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eternitylarva · 1 month

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okay, so uh. danbooru anon. deciding not to be anon now. it's me! here's the full story, as much as I think I can remember and tell, at least. buckle up?

so this all started, I think, back in like... I wanna say 2018? we were having a hell of a bad time in our life because of being trapped in Mexico by our parents who were very insistent upon us learning Spanish and refused to recognize that we were horribly mentally ill (their fault mostly) and that spending months in an unfamiliar country when we were already scared to talk to people in the language we already knew, was, like, not helping anything, at all... Long story for some other time.

so while being there, lonely and shit, we started looking at various anime images when not, like, watching anime. Partially on twitter, partially on pixiv, and partially on deviantart. We were, for the record, like, 19, not yet egg cracked, not plural cracked, not any of these things yet. Nonetheless all these things were making us very hyperaware of our kinks and making us wonder what the fuck we even were. Our egg cracked after about a year of exposure, to which I credit a lot of things in hindsight, but they're all of or related to anime. Monogatari, houseki no kuni, Madoka, FLCL Progressive, that one scene from the second-to-last chapter of Bloom Into You being circulated online with a fan coloring and extremely confusing us and making us dysphoric, and the nail in the eggshell was joining The Pedantic Romantic's discord server and the many other trans people there making us wonder if maybe this trans of gender thing was how everything could be made some fucking sense of.

But also one other very important contribution to our Extreme Aaah Gender Feelings was one specific image of Nagisa Madoka Magica groping Mami's breast and nomfing her hair. We found this on deviantart, and, at some point, it went missing, the artist's account got nuked, and we were not able to find it again.

Except we were! thanks to danbooru! someone had saved it there. Here it is.

So, this particular experience convinced us that danbooru was instrumental in archiving anime fanart. Eventually we came across some different more active artists whose yuri shipping works were giving us more different gender euphoria, but no one was uploading it there, so I decided we'd best be the change we want to see. etc

Anyway this is where the problems start. Because it turns out danbooru is not an archival site. It's not run like one, it's not intended to be one. (or if it is intended to be one, then it fucking sucks at doing that.) It's a closed community of people (seemingly mostly lonely cis men) who want to maintain an ongoing gallery of the hot anime girls they like.

Consistent with this apparent aim is their (frankly fucking stupid) system of upload limits. You can read how that works for yourself, if you want, but in a nutshell, it means that as a new user you have to get your posts approved in the moderation queue before they're visible, and you can only have so many uploaded to the queue at a time. The more pictures you get approved, the more you get to keep uploading, and if your uploads go unapproved by the moderators, you get penalized with less permitted uploads. If enough of your images get approved and few enough of them are deleted (they're not really deleted per se, just, banished to invisibility in the site's search unless you specifically search for the deleted images), then, eventually you become a "Contributor" which basically means you can bypass this nonsense system and upload however much of whatever you like whenever.

They claim that this system is to prevent people from spamming the site with too many low quality images. But the thing is, the moderators aren't actually obligated to approve images, and most of them only approve an image if they like it. So, this results in a dynamic where, rather than uploading something that meets a reasonable standard of quality and being sure it'll go through, you have to guess what the moderators personally like, and hope to god that you're correct. If your tastes align with the mods, this is probably a cakewalk. If not, then, well, you have to fuck around.

I eventually noticed that there's a discord server, so, in an effort to get an edge in this piece-of-shit mind game, I joined there and got friendly with the regulars. Asking them and the admins for help helped me figure out what to put up there, and, it turns out, that if you're willing to talk there, you can just, like, share the image you want to upload and ask if it's likely to make it through approval. Sometimes you get lucky enough for a moderator to say "go ahead, I'll approve that". Easy win! kinda. if you ignore the having to join another goddamned discord server.

...still, for a little bit, it went fine, they seemed nice enough, I was open about my queer identity and none of them gave me shit about it, so I was like... this is fine, right? they're fine. they seem fine. There were at least a couple who seemed like good people, and I thought, yeah. Fine.

It was all going just fine and dandy, except that I didn't like having to talk to people, I found the whole process of getting approved tedious, and I was also noticing some of the site admins talking about how the immense backlog created by the general inaction of most of the mods was causing problems for like, the one or two moderators who actually try to keep up with the backlog and approve everything that's basically fine, and also even the regulars really don't seem to like this system, but not one person questioned... the need for the upload limit system in the first place? or why they couldn't just... delete spam on a case by case basis (I've looked time and again; it's really not that common, most of the shit that gets uploaded is just, fine), instead of screening everything for possible subjective spaminess?

Like, if Wikipedia, instead of reacting to vandals after they've done things (like they do here in reality) went and manually reviewed EVERY SINGLE EDIT for possible vandalism, and then y'know, a bunch of the Wikipedia admins took this as license to just, delete edits that say true things they don't like? And then everyone had to like, carefully police their edits to ensure that they fit with the personal views of the admins most likely to approve them? Like... that would suck for editors, and also would not fucking work and make a lot of unnecessary bullshit busywork for everyone involved, and also is basically exactly how danbooru works.

Honestly I am still flabbergasted that they just run the site this way. Like how has no one stopped and questioned this. Why the fuck are they still doing this. Sincerely: danbooru admins, what the fuck is wrong with you? You don't have to do this! I-agh. I didn't even get to the transphobia. Okay. uh

So anyway at some point in the discord server I took a swing at suggesting a more inclusive approach to tagging the genders of characters who appear in images (another questionable system that maybe doesn't need to exist, but whatever), Bridget Guilty Gear came up, many of the regulars openly complained about how a flame war over her gender tag starts any time anyone uploads a picture of her, and eventually, one of the admins responded to me like this:

I saw right then that there was no way I was winning this discussion, so I left an :| emoji on the message to express my disapproval and promptly exited the discord server. I then spiraled a bit for a few days, had an internalized transphobia panic attack that I manifested in a vent thread on bluesky, and then talked over my feelings on the situation with our girlfriend who expressed sympathy but also said "i told you so, y'know" and also emphasized to me, "you need to accept it's not an archival site. it's a closed circle of assholes" and I said, "yeah, I know"

Anyway, I uploaded a little bit more after that, and eventually got promoted to "Contributor" status, after which point (this was back in November of last year) I have uploaded a total of... maybe 60 times? give or take. The fact that I no longer need to go through the approval queue means that I do not need to fuck with the mods in any way shape or form, and, y'know, I prefer that. I do not like the site's community, but like, it's a thing I use, and I'm gonna keep making use of their servers to host my particular special little girls for as long as they keep the servers online, I guess. And I mean, also, I guess everything I post there is inevitably getting mirrored on some other site, so. Yeah

...I mean I guess it also helps that I know nothing about guilty gear and don't follow any artists who draw Bridget. At least not currently. so

I hope this has answered all of your questions!

Thank you very much for writing all of this up. It was a fascinating read! I've been a casual Danbooru user for over a decade at this point, just using it to search for art of characters I liked or posing/framing inspiration for my own creative outlets. I too treat it like an archival site, but I've always got the vibe that it was mostly run by what I can most charitably describe as weirdos -- and it's eye-opening to hear just how backwards their systems are. I'm sorry you had to endure all of that over the years.

As for Bridget, I was pretty dialed in to the discourse on the site when it cropped up. Though I don't ever interact with the community, there was so much debate about her on the comments of some pieces that I was compelled to seek out the forums to see what they were talking about. It was largely the same as the experience you had with that Discord mod, I'm afraid. Supposedly, you tag what you see, unless you know the character is a "trap", then you tag what you know, unless that character is Bridget and she doesn't have visible breasts, vagina, or trans colours/themeing in the art. Yes, that seems to be the current compromise as of time of writing. The 1girl/1boy/2girls/etc. tagging scheme is really bizarre and they really need better solutions. Penises are considered a boy-only feature in their tagging system, but "futanari" exists and it gets the girl tag still. Is that tagging what they see or what they know? But every so often the discussion comes up on the forums again and the regulars defend the status quo because, well, to them it's a "ain't broke don't fix it" sort of situation.

Anyway, thank you again for this. It's not a website I get to discuss often or think about much, but since it's been in my life for so long, it's been rather interesting to get another side of it. Keep up the good work on archiving your special blorbos! o7

#danbooru #she speaks #I am tagging this for my own archival purposes but hm I guess the tag means it becomes searchable #EDIT: ALSO PEDANTIC ROMANTIC AAAA that takes me back I wonder how she's doin these days

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a-cacophony-of-silent-words · 3 months

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Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Tim goes back in time to avert the end of the universe, but things quickly go awry and he’s left with an important decision to make: Carry through with the plan as he originally intended; Or make a risky play to change things for the better.

Argothia’s Notes: I actually teetered on the edge of burning out while rewriting this chapter so I think for my sake and the sake of continuing the story I'm going to back off to posting a chapter every other week! Chapter 13 isn't even finished yet so I gotta finish writing that and then get chapter 14 done while also editing 13 and it's just too much work. To leave you with some good news though: I've got an initial plan for Part Two completed and ready to go. We're about Halfway done with Part One and I do actually know where Part One ends so planning wise things are going well. Anyway, enjoy Chapter 12 see you in the wednesday after next!

Warning for a somewhat bloody death of a very minor character!

Throughout Jason’s explanation of the Moneyspider case, Bruce is very quiet. He’s taking in the information and thinking it over for sure that’s part of it. But… Jason can already tell he’s irritated before the car comes to a stop in the cave. This sucks. Alfred pats his shoulder reassuringly and, well, at least he’s got Alfred and Babs here to back him up. Still he really doesn’t think he’s ready for this argument.

Bruce gets out of the car and walks up the stairs to the landing with purpose. “I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

“Big surprise.” Jason slumps back in the chair and crosses his arms, very deliberately not looking Bruce in the eye.

Still he can see as Bruce looks over at Alfred for a moment. He must not get what he’s looking for because he sounds a little more uncertain as he continues scolding, “What in the world were you thinking? All of you! If--”

“I was thinking ‘Hey, B’s running himself into the ground and the doesn’t need to be dealing with some shit as little as some hackers feuding over charity money, Babs and I can handle it’.” Jason interrupts before Bruce can continue his rant. “And we were handling it.”

Distantly Jason hears Babs say something.

But Bruce doesn’t seem to hear her and just argues back. “If you hadn’t tried to go against my orders and just told me in the first place I could’ve caught this sooner!”

“Fat chance!” Jason snaps as he stands up to properly face Bruce. “If I told you, you woulda just put it on the back burner behind the six other cases you’ve been working on and you’d still be wondering why Chiles set up an account for Lonnie!”

“Guys—” Babs says a little louder.

Jason just has one thing left to say, so he plows ahead as he hears Babs call for Alfred distantly. “At least this way half the work’s already done!”

“I’m not--”

“—ill no word--,” the excruciatingly loud voice of a local news anchor nearly makes Jason jump out of his skin as it echoes around the cave. He spins around to look up at the TV above the computer while the news anchor continues, “–from the plane carrying Gotham Industrialist Jack Drake and his wife, Janet. Contact was lost with the plane shortly after it left Nassau, Bahamas. It was expected in Kingston, Jamaica nearly twelve hours ago, but hasn’t been spotted. We will keep you abreast of this story as and if we receive more information.”

Alfred turns the TV off as Babs says, “Are you listening now?”

“Shit.” Jason hisses, stepping back as Bruce moves for the computer.

Bruce doesn’t waste any time. “Oracle--”

“I don’t have any more information than the news.” She responds before the question is asked. “The Drake’s plane disappeared en route. All means of tracking it were disabled shortly after they left Nassau. No one’s heard from them in thirteen hours.”

“Damn.” Bruce growls as he starts typing something. “The news only mentioned Jack and Janet, where’s Tim?”

“School.” Jason answers quickly. “He mentioned he had school the next day when I talked to him. It’s a fancy boarding school in the north of Bristol county.

Bruce sighs with some slight relief. “Alright. So it’s Jack, Janet--.”

“The pilot and one other person.” Babs finishes. “I’m looking at the airport security footage right now. The other person is a blond, white man with glasses?”

“Jeffries.” Bruce says. “He’s Jack’s PA. Either the pilot or Jeffries is likely working for Chiles or the mercenaries. Jeffries has been working for Jack since before Judge Drake died.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t have been bought.” Babs cautions.

With a nod Bruce goes back to typing, a map of the Caribbean pops up on the screen. “Dammit… there’s too many places they could’ve gone on the amount of fuel they would’ve had after leaving.”

“If the mercenaries already have them then is there really a point finding out where they are.” Jason can’t help feeling pessimistic at this point. “They’ll just kill them outright and be done with it.”

Bruce shakes his head. “If the Drakes just disappear there will be questions. There can’t be any question of who killed them. He’ll want to make it look like they were kidnapped. The mercenaries are probably waiting for a signal from Chiles to kill them.”

“So then do we go grab Chiles now?”

“No…” He sounds frustrated now. “If Chiles is arrested it might spook the mercenaries and they could act without his input.”

Jason groans. “So we just have to wait?”

Sitting down heavily in the chair Bruce puts a hand over his eyes. “Unfortunately…”

“I’ll try and get into DI’s system and keep an eye out for them to be sent any kind of ransom note.” Babs says, tiredly. “Hopefully we’ll have some good news by morning.”

“Hopefully.”

It’s early in the morning when Jason makes his way down into the cave next. Alfred had forced him to go to bed only an hour after Babs signed off. Technically he was right that there wasn’t really anything for Jason to do, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see this case through to the very end. So he barely took time to change out of his sleepwear, still pulling his shirt on over his torso as he enters the elevator. He hits the code for the cave then the highest speed setting. He grabs the bar nearest to him as the brief feeling of weightlessness takes over and braces himself for the sudden stop. It’s not the worst jolt Jason’s ever experienced by a long shot but he’s still ended up knocked onto his ass a couple of times because he wasn’t ready for it.

As the door opens Jason hears the voice of the news presenter again, “And we now go live to where the Drake Industries CEO is about to make a statement.”

Bruce is sitting exactly where Jason left him the night before, watching the news on the largest of the computer’s monitors, slouched down in the chair with his fingers steepled in front of his chin. He acknowledges Jason with a slight tilt of his head as the footage on screen focuses on a small man in a business suit standing at a podium who Jason presumes is Nathaniel Chiles.

He’s a thin and wiry man, what’s left of his hair long gone gray, his expression very serious. Straightening his tie with confidence Chiles starts talking, “Ladies and gentlemen of the press. I regret to confirm to you all that Mr and Mrs Drake have indeed been abducted. We have received a video ransom demand, however… it is Drake Industries policy the under no circumstances are we to pay any amount of ransom for any employee or shareholder.”

Jason curls his lip as Chiles pauses. The creep’s doing a damn good job of looking remorseful, Jason has no doubt he has most of the press fooled.

“Unfortunately the ransom they’re asking for is… beyond my means to pay out of pockets, so I’m afraid all I can do is appeal to the kidnappers on behalf of the Drake’s young son--”

“What a load of shit.” Jason growls.

Bruce grunts in agreement.

At almost the exact same moment one of the side monitors turns to Oracle’s symbol. “DI turned the ransom demand over to the police. I got it out of their files… It’s not pretty.”

“Send it.” Bruce closes the news tab and sits up straighter.

The video starts playing as soon as Bruce opens the file Babs sent. Three people tied to chairs in a dingy, rundown shack, the Drakes and what looks like the assistant that Bruce mentioned last night. Jeffries looks to be in rough shape, only partially in frame and barely conscious with a nasty wound on his forehead. The Drakes themselves look okay for the most part. Janet especially seems pretty calm. Scared, for sure, but like she’s keeping her wits about her. Her eyes darting about as though she’s looking for something. Jack is glaring at someone off screen and speaking very loudly as the audio kicks in. “--ake Industries will never bow to the demands of thugs and--”

A distorted voice starts talking over him. “Gentlemen of the Drake Industries board of directors, as you can see, Jack Drake and his lovely wife are being diligently cared for by my men. However I’m afraid their stay with us cannot be a long one. If our demands are not met within the next forty-eight hours of receiving this message I cannot ensure their safety.”

A map of Gotham appears on screen with an old abandoned lot in downtown circled. “Deliver the money to this location. Leave it there and await further instructions. Do not attempt to find us. It will do you no good anyhow. Follow these simple rules and the Drakes may yet be delivered to you alive and well. Disobey and…”

Jeffries is grabbed by a masked man, who drags him closer to the camera. Janet seems to realize what’s going on as her eyes go wide and she screams, “No!”

The mercenary pulls out a huge knife and presses it to Jeffries’s throat. Blood sprays across the screen making it difficult to see anything more and the distorted voice begins speaking again, “I reiterate; You have forty-eight hours…”

And the screen goes dark.

In the moments that follow Jason’s quiet, “Fuck,” sounds strained even to his own ears.

“Do you think they’ll wait the full forty-eight hours?” Babs asks. “Or was Chiles’s press conference the signal?”

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “We have to work under the assumption that they’re alive… They didn’t direct him not to contact the police.”

“Yeah.” Jason leans on the back of Bruce’s chair. “They basically challenged the police right? ‘Don’t attempt to find us’ is all but saying ‘come get us’.”

“Basically.” Bruce agrees, glancing over at Jason. “Which could mean that the signal to kill the Drakes could be that they want police to show up at the pick up site.”

With a quiet sigh, Babs says, “Alright. If that’s the case then what now?”

“We find out where they actually are.” Bruce restarts the video. “There’s a clue in here we just need to find it.”

Hearing that ‘we’ in there is pretty nice even if Jason’s pretty sure Bruce is referring more to himself and Babs than including Jason. He tries to focus on the video anyway. Between the monologues from the distorted voice and Jack’s ranting it’s difficult to catch anything, until… Jason stands up straight from his slouched position when he hears it. Just as the masked man grabs Jeffries. “Wait! Pause it!”

Bruce does. “What?”

“Loop this bit here. I heard a bird!”

Obliging, Bruce isolates the section Jason pointed to and they listen. Sure enough, there’s a sharp, quick bird call that sounds a bit like a ‘peee-u’.

“See! Can we use that?” Jason can’t help feeling a bit hopeful as he looks over at Bruce.

Bruce nods. “If it’s what I think it is then maybe.”

“Good catch, Jay!” Babs says, then she goes quiet for a second. “...Shit. Something just went down at Gotham Juvie. My contact is trying to get ahold of me. I'll let you know what happened as soon as I know more.”

“Understood.” Bruce responds as he starts isolating the sound.

Babs signs off and Jason is left watching Bruce work in silence. He feels antsy. And he knows what’s going to happen next. When Bruce has a good idea where the Drakes are he’s going to leave and tell Jason to stay behind. Jason’s so fucking done with staying behind. He grits his teeth preparing to say something when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Startled he turns around quick and looks up at Alfred who nods towards the lockers.

Jason frowns in confusion but doesn’t hesitate to follow Alfred around the small wall blocking the view from the computer. Alfred pulls something out of the furthest locker. Something with familiar colors. Without taking his eyes off Alfred Jason takes the folded Robin suit when it’s offered to him.

Alfred smiles. “Lucky thing I finished it this morning… Be careful, Master Jason.”

The elation of knowing that not only does he have back up but that it’s Alfred gets the better of Jason and he hugs Alfred as tightly as he dares. “Thank you… Believe in me, Alfred.”

“Always, sir.” Alfred pats his back softly, then gently pushes him back. “Now, get prepared. I’m afraid Master Bruce won’t be an easy obstacle.”

Jason smiles slightly. “Leave him to me, Alfie.”

Bowing his head, Alfred seems to accept that before he walks away.

The new suit fits like a dream and strange as it feels to be wearing the kevlar and spandex again… it feels good. It’s comfortable. Like coming home.

When he’s fully dressed he takes a deep breath and walks back to stand behind Bruce at the computer. Watching as a program sorts through birds trying to match the isolated audio to a bird species. He only waits a few more moments before the program gets a hit! It’s a small gray and white bird with a yellow green back. Jason tilts his head at the name. “Grey-crowned palm-tanager? Is that a good thing?”

“Incredibly. The Grey-crowned palm-tanager is exclusively found in one place in the entire world,” Bruce says without looking back, there’s relief in his voice. He pulls up a map on the computer and zooms in on the Caribbean. “The island of Hispaniola. Mainly around the Tiburon peninsula in the southern portion of Haiti.”

“So that’s where we’ll find them then?” Jason asks, excitement and maybe a little apprehension bleeding into his voice despite himself.

“That’s where I’ll…” Bruce trails off as he turns the chair around and finally sees Jason. He looks Jason over then his eyes flick towards Alfred who’s calmly standing by the stairs to the manor. For a few moments longer he’s quiet and it’s difficult to even try to read his expression. Then his jaw sets and he stands up. “No.”

Too bad for him Jason’s not backing down. “Fuck you, you need me.”

“Jason,” Bruce growls, firmly, as he walks around Jason towards the Batmobile. “This isn’t the time--”

“No, this is the perfect time!” Jason answers with conviction, following close behind Bruce.

Without so much as looking over his shoulder as he starts down the stairs, Bruce orders, “Stay in the cave.”

Yeah, not this time. “What’re you even going to do? If you go rescue the Drakes right away, Chiles will have flown the coop long before you get back!”

“I’m going to deal with Chiles immediately.” The fact that he responds at all means he knows that argument is shaky as hell.

With a running start, Jason hops up onto the stair railing and launches off. He does a front flip and twists in midair so he lands facing Bruce at the bottom of the steps. “You know damn well that by the time you get enough solid evidence against him to send him to jail the Drakes will be dead!”

“That’s enough, Jason.” Bruce calmly pushes past him to keep walking. “You’re staying and that’s final.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Jason dodges around to get in front of Bruce again, forcing him to stop, and shoves him hard in the chest. “Listen to me! We’re wasting time just fucking arguing about this! You will never forgive yourself if you don’t put everything you’ve got into saving the Drakes and if Chiles escapes he might try something even more fucked up to get whatever revenge he thinks he deserves. So just let me do this, Bruce!”

Bruce’s expression tightens with worry and he looks around like he’s trying to find any reason he shouldn’t just give in. Then at last he sighs and closes his eyes. Running a hand over his face he says, “…Call Dick. If he can make it, wait for him and then go after Chiles. Understood?”

There’s a loophole the size of a freight train in that command, but Bruce is probably too distracted to notice it and there’s no way in hell Jason’s going to let him know about it. He schools his expression into a serious one very carefully and responds, “Understood.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Bruce doesn’t move. He probably thinks Jason accepted that way too easily.

“God.” Jason groans pulling his cellphone out of his utility belt and scrolling through his contacts until he finds Dick. He shows the screen to Bruce. “Look, I’m calling him right now. Go!”

Bruce waits until Jason actually hits the call button before he turns and heads for the Batplane.

Luckily he’s well situated in the pilot seat and taking off through the runway tunnel by the time Jason inevitably gets Dick’s answering machine. “Hey, Dick, Bruce wanted me to call you to see if you could come be my babysitter on a mission. Oh, you can’t? That’s too bad. But really, don’t worry about this I’ve got it. I’ll call you and let you know what happened later. Thanks for being my alibi, dude.”

Jason hangs up. Dick’s been busy with his own shit for weeks now. He hardly ever has the time to actually answer his phone. Bruce never said Jason couldn’t go out without Dick tagging along. Loophole.

“Very clever, young sir.” Alfred sounds halfway between scolding and impressed as he walks down the stairs.

Jason shrugs. “Hey, whatever works to make him accept the help, right?”

“Indeed. And now?”

Taking a deep breath, Jason turns around to give Alfred his most confident grin. “Now, it’s time to get back to work!”

#argothia's fanfiction #fandom: bat family #series: still breathing #story: still breathing part one: into the tiger's den

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mindrole · 7 months

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Question about reposting to Twitter (sorry if it's silly): by reposting you just mean stuff you post here, right? You're not going to change course and only post there and not here?

I wish I could give advice otherwise, but I don't use Twitter (which is why I'm asking this in the first place) also hope you recovered well from being sick!

i've been good and healthy! thanks for the well wishes!

when it comes to this i prefer posting on tumblr massively, so don't worry about me moving and setting up there as a main platform or whatever! its comfy here! i like the base of lurkers i've cultivated.

tbh it is mostly a "i wanna post art on twitter because the fanbase is largely over there" kind of ego thing. at first, i assumed i would be posting in parallel, but.. honestly tweeting should be a spur of the moment thing for me, and i have no sense for maintaining side accounts and accounts for specific subjects in particular (this blog in and of itself is a miracle). also i feel watched if i'm out of my element. i don't think it's possible for me to suddenly switch my main hub of cell series posting unless i somehow gained a group of people to bounce off of on a daily basis. i can't use twitter just to post mindlessly like i do here, i like to be chatty instead. at least on tumblr i entertain myself. idk what the difference is. i can use my own personal account just fine weirdly enough, but side accounts never tend to work out and i forget they exist quickly.

basically all i've been wondering from anyone who may know or may be interested in seeing it... the methodology of crossposting my art to twitter when its been a while.. tbh all i draw these days are doodles and stuff that's only funny to me so the mental block is a little strong. it's like "eh... it's not worth the effort.."

initially i intended on mirroring my longer text posts too, like on fusetter or something, but eh... ehhh.... i'll just keep it on tumblr... it's the same thing isn't it. so i'm only concerned with my art right now

also i feel kinda dumb tagging most of the art whenever i post it. but i also don't have much reach on twitter yet, so posting art without tagging it and having people follow until i build something up feels pointless. but also back to the point feeling dumb, i don't mind being seen at all, but i don't want anyone to scroll and go "what's this guy doing here" and such... idk why but it's probably mental illness. i just don't like to stand out in a way that makes me look like i'm trying too hard. but idk how to appear effortless (<-see i overthink too much, there's probably nothing of the sort going on)

but i want to at least semi-cultivate a habit of crossposting stuff even if it's not all of it!! idk if that makes sense.

ironically i think there is very little audience on tumblr compared to twitter for the corner/niche i've accidentally occupied (i.e. being obsessed with the interlude+com+characters that barely exist for some reason especially since i don't post about the main game that much anymore). also just in general i feel like my way of thinking is too strange. i can't fathom that people keep coming back to check over here. thank yew🥺🩷 (<-he was shot out back for this)

every day i am perplexed why this blog has people keeping watch on it, i feel very humbled and happy about it but i also scratch my head a little bit. it's very fun even if confusing. i like the level of interaction i have. so i'm not gonna switch over...!!! don't worry!!!

at the very least i have every intention continuing to archive my art in the poipiku attached to the twitter account... the twitter account itself however, is at a standstill, i have no idea what to do with it, which is why i'm doing the last ditch "phone-a-follower" effort

#ask #anonymous #sorry i talked your ear off even though you have no advice for me #i do be a blabbermouth #maybe someone will see the specifics and know how to handle this...#tl;dr i like when people see my art ^_^#my art is for sharing after all

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haberdashing · 2 years

Text

open your eyes (i see your eyes are open) (6/?)

Jon, faced with being the last one left in a dying world, sends his memories back in time to someone who might be able to fix things before the worst can happen.

Sasha James, for her part, is very confused.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

on AO3

Sasha did her best to just keep her head down and stay focused on her work after that. She knew she'd crossed a line with Martin, even if she wasn't quite sure what the boundaries of that line were in the first place, and besides, there were plenty of files waiting there for them, plenty of mostly-false accounts of the supernatural for them to sort through.

The Hodgson file didn't take long to dispose of, not when she'd already been most of the way done with it before the weekend arrived and everything changed.

(Jon gave Sasha a weak smile and a nod as he passed off the next file on the list to her.)

The Lehmann file... Sasha could remember that one, dimly, from the memories that were not her own, and that made going through it much easier. It was little more than a creative writing exercise, really, one with overly-detailed and too-pat supernatural encounters lined up one after the other, though the parts about the author's family difficulties were true to life enough. That boy needed a hug and a place of his own, but Sasha couldn't help with that, just pass along what she'd learned from a combination of new research and old knowledge.

(Jon's smile seemed a bit wider this time, his eyes gleaming as he thanked her for doing her work so efficiently.)

The Cahill file... wasn't very memorable, to the Jon that had been or the Sasha that now was, but the truth of it was easy enough to find just the same. City kid moves out to the country and thinks every vaguely-weird bit of wildlife must be something spooky and supernatural; an old story, really, and not hard to research or dismiss. That deer they came across might have been seriously ill, but it definitely wasn't haunted, no matter what the file report said; a wildlife biologist might have wanted the details, but Sasha certainly didn't need them.

(As Jon passed Sasha the next file, he made some inane comment about making sure to double-check her work every time, that quality was more important to them than quantity. Sasha rolled her eyes and said nothing. She knew well enough what she was doing here.)

The Howell case... was memorable enough, thankfully, because untangling the layers of this one anew might have taken quite some time. As it was, Sasha still wasn't quite sure what to make of it, except that there definitely wasn't anything truly supernatural going on there. A family history of mental illness and magical thinking, perhaps, could explain the long, rambling stories that had been passed on to the Magnus Institute because they were at least willing to listen. Something was strange about that family, certainly, but strange didn't automatically mean supernatural.

(Jon cleared his throat and looked up at Sasha as though he was going to ask her a question, eyes dark and mouth hanging slightly open, but then he just shook his head and started rummaging through the files instead.)

The Blake file... well, that one really was supernatural, wasn't it?

It was supernatural, and Sasha hadn't been the one to research it the first time around. She didn't need to look at the statement to hear Jon's voice reading it out, a story of dreams that hit too close to home, one that wasn't even technically allowed in the Institute's files and yet belonged there more than anywhere else. She remembered his conclusions, too, and how he'd only believed that it wasn't a practical joke hidden away in the Archives for him because Tim had done the legwork for him to prove otherwise.

And while the name and all the details associated with it on the Institute forms were false, the true identity of "Antonio Blake" was known to her, as was the address of the magic shop where he now worked and had briefly interacted with one Jane Prentiss.

Would Jon trust her any more now than he had then, without this strange knowledge that had gone from his past self to her? If she let him know "Blake's" identity, would Jon go after him? How would the two of them meeting go, with them both awake and alive, in a normal London rather than an apocalypse-ravaged landscape?

Did he even know that that eccentric woman he'd sold crystals to was the same Jane Prentiss that now haunted all the dark and grimy spots of London?

Well. As Jon had mentioned once upon a time, the Eye didn't do hypotheticals, and Sasha wasn't great at them herself. There was only one way to find out for sure.

Before Sasha turned in the file, she noted that this one appeared to be genuine despite the faux contact information, but also that if Jon wanted to pursue things further, she advised him to look into one Oliver Banks, accountant turned tarot shop cashier.

Then there was little to do but wait.

#personal #my writing #tma #tma fanfic #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives #sasha james

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directtrust · 2 years

Text

Mercy black legend

#MERCY BLACK LEGEND MOVIE#

In part, Raúl’s difficulties in these years had to do with extensive transformations in Argentine society – economic depression, a military coup, intensified police repression, and the renewed vigor of eugenics and scientific racism. But this chapter tells that story very differently. Between 19, Raúl’s trajectory as revealed by the archival record converges, in many important details, with the denigrating tales that took shape around him. “Deaths” shows how the defamatory stories about Raúl’s decline and death, circulating since the 1930s in the press and popular culture, sped him to the sad ends storytellers envisioned for him. In this sense, storytellers merely conscripted Raúl into the broader narratives of always-impending (but never quite complete) Black disappearance that had circulated since his grandparents’ day. His death was permanently useful to tell and retell as part of a tragicomedy about the foolishness of persisting in being a Black person in a country that had outgrown them (or, in its great wisdom, had arranged never to have any). So enthusiastic are they about ushering Raúl to his end that they begin to declare him dying or dead decades before his actual demise in 1955. Storytellers linger with relish over their accounts of his descent, after 1930, into poverty, illness, homelessness, alcoholism, police detention, and finally madness, institutionalization, and death. Plenty of effort's been made over the years to find out who Bloody Mary is really supposed to be - she's accused Salem witch Mary Worth, blood-bather Elizabeth Bathory, viciously anti-Protestant Queen Mary, or any other number of women - but in the end, it doesn't matter.Raúl’s decline and disappearance constitute the sadistic climax of the posthumous stories. As you may have learned in childhood, supposedly if you stand in a dark room, look into a mirror and say 'Bloody Mary' a certain number of times, she'll appear in the mirror in front of you, sometimes covered in blood, occasionally to tell you about the future. Modern tales of Bloody Mary, Slender Man, and other creepy creatures popping up on internet message boards and at slumber parties extend age-old folklore traditions to modern times. Also per AP, Morgan Geyser pleaded guilty and was sentenced to the maximum 40-years-to-life in an institution. The girls told authorities that wanted to "sacrifice" their friend to become "proxies" for Slender Man, an internet legend, and would be taken away to his haunted mansion once they did so.Īnissa Weier pleaded guilty but asserted that her mental illness meant that she was not responsible for her actions, per Associated Press, and in 2017 was sentenced to be hospitalized for 25 years to life from the date of the crime, keeping her institutionalized until at least age 37. According to The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, in 2014, two 12 year-old girls were arrested and charged as adults for "attempted first-degree intentional homicide" after their friend was found to have been stabbed multiple times.

#MERCY BLACK LEGEND MOVIE#

The events that kick off the movie and haunt Marina do closely resemble a shocking attack reportedly inspired by another shadowy benefactor. Mercy Black is as real as you believe her to be. When her nephew starts asking about Mercy Black and showing the same signs of curiosity and belief Marina had at his age, she's determined to put a stop to it once and for all. Eerie events happen around the house, and Marina begins questioning her own sanity. Stories, creepypasta, and worst of all, copycat crimes, are plastered all over the internet. Moving back in with her sister, she learns that "Mercy Black" went viral in the world while she was away. Years later, her psychologist (Janeane Garofalo) believes that Marina's ready to rejoin the world, but Marina isn't so sure. By doing so, they believed she would become flesh and solve their problems, but Marina was more hesitant than her friend. The film follows Marina (Daniella Pineda), a young woman committed to a mental institution after she and a friend lured a classmate to the woods and attempted to sacrifice her to "Mercy Black," a mythical character made up for the film. The film may remind you of real instances where where fictional characters inspired believers to act in their name, but is Mercy Black based on a true story? The horror movie's focus is more on the insidiousness of creatures like Slender Man and Bloody Mary infiltrating popular culture and the effects that that can have. "Do you know Mercy? Do you know her name? She'll take away your hurt if you promise her your pain." That's the refrain opening Mercy Black, a new horror film from Blood Fest director Owen Egerton that arrived on Netflix this Sunday.

#Mercy black legend

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fconvicted · 3 years

Note

Do you have an art tag for your art?

unfortunately no since this is suppose to be an art blog. every few months i go through a cleaning and purge lots if asks and other material.

if you guys want, i can start tagging my art but i do try to tag characters and fandoms properly at the very least.

edit! PHEW!

okay, i just did a purge of asks and additional posts. for the people who do fanart, i can try to set up a side account to archive your stuff but i cant tell you how many time i go to my tag and just look at all the things you guys have drawn and wrote. it absolutely warms my heart! i do try to keep fan content up for a while but i just got so much, it was overwhelming for me. ill try to keep asks and fan works up for at least a month or two so others can appreciate it too ;w;

if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to DM me!

#ask #anonymous

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mairen-marionette · 3 years

Note

Random Ranbob headcanon:

His hair is white. Fully white.

It was long, reaching all the way to the lower part of his back, and he loved putting it in fun hairstyles with his brother when they lived together

But after Ran left, and Ranbob practically killed off the rest of Mizu, he cut it all the way to his shoulders, leaving it all tangled and unkept. If it grew long enough, he’d put it in messy braids and messy ponytails

If some of the old tales he heard growing up were true, then it meant that he and his idol had the same hair color, because while Dream was usually depicted as a green-eyed blond, there was also evidence that his hair may've actually been white- old photographs in which Dream's hair is visible in some way or another, descriptions of him in various accounts, etc. In general, it's mostly agreed that Dream's hair was a very light blonde, but him having silvery, moonlight white hair was never truly ruled out as a possibility.

The theory that Dream may've dyed his hair blond for reasons yet undetermined is one that was often seen and brought up from time to time. Any fabled resemblances to a certain deity that the Idols seemed to have worshipped were considered to be coincidental or deliberate on Dream's part- it was even posited that Dream derived his name from that god, possibly in an attempt to pass himself off as it's prophet, or that he was named for said god by his parents in an attempt to gain divine favor for their child. The fact that DreamXD was in fact very real and apparently took his appearance from Dream was never known nor considered a possibility.

the possibility of Dream having looked at least somewhat like him was yet another reason for Ranbob to love his own snowy hair, aside from it being very pretty and fun to play with. It was a small thing, but it was something Ranbob liked a lot. And besides, his hair was very pretty and was one major aspect of his appearance that he took pride in, and just about everyone knew that.

Often times, he wore his hair down or tied back a loose ponytail, but he was also known to wear it in a messy bun or in braids, especially for special events, special occasions- it wasn't often that the citizens of Mizu had reason to celebrate something aside from set holidays and anniversaries, so when the opportunity came, everyone went all out and Ranbob was no exception. While Ran didn't dress up too much but still looked nice, Ranbob was typically one of the most dolled up people there- though he did make sure he didn't outshine whoever was being centered in this celebration, assuming it was something like a wedding.

And if nothing else, he took care of his hair- even if Ranbob was visibly disheveled and sleep deprived from days and occasionally weeks spent in Mizu's archives extensively researching history, his lovely hair was always brushed and clean and gleaming. even if he was badly ill, he'd still make an attempt at keeping his hair somewhat maintained. He was very attached to his hair, and rarely let anyone else touch it.

So when, in the aftermath of that day, people noticed how much of a mess Ranbob's hair was now, well- it may've hit some of them just how badly the ordeal had affected him and caused some of those who had been there to see it to further question, well, everything they had grown up with.

The thing about making an example out of someone is that while the purpose may be to discourage others from following after them, to nip what could possibly be a revolt in the bud, is that it oftentimes instead makes them a martyr- and it certainly brings more attention to the issues at hand, things that may've otherwise gone largely unnoticed by the greater public had they simply been quietly brushed aside and discredited.

Seeing this drastic change in Ranbob's demeanor and appearance, seeing him go from someone vibrant and bright and eager to share everything he'd learned to anyone who would listen, to someone with dulled eyes and messy, dulled hair who was far, far quieter than he ever was before- it shook people, especially those who were young enough to have grown up with him, or even been taught by him. It was a fairly common practice to allow those who had completed their studies to then in turn teach those younger than them, even if only as an aide or tutor or substitute teacher. And the kids Ranbob taught adored him greatly- and were some of the few people he allowed to touch his hair, as long as they didn't mess it up or hurt him.

The fact that Ranbob taught his beliefs to children was one major reason he was punished so harshly and quicky- it's one thing to have discourse about this sort of thing with other adults, other scholars and historians. Had he only shared his discordant beliefs with his peers, he may've been forgiven. It was the fact that he taught the children he was entrusted with those same beliefs in addition to the history he was supposed to teach them that truly condemned him- because corrupting the youth is and always has been considered a dangerous thing, and that simply could not stand- not now, not then, not ever again. Those mistakes had been made before and cannot be allowed to happen again. If one must be sacrificed and hurt to prevent what the council saw as a repeat of past events, so be it.

Anyhow, after all was said and done with and Ranbob was alone in Mizu, he cut his hair short- a new era, a new start, a fresh start, for whatever may come after. He may not have put as much effort into his hair as he did before, but hey, he was still alive, wasn't he? And besides, he still has his idol- and everything was fine when it was just him and Dream. He was alone, but he was free, and he had his idol, and even now, even now, leaving Mizu is unthinkable to him.

...if he occasionally goes up to the surface and looks at the sky, if he ventures out to the shores of the mainland by boat but rarely exits the boat, that doesn't count as leaving- it's a daytrip, not leaving, and he always goes back. The wind in his hair and on his face feels nice though, and the sunshine is warm and the moon is pretty, even if the sight of just so much space out there sent him reeling and near panicking the first time he ventured out there alone. But aside from that, it's nice, getting to go outside.

He did end up growing his hair back out, and still takes the time to brush it out and keep it from tangling- after all, he always did like his hair, and since it's one trait he shares with his idol, he has to at least take good care of it.

#tales from the smp #tftsmp #ranbob #Thanks for the ask!#neon u dumb shxtty child #the c!dream having white hair headcanon is based off that one old skin of cc!dream's #this turned into lore sorry about that #long post

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dorminchu · 3 years

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

“See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless?#slow build

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scammerwarning · 3 years

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FAQ + vital info

Who are you / what is this blog?

This blog was created as a resource for updates, and to warn people about a serial scammer that has been operating since at least 2020, and keeps remaking fake donations, blogs, deleting as soon as they’re called out, and dodging the tumblr ban. They have accumulated thousands of dollars by scamming. This blog contains info, proof, and resources to help determine if the specific ask you got of someone begging you to reblog their donation post is this one, particular scammer. While the runner of this blog has called out multiple scammers in the past, this blog will contain only resources for one person in particular due to their repeated scamming.

Who is this scammer?

The scammer will be referred to as “Ivysour”, which is one of their usernames and one of the first blogs the mod has called out successfully, as we do not know their real name or gender, and they have repeatedly stole names and identities of other real people, or made fake ones. This scammer was the person behind the famous “Savemysister“ scam, which can be learned more on an archived page of the now-deleted blog donationscamwarning here. This scammer seems to be of Filipino heritage and operating in the Phillipines, as a large majority of their scams have stolen photos and identities from other Filipino people, and they frequently use Phillipine Pesos when asking for donations via paypal, as well as listing a gcash (a Phillipines based site) on multiple occasions, in addition to using Filipino phrases & seemingly using English as a second language. Please do not take this to mean that all Filipino fundraisers are scams, and do not let this discourage you from being generous & sympathetic to those who need help.

Savemysister was a scam started by someone who called themselves “Denneil” while running it, & who claimed their sister “Sharmaine” was deathly ill with Pulmonary Hypertension & needed donations for medical expenses and oxygen tanks, and set up a paypal, gcash, and gofundme. However, people began noticing discrepancies in their evidence provided and story: the full name of their “sister” was found on facebook, and contained photos of a woman who looked nothing like the sick woman in the “proof” photos of the savemysister blog. She also appeared to be healthy (unlike “Sharmaine” in the savemysister photos, who is bedridden in the hospital), and it was not elaborated upon why Sharmaine was not fundraising for herself if she is an adult (claimed age 22), or why the money fundraised was not going to her own account, but instead Denneil’s. Denneil/Ivysour also refused to answer almost any questions regarding the legitimacy of their fundraiser (including ones directly accusing them of being a scammer or simply asking for more proof), and utilized bots (often ones where the letter o’s were replaced with zeros) to send out spam asks to get people to reblog their fundraising post. They repeatedly used the same photos over and over, never provided more proof, and never updated on the situation on the alleged health of Sharmaine for 2 years. After multiple people calling out, with proof, of this being a scam, the official, first savemysister blog deactivated (though there are still some blogs floating around that were run by Denneil/ivysour). The savemysister gofundme has accumulated $14,000+ USD thus far and is still up.

Since savemysister’s deactivation, and since it had become widely known as a scam on tumblr, new blogs started popping up run by the same person, because people had stopped donating to them as often. One of the first of these to be called out was the blog Ivysour (see the original calllout post, with images of the original ivysour blog here). These blogs all claimed to be donating for a friend, a family member, or for someone the fundraiser had an undisclosed relationship with, and oftentimes it was for Pulmonary Hypertension (the same thing savemysister claimed their “Sister” was suffering from), with very similar language and wording as the savemysister blog. Two other such blogs were abbiegails & floresdj, but the paypal name associated with the respective blogs were different. The photos used as “proof” for the abbiegails account were also stolen, and the woman in the photo was suffering from end of life renal disease, not pulmonary hypertension. While the blog Ivysour moved a few times & remade (with some of their blogs still being up), the other two deleted soon after being called out, and more blogs started began popping up suddenly asking for donations. This scammer has increased their tactics and blogs for scamming since then.

How we know all these multiple blogs (& others that will be listed here) were run by the same person is due to behavior, tactics, paypals used, names used, photos/identities & real fundraisers (that were hijacked by the scammer) being found that were proven to be stolen, & behavior at being called out which link up with each other. These blogs have been carefully monitered, thoroughly investigated, and called out both by this blog’s mod, and others over time, with multiple forms of proof accumulated over the years, which will be documented here. This blog will list such tactics, how to spot them, which urls/names/paypals/language/photos have been associated with the scammer, because they’ve used them so often.

Is Ivysour the same person as Laura Deramas?

While Ivysour has been referred to as some and believed to be the same person as another person accused (with proof) of being a scammer, Laura Deramas, this blog does not believe they are the same person, and will operate as such. There is some evidence to suggest they are two seperate people, mainly due to their tactics and way of speaking.

So what can I do to help?

Links/resources:

Here is a list of the urls that have been used by Ivysour for scamming, most of which have been deactivated shortly after being called out. This list is likely not complete of every url that ivysour has used, and there may be others out there.

Here is a list of very common red flags that this scammer frequently has as behaviors when operating their scams, and have been used in the past. If you suspect a blog of being ivysour, they should meet multiple of these red flags. Use this as a helpful checklist to aid you in spotting out a potential scam, but do note that this is an accumulation of documented & observed behaviors over a period of time, an Ivysour has frequently changed up their tactics when being called out in order to avoid detection, and so their tactics may change up more in the future.

Here are common scripts or format that the scammer uses in their scam posts, and phrases they often use when asking for donations

here is a list of paypals & names they have used (some belonging to real people who’s identities they have stolen & have nothing to do with their scams; please respect their privacy) when scamming

Here are frequent ask messages they have sent out via bot spam in order to get people to reblog their scams. You can copy and paste the full ask message into tumblr search, which should give you results of people answering asks with the message you pasted, and often you will find this exact message sent by multiple different blogs (often pretending to be different people fundraising for different things). If you see this, it’s a scam

#links to be updated

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starsbegantofall · 3 years

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events and how they have been... eventing

Something I have been trying to keep in mind since 2021 started and I realized, “we’re not getting out of this pandemic, not truly,” I wanted to live my best life. Obviously my 2020 efforts to make true and lasting change in this country amounted to almost nothing in the end, but hey, I tried my best to help others beyond my career during the pandemic, that must count for something.

This year, I imagined that every 2 weeks is my last 2 weeks to live, that I contracted the deadly variant of coronavirus on top of some other illness, therefore I need to live for myself (living for others did not work out lol) so I can leave this mortal coil with no regrets. I put together a bucket list of the simpler things I felt I could easily accomplish, and used social media to try to keep myself accountable and on track.

If ya really nosy, read below

1. aesthetic design journey - I wanted to spruce up where I live so that I’m happy living and sleeping in it, hence I am making monthly blog posts to help motivate me. Work from home depends on a clean and pleasant environment, very important. Related, I am also reading books on gardening and konmari and attempting a few things. Am I making much progress? No, but at least it was better than the totally ugly mess before.

2. sewing projects - I dug out a gifted notebook from decades ago I never used and listed all of my sewing projects so that if I died, at least that notebook was loved, and I made some progress on my sewing. there’s mending and cosplay and lolita on the list, but I also want to make some normie wearable clothing to give a personal flair to my closet that isn’t from a corporation. Like pajamas and blouses or shorts/skirts.

2a. historical costuming - some lolitas I followed moved onto historical costuming (I guess so they can go to ultra fancy balls that lolitas would not normally go to , pre-pandemic of course), and I wanted to try my hand at one to test my sewing skills. currently working on an 18th century court gown wearable test muslin, not sure if I want to invest in real silk for a final gown until I know I can handle sewing it.

2b. use up fabric and materials that needs using up - as I began reorganizing my old costumes, I decided to do my best to sew up from my fabric stash before moving on and buying more fabric. I already failed at this (twice this year lol) but those are the last two times, I promise!

3. other hobbies - over the years I accumulated a lot of random craft materials that I never really used. no more! I did some cross stitch embroidery, badge rosettes, resin crafting, pressed flowers, and paper clay sculpting this year. Would like to work on painting and calligraphy, markers and multimedia, more clay sculpting, plastic crafts, floral arrangements, book making, leather work, as well as graphic design and programming for my own video games.

4. cooking - a carry over from 2020, trying new recipes regularly, both Asian cuisine and whatever ingredients are in season. This is my favorite past time, even if some of the recipes turn out mediocre, many of them are better (taste and nutrition-wise) than the fast food I would be getting otherwise, and also don’t give me (as much) food poisoning.

5. finishing any of my several unfinished fics that are literally on the last chapter but haven’t been touched in years and ppl keep asking me about them. I think about them constantly but the words do not appear on the document. Every weekend I tell myself I’ll work on them but I don’t. I don’t.

6. rework my website... not sure if I really want to do this at all lol. but I bought the domain, so I really should migrate my blogs over for archival sake.

7. 2 pieces of “finished” art a month, one of them related to videogames so that my yearly art survey won’t have holes in it - I somehow failed to finish 2 this month, but technically I drew more than 2 drawings, just one of them was a comic and not post-worthy. Really, I need to stop procrastinating until the 25th lol

8. learn Chinese and Vietnamese - aka make use of the Rosetta account I paid money for

9. use up the “good stuff” - wear that new nail polish, light those fancy candles you never light, bring out those shoes that are uncomfortable but look awesome, drink that wine or eat that candy, take selfies just because. life is short and miserable.

This is a lot of stuff, but I’ve made a fair amount of progress halfway through 2021. I would say almost every 2 weeks and definitely every month I’ve checked something off my list that I could be proud of should I die from coronavirus complications the next day. And that’s what is important to me.

Whether or not you found this list entertaining, I will try to make wrap-up posts every other month for anyone wanting to go on this journey with me. Otherwise, I hope people at least stay healthy and take care of themselves as best as they can.

#work in progress

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jasonrae117 · 4 years

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Night at the Wayne Casino

PART 6

Here we are, Part 6! Sorry this doesn't have much in the damirae department, but there will be more! I also wanted to see if anyone would be interested in a sort of behind the scenes chapter of the more mature stuff (what happened in Damian's suite) etc. that happens throughout. I'd post it on my ao3 account for those that want to read something ~saucy~ like that. Let me know! 💙💜💚

Damian had dressed himself and wanted to drown himself in his work. His mind was pulled in every direction and he was utterly conflicted. He had stared blankly out the window for an hour trying to process everything that had happened since the party and where it had all gone so wrong. Of course he knew it was his fault that his plan backfired. He had slipped and slept with the demon he was trying to expose.

It was strange, he felt less motivated to bring her down, and the thoughts that occupied his mind when he recalled their… encounter, were about how badly he wanted to fix things, not about figuring out her next move as it should have been.

He had forgone his morning workout, seeing as though he and Raven took care of that some hours before and he had slept in late. He figured he may as well head in early to work because he desperately wanted the distraction.

He was almost in the clear to the security office when a large figure accompanied by a smiling face intercepted him.

“Jon, now is not the time.” Damian tried to brush past him, but Jon was quick and kept his pace and swung an arm around his shoulders.

“There’s always time for your best friend, especially when you need to tell him all the details from last night.” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and Damian scoffed at him.

“Grow up Kent. I don’t have to tell you anything. It wasn’t official business, therefore I have no need to brief you on what happened. Not that anything did.” He was quick to throw in the last part to avoid any misunderstandings of his words.

“Aw, c’mon Dami, this isn’t work. I wanna know as one of the guys, as your best friend. That’s got to give me some clearance to what’s going on in there.” Jon used the arm around his shoulders to pull him down and ruffle his hair.

Damian grunted and forced himself out of Jon’s grip. He straightened his collar and ran a hand through his now unkempt hair. “Being an asshole won’t get you anything. Besides there’s nothing to tell. I observed her and besides countless men hitting on her, there unfortunately wasn’t anything suspicious. Now would you leave me alone.”

“And how exactly would you know that I’m lying?” Damian had stopped his movements and his voice was low. almost threateningly so.

“Damian,” he whined. “You can trust me. I know when you’re lying… well sorta, but the point is I know you’re not telling the truth.” He crossed his arm over his chest and looked down at him.

A nervous laughter escaped Jon and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well...you see I kinda sorta was monitoring people coming and going from the elevator on that floor. It was a slow night and Dick had everything under control.”

“What exactly do you think you saw?”

“I saw you show up and a few hours later I spotted Raven. Then I saw you both enter the elevator together and uh...get close. Then you both left pretty excitedly, and well...one can only assume.” He trailed off.

“Well your assumption is incorrect.” Damian growled out. Internally Damian was panicking, he didn’t want to lie to Jon, but it was his only chance to get out of this mess unscathed.

“Damian,” Jon almost sounded disappointed, “I tried to give you the chance to tell me on your own but you’ve given me no choice.”

“What are you-”

“Raven told me everything. Well everything from her perspective. And I gotta admit bud, you don’t look too good.” Jon shrugged dismissively and began to walk away. Damian, however, was stunned. She had gone to his best friend to get her story in first so it would be harder to prove ill intentions, that sneaky witch.

“Whatever she said is probably a lie. Some fantastical story she made up to make me look bad.”

“As much as I want to believe you, and truly I do...I can’t help but feel that her story sounded fairly accurate. Given how well I know you.”

“What the hell does that mean? Tell me what she told you!”

“I have no obligation to brief you on what she said, best friend or not.” Great Jon was being cheeky. What the hell was with people finding a way to use his own words against him?

“Jon, you tell me now or so help me.” Damian snatched his by the front of his shirt, not caring that it would leave it a wrinkly mess.

“Fine, fine, relax. We’ll talk in the security office.” Jon frowned at his wrinkled shirt but reluctantly followed Damian to their shared office.

This one was slightly different from the room Tim used. It had two desks each with a state of the art computer that also had access to the security camera feed. Behind each desk were large cabinets of files from all cases they’ve had throughout the years. Tim’s had more of the recent and ongoing hardcopies, but they were shared electronically, this office was more of an archive section. It also doubled as a semi-interrogation room.

Damian took his seat behind the desk and folded his hands together as if preparing to listen to a business report. Jon on the other hand was pacing until he settled for leaning against his own desk. Damian looked at him expectantly and stayed silent waiting for Jon to begin.

“So..uh, Raven said that she showed up to the party late because she was trying to get ready but was interrupted by her boss. When she got there, all sorts of guys were approaching her which was starting to get on her nerves until you popped up.” Damian leaned forward gaining interest. “She was surprised to see you there and not on duty. She mentioned that you were handsome and charming by the way.” A heat rose to his ears. “Then she said after a drink and some flirting you invited her back to your suite. She was pretty excited when she was telling me this. She told me that she thought you were hot when she ran into you that first night...so uh there’s that. Now where was I?”

“Raven was excited that I invited her to my suite.” Saying it outloud made it too real and his blush deepened as he cleared his throat. He held a hand up gesturing for Jon to continue.

“Get on with it Kent.” This was absolutely humiliating, having their night together thrown back in his face by his friend.

“Oh right, well then she said you made the first move, kissing her and adamantly trying to remove her clothes. Apparently you ripped her dress?” Damian glanced away and tugged at his collar. He remembered being so impatient with the material, he wasn’t sure how to properly take it off, he just knew it needed to come off. “So that’s a yes. Anyway, then after hours of screwing her, of which I must commend you, she said you were quite formidable and were very attentive, you both were tuckered out and fell asleep. She said she asked if you wanted her to go, but you ignored her and cuddled...Who knew Damian Wayne cuddled?”

“Geez alright. Well then she gets up in the morning to take a shower and clean up and when she comes out you are right outside the door completely shocked. At first she thought you had been drunk and forgot what had happened but it turns out that you were aware and had completely dismissed what had happened between you two.”

“I wouldn’t say I dismissed it-”

“You said it was a misstep.”

“I-”

“Did you not?”

“I mean I did, but I was being honest!” Damian rose to his feet.

“You weren’t being honest, you were being an asshole. Then you get mad at her for using your computer! Like what the actual hell?”

“She wasn’t supposed to use it, and now she had access to the security footage and who knows what she did with that access.” His eyes went wide as he took in Jon’s face. Jon’s eyebrows were furrowed and his head tilted while he was processing what Damian had just revealed. I guess she didn’t tell him why I was pissed that she used my computer. He had just told Jon on his own.

“Why do you have the feed transmitting to your personal computer?” Jon pushed off against the desk and was now standing, only a desk separating the two.

“I like to know what’s going on around the casino.” He shrugged.

“Damian, this is serious. That is totally not acceptable. It certainly isn’t protocol, and it breaks at least a dozen policies. Do you think I can’t do my job well enough without you?”

“Jon, it isn't about that. I just like doing my job. My computer software is encrypted so nobody can access it or see it unless I want them to.”

“Nobody except Raven.”

“That was an accident. I didn’t lock the program. It won’t happen again.”

“Damian, it shouldn’t have happened at all! You’re supposed to be the leader. You sure as hell have given the rest of us enough lectures about what’s acceptable and what’s not. And then you have been doing this the whole time? Do I even want to know what other shit you might be doing off the clock?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“You need help Damian, that or a stable relationship.”

“Would you stop!”

“You need to make this right.”

“I can’t get rid of the software Jon. You’ll never know how helpful it has been in keeping this casino safe.”

“Yeah, but it’s not right. Think about if it got out! Huh? We could be in so much trouble and in lawsuits up to our eyeballs.”

Damian hadn’t thought too much on the matter, he always assumed he would never be caught. The failures kept piling on.

“And that’s not the only thing I’m talking about fixing.” Jon sighed. Damian just shot him a quizzical look. “I’m talking about Raven. It’s clear you’re attracted to her and she is to you. You’re letting your stupid overanalytical brain mess up something potentially good for you.”

“She’s not ‘good’ for me, I hardly know her.”

“You seem to have gotten to know her fairly well last night.” Damian glared at him. “In any case, you can’t leave it like this. You were wrong about her and treated her like an ass. You need to apologize.”

“She’ll be gone in two days, what do I care how she feels about me or if she’s upset? This is her first time and probably last time in Vegas. I’ll never see her again.” The prospect of that statement made something inside twinge strangely.

“You could try to see her again. You know, long distance relationships. Who knows she may live somewhere close.”

“She lives in Seattle.” Jon looked at him surprised. “What? She was a suspect and I needed more background on her.”

“Hmm...funny, you said she was a suspect. Are you finally relinquishing that crazy theory?” He now smiled broadly, seeing that Damian was finally coming around.

“I suppose she has shown no more clear signs of being a threat.”

“Great! So will you go apologize to her now?” The peppy and energetic Jon had returned much to his dismay.

“I’m not using company time for personal matters.” He spoke flatly.

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing that you’re not on the clock for another hour and a half. Now go, before I force you, and that will just be more embarrassing for you.”

“Please Kent, you can’t force me to do anything. But I suppose that I can’t leave an unhappy guest if it’s my doing.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever gets you to do it.”

Damian dragged his hand over his face and groaned. He hated apologizing, he hadn’t had much experience since he rarely found times that he was wrong and the situation actually called for it. He moved to the door to begin his quest.

“Oh, and we’ll have a discussion about the use of company software on personal devices later.” Jon had called after him.

The door shut behind his and his shoulder slumped. He could feel a headache coming on. Well, I better get this over with so I can get on with my life and get to work. He guessed that she would still be in her room avoiding the risk of running into him so soon after their fight. He stopped by the cafe and picked up an order of tea and a chocolate croissant as a peace offering and then made his way to her room.

Suddenly he was right in front of her door and he realized that he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say. His throat felt dry and he seemed to be too warm. This is a bad idea, she doesn't want to see me. She probably doesn't even care. What if she isn’t even in her room? He paced outside for a few minutes before he heard a muffled voice coming from the inside of her room. He felt only slightly creepy as he pressed his ear to the door to listen to what was being said. It was definitely her voice and an indistinct voice on the phone.

“Yes, I’ve gotten quite a bit of research done, but it’s not quite going the way I wanted.” The other person sounded irritated by the inflection of the muffled sounds. “The participants gave me some information, but none of it is really useful for us. Perhaps we should look elsewhere….I don’t know maybe another casino? Look, it’s your job to find someplace we can actually work with. It’s my job to survey and collect data and tell you if it's worth the investment or not.” The voice grew louder and he heard a loud exhale from the woman. “I’m telling you that I don’t see a good outcome of working at this casino, and that’s my professional opinion. Have I ever let you down?” She was clearly agitated. “Great, I’ll be coming home Tuesday and I’ll wrap up my report by the weekend.”

The creak of the bed signaled that she was done with the conversation and had sat on the bed most likely out of annoyance and irritation. Was it really the best time now? Now or never he supposed. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A moment passed before the door finally swung open revealing a tired looking Raven. Her hair was thrown up into a messy bun and there was a small smudge of mascara under her eyes. Most intriguing to him, however, was the navy silk robe she was wearing. You’re not here for that. She cocked her hip and raised her eyebrow in question.

“Damian.” She said curtly.

“Miss Roth. I came to..uh..apologize.” He held out the now barely warm tea and croissant. Her face lit up with surprise taking the items into her own hands. She still eyed him skeptically, but took a step back gesturing with her hand that held the croissant for him to enter.

“Sorry for the mess, I’m between packing up for my return trip and figuring out what to wear tonight.”

“I’m sorry for my intrusion to your plans, maybe I should come back-”

“No.” She commanded. “You came here for a reason, and so you should see that through. I’m intrigued.” She took a sip of the tea and scrunched her nose a bit before hastily putting it down onto the nightstand. She proceeded to sit on the bed criss crossing her legs, allowing the robe to split open revealing lacy underwear. Damian quickly averted his eyes to her smirking face and his throat suddenly felt tight and his face felt hot.

He cleared his throat and began pacing, keeping his attention away from her alluring body.

"The way I proceeded with our engagement earlier was unjustified and I regret that I upset you. As a guest of our resort, it is my priority to make sure you are happy and content with your stay here." He chanced a glance at her face and was surprised to see it held astonishment and something close to disgust.

"You've got to be fucking joking." Damian blinked dumbly at her not understanding. "You're not...wow. Ok, try doing this," she spun her finger around indicating his speech, "again, but this time be a fucking man and talk to me like Damian. Not the head of security or son of the CEO. Otherwise get the fuck out."

Her face turned red with fury and she stood. Her arm shot out pointing to the door. "Get the fuck out now!"

Damian swallowed, he hated this. He hated that Jon convinced him to do this. "Fine, I'm sorry that I fucked you." The words had left his mouth in a rush and he even shocked himself at how it came out. He spun to her hoping he didn't just royaly fuck up this apology. Jon is going to kill me.

"Wait no. Raven, listen."

"You're not listening. I said get out, or do I have to call your friend to get you out. How dare you come here and say that to me."

"Would you stop. That's not how I meant it. I don't regret doing it, I regret how it came about."

She looked bewildered. "What do you mean how it came about?"

Shit, this is why he meant to come prepared. Well no use in hiding it now. "I wished it had happened naturally, like you and Tim." The words were bitter in his mouth and she licked her lips looking off to the side. "I...I was following a lead that you were a suspect in conning our casino."

Raven's head snapped to look at him, mouth open slightly. She shook her head and rubbed at her temples. "You're telling me that all of our encounters haven't been accidental and you've been stalking me because you think I was going to pull a fast one over your casino?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Who was in on this?"

"Tim actually logged it first when you had been winning probably more times than usual. But he quickly dismissed you, particularly when he found out you were single. The others in security knew about you because they were doing their jobs, but they didn't believe it to be true. And the girls at the spa knew after when I discussed it with them. Admittedly I was the last one unconvinced." He cast his stare at the floor finally feeling guilty at his stubbornness. Saying it out loud, he could hear how foolish he had been.

She released a humorless laugh. "Wow. I...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I am sorry for how I behaved. I see the errors of my ways. I convinced myself you were still a suspect so that I had an excuse to learn more about you and get closer to you."

"If I wasn't so pissed off right now I'd say that's kinda romantic in a stalkerish kind of way." A ghost of a smile graced her lips.

"I know you're scheduled to leave Tuesday, but would you consider accepting a free four night stay? We'd even reimburse your plane ticket. Though we may have to upgrade your room if there's a reservation on it."

"Excuse me?"

"We'll the girls want you to join them for their plans on Friday. And it's the least we can to make up for the time you wasted being bothered by all of us. Namely me." He didn't know what made him offer her these things. He had never done such a thing for any other guest and it was actually a rather expensive apology.

Raven pursed her lips trying to weigh her options. "I suppose it would be foolish not to accept. But is your father alright with comping this?"

"I rarely care what my father is alright with. I'll see to it myself that it is all taken care of." He shuffled around a bit before nodding in her direction and making his way toward the door.

"Damian wait!" He stopped and watched her jog a few steps, closing their distance.

She fiddled with her hands as if trying to decide whether to use them or not. Damian quirked an eyebrow at this and just watched with anticipation. "I accept your apology." Her eyes were still on the floor.

"Thank you, I suppose I should leave you alone now." Raven's hands on his chest halted his exit.

He looked down into her mesmerizing indigo eyes and saw how they gleamed with mischief. She bit her lower lip and turned her gaze to her hands running smoothly over the plane of his chest sending a trickle of electricity through his body.

"What if I don't want you to leave me alone? I can think of another way you can make sure I hear your apology." Her eyes looked up at him through her dark lashes with a coy smile on her lips.

Damian smirked in response and pulled her in, relishing the way her body feels against his. He leaned in keeping a fraction of space between their lips. He could feel her chest rise and fall with heavy and excited breaths.

"Where do I begin?"

#raven #teen titans #damian wayne #damirae #demonbirds #robrae #night at the wayne casino #casino au #jon kent

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skvaderarts · 3 years

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Hiraeth Chapter 44: Archival

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Forty-Four: Archival

Notes: Hey everyone, sorry I had to push back the last chapter on such short notice! I just honestly forgot how many days it was until my mom’s birthday and I wanted to give her all of my attention! Thanks for all the birthday wishes! She loved them!

(-~-)

The next day…

Honestly, the youngest living descendant of the Dark Knight Sparda couldn’t remember the last time that he’d seen snow outside of the Lamina mountain range. It had truly been a sight to see when they had arrived just a few hours ago at the crack of dawn, long before the majority of the townspeople had crawled out of their beds and made their way into the streets. They would be in for a rude awakening, much as poor Kyrie had been when he’d accidentally woken her up so early.

When the van had pulled up in front of the house, he had been surprised to see Kyrie standing in the doorway less than a minute later, clearly barely awake and not fully registering just how cold it was outside. The poor young woman had her robe halfway on, the cool night air kissing her exposed skin. To say that she was not thermally prepared for a light blizzard would be a bit of an understatement.

She’d nearly tripped down the stairs as she met Nero halfway, nearly leaping on him in excitement as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. No one needed to ask if she had missed him during his time away or if the young songstress had been worried about him. It was clear for anyone to see that she had nothing but love in her heart for Nero.

Kyrie had greeted V warmly as well, noting that it had been some time since she’d seen him, and that she hoped that things had been well for him in the interim. The young summoner had decided against mentioning his new ailment to her, preferring to not give her something else to worry about. Literally everything and everyone else was enough already. Instead, he simply reassured her that he was more or less content, something that wasn’t a lie. Curse or otherwise, he was at peace for perhaps the first time in his entire life. He would relish that.

After wishing her well, he, Nico, and Flora boarded the van again and headed back to the mainland, stating that they needed to do something with the scroll that Magnolia’s sister had gifted V after they dropped Dante off at his office. He had been asleep the entire time in the back of the van, and considering the circumstances, they had collectively chosen not to awaken him. Nero and Kryie wished them a safe trip and told them that they would contact the rest of the group if they happened to hear from Vergil, and then they went inside, eager to spend some quality time with one another for at least a few hours. That was the most that they were going to get with three kids in the house.

But now hours later, he was headed towards the last place that he wanted to set foot in again in order to complete an errand that V had requested of him. And he would have company. Apparently, there was still some work to be done at Fortuna castle, this time on behalf of the Ludwig family. It seemed that both they and V were keen to preserve as many of the books in the private library as possible. Admirable enough on paper, but still a miserable trek through the snow either way.

Just as he approached the ruined front gate to the castle’s bridge, a familiar face emerged from the frosty fog a few yards ahead of him, seemingly unperturbed by the extreme circumstances. It was Sirrus, here at the behest of both parties involved to help him do… something. Nero wasn’t sure he really truly understood, but he was certain that the adjudicator probably did and that he could fill him in while they headed towards the library. He wasn’t even going to ask how he beat him there. He’d been at the Ludwig estate long enough to know the answer to that question.

“Well, aren’t we a sight for sore eyes? It’s good to see you again so soon, Nero.” “I hope you’ll pardon my temporary departure. I had to go speak with my superiors. They summoned me, so there was no avoiding it, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, Sirrus. So that’s where you went right before we left, hu? Makes sense, I guess. How did it go, then?” Nero had had the feeling when they’d told him he’d be working with one of them again soon that it would be the powerful redhead with the dry humor, and it turned out he had been correct. Score one for Nero.

“Oh, I’d say it did. They don’t trust me as far as they can throw me, but that just comes with the territory, I’m afraid. But we can talk about it in more detail once we’re inside. This frigid wind isn’t exactly unfamiliar, but it’s still a bit much. I’m not keen on staying exposed to the elements for any longer than I have to be.”

Nero nodded. Now that was something that they could agree on. He just hoped that the swarm of cutlass that had been here last time had taken up residence somewhere else, or at least retreated back into the depths of Agnus’s laboratory. He didn’t feel like shooting every demon in this damn castle again. He had things to do today.

(-~-)

In truth, the marking made no sense to him.

Whatever Sirrus was doing seemed completely foreign and mystical to him, probably because it involved the use of some more arcane knowledge that he hadn’t the slightest idea about. He’d never even known that something like this existed until just recently, so seeing someone actually perform it was entirely new. In truth, he’d seen evidence of its presence in action before in this very castle when one took into account the many elaborate puzzles and traps that seemed to utilize an unknown source of power, but he hadn’t really put much thought into it at the time.

But now? Well, he couldn’t help but wonder who had put them in place. Surely someone from the Order, but that didn’t mean much in regards to figuring out who actually did it. He didn’t know most of the people in the higher echelons of the ill-fated Order of the Sword. That was by design. And as for what they were capable of and where some of them had disappeared to after things had gone down the way that they had? He was none the wiser. But he wished that he knew. He had some choice words for them. And probably a few bullets.

“So… how does this work? I mean, if you can do that, then why not just go back and forth to wherever you want to go like this?” Nero watched curiously as Sirrus fiddled with some sort of book, marking out a circle with several symbols upon it on the floor. A triangle overlapped it, forming a curious visual that he couldn’t say he’d seen before. The Adjudicator glanced up at him for a moment, seemingly acknowledging that he was benign spoken to but unable to maintain eye contact.

“As much as I’d love to, that’s not how this works. Only inanimate objects can pass through a portal such as this, and it requires two people in two different locations to just to be opened in the first place and to remain stable” Sirrus shrugged nonchalantly, working on some sort of symbol that he was marking out on the floor with white chalk. Nero had no idea what it meant, but he knew that it had to be magic in some way, shape, or form. “Your father’s blade is undeniably unique. It honestly fascinates me. I’d ask him to take a look, but I worry based on his rather unique answering conventions that he might literally give me exactly what I’m asking for.”

He went quiet for a short while at the mention of Vergil. It hadn’t really occurred to him until then that he actually missed his somewhat short-tempered and unpredictable father. None of them had yet to hear anything back from Vergil, and that fact alone was cause for concern. It wasn’t so much that he was the sort to check-in and ask for permission to complete a task. Far from it. But at least they normally knew where he was headed.

“You're probably in the clear. He only stabs people he’s related to these days. Well mostly. I even saw him spare someone once who helped kidnap V. Couldn’t tell you what was going through his head at the time, but he’s okay some of the time.” Nero allowed his mind to wander for a moment, pondering his wayward father’s current location. He couldn’t imagine that he was in danger. After all, he had been through worse before, and this time he at least had Yamato. Surely he would return soon.

And yet…

“Do you think I should be worried that he’s not back yet?”

“Sighing softly, Sirrus took a moment to consider his question before shaking his head. “If he indeed went to where you think he might have, then I suspect not. Time works differently across the Trinity of Realities, and I suspect that very little time has passed wherever he is, if any at all. There are rare places where time simply doesn’t seem to pass at all.”

“No shit, really? I heard something like that but… ” He stopped. Not really sure what else to say. They nodded to one another and then returned to sorting out the book in the room. It was best that they keep their minds busy.

Adding additional food for thought, Sirrus spoke again. “And unlike my father, yours seems to possess the capacity to actually care about another living being. He seems to find it trying a considerable majority of the time, but he possesses the desire to love and be loved nonetheless. There is hope yet for him. I think you’re in a good place. I like to hope that whatever tension there is between you can be worked out in the end.”

“I hope you're right. Any chance of working it out with yours?”

A humorless look crossed his face. As he looked through the younger devil hunter instead of at him, seeing him but at the same time, not seeing him at all. It was as if his eyes and his brain were not fully communicating. He fell quiet for a moment, fidgeting slightly. “... I’m afraid not. Any hope of that outcome dissolved after what happened between him and Aluta.”

Nero knew enough to not press the issue any further, even if he was somewhat quiet. After close to a minute of silence, Sirrus glanced at him momentarily before speaking again, not keen on keeping whatever was on his mind buried there any longer.

“Generally speaking, it’s in poor taste to date someone younger than your own children. If nothing else, it causes a fair bit of tension.”

Taking a moment to register that statement, Nero continued to try and organize the books, eager to not spend the entire day in this library. As much as he knew that V would disagree with his sentiments, he had to admit that he was glad that most of the books were old and damaged in this part of the library. There were at least a dozen extra-large moving boxes filled with books, each one weighing about a hundred pounds.

Oh, how Nero hoped that his brother wouldn’t find a way to hurt himself by moving them around his house. But deep down, he knew that he would. It wasn’t so much that V was clumsy as it was that he was simply unfortunate, and if his little move had gone the way that it had, he was sure that this would go much the same. Or perhaps he would learn from his previous mistakes and opt into a much more cautious approach this time around? Who was to say? He was smart, after all, and Flora was there to assist him. He could only imagine that, given the size of V’s house, that they would be taking the majority of the books. That was probably for the best, all things considered. V would get nothing done with that many books in his house.

Nero then paused for a moment, his brow furrowing as something occurred to him that hadn’t until just then. He turned and looked over at Sirrus, registering the fact that he was quickly sorting through an entire bookshelf and stacking the books into two different boxes. Nero had been doing the same, but at a much slower rate. It turned out that it was difficult to categorize and sort books that you couldn’t fucking read. Big surprise there.

“Hold on a second… Did you just say…”

“That I am older than Aluta? Yes. Yes, I did. Because I am.” Sirrus chuckled slightly, continuing to pick up books, gently flip through them, and then place them into their requisite boxes. He seemed to find something enormously entertaining about Nero’s flabbergasted demeanor, carefully concealing his amusement so as to not come off as a smug jerk. Well, at least not more than he was sure he already did most of the time. He silently hoped that he wasn’t actually as insufferable as he assumed that he was. He just lacked social skills.

Leaning over to take a closer look at the smarmy redhead, the youngest Descendant of Sparda made no effort to conceal his deep-seated confusion at this revelation. How could that be possible? Sirrus looked the same age that he and V looked, and while Aluta didn’t look particularly old herself, he knew that she had to be at least old enough to be his mother due to the singular fact Vergil had known her as a teen when he himself had been one at the same time, albeit slightly older than her. For him to be even a year older than her implied that he aged even better than Vergil, and that didn’t seem physically possible for a normal human being.

Oh, that was right. Sirrus had stated before that he wasn’t human, hadn’t he? Back on Vie De Marli What had his words been back then? “I am not what you are” or something like that? He’d implied early into their working relationship that he wasn’t even remotely human, so that made the possibility of him being something capable of living longer and aging slower logical. But then that once again raised the question as to what he actually was. Nero couldn’t think of any other beings in their world that looked so… human. If he wasn’t technically a demon and he wasn’t at all human, then what the hell was he? What else was there?

Clearly noticing that Nero was staring him up and down like he’d grown a second head, Sirrus laughed in earnest. It wasn’t every day that he got to see someone look at him like that. Most of the people that he spent time around didn’t know enough about him to even inquire into things like his age. At most, he was occasionally asked about his accent if he allowed it to slip, but aside from that, people didn’t really give a damn about his personal life. Or him, for that matter. Adjudicators worked solo on most endeavors. They had no reason to get to know one another.

“You seem shocked to have learned this, Nero. Do I look a bit young for my age?”

Giving him a sideways look, Nero looked down at the floor for a moment before shaking his head and sighing, returning to stacking books. This had been a weird few weeks. No doubt about it. Ever since the Redgrave Incident, he’d had a very hard time understanding what was going on. So much had been thrown at him all at once, and he was still grappling with a good deal of it.

“Poor V,” He thought to himself. “I’ve got it pretty rough, but he was just minding his own business walking around, and then he just woke up in the middle of this nightmare. He had to do whatever he could just to stay alive, and then to find out that he wasn’t even totally human and then die and come back just for this stupid demon prince bastard to come after him? He doesn’t deserve any of this. Neither of us does.”

But they were going to work it out. Of that, he was sure. And this somehow would assist in that endeavor. When V had told the Ludwigs about these books, they had seemed very interested, and he genuinely hoped that they did find something interesting or useful about their opponent in these volumes. At the very least, relocating them somewhere more secure so that they were out of the hands of undesirables forever was a good place to start. All they would do is sit here and rot if anyone worth their salt in Fortuna had anything to say about it.

“Smartass,” Nero said with a genuine laugh, admittedly somewhat amused by Sirrus’s extremely sarcastic and rhetorical question. Slowly but surely he was starting to understand his dry sense of humor. Or, at least, he was starting to understand why V understood it so well. The two of them seemed to get along pretty well. Nero was glad that his slightly older sibling seemed to have made something close to a friend. He could be so unintentionally antisocial at times despite the fact that he knew deep down that V didn’t want to be and probably just wanted companionship. Poor guy.

“What can I say, you're not wrong,” Sirrus said with a soft laugh, smiling gently but with a slight tinge of something else. Was that sadness? It was difficult to say. Despite his normally straightforward demeanor, he was hard to read. “Let’s finish up here and head back to the mainland. I have something that I think might help lift you and your brother’s spirits a bit. We could all use a distraction from time to time. What do you say?”

Nero shrugged, more or less fine with that option. He could always double back with Nico once they were finished. They couldn’t really do much more until they found out where his father had disappeared to, anyway. Right now, everything hinged on his return. None of them were going to formulate a plan that he wasn’t included in. He and V knew the most about their opponent. For now, they would bide their time and try to remain reasonably calm.

“You know what? Fine by me. Let’s go. V needs to get out of the house and go do something. I think he’s starting to develop a phobia of stores or something.”

(-~-)

Wow, this one was on time for some reason. I don’t understand what happened. By the way, for those of you who read Saudade, this is the night where they go to the furniture store and Sirrus covertly buys V all that furniture. I figured that some of you might be wondering that. What’s that? None of you were? Oh. Well, anyway-

Happy Wednesday or whatever! Hope you’ve had a good week so far. I’ve been trying to branch out into freelance writing because I live in a conservative anti-vax hellhole where people protest the administration of a vaccine at all, refused to wear masks despite being one of the highest case areas in the entire country, and I refuse to work another low paying retail or fast food job and put my fragile lungs in harm's way only to still not be able to afford my rent.

I’ll keep you all posted on that in case it means I have to shift the upload schedule. It probably won’t, but I just thought I’d let you know. Let me know if any of you have any pointers or advice in regards to working in that field. Oh, and don’t worry, the books are still happening. I’m just building the ordering system. See you in the comments!

#Hiraeth #Nero #Sirrus #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #Devil May Cry FanFic

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ozarkhealingtraditions · 5 years

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From the Archives: Christmas Eve Lore

Here are a few quotes about Christmas from Vance Randolph’s Ozark Magic and Folklore: “Some people think that the weather on December 25 is somehow correlated with the rainfall and temperature of the following summer. A mild Christmas, according to many Ozark farmers, always means a heavy harvest. A good season for the crops is supposed to be bad for human life, however, hence the old saying that ‘a green Christmas makes a fat graveyard.’ Still other hillfolk believe that it is Old Christmas (January 6) and the eleven days which follow Old Christmas which really determine the weather for the year.” “In some sections of Arkansas there are people who bury the entrails of a black hen under the hearth on ‘Old Christmas.’ This is said to protect the house against destruction by lightning or fire…I know that some ‘peckerwood families’ did bury chicken guts under their hearths as recently as 1935, not far from the enlightened metropolis of Hot Springs.” “It is very bad luck to bring cedar boughs or mistletoe into the house, except during the Christmas season. Mrs. Isabel Spradley, Van Buren, Arkansas, says that every bit of green stuff must be out of the house before midnight on January 5, or some unspeakable calamity will overtake the whole family. Many old people feel that it is better not to have mistletoe in the house at all.” “In some settlements this notion about the cattle kneeling has shifted from Old Christmas to New Year’s. Mr. Elbert Short, of Crane, Missouri, told me that his sister slipped out to the barn one New Year’s Eve ‘to see the critters kneel down and talk.’ At exactly twelve o’clock one old cow fell on her knees and let out two or three low moans. A moment later another animal knelt but with this the girl suddenly became frightened and ran back to the house. Another funny thing, says Mr. Short, is that if you go out before midnight on New Year’s Eve and cut an elderbush off flush with the ground, by sunrise it will have ‘pooched up’ at least two inches.” “One often hears that mistletoe, known as witches’ broom, is used in casting magic spells and the like. Some farmers hang a bunch of mistletoe in the smokehouse, “to keep witches off’n the meat.” About Christmas time the country boys make a little money by gathering mistletoe and sending it to the city markets. These fellows all say that mistletoe doesn’t come from seeds but grows spontaneously out of bird manure.” And here are some folk beliefs about Christmas coming from the Appalachians, this is from the blog Roadside Theater: Children born on January 6 are special and often develop powers for healing the sick. Animals kneel at midnight on Christmas Eve as they did by the manger when Christ was born. They also talk during this time. However, it is bad luck to catch them speaking. Water turns to wine at midnight on Christmas Eve. It is bad luck to taste it. Trees and plants bloom on Christmas Eve. (This legend is probably derived from the English legend of the Glastonbury Thorn, a thorn bush grown from the staff of Joseph of Armethea who fled to England after Christ’s crucifixion.) If you sit under a pine tree on Christmas Day you can hear angels sing. But, beware! If you hear them, you’ll be on your way to heaven before next Christmas. Breads and cakes baked on Christmas Day have special healing virtues. Some folks preserved them for use in curing illness during the coming year. Christmas Day visits to neighbors’ houses require eating a piece of stack cake or mince pie to insure good luck. Visits from twelve neighbors insure good luck for the whole year – and certainly bring a lot of people closer together. It is bad luck for a cat to meow on Christmas Day. If it does, evil spirits will visit every day during the coming year. Coals and ashes from the Christmas fire should never be thrown out that day, and no coal of fire or light should be given away. (The Druids believed that each individual coal represented the spirit of a dearly departed kinsman and that they protected the home during the Yule season.) A crowing cock on Christmas Eve scares away evil spirits. Shooting off guns and fireworks also works. Angels are so busy celebrating the birth of Christ that one hour before Christmas the gates of heaven are left unattended. Anyone passing over at this hour has a good chance of sneaking into heaven without having to give account. To hear the chirp of a cricket on the hearth is a good luck omen for the coming year. Eating an apple as the clock strikes midnight brings good health. Single girls who visit the hog pen at midnight on Christmas Eve can find out the kind of man they’ll marry. If an old hog grunts first, she will marry an old man. If a shoat grunts first, her husband will be young and handsome. Christmas Day dawns an hour earlier than normal causing elder, poke, and other plants to bud and sprout. Then, the earth is again plunged into darkness and the plants wilt until spring. Bees hum from dusk until dawn on Old Christmas (January 6). Some say they sing the hundredth Psalm, come out of the hive at midnight, and swarm as they do in summer. Christmas Day weather forecasts the kind of weather we’ll have for the rest of the year: a warm Christmas foretells a cold Easter; a green Christmas, a white Easter; a windy Christmas means a good corn crop. Christmas trees must never be removed before January 2; they must be down before January 6 or bad luck will follow. (Probably a result of past conflicts between Old and New Christmas.)

#ozarks #Ozark Folklore #folk magic #traditional witchcraft #ozark folk medicine #ozark folk magic #ozark folkways #folklore #traditional medicine #traditional healing #christmas eve #ozark healing traditions

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saikagerights · 4 years

Text

A New Possession One Shot- Christmas Date

Hello Saiino nation, long time no see. It’s been about a week since my last entry and a lot has happened. An update on me is that unfortunately the anti-depressant I started taking caused my ill-feeling these past couple of days. I was luckily able to get some time off of work to recover, but it’s a holiday weekend over here in the U.S. so my personal situation will probably be ongoing into this week.

But enough about me! We finally have the Christmas chapter, or should I say, one shot. I decided to post this as an extra one shot to better lure people from Archive onto my journal. But it’s also because this is the first narrative piece written in over a year. This time with actual dialogue. I realized from my previous entries that I am capable of writing like this, and I did enjoy writing like this. I do plan on writing more narrative tie-ins to the journal, so you can expect to see more. However, this particular story line I had a bit of trouble, since I know in the timeline it’s still a bit too early for Sai and Ino to get together. I decided to take inspiration from multiple fics in order to get a coherent idea. I particularly took a running theme in omegafire17′s classic fic Art Date.

I also want to once again shout out my bf for listening to my dribble and helping me edit this. He wants to complain, but I know he enjoys doing this.

This was my first true hurdle since beginning this project, so I am excited to finally overcome it so I can continue on with the story proper, I hope you also enjoy it. I also hope you enjoy angst, because this has got plenty of it.

Also on AO3

“Are you doing anything Christmas Eve?”

Ino froze at Sai’s words, trying to process them. Of all the things she expected to come out of Sai’s mouth, which was quite a list mind you, she had never expected him to ask about Christmas. She had her back turned to him as she had assumed he was only visiting to ask more overly-complicated questions about the journal she gave him.

But Sai of all people asking her about plans on Christmas Eve?

If she were still 16, the idea of being asked out on Christmas Eve would’ve given her enough joy to last her a lifetime. But she was now 19, and this was Sai.

Perhaps he’s been sent to inform her of a group gathering. She turned around, applying a small smile as an attempt to enforce a casual atmosphere.

“Nothing in particular. I will be working here a bit, but we’re closing early. Is there something going on?”

His expression then grew pensive, as if he had realized that he once again slipped into his mask. He was truly a challenge for a highly skilled interrogator like her to read, but the more she spoke with him, the more she could pinpoint the cracks in his false demeanor. With this, she could tell that he was having a bit of difficulty with communicating his words.

“Well, I was thinking about inviting you over to celebrate with me.”

Ok so the group gathering was out the window and now her mind was taking a slow but steady nose dive into panic. Sai asking her out on Christmas Eve of all times seemed too unbelievable to be true.

Don’t get her wrong, she still found the young man incredibly attractive. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the finer points in his appearance. Like his face, or his hair, or his body...

“Uh-” she stammered before he continued.

“I figured since you have given me so much during the span of our friendship, that I could perhaps repay you. Christmas just seemed to be good timing.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, reflecting the utter innocence in his request. Ino inwardly sighed, relieved at his clarification.

More like bad timing… Of course it would be as pure intentioned as him.

It’s not as if she would’ve rejected his advances if it were a date. In fact, she’s been wanting to pull back more of the layers and dig into that inner psyche of his since they met, but that was before she realized how delicate his situation truly was.

The mission to the Land of Silence proved to her that the only way she could truly connect to Sai is if he’d let her in. His trauma ran deep. Deep enough to cover up his true smile and emotional responses.

Seeing his smile in the depths of his subconscious made her heart weep and flutter all at once.

She truly wanted to get to know him better, but he had to get to know himself first. This was her intention when she gave him that journal to write in, and based on his accounts it seemed like it was doing the trick. It also helped that they had engaged in more small talk when he visited the shop.

But now a true opportunity has presented itself to Ino to finally delve into that mysterious aura that had once allured her.

Okay, maybe it’s still a bit alluring now.

As she relaxed, her nervous grin fell into a soft smile.

“So tell me more about this gift of yours…”

________________________________________________________________

Ino followed Sai as he led her through the village, absorbing the environment around her. Christmas Eve in Konoha had always been nothing short of festive; Strung up lights floated above the heads of those walking along the snow ridden paths. Gazing at the ground before her, she couldn’t help being overcome by memories of her childhood perched atop her father’s shoulders as their family strolled through those very same sights. Christmas hasn’t been the same without him. Nothing was the same without him if she were honest. Especially to her poor mother, who had insisted she depart with Sai while she finished closing up for the night.

She glanced at her companion walking beside her. Sai’s expression was unreadable as ever, but she couldn’t help but be transfixed by his cold and focused eyes staring forward towards their destination. She quickly turned her head away as his gaze moved towards her, face growing warm and ponytail whipping behind her. She had tied it up for this outing in order to restrain her hair from being harassed by the winter wind.

Why am I like this? I know this is only him being friendly.

But she couldn’t help him being so beautiful.

Hoping he had shifted his focus back to the road, she turned her head once more in his direction, only to find him still staring down at her.

His expression softened in moderate confusion. “Is there something wrong?”

“No!” She tried to clarify through frivolous waves of the hand. “I was just remembering something…” Ino trailed off for a moment, trying to assess the interaction before deciding on a new route. “Do you spend every Christmas with girls?” She resorted to her typical method of teasing in hopes to take some of the heat off. That may be difficult with what she was working with. He probably couldn’t even understand the nature of her words.

As expected, his confusion was still as strong as ever. He lifted his gaze back to the road.

“The few times I’ve experienced this holiday have been at the gatherings that Naruto puts together. You’ve attended a few of them yourself…” Sai paused in his speech before returning his dark stare down to her. “Were you so inebriated that you have forgotten?”

She found herself flushed once more, covering her face with both hands. She wanted to scream, or at the least groan in frustration, but didn’t want to discourage him. Ino needed to be patient with him. She took a deep breath before throwing her hands down to her sides accompanied by an audible exhale.

“I remember Sai, I was just poking fun. You have to know what teasing is, right?”

The curt nod he gave her had enough force to shake the dark bangs that covered his eyes. “Of course. Teasing is an act intended to provoke someone in playfulness. It is still a little hard for me to identify a teasing remark, however.”

As he looked away, his frown deepened, giving her the impression that he was disheartened by that fact. To prevent him from caving in on himself, she lightly placed her hand on his bicep in encouragement. He shivered, eyes wide and pale skin looking even paler as she quickly pulled away. She tried to keep her tone as gentle as she could muster so as to not startle him further.

“It’s okay. I’m sure you will someday.”

Sai only hummed in acknowledgement, peering at her from the corner of his eye. His body was still tense, reeling from the contact.

Mission failed. I just want him to be able to trust me.

Just as the awkward silence dropped on them like a weight, they had arrived at their destination. The silence continued until they entered his small apartment. The flat wasn’t very homey, but it seemed to have suited Sai. The bare necessities with his supplies littered around the room. An easel accompanied by a short stool sat in the center of the floor. Another stool was placed across from it.

She watched as Sai hastily padded around the space, grabbing small things here and there in preparation for the painting.

Ino had been surprised when Sai proposed the idea of painting her given how naturally intimate the process seeme. He would be giving her his undivided attention, something she had always yearned for, and creating something entirely out of her image. It was a fairly high ranking gesture on the romance meter if you asked her.

“Ino?”

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that he had already taken a seat and was gazing at her expectantly. Shaking her head clear of thoughts once more, Ino slowly made her way towards the stool that awaited her across from him.

She readily noticed the artist’s calculating eyes upon her when she took her seat. His head was slightly tilted, a pale hand covering his mouth.

“Is there anything in particular you wish for me to do?”

He said nothing for a few moments, still processing his vision she presumed. She watched intently as his hand slipped down to uncover his mouth, focusing only on the movement of his lips.

“I planned on having you pose yourself, but I would personally prefer your hair down for this.”

She felt warmth rise into her face, averting her eyes from his gaze once more as she brought her hands up to remove the tie from her hair. Her fingers combed at her golden locks that cascaded down her back.

“Is that better?”

She returned her eyes to him to find that his expression had remained static.

So much for looking seductive

She let out a frustrated sigh and relented to placing her hands into her lap.

She still found his face unchanged. He almost looked troubled. Regarding her for a moment more, he rose from his stool and stepped over to her, grabbing her face without hesitation and positioning it slightly to the right.

“Apologies, this seemed much easier than directing you.” Once seated, he peered at her from the side of the easel, a grin stretched across his face

“But to answer your previous question, yes.”

Ino’s hands reflexively lifted from her lap to wipe at her face in aggravation.

Sai’s face reappeared from the side of his canvas, this time sporting a look that was far less amused than before.

“It would be better if you tried not to move or speak during this process.”

Silence suddenly blanketed the room. A common theme with him. She could tell he had started his work because she could only hear the sounds of his pencil scratching the canvas. Outlining, she assumed. Ino had also noticed how often he peeked from behind his canvas to look at her. It was quite amusing to watch his ever-changing glare from her perspective. His thin eyes narrowed, growing even thinner. Sometimes she would be graced by the twisting of his lips, exposing dimples she never would’ve guessed he had in the first place. She especially couldn’t help but notice the way his brow lifted along with one corner of his mouth, almost as if some part of her was particularly interesting to him.

But what was so interesting? She could easily find out if she put her mind to it. Perhaps all Sai needed was some careful instruction and physical persuasion to bring out those feelings she knew he had. He would probably be eager to learn if she truly insisted. Tonight could present itself with a teaching opportunity if she looked hard enough. He’d probably be up for it, maybe his invitation meant something more.

What am I thinking?! Of course it didn’t!

Ino left her mind to wander into dangerous territory and she had finally become aware. Her resolve was crumbling more and more by the minute and they had only just begun. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the concentrated silence that enveloped him, or that strange lift in his voice. The one that otherwise betrayed the more dreary expression that usually occupied his face.

He’s just trying to be friends! And yet-

Ino shot up from the stool, stiff as a board. She caught a glimpse of Sai from behind his canvas before he noticed, a serene smile adorning his face.

He was really enjoying himself. And she was about to ruin that…

“What’s wrong?”

Genuine bewilderment had spread across his expression.

“Sai, I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”

Sai sat rooted in his seat, pupils shaking as his mind was incapable of processing the situation

“I-I don’t understand. Wh-what do you mean?”

Ino wanted to explain, but the thoughts couldn’t form. She didn’t quite understand what was going on with her either. She picked up her discarded jacket and made a move to leave, but was impeded by Sai’s hand tightly gripping hers.

“Please, at least explain what I did wrong. I thought this was what friends do.” His eyes pleaded with her. Pulling away from his grasp was what finally uprooted him, but he stood frozen in place as she fled towards the door.Her eyes watered as she looked back at his still form and dejected expression. She was really going to break his healing heart, and it killed her.

Ino’s control had vanished, leaving her vulnerable to her oncoming feelings. She needed time to think about the door she was about to enter, and getting worked up over it now would only make it worse.

What could’ve happened if her thoughts strayed any further?

Would she have acted upon her deep-rooted desires?

It doesn’t matter what I want. Sai just doesn’t need that...

“It’s not you, I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all me. I’m sorry-”

The door slammed shut behind her before he even had a chance to think over it.

And that makes this one shot complete. Angsty as hell. I hope that I did Ino justice with this one. I didn’t want to break Sai’s heart, but it had to be done for the sake of forwarding the plot

Also to properly convey, Christmas Eve is a romantic holiday where couples go out and spend time with one another, similarly to the western Valentine’s day. Not yet sure when the next entry will be posted, but it is coming. I do have multiple ideas for how the story develops after this occurrence. Hopefully I’ll have enough content to get through until the next milestone, the Sakura Hiden.

Thanks for sticking with me during what is considered a difficult time for me. And until the next one,

-Saikage

#Sai Journal #saiino #sai yamanaka #Ino Yamanaka #si fanfic #sj oneshot

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