sees he’s disappeared.

Okay, he’s bought himself some time to fix this, he just has to make a few calls…

Luckily, he’d only tossed the disoriented skeleton through the portal, not dumped him further in like he’d started doing with some of his more... annoying enemies. He shouldn’t be that hard to find.

(famous last words.)

~

Eleven on the dot finds the remaining Mystery Skulls standing beneath the gaudy neon lights of the Fenton household. At her side, Vivi clutches a bag housing their remaining spirit, heavily warded with every spell in the book (and some others besides). If Phantom tried to take their deadbeat too, he would have to fight them for it, and they were taking absolutely no chances.

The research they’d done in the meantime hadn’t make their moods any lighter. Video after video of Phantom showcased his fighting abilities and power, spectacular battles around the city that left buildings in shambles and craters in their wake. But from a myriad of soundbites they managed to salvage, they’d pieced together that after the fights Phantom took his captured opponents to a place known as the “Ghost Zone”. Further searching pulled up dozens of local reports on the place, from an incident apparently stranding part of the town there a few years prior. While witness accounts ranged wildly, the common threads marked it as huge, green, and swarming with aggressive ghosts. And looking back at some of the opponents in those fights, however strong Lewis might be his chances weren’t looking good. At all.

~

Sam and Tucker round the corner to see two strange figures clustered on the sidewalk ahead. Their hands reflexively dart to their weapons, before connecting Danny’s descriptions to the group ahead, along with what was probably their dog. Damn, they were early then. Hopefully Danny was actually ready and not just doing something stupi-oh who were they kidding he was always doing something stupid.

They haven’t moved twenty feet before the dog growls, and the two humans whip around to stare at them. (So much for sneaking past and kicking Danny’s butt into gear, then.) Seeing as they’ve been spotted already, the teens close the remaining distance with quick strides.

The blue haired woman is the first to speak when they reach the house, suspicion not quite covering up the worry in her voice.

“And who might you two be, then?”

Sam thinks for a moment, then decides, fuck it, they’re going to learn soon anyway, might as well go with the (partial, at least) truth.

“I’m Sam, this is Tucker. We’re here to help Danny find your ghost since he’s a horrible driver who couldn't move straight to save his life. And for backup since, well, he can hardly go five minutes without getting into some kind of trouble.”

they get a grunt in acknowledgement from the blond, but it's otherwise silent for the few minutes they spend waiting for the door to open.

------!!!!-------

greengreengreen EVERYWHERE, no ground beneath your feet to stop you falling, falling... the space scattered with thousands of pointed rocks and green fog twisting through them... and if this is Arthur's reaction, Lewis is even worse off. and he's been stuck here not for minutes, but hours, days. reliving his death over and over, no reprieve from the constant memories. the team is so focused on Arthur's reaction it's not until mystery renders him unconscious they turn to vivi. standing stock still, unfocused eyes staring unblinking out the window, trembling with near invisible tears trailing down her face. because her boys aren't the only ones with memories of the cave, and while she may be the "strong" one of the group, when it comes to reminders of that night her ptsd is no less real. there you are dipstick! I've been looking all over for you! not now, ember, get out of the way. can't you see I'm busy? not until you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to toss a spirit into the ghost zone. are you completely mental? huh? don't play dumb with me, not even you wouldn't be able to tell. he looks nothing like a ghost! it's all we've been able to do by keeping guard, none of us can even get close to the guy with the state he's in! what are you even talking about-! vivi shoves his head away from the glass, calling out to the flaming musician. yell at him later, tell us where Lewis is now! ember looks down at the new human, sizing her up before nodding, gliding away. I still don't get it, what was she even going on about? I mean yeah, I shouldn't have tossed the guy in here, but the rest of that? what did that even mean? I believe I may be able to explain, a voice calls from the back, and all three kids jerks their heads around to stare at the (talking!) dog. (what the hell?) sam nearly crashes the speeder into an island before she collects herself enough to glance back at the window. ignoring their reactions, mystery continues to speak from his place in Arthur's lap, the mechanic petting him robotically (heh.). I didn't recognize it at first from the descriptions, but now I'm here I can tell this ghost zone, as you put it, is one part of the realm of the dead. the place we just left, your real world, is the realm of the living. ghosts, at least the ones that you know, are formed and exist in this dead realm. it's where they draw their energy from, regardless of whatever focus or reason they have for their being. a ghost that spends too long in the human world would begin to break down, the very reality chipping away at them piece by piece. similarly, a human spending too long unprotected in the ghosts world would suffer similar effects, their body fighting against what knows they should not be there. that's why, for instance, demons must be summoned from their own realm and strike deals with humans to stay on that plain. he looks straight at Danny beings that have rights, as it were, to both places may come and go as they please with no ill effects. i, for instance, may pass through both living and yokai realms if I were to so choose.

[anchor is physical, ties to world]

Lewis, however, is a spirit, brought forth and tied to the living realm. he's one of the, we call them ghosts, but imprints might be a better title, that make up the majority of 'ghost' activity humans encounter... well, outside of this town, at least.

I assume the ghosts you know of fall into different types or species, probably based on their power level or abilities. our own ghosts, or spirits as the name here for them seems to be, are much the same. they can range anywhere from vague wisps of an idea to a fully formed consciousness equal to or even above their former human status.

[these former-living are connected to physical objects, vessels, their soul reside in. this anchor, as we call it, thus ties them to the human realm, being a real, semi-physical object. it's a shell of sorts, breaking a ghost's anchor destroys the (self contained environment), releasing and exposing their soul, which unprotected dissipates very quickly.]

as for how this relates back to the idea of realms, well, the lower the power of an entity the easier it is to be torn apart... he pauses at Vivi's sudden realization, dashing to the forgotten bag on the seat. tearing open the pouch, she lets out a quiet 'oh thank the gods' as a tiny pink head pops out, chirping in concern. it winds its way into Vivi's arms, nuzzling her cheek. the woman looks at mystery, hoping that protection he had talked about was working on the deadbeat too. he nodded, as long as they were to stay in this vehicle, they'd probably be safe from harm. probably. I'd also suggest arthur stay too, even if he wasn't already... compromised, he looked over to the teens, still listening closely. suffice to say the scenery would certainly not be good for him. and for him to be the first thing Lewis sees after such an episode, arthur stiffens and the dog looks up at him sadly, even if he knows rationally it's not the you he thinks it is, he won't be in his right mind... it's gonna be okay, arthur. vivi settles beside the blond and leans against him, careful not to squish the spirit nestled in her arms. it'll just be like those first few weeks with the dreams. which i mean isn't ideal, obviously, but we've survived it once already, we can do it again if we have to. and it's not like before where he'd been alone for a year, it's really only been, what, a few hours, a day? um, actually... the trio (plus one) looks up, having already forgotten they weren't alone in the vehicle. i, uh, so that whole thing with different realities your, uh, dog? was talking about? heh, yeah, so... funny thing about the zone is, um. time goes differently in here. so like, an hour here is only a few minutes in the real, or, erm, living world... vivi completed the kids thought ...and a few hours on our side would be... days... oh gods no, Lewis. Danny flinches, another shot of guilt stabbing his conscience. ugh, of all the ghosts (or, er, spirits?) he could have snagged yesterday it had to have been this one. the only ghost in the whole town that couldn't live (unlive?) in the zone and was apparently afraid of the color green. just perfect. good Phantom, best hero. the speeder slows as ember approaches a group of ghosts, floating in a protective circle around an island about the size of a small house. they turn to glare at the vehicle, but at ember’s dismissive wave, part to let the craft land. as soon as the door opens a blue blur shoots out, followed closely by a smaller white figure and finally the ghost child. the sight of Lewis when they finally reach him is horrible. he'd flown blindly until he found a larger rock to land on, one with a sort of raised wall on one side to keep his back to. images from the cave played out in a high definition loop before him, even curled on the ground he could still feel himself falling, falling...

now his hands are digging into the flesh around his eyes, still desperately begging the images away. even scrunched into a ball the gaping hole that is his chest is obvious, the constant trembling and whimpers only adding to the gory display. his heart, golden and whole before, has gone pitch black, more cracks than actual pieces at this point and only held together by the strange atmosphere of the zone. the same atmosphere doing a number on the rest of him, draining his power to dangerous lows. they can see the rock behind him, and not just through the bloody window in his chest. it's been so much longer for him, even without the flashbacks draining him at this point he'd still be pretty bad off. he feels like he's been left to rot, abandoned for days, months, years, only his mind for company. maybe karma has finally caught him up and dragged him to hell, just like he must deserve for what he's done. what else would this place be for, catered so perfectly to his failures? he doesn't know how long it's been, only that he's so, so tired. even the agonizing pain in his chest has faded, his whole body numb. cold. who is he? he can't remember, his mind is too foggy. where is he? he shouldn't be here. why? this place is... bad. green. green makes bad things happen. the green had laughed. not-green had been hurt. when? who was green? why? (Lewis!) L..ew...is? something about it sounds familiar. like purple and pink and warm and happy. but… no. Lewis is black and white and cold cold cold. like him. is he him? he can't tell what his color is. was. are? something is touching him. it moves the dark away and he sees blue. blue... what is blue's name again? it says something, but all he hears is static. he can't move and blue is raining. no, that's not right. blue is happy and smiles and love, not sad, never sad, why is blue sad?

his last coherent thought, before finally fading out, is please don't be sad, blue. as vivi reaches the collapsed spirit, her fear of losing Lewis again somehow worsens. she knows what lengths Lewis would go to before using this form, and that she can see straight through him means his energy is even lower than she'd feared. grabbing a wrist she pries a hand from his eyes, only for the revealed pupil to be a dull and cloudy purple. there's no sign of recognition, though she hopes some of her panicked rambling is making it through the haze. a whimper at her side draws Vivi's attention to mystery, worriedly sniffing the abused and battered locket, which looks like it's one small breath away from crumbling completely. "we need to get him inside and home, now." she doesn't have to look to see mystery shifting, the gasp behind them is enough. the kitsune can take care of Lewis, she needs to focus on his anchor. unwinding her scarf, she makes use of the wonky gravity to wrap it around the locket, both preserving its shape and making sure pieces can't fall out when she moves it. with her part done and mystery gathering Lewis in his tails, vivi grabs the delicate package and hurries back to the waiting craft. she shivers as the static feeling of the speeder's shield passes over her, but it's a small price to pay to keep everyone safe. not from the ghosts, who she really needs to thank now she thinks about it, but the reality itself.

Sam and tucker had stayed in the speeder as the trio ran out, ready to make a quick getaway if this all turned sour. they couldn't really see what was happening outside, but Danny could handle it (probably). he'd call if he needed them. (maybe.)

they kept to watching the last stranger still in the back of the vehicle. well, stranger plus the weird… pink... thing.

Rapo Rambles About Juri and Herself

Maaaan, reading through Juri’s MSS, I’m seeing what I very well could’ve been.

I took on working on the JSON for Ai’s translation of Juri’s MSS, and while editing the file format to merge with the Japanese JSON, I’ve gotten to read through the translation (which is quite well done, thank you Ai!) 

For some context, Juri attends Ryuugasaki Academy, which is a relatively well-to-do all-girl’s school. She worked hard to get into its attendance, so her father (who’s both single and a teen father, so he has literally Juri and that’s it,) wouldn’t have to worry about her getting a poor education, or, more importantly, her getting kicked out. Except, she continued to get into tussles, and was on the verge of expulsion, presumably not for the first time, when she was approached by Kyubey, and made her wish: for a “perseverant heart”. That’s what granted her personal magic as such; she can endure much more than before, but the more she endures negative emotion, the more violently she’ll ‘explode’ when she reaches her inevitable limit. As of her MSS, the only outlet she’s found has been to physically fight other people (mostly Yuna). 

I remember when I was in elementary school, and was in private schools similar to Juri’s. I also had a serious anger issues, coupled with a number of neurodivergencies that made it all worse. From what I can see, I don’t know whether Juri was bullied or hazed when she was younger, but given the combination of her extremely short temper, rough behavior inherited from her father, and of course, said father’s young age and single status, I’d wager she definitely was. I wasn’t in Juri’s exact situation, but it was comparable in some ways -- for one, I had a mother in bad health, who was bedridden for part of my elementary years, and for two, I attended so-called ‘Christian’ private schools that were, for the singular exeption of one actually good Catholic school (yes, I’m serious!), were basically Evangelical nightmares. 

My father, as I’ve noted on here before, is a Doctor of molecular genetics, and from the combined influence of him and my mother’s profession of emergency nursing/paramedicine, I developed a strong interest in scientific fields very early on. When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d routinely answer ‘a chemist!’, with heavy enthusiasm -- I wanted to work in drug research specifically, because another hit to my mother’s health was her extreme allergy to NSAIDs (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs), which are the primary treatment for most chronic pain. Needless to say, the minute any of my teachers found out of my father’s profession, and how his love of the sciences had rubbed off on me, they’d give me all hell. ‘Of course she’s bad, her father’s a biologist! Which means he believes in evolution,’ they’d unilaterally think. (Look, my ‘science’ textbook in fourth grade claimed the Moon was only a few thousand years old, which was the moment I realized how dumb the curriculum was.) So I was allowed to become the bullying target, with the teachers refusing to reprimand any student who harassed me, and instead turning the blame on me when I’d boil over from repeated abuse. Hell, I sat out in the hall as ‘punishment’ nearly every day in fifth grade, arguable the worst year of my life. 

The difference though, from Juri’s background, is that I had two parents, one of whom was a full-time mother, for the very reason of my severe neurodivergence. When I got to middle school, which hilariously was a public school run fifty times better than even the best private school I’d attended, these sources of abuse were removed, since the teachers a) didn’t give a shit about what my parents did for work, b) were required to keep their religious views out of the question, because while Virginia might be a Bible Belt state, this was Northern Virginia, where that sort of bull doesn’t fly, and c) were informed of my special needs before the year started, and were required to follow any accommodations on my IEP (thanks, ADA!). Juri doesn’t get these luxuries, I know, and I can only imagine that I’d have turned into her by high school if I hadn’t gotten the support I did. Juri’s old man is as supportive as he can be, but he was stated to be only 19 when Juri was born (so 35 now,) so he’s got his own set of issues to deal with, and likely didn’t get the time to mature properly himself, ‘cause he had to raise a kid at the same time. (Meanwhile, my folks were nearly forty each when I was born.) She’s been stuck with no support but her father her whole life, and she’s had to support him right back. It’s kinda surprising that they don’t fight all that much, actually. 

To go into some Arc 2 spoilers, Chapter 10 gives us another perspective, too, showing us what Juri would’ve been like as a parent... but also what she’d have been like if she’d been given a fairer shot. In the Kimochi bit in episode 4, we see Juri as a teen parent to Ao, yes, but she’s not alone like her father was -- she has Yuna, who’s been the closest to support Juri’s had this whole time. She’s also got Hikaru, to an extent, and while Hikaru won’t hold down a job to save her life (ironically,) she’s still good-natured and kind, and, more importantly, cares about Juri and Yuna’s wellbeing. Juri’s given a chance to ‘trial-run’ being an adult, since she knows this whole bit will end eventually (though, from their perspective, in 14 years!) She’s given a chance to work for something, to have a support structure she didn’t before. All that ends up giving her ways to manage her anger beyond just beating people up -- yeah, she still has to fight the kimochi every time Ao gets fearful, but she’s got Yuna in tow to help, as well as Hikaru. 

I’m in my 20s now, and I’ve only just started attending college. I’ve got a certification for pharmacy technicians, but no license, and I go back to school for my third-ever semester this winter. I’ve been convinced for years that by the time I’d get to college, my dreams of having a four-year degree in a science field or in translation would be violently shattered by my own inability to simply ‘do things I don’t like!’. Well, while I likely won’t be able to handle a full degree for quite a while, the idea that it’s my own damn fault I can’t do so has also been shot down. I’ve been struggling with a deep depression and a sometimes straight-up paralyzing anxiety for years now, to the point that my whole high school career was extended an extra year past when I should’ve graduated as a result. But, after almost a whole decade of being psychologically stuck, I’ve gotten some treatment for it. The chronic pain I’ve been fighting is starting to be managed, after we finally found a pain management doctor who’d actually take me seriously. I’ve found a therapist who’s actually able to cut through some of my own self-deprecation to get the point across that my behavior is normal for ADD folks. I’m inches away from getting a license finally, after being forbidden from getting one at sixteen, and I’ve been cleared to ride my bike into town along a certain route, so I’ve got ways to get outta the damn house. I know those aren’t the same ‘clean break’ Juri got in Chapter 10, but given that the Kimochi mindscape wasn’t reality anyways, she’s still gonna have work ahead of her to make that future a reality for herself, too. But, knowing that there’s a chance that things can turn out alright, and that you’ll be happier in the future, takes a lotta weight off the shoulders, y’know?

It’s late, and I’m tired from my medication increasing in dose today, so I dunno if I’ve made much sense, but basically I love Juri more now because I can see myself in her, and therefore I can see some hope for myself in there, too.

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 1)

Hey there Tumblr, long time no see! Let’s try something fun and new!

So, a few years ago, when The Stars May Rise and Fall was first published, I tried to do an “annotated copy” as a giveaway—i.e. a paperback with all my little “making of” notes in the margins. That lasted… about three pages, before I gave up on writing legibly enough for anyone else to read AND on cramming everything I wanted to say literally between the lines.

But I still really do like the IDEA of a sort of on-screen commentary, and it’s feeling like about time for a re-read anyway. (Yes, I read my own book. Why write the book you want to read if you’re not going to actually read it, amirite?) So… why not do it here?

Feel free to read along, if you like. If you haven’t read The Stars May Rise and Fall yet but are just generally interested in Phantom retellings or whatnot, this first one won’t spoil anything you can’t get in the “Look inside” preview on Amazon, although future ones might. So grab a copy and join me?

Regret is a pretty strong word, and not one I’m sure I want to use at all about this book, which is very much the book of my heart, the book I wrote because I wanted to read it and it didn’t exist. But if I regret anything about it, it’s that I decided to make the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical the first version of Phantom I paid homage to. Now, I definitely don’t regret including the ALW Phantom in the MANY versions I ultimately ended up giving little nods too. Like a lot of angsty kids in the 90s, it was the version that really got me interested in seeking out others, after all. But seeing reviews (and before that, rejections from literary agents) saying that they stopped reading after two or three chapters because “it followed the ALW musical too closely”… maybe I should have modelled the opening scenes after a different version, or just done something entirely new.

Still, it is what it is. And back in 2004 or whenever it was when I first had the idea for a visual kei Phantom retelling, I didn’t really consider opening with any other format than the tried and true “Phantom character hears Christine character singing, reaches out through the mirror to offer help” kind of formula.

A lot of it was also shaped by the venue itself. While “Rock Eden”, the live house where Teru and his band most often perform, doesn’t exist by that name, it’s basically Meguro Rock Maykan—which is a real venue, that at the time looked the way it’s described in the book and is still in the same location. And I knew from the start that that was where I wanted to set my Phantom. While most live houses are standing room only, or might have a few bar stools at the back, Rock Maykan apparently used to be an adult theater (it was certainly SOME kind of movie theater; the adult part could be an urban legend), and as of 2000, when the book is set, had these old-fashioned theatre seats (which have since been removed) and a balcony that’s off-limits to ticket holders but could be accessed by venue staff and anyone with a backstage pass. I’ve also been backstage there, and the dressing room is (or was at the time), practically wallpapered with old backstage passes and graffiti… perfect for a story that so deeply involves the ghosts of both people and dreams.

So, the mirror was that backstage mirror, and “Box Five” was going to be that balcony. Because of course no one has private dressing rooms in tiny little hole-in-the-wall venues like this, I couldn’t have Rei, my Phantom, talking to Teru directly through the mirror, but I wanted that basic formula for the opening… for better or worse. Sorry, one-star Amazon reviewer?

One of the things I always kind of imagined people would ask me once the book was a big hit (haha!) was how, exactly, Rei heard Teru singing and managed to contact him. At one point, I had written part of that scene in Rei’s point of view as well, but ended up dropping that point of view entirely (again, to the chagrin of several reviewers). Maybe someday I’ll be famous enough to get to do a Midnight Sun from his POV? XD

Anyway, if you’re interested. Teru has a backstage pass that gets him into the dressing room (and the balcony, if he wants, but he doesn’t have any reason to want to go up there until later). But Rei has access to EVERYTHING, including places where only the venue staff would be able to go, thanks to Chizuru, his assistant-slash-former hair and makeup artist, who now works part-time at Rock Eden. This is never really laid out on the page, but my sort of headcanon is that the owner/manager (who also never appears on-page) is one of the few people in the industry who knows that Rei survived the accident that disfigured him, and that Chizuru basically got the job (despite having income from elsewhere) so that she could secure access for Rei so that he could continue to scout talent. Now, I don’t ACTUALLY know what the venue-staff-only areas look like (I’ve been backstage, but as a staff member for a band, not the venue itself)… but that’s at Rock Maykan. This is Rock Eden, the fictional version, so we can go ahead and assume that there’s some kind of back hallway that can’t be accessed from the dressing room, but is separated from it by a thin wall, and that Rei heard Teru singing and talking to his bandmates from there.

These shows also used to have flyers for each band. (I’m not sure if they still do; musicals and things have definitely cut back on the amount of paper they pass out.) Fans would receive a pack of flyers when they entered the venue, and Chizuru, as staff, could easily take a pack from the pile. So Rei hears Teru singing to himself, thinks he’s got the right voice for his music, and then Yasu comes in, and they start talking. At some point, someone uses Teru’s name, and Rei asks Chizuru to get him a pack of flyers, which he uses to figure out which band Teru is in. There’s only one Teru playing that night, so he’s able to use the flyers to figure out that Teru is the drummer from La Rose Verboten, so he knows who Teru is when he comes onstage, despite having only heard his voice before.

And I think he kinda falls in love right there. He doesn’t WANT to… ohhh, there are SO many reasons he doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t dare to think that there’s any chance that ANYONE would ever love him back, but somewhere, buried deep under a lot of trauma and denial, he sees Teru onstage—and Teru LOVES being onstage, he loves music and it absolutely shines through—and Rei, despite himself, wants to talk to him.

I think there’s a lot of internal warring with himself over the course of Teru’s set, which would be maybe 20 minutes long. Rei knows he shouldn’t, it’s SUCH a bad idea to reach out to this guy who’s got this beautiful voice but also is just So Gorgeous… but he has to. And he has these business cards, because this was before you could just wave your phones at each other to exchange contact information and that was how you’d make connections, so he sucks up his fear and writes a note, and gives it to Chizuru before he can lose his nerve.

And Chizuru knew where to drop it because all of these bands are using the same dressing room, and a lot of them would have the same or similar equipment, so they write their names on electrical tape and stick it to their stuff, so she found the equipment that said Teru and La Rose Verboten and was able to leave it where he would find it. In case anyone was wondering.

The actual structure of the chapter itself… I’m still not sure if I love it. This opening was ROUGH for me to write, partially BECAUSE I knew that I was opening with kind of a cliché scene and needed to make it enough of a “hook” to make people want to read beyond that. There were literally maybe about 50 versions of it over the years, and I ended up with the current version, where the whole “hearing the beautiful voice through the mirror” thing has already happened and is being recounted as a memory in past-perfect, and the “present” of the story is Teru later that night, back in his apartment, going through the same kind of internal battle over whether he’s actually going to call this mystery number.

Of course, he does, and I think this kind of mirrors what Rei must have gone through earlier (so, maybe I should’ve kept that POV?). He KNOWS it can’t possibly be an actual talent scout or record producer… but Teru and Rei both, despite being pessimistic over a lot of things, always have a little spark of optimism buried somewhere in there, too. So he calls. And he falls in love just a little with Rei’s voice too, although he also buries that deep because he’s so firmly in denial about his sexuality at this point.

This is another point I get a LOT of flack about—how unrealistic it is that Teru would just agree to go to this guy’s apartment when they don’t know each other at all. And all I can say about that is… I definitely did similar things when I was Teru’s age (21). Was it the safest thing to do? Nope. Would I want my kids doing the same thing? Hell no, absolutely not. But do 21-year-olds do stupid things sometimes? You bet! So, yes, I have gone to the tiny Tokyo apartments of people I didn’t know very well. Including men. Including older men. And I was fine, not because that was a good decision—again, it is MOST EMPHATICALLY NOT—but because I was lucky. Like a lot of the people who do a few stupid things in their youth are.

As far as whether this fictitious character in a work of fiction is supposed to be a role model or whatever—it’s a novel for adults, about some pretty complicated and dark and occasionally messed-up stuff. (See also Rei’s struggle to accept his disabilities… is it the Best Possible Reaction™️ to the situation? Absolutely not. But you can’t say it’s not a reaction that a human being could feasibly have.) I think it’s pretty clear that I did NOT intend this to be some kind of morality lesson on how to have the perfect relationship and love yourself in the process. I understand that some readers want every bad decision to have negative consequences… in the case of Rei, I think a lot of the self-destructive behavior eventually does. But yeah, Teru does something stupid and dangerous and doesn’t suffer because of it… and that happens to real people too, every day.

I honestly think a big part of it, too, was my terrible-in-hindsight decision to list this as LGBT+ romance on Amazon. It’s a love story. It’s not a genre romance novel. These characters weren’t written to be “romantic heroes” and in the end, I do wish I had just listed it as general fiction, because I think I inadvertently set up certain stylistic, character, and plot expectations that the story was never intended to meet.

So. The beginning. I don’t really love it. But it’s certainly a hell of a lot better than the very very first draft from 2005, which was basically a shitty songfic of X Japan’s “Unfinished.” :P

What’s Rudy actually done that makes you say he’s immature? There’s a lot of stuff with Madison and Mariah, but nobody’s actually said what Rudy had done that makes him unprofessional? Like I can’t think of what he himself has done that warrants all the shite he gets from fans, but with Madison there’s multiple…

He literally pushed an old lady into the street and y’all just want to ignore it?? 🙄

I swear to god I need to make a post master list on this drama or some shit cause I feel like I’m answering the same question every week.

He’s some thing off the top of my head that are goofy as hell and don’t sit right.

Liked one of Maddie pictures (was a grainy film pic so kinda looked like something Elaine would post) then went back and I liked it within the hour I think. Went back to a post from three years ago and I tagged Maddie as the photo credit on it. Why? What for? Dude that’s fucking odd. (A little while later one of Elaine’s bts pics had a similar vibe but much shorter quality so some people have speculated idk). And when they won best kiss, he couldn’t share the post to his story like everyone else instead took his lil tootsie too google found some tie dye background and put that up with text saying thank you and ‘we won’ and ‘thanks for voting’ but no mention of what he won or who else won or what ever. Then like when Elaine was sharing all her bts pics she would do the same format every time, picture on her story, tag obx and the actors. Looked exactly the same. Then the first jiara bts, shared on her story in text caption saying ‘jj & Kie’. So glaringly different and obvious and just… odd. All very clear conscious choices of things that do not matter unless there is something more going on there.

As I said I’m not getting it all up again cause I swear I’ve typed it so many times but that’s a few in recent history

And look, is this immature? Idk I call it goofy cause that’s the only word I can come up to describe this shit. It’s just… odd. It’s weird. When you have someone who you have no bad blood with, I’ve sited before indications that when together Maddie and Rudy still get along, why make these conscious and intentional choices to remove yourself from that completely? Do not say ‘the fans take it out of context’ no honey, it’s more than that. And I genuinely need someone who acts like everything is normal to explain what they think is going on with that because it’s always just Helen Keller energy

And as for the Maddie stuff, alll of that is years ago. As I’ve said she was very immature at the start and she has grown so much and she is just living her life as normal. I think she just got sick of the other shit, cause she’s happy and unbothered

Song of Our Soul - Part 2

Another very short update for this fic~ Thanks to life and health I haven’t been able to write much x.x I’m used to writing 10,000 words per chapter, but decided to try to take it easy with the hope of actually finishing this. I’m uploading this to Twitter too even though I hate the format (what format??) Updates go up there first! --- Modern Wangxian reincarnation soulmate au where both hear a song in their dreams, a song so familiar yet so foreign. They catch glimpses of each other in their dreams, and hear their voices, but when they wake up, all they remember is the melody and the other’s faint emotions. Angst with a happy ending. TW: mentions of violence, child abuse, abandonment, suicidal thoughts, etc. Will add more ----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | 

---- For the first time in his life, Lan Zhan barely paid attention in class. At least, not to the teacher. His focus remained on his whispering classmates. At one point, the Professor even called on him as he often did to answer a question. Much to his bewilderment, he received no answer from the school’s best student and quickly moved on, stunning the entire classroom.  

As soon as class was released, he approached each and every student who mentioned the song before and during class, nearly scaring them off. Lan Zhan wasn’t known to approach others, let alone speak so much.  

“I’m sorry… all I know is that they’re on Spotify,” the fifth student quietly mumbled, watching the very slight fall of his shoulders. While the others started spreading more rumors, now wondering if Chenqing stole the song from Lan Zhan, the last girl, Luo Qingyang felt a pang of something in her chest. To her, Lan Zhan looked worried, not angry, which only confused her more. It also made her want to help. 

“I've been listening to him before Untitled,” she quickly said just as he went to thank her. “They - he used to have twenty six songs, but right before uploading Untitled, he deleted most of them, even my favorite. There’s only thirteen now.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened a fraction, the news catching him off guard. Why would he delete almost everything before releasing the new song? Somehow the Lan knew it wasn’t out of embarrassment of his older works. It was something much darker than that. 

“Do you have the downloads?” He asked, hoping beyond hope she archived them. Luckily she nodded, though seemed a little reluctant. 

“Lan Wangji… what will you do if I send them?” She asked, obviously wishing to respect Chenqing’s wishes. It was touching how protective she was, but it also stirred a different emotion he didn’t quite understand.  

“I want to listen to them,” he honestly said. Despite never really talking to anyone, everyone knew the Lans never lied, especially Lan Zhan. It was rare when he spoke, and when he did, everyone turned to listen. Which is why Luo Qingyang pulled her phone out, knowing this must be important. 

“Okay, how would you like me to send them?”

The rest of the day was long and tiring. Not because of classes, but due to talking to so many people. It’s something he’s never really done before, and something he didn’t really want to do again. The only helpful information he received was from Luo Qingyang, everyone else just seemed to know Chenqing because of the new song. 

Turning on his laptop, he downloaded all the songs and started listening to them. They were unique and different, each played with a flute accompanied by a soft, pleasant hum. While not exactly masterpieces, they were cleverly crafted and well put together. Lan Zhan found himself closing his eyes, allowing the music to take him on a journey. 

The first song made him picture a little boy playing in a park, giggling and playing happily with other children there. Towards the end, the vibrant energy slowly started to fade. He could see the child losing their mirth, the sky darkening, and everyone else slowly fade. That playful tune slowly ebbed into something more tame and slow, low notes punctuating loneliness, maybe something even more. 

Then it stopped. 

The next song started before he could fully process the previous one. It made him envision a teenage rascal going through town and looking through shops, unable to help himself as he caused a little “quiet” mayhem. The song would swell then abruptly stop, as if they managed to stop themselves from causing too much chaos, no matter how much they wanted to.

Somehow that seemed wrong and out of character for the artist, but how would he even know? 

The next few sounded similar, giving him a sense of a repressed, playful spirit. It wasn’t until he got to the seventh deleted song that Lan Zhan felt the hair on the back of his neck fully stand on end. 

This was Luo Qingyang’s favorite song, and it was the most chaotic so far. Like a whirlwind, its fast paced notes seemed to make the energy in the room rise, as if it could awaken the dead and convince them to rise. It was shrill and piercing, commanding and authoritative. Unlike the other song, this one was heavily weighted, and Lan Zhan could imagine shackles weighing Chenqing’s arms down. Not like it would stop him from playing this song. Like a war cry, it paved the way for something he seemed desperate for: control. 

Despite being the first time he’s heard it, it sounded bone-chillingly familiar. The tone completely shifted in the songs that played after. Somber and quiet, discontent and anger. He no longer hummed, though Lan Zhan could see parts where he could practically picture lips growling against the flute’s mouthpiece.

Listening to the rest was difficult; it was like listening to a man slowly lose his mind. The last one, the one right before Untitled hardly felt like a song, but a long breath that matched his broken heart beat. Lan Zhan hated how it sounded, but felt enchanted. 

‘This is what I’ve become,’ is what it said. ‘Just a breath in the wind, ready to be swept away.’

As it ended, Lan Zhan realized his cheeks were cold and reached up, feeling tears trailing down them. 

Why… why did this have such a tight grip on him? Why couldn’t he just close his laptop and ignore this? His heart deeply ached, anxiety and adrenaline trying to spur him into taking to the streets until he found the music that played in his soul.

Chenqing was in danger. He needed Lan Zhan now more than ever. But what could he do? He didn’t even know who he was!

Hand moving before his body, he shakingly clicked on Suibian’s Tumblr page, only to feel his heart completely freeze at the image uploaded an hour ago. There was no text, just a picture of the full moon taken from a bridge. One that looked very high up. 

No- 

He stood as if to run out the door and hunt this bridge down even if it took all night. Deep down though, he knew it was useless. All the cities he suspected Chenqing lived were large with vast countrysides to boot. No matter how determined he was, he’d never make it in time. 

He might already be too late. 

Mind reeling, he did the only thing he could do. 

Closing his laptop, he went to his recording room and spoke with his music. Using the guqin, his instrument of choice, he played his version of the melody that played within his soul, practically weeping “I’m here.”

All he could do was pray and hope his other half would hear it, because who else could this be but his soulmate?

A few cities over, bathing under the full moon’s light with legs dangling over the railing of a worn down bridge was another who had music in his soul. His gaze was towards the moon as he gripped the railing, almost too numb to feel his phone vibrate. 

What did it matter if someone tried messaging him? Then, he realized, who would be messaging him?

Numbly he turned the phone over, staring at it with deep bags under his eyes. It took a few moments for them to register what they saw, and when they did, they focused and widened a bit. 

A notification from Tumblr: Hanguanjun sent you a message.

HI OKAY I PROMISE IM NOT GONNA SPOIL THE ENTIRE FIRST HALF FOR YOU BUT UH HERES THE NEXT SCENE ALSO IM SORRY THE READMORE MAKES THE FORMATTING WEIRD BUT I ALSO DONT WANT PEOPLE TO HAVE TO SCROLL THROUGH MY LONG ASS STORY JUST TO SEE YOUR ART ALSO PLEASE LIVE REACT AGAIN ITS ALWAYS THE BEST WHENEVER YOU DO THAT FOR ANYTHING

Read it below!

“I do believe it would be in our best interests to find other ways to meet,” Alexedar jolted and whirled around, momentarily blinded by his hair. Alocer raised an eyebrow at Alexedar’s reaction, clearly fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards.

“I can’t say I see what you mean,” Alexedar turned his head away, speaking with a confidence he didn’t feel, “we are in a garden, and not alone. I’d say this is as different a way to meet as one could ask.”

“I disagree with your saying that we are not alone. I see few around, and none close enough to see what we do, let alone hear what we say.”

“It is still a public space. Any could come here at any moment.”

“A storage closet is just as public as anything.”

“All were preoccupied with dinner. It may as well have been as private as my own bedroom.”

“I was able to slip away. Any others could’ve done the same. And, as you referenced your bedroom, may I inquire about it?”

“I feel as though this conversation teeters on the edge of becoming less than appropriate.”

Alocer grinned like a shark that tasted blood.

“Less than appropriate? I merely asked of your bedroom. It is entirely you if that question brought forth inappropriate ideas.”

“Perhaps, though your grin certainly makes it seem as though that had been your intent.”

“I grin because you made an assumption I guessed you would. I do so very enjoy being proven right.”

“Are there any that enjoy being wrong?”

“I suppose it depends on who it is proving you wrong. Someone you hate, you will be very angry. Someone you love dearly, more than anything, stronger than you could even fathom, I don’t think you’d mind.”

“You speak of this person like you already know them. Do you?”

“No, I don’t, but I’d very much like to. Also, you’re changing the topic.”

“If my guess at your question being inappropriate was wrong, what had you meant?”

“I’ve found you can learn much about someone from the room they sleep in. Is it clean, how is it decorated, is it bright or dark, where it is, all very useful information.”

Alexedar laughed, and, had he kept his eyes open while he did so, he would’ve been able to glimpse the face of a man who saw rapture, salvation, on Alocer.

“I see your tricks! You wish only to know where my room is, likely for your nefarious and inappropriate schemes.”

“Ah, you have caught me red handed. I admit, I do wish to know where your chambers lie. In only a few days of being in this gilded city, you, and our one meeting, has been the most interesting and riveting thing I have encountered. I’d enjoy knowing where to find you. May I sit?” he gestured at the small alcove Alexedar had claimed.

“You may,” Alocer nodded his head in thanks before sitting far too gracefully for his size.

Their spot was a semi circle carved into the wall of the castle. It had been carved deep into the stone, leaving more than enough room for one to comfortably sit on it. Soft algae and seaweed was used to create cushions for the bottom. While the seat was deep, it wasn’t exactly long, which caused Alexedar to have to curl up to make enough room. Even then, Alexedar could feel the warmth from Alocer’s tail.

Their banter was something Alexedar couldn’t explain. He’d bever talked to someone like that for that long, not even Ava. It left him feeling brave, brave enough to uncurl his tail and let it brush Alocer’s.

For a fraction of a second, the prince seemed to be taken off guard, before the expression was smothered and his larger, stronger tail pressed closer.

Not inappropriate my ass.

In an attempt to not make it known how a simple touch could make him feel, Alexedar started to speak.

“You said I was the most interesting thing you’ve seen and met in your time in Alternate. I have to ask, is Alternate really that boring?”

“Is Alternate boring, or you very interesting?”

“I’d have to say Alternate is very boring, then, as much as it pains me to say that of my home.”

“You do not think you yourself could be interesting? Yet you have captured the friendship of a princess.”

“I am interesting to her as she has known me a long time. You’ve known me barely an evening,” as he said that, however, Alexedar could feel that what he was saying wasn’t really true.

When the two returned to the hall, arm in arm, it had caused a hush to fall. Alexedar was certain that if he had been on his own, he would’ve dashed back to the closet again, but Alocer had been there. He had kept them both going to the table and had gotten Alexedar to his spot before returning to his own. When conversation started again, Alocer kept Alexedar in it, repeatedly starting talks between the two of them.

Alexedar hadn’t seen the prince for days after that, until the garden.

“Perhaps it has only taken an evening for me to find you incredibly intriguing. So intriguing, in fact, I’d like to know where you lay so that I may find you easier.”

“You will not give up on that question, shall you?”

“No.”

“It will not be as easy as you seem to think to find and retrieve me for conversation. My rooms are in the royal wing, well and heavily guarded.”

“I have many ways, but I shall simply thank you for telling me. This garden is quite lovely. That is Neptune grass, there?”

“Yes, it is.”

“It is very lovely. I’ve only ever read of it, though I’ve desired to see it in truth for years. If I had known your kingdom had a garden of it, I’d have begged to accompany my mother on trade deals. Were you aware it is considered the slowest growing seagrass? It must have taken ages to curate that kind of growth.”

Maybe it was the banter, maybe it was because of the large Ecklonia Cava blocking their alcove from being in view, maybe it was the way Alocer looked when starting to talk about seagrass, of all things, but, whatever the reason, Alexedar slowly manoeuvred his halfmoon tail so that it could twine around the larger’s.

Alocer stopped talking for a moment, rose creeping up from his neck and to his cheeks, before his tail curled around Alexedar’s and he continued to talk, though quieter.

Alexedar was honestly surprised that the prince allowed their position at all. It was seen as intimate, to say the least, to have one's tail around another’s like they were. It was seen as something only lovers alone did.

The two sat together for a long time, intertwined in a small alcove hidden away from others and prying eyes. Just the two of them, peaceful and beautiful.

————————————————————

ALRIGHT TIME FOR ANOTHER SEMI LIVE BLOGGG

Alocer teasing alexedar about his room please they’re so cute djsjjjsdj

“SOMEONE YOU LOVE DEARLY”??? OKAY I SEE HOW IT IS

Two bros, sitting in an alcove, no feet apart because they’re PINING

WAGHHHH THE TAIL TOUCHES,,,,,

THEM COMING BACK ARM IN ARM IN DEAD SILENCE IS SO FUNNY IMAGINE WHAT EVERYONE IS FUCKIGN THINKING DJSJSJSJSK

plant nerd alexedar lets gooo talk about that sea grass assjdjdk

OH MY GOD SILAS THAT ENDING PLEASE THATS SO SOFT,,,,AND TENDER,,,,,,,I LOVE THIS IM SMILING AT MY PHONE AND A TEACHER JUST PASSED I THINK SHE THINKS IM GOING INSANE