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amywritesthings · 1 year

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silver underground. / chapter 16.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: flashback six - also known as the day of the heist

Warnings: this chapter heavily explores and discusses themes of peril, thoughts of self harm and self destruction, hopelessness, death, violence, and torture. if you are triggered by these topics, i would suggest skipping this chapter.

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CHAPTER 16 - FLASHBACK: SIX

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

The silence of the Underground City spoke volumes.

At this rate, you’ve gone over the plan — and the potential ways it can go horribly wrong — at least a dozen times.

Only so many distress signals can be sent from three people outrunning an entire Military Police unit, so you've employed all of them.

First, there’s the stolen flares.

They’re sparingly used, if ever, when it’s the four of you on a job. Two teams of two has easily been your best formation tactic.

A slight change to a single team of three should not cause much difficulty, especially when it involves veterans like Church, Ackerman, and Magnolia.

(You've already waited a half hour. No flare ever ignites.)

Next, if someone loses their grip on a flare canister, then the pursued team resorts to high-altitude flying.

At the height you’re perched upon — the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment complex overlooking the northern half of the Underground — you’d be able to see at least one person flipping and weaving through even the tallest buildings.

(Another half hour passes. No one ever breaches the skyline.)

The last option, should any ODM gear jam and fail, is more human: eyesight.

With the B-team units ordered to be stationed around the Underground City, your three friends should be covered. If it looks like the Military Police have the upper hand, then you can quickly get the rest of the gang to safety.

You told Levi you wouldn't run after him, that you would keep your promise and stick to the plan, but now that it's been over an hour of radio silence?

You're not so sure.

Because there are no clouds in the Underground, your sightline is clear. Idly your ODM gear sits on either hips, hands occupied by the mechanism's handles that will boost you at a moment’s notice. Below you on the street stand your appointed security, both gang veterans, looking for any stray MPs roaming the area.

Every second waiting for Levi, Isabel, and Furlan to return from their heist route spans to eternity.

Over and over your eyes scan, checking between rooftops — nothing.

Your attention drops to the streets — nothing.

Silence creeps to a ninety-minute drag.

No flares sound.

No bodies fly.

“C’mon, Ackerman,” you mumble under your breath, flexing your left hand to give your body something to do — to avoid pulling the trigger too fast on a rescue operation.

He was explicit about not coming for him.

He was explicit and he was stupid to think you’d never come for him.

He was stupid to think—

“James!”

A panicked, shrill voice, however, sounds from the street.

You whip your attention to the east, taking your eyes off of the skyline for a belated beat.

The rogue voice screeches with urgency a second time.

“James!”

It's young and feminine and terrified.

You shift a boot towards the sound, squeezing the metal handles in your palms with your index fingers at the ready.

“Hey! Where is she? Please, tell me James is here.”

She seems out of breath, like she ran a great distance to get here.

You draw a line with your sight from where her footsteps originated: she came from the south.

Most of your units are pushed towards the north, where Levi stated the job would take place.

One of the seasoned lackeys, a younger man, grunts to her in response. “Who’s askin’?”

“I need to speak with James,” she urges, ignoring his question with a wavering tone. “Please—”

“She’s busy, kid,” the second man replies. “Spit it out if somethin’—”

“They caught Levi!”

Her shriek almost makes your foot slip, causing a roof shingle to dislodge.

Time ceases to exist.

Levi.

Below you hear the young men argue with her and the exchange of pleas that follow, but there is no distinction of sound to you. Their words are muddied as if your head has been dunked underwater.

You can't run to her. Anxiety grabs you by the scruff of your neck to hold you in place.

What's wrong with Levi?

Move.

Did something happen to Levi?

Move.

Without thinking, your hand ignites the ODM switch in your left hand to propel a spear into the stone wall from across the street.

You swiftly swing down from your perch, finally catching a glimpse of the girl in question:

The girl — you remember her first name being Lucy — is as pale as a ghost. Her entire body trembles like a decaying leaf, as though she’s witnessed something horrific that she can’t scrub from her line of sight.

(What the hell did she see?)

Her shoulders relax once she spies your face, but not enough to quell your concern when tears well into her eyes.

“James! Oh my god, you’re here,” Lucy breathes, taking a step forward like you’re willing to console her with a comforting arm. "I tried to get here as fast as I—"

“Repeat what you just said about Ackerman,” you demand without solace. “Now.”

You take one pace back, ignoring the spike in your heart rate as the scenario snowballs in your mind’s eye.

From your peripheral vision, you see several others from the gang join the fray.

The two other lookouts on Lucy’s team run down the tiny guarded street, equally out of breath and panicked.

“We saw it happen in the southeast corner!” one of the running girls exclaim.

You — and the rest of the gang — turn in that direction. You can feel your throat seize.

He said the job was going to be in the northern half of the city.

How the fuck did they end up in the south quadrant?

"We followed them when the job changed course," Lucy explains as if she can read your mind. "Levi ordered Furlan and Isabel to cut south. Too many MPs were waiting in the north."

"But the job was in the north," you numbly reason.

“It might have been a trap, we don't know!" she desperately chirps. "A bunch of MPs went after them on ODM gear so we followed by foot. They were chasing Furlan through the streets. A few of them fell back and we thought maybe they gave up, but then a bunch of new people came out of nowhere and they all had green cloaks with wings—”

“Wings?” you snap, unable to stop your eyes from widening.

You whip your attention back to the young girl. Lucy cowers at your unyielding gaze.

“...yeah,” she answers, meek and uncertain. “They didn’t have the same jackets as the MPs. They had wings on their backs, on the cloaks and the jackets.”

A cloud of fearful whispers spreads like wildfire through the small crowd, infecting the minds of the reconnaissance team under your command.

It isn’t uncommon anymore for the Military Police patrolling the Underground to show up with ODM gear. It used to be a rarity, but now? They know better than to show up empty-handed.

Years of embarrassment have taught the thick-headed MPs a valuable lesson.

But green cloaks — and wings?

You can’t be mistaken by their meaning:

The Scout Regiment.

The military branch where suckers with death wishes band together to expire. They seek to explore the unknown, taking off on brainless expeditions past the city walls and into whatever Hell awaits on the other side.

(Why the fuck would they send the goddamn suicide squad to the Underground?)

You don’t need to live on the surface to know the stories: a third of Scout recruits barely make it past their first mission. And by the end of their first service year, the death toll rises to half.

The only dumbasses left standing with the Wings of Freedom on their back are those who desperately want to die but can never find the right titan to eat them.

And, according to the stories, their missions beyond Wall Maria always come up empty-handed.

A thought passes through your mind like a papercut, stinging your blood cells with the very real possibility that they’ve turned their efforts inward — whether at the demand of the king or the disappointment of the people paying their salaries is unclear.

(Is the Underground City their new playground?)

If so, then Levi — this gang — could very well be their first dedicated target.

“Where?”

The word spills out of your mouth, starting in your mind as a demand but dissolving to a murmur.

Going, running, to wherever the Military Police — or God forbid, the Scout Regiment — have your friends is the only plan of action you can think of.

You’re supposed to make sure the people here are fine.

The need to run — go, go, go — far outweighs your logic.

“I…” The girl falters.

You hate how your voice erupts in the wake of your fear. “Where, Lucy?!”

“I don’t know! I lost track of them!” she yelps, squeezing her amber eyes shut. The hands at her sides are balled into tight, painful fists. “Isabel and Furlan got taken down by some MPs, but Levi kept going on ODM gear. He outran most of the MPs, but there was a man, a tall blonde guy, who—”

“Was he a Scout?” you press on, gritting your teeth. “Did you see the Wings of Freedom?”

“The fucking Scouts are here?” someone yelps behind you. “Oh, shit, dude. Oh, man…”

“What the hell are they doing down here?” another asks next to him. “They don’t fuck with the Underground!”

“Did the Wall missions fail?” an older girl asks under her breath. “Are they coming to wipe all of the Underground City out now?”

“Quiet,” you order, holding up a hand. It takes tensing your arm to keep the limb from shaking. “Lucy: where did you last see Levi?”

“The blonde man chased him out of the sky and into the streets. No one knows. We couldn’t see where they went, but it… I’m so sorry, James.”

Lucy’s voice is so small that you barely hear her.

All you can focus on is his voice ringing in your head, a whisper against the thin line of white noise filling your body.

Protect them.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to fire up your ODM gear to chase after him, to fight off every single bastard who thinks about laying a finger on your friends.

We won’t get arrested. We’re too fast on ODM gear.

“What do we do, James?”

The MPs won’t stand a chance.

“Can she hear us? Is she freaking out?”

You want me to be the last person standing.

“James!”

Lucy shrieks in your face, breaking your delusion.

You blink back into your body to see a dozen faces staring back at you in various stages of grief.

Fear.

You focus on the way a tear streams down Lucy’s youthful face. It brings you back to when you picked her up off the streets. A kid, just like you, looking for food scraps and shelter — her mother had passed away at a young age, leaving her to fend for herself.

You knew what that was like, so you promised protection. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

A chance at life.

Just like he once gave to you.

Now you’re the only leader left standing. The other three are either arrested — or worse.

You’re all that stands between dragging her back to the streets or pushing her to the gallows.

(You’re all anyone in this gang has.)

I need you to be safe.

Levi’s voice tickles the outer shell of your ear, whispering past despite the dead wind.

You want to hate him. You really do.

But you promised.

Lucy’s lower lip trembles as she takes a step forward.

This time you stay put, too frozen from the numbness in your body.

“James… please, tell us: what do we do?”

You don’t know.

You wish you did, but you don’t know.

You want to tell them to run, to run as fast as they can and never look back.

You want to tell them that you don’t know how to do this without Isabel or Furlan.

You want to tell them you’d rather die than know a life without Levi.

But you promised.

I’ll keep them safe.

I know you will. Echoing in your mind like an omen. I trust you.

“If they’re arrested, then the MPs will be storming the apartment at any minute.”

You finally answer without an ounce of emotion. You can’t stomach thinking past protocol.

“We don’t have time to get our stuff. Organize yourselves into teams of three. Find the safe houses and don't come out until you hear from me. Take a single runner out to Roxy’s. They owe me a few favors, so they should give you table scraps until this blows over.”

“Are you getting Ackerman?” An older girl holding onto her brother’s small shoulders pipes up from your right.

“And Church?” Another person asks. “Magnolia?”

Refusing to think further than the present crisis, you shake your head.

“They all knew the risks of this heist. Right now, my priority is keeping everyone here safe. So go — and avoid detection the best you can. Leave the rest to me, alright?"

You pause, making eye contact with those staring at you. In front of you is a gradient of nerves.

(Everyone knows the risks of running with a gang in the Underground, no matter the price.)

"I said go, goddamnit!”

At your shouted order, most don’t hesitate to run.

The crowd forms into smaller clusters of refugees as they run towards the emergency routes you’ve mapped a hundred times before.

You don’t have time to panic.

You don’t have time to mourn about what could have been.

(A house gleaming in the sunlight with its windows open. The scent of a fresh meal being cooked. The soft meow overlapping over pleasant conversation about nothing at all.)

After all, you made a promise —

And if three of the Underground’s most notorious gang leaders have been caught, then it’s only a matter of time until the manhunt ends with you.

Week after week, your numbers dwindle.

Day in and day out, houses are raided for anyone associated with Ackerman, Church, and Magnolia.

Bars, brothels, and drug dens are scoured for that missing puzzle piece.

Military Police, emboldened by their victory, are adamant to find anyone involved in their gang.

Most found are arrested.

Some offer information for a chance at immunity.

By the fourth week, the gang dissolves into half of its original number.

However, the rampant pursuit slows after the sixth week, and by the seventh, the Military Police stop searching.

The city becomes boisterous again for an entirely different reason, falling back to its routes of debauchery and strife.

Panic of those still in hiding twists into remorse, remorse into doubt, and soon the doubt creeps into what was once an impenetrable fortress.

And somewhere you failed.

Maybe it was because you kept your promise and never went after Levi, Isabel, and Furlan the day they disappeared.

Maybe it was because no one ever saw them again, creating a shroud of mystery in their disappearances. Most people assumed they were arrested and tortured for information. Others hoped they were able to at least die in a merciful way.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you gave up.

The longer you fought without your three friends, the longer you ran around the Underground City hiding from authority, the harder it became to remember why you were trying so hard to be the last person standing.

Hiding with nothing to go back to — that was what waited for you at the end of all of this.

To make new headquarters on mere piles of rubble, alone.

People continue to get caught.

People continue to lose their lives.

You were ready—

Ready to give up.

Ready to join the fate of so many others.

Ready to lose.

(All things considered, you had a good run.)

Eight weeks.

It takes eight whole weeks for someone to finally rat you out.

In exchange for immunity, a scared newcomer snitched to the Military Police about the location of your hideout — and you can’t blame them.

The Underground City has always been a dog-eat-dog pit.

That, however, doesn’t mean you don’t still run.

The crisp, metallic zip of the pulley cuts the air every time you push through the alleyways, leaving the Military Police unit in the dust. Wind frays your hair, whipping pieces of it into your face as you run along brick walls and push for the a momentous swing.

It has been weeks of these chases, all evaded in the dust, but something feels different about this pursuit.

The officers feel confident this time.

Ready.

Another unit of MPs pursue on foot, shouting and taunting for your surrender, but they're no match for your swift escape.

The two officers following with ODM gear cannot match the sharpness of your turns.

You don’t know why you keep running.

Why can’t you just stop running?

In your lingering rage you almost want to turn back, take a knife, and attack.

To earn the heaviness of a murder charge on your shoulders.

You want to lash out—

To make someone hurt—

But you just keep running.

In your time of solitude, you've wondered how the end of all things went that day. Did those pigs take turns kicking Furlan with his hands tied behind his back? Did they drag Isabel through the street? Did they cut out Levi's tongue for back talk?

You hope they gave the MPs hell.

The imaginative injustices — the cruelty — fuels your fantasy of revenge.

Through another alleyway and into the streets, you latch onto another building and swing to your left to continue through the streets of—

Wait.

Skirting around a corner, you see something briefly whip around a corner in a cloud of exhaust.

(Was that emerald?)

Your attention turns to the distinct color that entered your line of sight before it disappears.

Your eyes widen with recognition, but it's too late.

You failed again.

One look to your side is all it takes for a solid, heavy object to slam straight into you from the opposite direction, knocking a spear clean out of the neighboring wall.

The ODM gear jolts, causing you to jerk and drop abruptly to the dirt beneath. Your forearms shield your face from the dirt and debris as your body skids across the dirt path.

Before you even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet. Metal clangs from the jostled handles in your palms as you push yourself up.

Your right arm reels back, fist clenched, and flies in an attempt to connect — and it does.

The punch lands directly in someone's face. The bone crunches under you knuckles.

A person yells in pain and grabs their nose, giving you ample opportunity to attack further. Your leg swings, kicking your boot square into their abdomen. You recognize the way their breath squelches: the wind rips right out of their lungs.

You want them to feel pain, just as you’ve felt pain.

You want them to suffer, just as you've suffered.

It doesn't matter who they are.

When the attacker is incapacitated, you make a choice: you turn the opposite direction, taking off into a sprint.

And you run, if only for a few seconds.

Because that very same emerald flash appears in your peripheral vision.

In just one breath, your feet get tangled up and send you flying to the ground you'd just found yourself lying upon.

A pair of hands suddenly tug at the back of your shirt, pushing you further into the muddied street. A forceful forearm presses down harder, pinning you to the ground. A pebble digs into your cheekbone, its jagged edge slicing into your skin.

Trapped.

You grit your teeth, fighting the painful hold with everything you have. You shout and yell like a woman possessed, kicking your boots deeper into the Earth to propel forward, but you can't move.

(Give up — why can’t you just give up?)

Then a deep baritone voice pulls you from your erratic defenses, smooth like honey.

“James.”

Your last name on a stranger's tongue makes your stomach churn.

You continue fighting, digging the toe of your boot further for purchase.

Suddenly pain explodes in your scalp. Something pulls your chin high from the crown on your head, forcing your attention to the sky. What greets you is a tall, built figure above.

From the street lamp, you see it’s a man — early thirties, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and neatly-combed blonde hair.

This mysterious man stares down at you, standing at full height. He doesn't acknowledge the person holding you down, knotting your hair in their balled fist.

One after the other, two more emerald cloaks drop down from the sky, their faces obscured by their hoods.

Blinking away from his face, you see it: his tan, cropped jacket, with white and blue wings outstretched against one another, pointing high with dignity.

The Wings of Freedom.

It's the Survey Corps, in the flesh.

“Four whole Scouts for little old me?” you chide.

The person holding you down rips your torso up higher, causing an immense strain in your spine.

You wince at the sensation of nearly being broken in half but refuse to make noise.

They don't get that satisfaction, not yet.

(You've felt worse.)

The blonde man above you does not react. He continues to stare, however, when he addresses another in his squadron.

“Get her up on her knees, Miche.”

The man behind you — presumably Miche — yanks you from the dirt to settle you on your calves. Without your arms to support you, you’re left floundering at his will.

“What?” you ask through clenched teeth. "Are the Scouts so bored of getting eaten alive that they've come to the Underground on a field trip?”

The man makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His crystal blue eyes slide slowly from the crown of your head, past your face, then rest at your chest.

“Surface made?” he comments in a languid, baritone voice.

When you jostle against Miche's grip on your back, a feather-esque sensation brushes across your sternum.

Then you realize:

He’s staring at your necklace.

“Stolen?” the blonde man asks again, and venom poisons your tongue at his slander. Somehow you manage to hold a response.

You sneer instead, turning your attention to the side of a building.

A painful beat passes.

You hear the man’s boots near, crunching under packed dirt.

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps," he introduces, not fazed by your lack of cooperation. "I was informed that you’re not only the muscle of this operation, but one of its four founding leaders. Is this true?”

He’s met with another stretch of silence.

“Handling operations for seven weeks without the help of your comrades is impressive.”

Another step.

“Or has it been closer to eight?”

“What do you want, surface scum?” you finally murmur, eyes locked on a particular patch of moss growing at the foundation of the building.

He exhales through his nose, contemplating. You continue to look away.

“Your protection is gone, James," Erwin begins. "Your gang, eradicated. Your people have fled — abandoned you, to save themselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him.

Erwin evades your feigned ignorance. “A bounty has been on your head for two months. You’ve done all you can to avoid detection, but from where I stand, I see someone out of options.”

Your nostrils flare, unwilling to betray yourself in the face of the truth.

He isn’t wrong — it’s been the end of the line for weeks now.

You’ve run on borrowed time and a promise you barely believe in anymore.

You’re so tired.

“The Military Police would be glad to round out their gallows with someone responsible for embarrassing them so thoroughly.”

Is that where Levi ended up, in the gallows next to Isabel and Furlan?

(Are they no longer alive, just as everyone suspected?)

When you continue to stare at the adjacent wall, the man behind you tugs at your mangled hair and rips your focus back to the man in front of you.

The toe of the Commander’s boot is in line with your muddied knee.

From this angle, he's practically on top of you.

“However, I believe the finality of a noose is a great waste of potential talent.”

His eyes bore into yours when he slowly, carefully, drops to your height. His ivory-white knee plants gently into the dirt.

You blink up to his face, unable to suppress your confusion.

“Potential talent?” you hiss back, ignoring the searing pain in your scalp. “What is this, a pitch?”

The Commander hums. “I don’t pretend to know how extensive your crimes are, James. What I do know, however, is that you have an out.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “And what’s that, O' Golden One?”

Erwin’s eyes drop to the ground, so you follow suit without moving your head. From the edge of your vision you see it — the ODM gear still hooked around your hips.

“How long did it take you to properly handle ODM gear?” he asks with a genuine intrigue.

“Barely took me a week,” you lie under your breath.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he agrees. “Most of our recruits take months, sometimes even years, to masterfully scale the way you can.”

“Sounds shitty to me.”

“In a way.” A beat passes. Commander Erwin’s jaw sets. “Which is why I’m asking you to join the Scout Regiment under my command.”

You can’t help it — the anger disappears in a bark of a laugh.

It’s a request you never see coming, not a million years or a thousand lifetimes.

You’ve avoided the Military Police for weeks, only for a Scout to offer you… what? A twisted version of salvation in his army?

The words blurt out of your mouth faster than you can help it.

“Join the Scouts?” He nods once to your yelp of a question. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” Erwin challenges. “Both options lead to your death. The only difference is choosing to make your death matter.”

“A noose or being eaten alive,” you snidely respond. “Gosh, Commander, which sounds less painful?”

“What do you think your friends would have selected, if given a choice?”

The swiftly-timed question is a punch straight to your gut.

Unable to stop your eyes from widening, you hate how your blood chills with panic.

How you can see that glint in the commander’s eyes when he’s finally, finally, caught your weak spot.

Seeing the visceral reaction, he continues. "Before they expired, would they have chosen to die here? Or would they have chosen a new life."

Was he saying…?

Was he saying they were already dead?

Isabel. Furlan.

Le…

Your lower lip trembles as you hold back from thinking about that final name.

You barely recognize your own voice when you speak, low and dangerous.

“How dare you…”

Erwin’s gaze is unwavering. “I’m asking you—”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“—what would they have chosen.”

“I said don’t talk about them!” you shout in his face, losing your cool.

His chin tilts a fraction of an inch, expression stoic.

“Then what about your fellow comrades, the people who laid down their lives for your safety — would they have wanted a chance?”

Despite yourself, you push with your boot to propel towards the blonde. “You disgusting piece of sh— fuck!”

Miche rips your head back impossibly further, exposing your neck to the Commander. Erwin stands tall, pulling out a long sword from its metal sheath. The cool, sharp end of the blade rests against your throat.

If he wanted to, he could end your life right here in the streets.

If he wanted to, he could make this so much easier on you.

But he won’t.

This isn’t about ease.

It’s about power, control — total submission.

A part of you wants to push against the blade to make it easier.

No noose. No titans.

Just here.

But you promised.

Last one standing.

“...what happened to them?” you ask, unable to stop the crack in your voice.

If this is it, then you might as well know.

Commander Erwin keeps his blade held towards you. “I don’t know.”

“But it was you that day, wasn’t it?” You ease down to your knees again. Miche loosens his hold on your body. “You're the one that went after them two months ago. When there was a heist, it wasn’t just MPs chasing them. There were Scouts—”

“I don’t have all day, James.”

He interrupts the beginning of your emotional spiral with cutthroat apathy. His arm lowers when you do not retaliate.

“Your hand-to-hand combat expertise is needed within our regiment. Combine that with your unique ODM handling, and I see a formidable redemption in your future—”

He continues to speak, detailing your servitude should you accept his terms.

You can feel the fight, the fire, ebbing to dying ember.

You’re so tired.

You’re so done with running.

(I’m so sorry, Levi.)

“—and you would presume a title under my command, the rank of a Lieutenant—”

“Wait.”

He pauses when you speak up, catching the oddity of his words. Your lifeless vision connects with his.

“Lieutenants don’t exist in your shitty Scout Corps.”

Erwin nods. “That’s correct. Lieutenants do not."

"Then why..."

"A title will deter animosity. Those who look down at you cannot question your authority."

"Because I'm not from the surface," you reason.

"Yes," he says.

"You're willing to give me an edge on the rest of your people. Why?" You watch him, trying to figure him out before he tells you for himself. “Why not just make me regular front-line titan fodder?”

Erwin seems to consider this, if only for a beat.

Then he speaks with an unshakable certainty:

“Because you know what it means to survive. That, in itself, is vital.”

Your shoulders slump as your body shuts down from the eternal fight.

So this is a choice, but it’s no choice at all.

Your life will not matter in the Scouts. The commander is right: you will die, perhaps not today, but at least choosing the Scouts guarantees the sunrise one single time.

Just like you once promised you'd see with the three of your friends.

And in the moment you mourn — the loss of your friends, the loss of your life, what could have been if that job really had worked out.

(What does it matter when you die, so long as it's soon?)

You grip onto a sense of hopelessness like a vice.

Grief.

Then—

Rage.

As swift as a sudden earthquake, you feel it tremble from your shins to your knees, up your torso and through your heart, filling every red hot blood cell in your body.

It was him.

You’re so sure of it.

Commander Erwin would have been the one responsible for turning Levi, Furlan, and Isabel into the Military Police. He was the one who would have sent your friends to their deaths — or did he kill them himself?

And if he was the one to kill them, then why would he offer you a choice to escape?

(Was this the same choice he gave the others?)

Levi would have never agreed to the Scouts. Furlan, Isabel — they would have followed whatever he chose.

They must have died the very day the heist went wrong eight weeks ago.

It’s why Erwin won’t confirm or deny their fates.

Sickness floods your body, but you hold onto the one thing that will keep their spark with you.

That rage.

They really think you’ll comply.

They really think you won’t burn and take the Scout Regiment down with you.

You’ll kill him.

You’ll kill Commander Erwin Smith, then Miche, then every single Scout that steps into your path until someone’s smart enough to take you down themselves.

“Fine, then.”

You speak, knowing your word is as doomed as the fire in your veins.

“I’ll do it."

You meet Erwin's intense gaze, signing your fate with blood on the dotted line.

"I’ll join the Scouts.”

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore

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i-just-want-tobe-thin · 4 months

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hey if you post on an 3d blog can you please take a second to read this?

I see a lot of people relogging meansp0 and stuff and saying "this isn't for you guys it's just for me so I have it on my blog" and i realized that maybe a lot of people don't know about this tumblr feature. even if you don't reblog that kind of stuff could you please signal boost this so the right people can find this information out?

when you're typing a post or relogging, right by the blue post button are 3 dots. the 5th one down is "post privately" and then it will still be visible on your end on your blog, and you can search up a hashtag or word that you put in the post and the post will come up.

since I don't think spreading meansp0 is a good thing, but it still helps me, when I see a meansp0 post I like, i post it privately with a specific tag or phrase. then when I feel like i need some, i can search my page and they'll all come up.

i really think more people need to know this. especially because I can tell by the words used in the reblogs that the user feels really bad about spreading it to their followers, but they feel like they have to in order to have access to it. and if you've never felt bad about reblogging meansp0, maybe you should consider doing it this way instead so it's not being harmfully spread?

obviously anyone can run their blog how they like! but I think this is important information that should be more widespread. if you can reblog this, maybe with a bunch of a4a tags, so that more people can find this out, that'd be great. I wish everyone well <3

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drdemonprince · 3 months

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autistic anon here again, thanks for fielding my question, you're a real one for not all toxic positivity on it. i guess i should've formulated things better, because i didn't mean to imply being completely wrapped up in decision paralysis to the point of doing nothing. that's a mental hurdle i've cleared a long time ago, so shit gets done. i have a few emails sitting in my inbox of fundraisers i helped with that closed out, and it;s making me emotional just thinking about it.

there's a weird disconnect between knowing that you're just one person (and that's something i actually like, i'm no-one special, that's a very freeing thought), and fully feeling it. because somewhere there's always a nagging worry i could do more. as true as it is, reminding yourself you're doing what you can feels like a convenient self-soothing lie when you're in the pit of a bad night. probably the calvinist whispering poisons in your ear. (being afraid of falling in the trap of slacktivism or just reposting everything as a signal boost and patting myself on the back for a job well done, amongst them. which is BS, but knowing isn't believing.)

i mentioned the autistic part for a reason, because community is something i've never quite experienced and only understand in the abstract. like those fundraisers i helped with many, many other people, that's a community effort and i'm proud i could contribute my little bit. translating that to in-person efforts has been a big ??? though. it's not very parseable or approachable to me.

i hadn't quite grokked this as all being part of shame, i have your book sitting here and have read it a while, probably should reread it.

Hey, thanks for writing back! I hear from people of all levels of engagement, from having never done anything to like dedicated black bloc hard core mother fuckers so it's hard to gauge from a single message what someone's particular situation is.

It sounds like you are already doing a ton, choosing actions to take, following through on them, reflecting on the impact of your tactics, and then regrouping to do more and to try things differently where you can. Yet you still feel like shit sometimes and as if you're not doing enough. What to do about those feelings?

Well. Consider those feelings aren't a problem you have to fix. They're just a thing that will happen. Because of cultural conditioning and endless exposure to alarming messages and imagery online they're just gonna come up. Those feelings can just exist while you keep doing the damn thing.

You've already got your behavior on lock. You're doing what you can and not succumbing to choice paralysis. You're hopefully not burning yourself out. It doesn't sound like anything needs to change, maybe other than you not consuming too much online bullshit that's making you feel even more guilty needlessly.

You say: "there's a weird disconnect between knowing that you're just one person (and that's something i actually like, i'm no-one special, that's a very freeing thought), and fully feeling it."

Yeah, you might not ever fully feel it. As long as you keep acting like it's true, you're good imo.

i feel like the most evil selfish unlovable human being alive most days. it doesn't really matter that i do. it sucks, but that's just a fact of how my life has been. i can keep picking myself up and doing what i have decided is right for me to do anyway. i do what i can to avoid triggers that make that feeling worse, so that it doesn't become a barrier to action, but otherwise i just... keep on living, with terrible emotions and terrible thoughts. and i focus on my actions.

As for the community piece, I hear you, it's really fucking hard. I think it's very humbling work that is so worth doing though. Often it involves showing up to the work that a group is doing and living with the fact that you won't know what the fuck is going on and looking inept for a while. it's a necessary distress tolerance building exercise, getting more comfortable with just being there and rearranging the chairs and setting up the food and feeling like a dumbass who has nothing to contribute.

being able to sit with those feelings and keep showing up and not having an ego about it is enough to earn a lot of trust and foster deeper connections, I find. so many people fail to be able to even do that in most organizing/activist/volunteering spaces. I understand it feels mortifying but it is another one of those situations of getting over oneself in a way that's ultimately so freeing and beautiful. when you can accept that people want you around even if you never have anything to say and do nothing but bring paper cups and take out the trash. it's a real object lesson in how not being all that important can be a wonderful thing and make it possible for us to find love and acceptance.

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fremedon · 1 year

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signal boost: chestnut_pod on #endotwracism

Excerpt:

First, my postulates.

It's worthwhile to talk about making fandom a better space, because one should strive to make the spaces in which one spends time better. I spend a lot of time in fandom, therefore I should strive to make it better. If one wants to be treated as a community member rather than as a customer, one must put in work that will be hard and often unpleasant. It is not actually unethical to ask people to do this work. Racism is a problem in fandom because racism is a problem everywhere. It should be addressed. It is worthwhile to direct critique towards the OTW in particular not least because the OTW did promise to take a particular kind of action on racism in its own space. In 2020, the OTW issued a statement that read: "Even in cases where we can't meet particular requests due to practical considerations, we will listen and consider them, and assess whether we can accomplish the same goals via other means." The OTW has done two important -- very important! -- things in light of that promise: finally instituting a blocking feature and a muting feature. This is to be lauded and helps solve many problems. Other problems remain, including some flaws in those blocking and muting features, and the OTW has not held up its end and met its promise to "listen, consider… and assess."

Given those postulates, I submit that the OTW has not done so due in large part to structural problems that are common to large volunteer-run organizations, but which are not innate, and therefore can and should be addressed. These structural problems amplify biases, and are also organizational problems in any situation. I am going to explain my reasoning for this take on what's going on, then suggest some org-level changes that I believe would make addressing the problem of racism in OTW-run spaces easier and more democratic, and finally go into some more detail about the specific solutions I believe would help people on AO3 have a less-racist experience there.

#end otw racism #signal boost

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huntunderironskies · 8 months

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A Call to Action

Hi all.

I wish I had better news to give. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should share this because I will be functionally doxxing myself when I do. But I've had several days to sleep on it and think about what to do. I've come to the conclusion that this is more important than me. This will be a long post but I urge you to read all of it. I'm afraid I have to be thorough here given the situation.

I think everyone who has been following me for more than a week knows how much I love religious studies as a field. It is my single greatest passion in life.

Unfortunately my school, UNC Greensboro, is trying to eliminate our department under claims of it being "not financially justifiable," among others (including anthropology and all Korean language classes.) These claims are highly spurious. Debunking this in full will take some time but I'll try to cover as much ground as I can in the relatively short space I am given and provide some sources. If anyone needs further elaboration, I'll report to the best of my abilities.

This is all to lead into the fact that I would like to provide some opportunities for people to help us out over here, which I will cover at the end. The shortest possible version is: please signal boost this. I do urge you to read it in full, though.

With the first introduction out of the way...

A Second But Very Brief Introduction to Religious Studies and a Justification of Its Presence in Academia (Given the Natural Bent of this Site is Sometimes Towards Antitheism)

Feel free to skip this if you have any familiarity with religious studies as a discipline, I'm putting it here because I find that it's often confounded with theology and every time I talk about it someone asks me if I'm going to be a priest (no.)

To be clear, religious studies is not theology. It does not purport the existence of any higher spiritual powers or presences. It is strictly the study of religion and spirituality as a force in human culture. This falls under both negative and positive effects, and covers everything from historical impact to individual psychology to macrosociological effects of religion to the simple understanding and study of mythology and folklore.

While internalized cultural norms are of course an issue that must be overcome by any scholar, for a religious studies scholar the Catholic Worker, the Sikh ragi, and the long-dead Sumerian ašipu should all have their beliefs and inner lives treated with the exact same sort of gravity and understanding, no matter how far their own beliefs might be from our own. It is, in my subjective opinion, the most humanizing of all the humanities because we are forced to operate on a deeply personal, vulnerable level.

I wish I didn't have to explain why these sorts of skills are important, especially given the current climate of intolerance that has been growing across the world and the growth of anti-intellectualism. I recognize that I might have to but I don't want to linger on that given everything else I have to cover in this post. Go ahead and ask as I do love talking about my field but I might take some time to answer.

A Brief Summary of Events Beforehand

My school has hired a firm known as rpk Group (lack of capitalization true to actual title) to restructure school funding financially with a focus on eliminating programs deemed to not earn enough for the school. Here is a brief explanation from the source itself. I apologize if the school website's CSS is still broken and it's difficult to read due to the social media icons being about thirty times the size they should be. Apparently they couldn't find the funding to pay a web designer instead of an expensive financing firm.

Those of you who have kept up with news in American academia may recognize this as the same group that forced cuts at West Virginia University. Please keep that in mind as we go forward.

Here are the high points:

Religious studies attained a passing grade under the rubric set out by the school. There have been active attempts to hide the scoring system from anyone but faculty. The spreadsheet in which the data was published has been password protected (source, which also contains several other refutations to the chancellor's talking points.)

For those who wish to keep score, anthropology did as well and our anthropology program is known for being quite good. This is without going into the other benefits the anthropology program provides the school with, which include such things as a community garden.

There were lower scoring programs that were kept. In other words, the decision-making process has been entirely inscrutable.

This is supported by the fact that the administration has been giving out incorrect numbers regarding program attendance to both news outlets and students, with some programs proposed to be cut having their student enrollment off by several factors.

Religious studies had over five times as many students as was originally reported. The Chinese language minor was reported to have zero students when there were thirty-six. To operate with this level of error from alleged professionals beggars belief and undermines any faith I would've had in this process.

The administration has claimed that they used the correct numbers in their rubrics. As they will not publish further data to myself nor the public, I have no evidence this is actually true.

They were going to cut Korean language as a minor. We don't have a Korean language minor. We do have a track of Korean language and I am given to understand as of this semester, culture courses. Which are operated solely by one professor and are consistently full or close to capacity due to popularity. There is no evidence they are losing the school money and I have several testimonials that the Korean culture-related programs have drawn students to UNCG as it is a unique niche the school gives not just over other UNC schools but over other colleges and universities.

Faculty and students were given information about what programs would be cut at precisely the same time, through an email sent schoolwide. Many students and faculty were in class at the time this was sent and had to proceed as if they weren't about to have their programs eliminated.

The administration alleges that current students will be able to finish their degrees. I have little faith this is the case for reasons that will take a while to get into but, to summarize as briefly as possible, completion of a degree here requires certain high-level classes that may be difficult to obtain with faculty cuts.

The chancellor alleges that Jewish Studies and Islamic Studies will not be affected by the elimination of religious studies, despite the fact that they are hosted under the department and Islamic Studies uses the same funding. As such, I believe that the highly technical and academic category used to refer to this sort of thing is "a blatant lie."

The administration has tried to quietly edit out any errors in original reporting. I am pleased to report that, as many of us intensely online people know, the Wayback Machine exists. Here is the original statistically incorrect press release that was given, which they have tried to bury.

While they have held forums, these have largely been ceremonial gestures rather than serious attempts at communication. At the one I went to, all non-administration speakers were given only two minutes to speak while the chancellor and dean were given as much time as possible to respond. Their responses to concerns were often dismissive and rarely addressed the necessary issues. I believe any person present will back me up on this, though I am not currently in possession of a voice recording.

I must operate within the evidence I am given. The best-faith interpretation of their actions is that the metrics they were using to determine what cuts should be made are incorrect and must be re-done before going through with any sort of program cuts, and that the administration's collaboration process with the group they employed is poor to nonexistent given the scattershot information provided. There is very, very clearly a communications breakdown somewhere along the line that raises this entire procedure into question.

I think it goes without saying it's all downhill from there. The level of arbitrariness with regards to cuts, lack of professionalism, and total lack of transparency would lead a reasonable person to believe there are heavy political motivations involved here and not simple brute facts. You are welcome to draw your own conclusions anywhere along this spectrum, of course. I encourage you to be skeptical.

Lastly, if I can't convince you that it's worth stopping this process to save religious studies, think about the anthropology department. Think about the languages that are getting cut. Think about physics or mathematics. A large-scale public university without a physics program is quite frankly unreal and the fact it's primarily humanities being targeted runs parallel with some sinister trends within American education. This process should, at the very least, be halted for time being.

What You (the Reader) Can Do

Firstly, be aware that we have until February 1st before decisions are finalized. I apologize for the short time limit. Myself and other members of the community were taken completely by surprise as well, and once again as I mentioned above it has caused some level of cynicism around the motivations of the administration.

With that out of the way...make noise about this. The school administration is making all efforts to keep this quiet. I can say the good news is that according to other people on the ground, they are beginning to lose control of their narrative that they are making difficult financial decisions to keep the school financially solvent.

Believe it or not, the farther removed you are, the better. If this hits a national scale then the school may be finally forced to acknowledge they are rapidly causing the otherwise prestigious UNC system, typically considered to be one of the best public university systems in the US, to be a national laughingstock and that they will lose money as their reputation declines in a way that they would not have if they'd simply carried out this process in a more reasonable way.

You can sign our petitions here and here. Easy enough, takes about three minutes, self-explanatory.

Finally, reach out to an academic or any passionate learner in a specialized field today. A lot of us feel understandably threatened and demoralized. Again, this is not just about me or even about my school. This is about trends within the American education system. Explaining the hows and whys in full detail is not within the scope of this post, but I think a reasonable person can conclude after looking at the current evidence that there is a dismantling of American schools in favor of a corporatized existence. For those of us who love knowledge and learning, this is incredibly sinister. Knowledge should not have a price tag put on it.

A Final Word

I and several other people have Chancellor Gilliam on record saying that he has dedicated his life to working at the collegiate level and towards students. While he and the administration have tried to ensure that their statements outside of highly controlled environments are not easily accessible, I should be able to provide a clip if needed given that this statement was livestreamed and North Carolina is a one-party-consent state in regards to recordings.

They have consistently characterized this process as having to make hard decisions to keep the university afloat. The chancellor is currently the highest-paid employee within UNCG itself and the fourth highest-paid member of administration within the UNC system as a whole (source.) Please be aware this does not include other benefits, which in 2022 put his salary above $500,000 (source.) As others have, I must ask why these "difficult decisions" within the school have not included a salary cut for himself if he is so dedicated to improving the lives of students.

Thank you for your time and consideration. If you've gotten this far, you've already listened more than anyone outside of the academic departments have and that means a lot to me in and of itself.

#religious studies #mythology #college #studyblr #college life #university #north carolina #theology #religion #unc #tagging in as much stuff as i can think of lol #anything is worth a shot at this point #academia

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ya-world-challenge · 11 months

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Disabled Artist needs housing help

Hey. I'm an enby person with several chronic illnesses. I work from home to support 3 people on my own. I usually (note: usually) barely make it to rent, but this month everything has seemed to come down at once and I'm going to be approx. $900 short. [Edit: As of 10/25 I will be $655 short] I can probably make up a 1-2 hundred of that in a few days, but it's not going to be enough.

This is especially terrifying because moving is highly traumatic to my partner. We've been evicted twice in the past 3 years (once for financial reasons, and the last was a shitty discriminatory management company) - and I don't think we'd make it through another, and I'm not even being hyperbolic. And paying late AT ALL means shitty companies won't renew our lease. I am seriously terrified. Not being able to have these few hundred will be literally life-destroying. I already live every day expecting a flare-up to put me in the hospital again, because that's what stress does to me, every time.

Can anyone help us out with mutual aid? Earlier today I donated $5 to an artist who has helped me, with the hope it can come back around. Anything is helpful. I'd even do a peer-to-peer loan if that's a thing.

Payment links:

Paypal | Venmo : Piichann | Shop: one two | Ko-fi

!! Please signal boost !!

I am just so tired of us all being forced to destroy our bodies, destroy our lives, just to live. And still not be able to pay for basic housing and food. I really want people to unite around mutual aid. Support each other. (And anyone is more than welcome to add their needs to this post) People shouldn't need to wade through paperwork and Telegram scammers to get help.

Society just doesn't need to be like this, and we should be able to change it. I think if everyone tried to, we really could. Unite together. I don't exactly know how we get there, but we should all be sick of this. I know I am. And I will, and do, give back when I can.

❤️❤️ Free Kitty Pic ❤️❤️

To the below people, not all of you follow me, but I enjoy seeing your posts every day! Thanks for keeping me a little bit sane.

@the-bookler @kyliereads @yourneighborhoodbibliophile @therefugeofbooks @thereadingchallengechallenge @just0nemorepage @disabled-dragoon @dragonbadgerbooks @lizziethereader @asexualbookbird @godzilla-reads @richincolor @good-books-to-read

Maybe these nice people could help signal boost too:

@helppeople @donations-mutualaid @goodpeopledeeds @anarchblr @boost-the-signal @lgbtdonate @mutualaidforalll @nonbinary-support

#mutual aid #direct action #disabled mutual aid #queer mutual aid #disability #socialism #leftist #financial aid #housing #chronic illness #chronic fatigue

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wangxianficrecs · 2 years

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💙do not envy the roots that hold you down by eccentrick

💙 do not envy the roots that hold you down

by eccentrick

T, 12k, WQ-centric, Wangxian

Summary: Wen Qing, now known as Lan Ming, is a stoic child but never sulky. She's praised for her obedience and intelligence that far exceeds any of her peers. She's diligent and can already speak in full, clear sentences. Her mother—a distant cousin of Hanguang Jun himself—finds her own child eerie. When she falls, and red bleeds through the knees of her white robes, she doesn't cry. She simply stands and brushes herself off, then walks purposefully to the clinic. Lan Ming—or as she will always refer to herself, Wen Qing—will correct the healers as they gently cleanse her wound, as there is a much more effective disinfectant they can use. Reincarnated as a Lan, Wen Qing lives as best she can with the knowledge—and pain—of her past life. The balance she finds is disrupted when an unfamiliar face hides a not-so-unfamiliar heart.

Mojo's comments: Oh, what a fabulous premise, and so very well done. All WQ's POV, from the moments after her brutal death to her rebirth. She grows up a strange, remote child… because she remembers everything, and can only grieve what she's lost. But gradually she finds a place, making friends with her cousin (now older than her!) and becoming one of Hanguang Jun's ducklings. I could read, like, 30k more of this. I just love the concept so much!

Kay's comments: Absolutely adored this story of Wen Qing being reborn into the Lan Sect while keeping her memories! Even as an infant she is aware who she is and hates it. She is a weird child, that's for sure! Which keeps getting her compared to Hanguang-Jun! And I love how she deals with the fact that she has a mother now and a new identity, while she continues to be Wen Qing to herself and now she's living amongst the people who killed her family. It's heart-wrenching and I live for it.

Excerpt: Wen Qing is aware of the effect she has on people. She knows she should play-act as a child and take advantage of another chance at childhood. She was never a good actor, and especially not now that she doesn't want to. Wen Qing wants to continue being Wen Qing. Solemn as she is, she is never punished for it. In fact, she's praised for being such a good role model for her peers, who still drool and cry and whine. No wonder Wei Wuxian's boytoy—her cousin, now—is such a stick in the mud. Soon, she's compared to the boytoy himself. "Have you ever seen a child as well behaved since Hanguang Jun? Ming is following in his footsteps, it must be the name," her grandmother says, sipping at her tea.

canon-divergence, pov wen qing, reincarnation, reunions, grief/mourning, trauma, rebirth, soul-searching, emotional hurt/comfort, guilt, child wen qing, healing, survivor's guilt, recovery, @ecccentrick

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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sardonic-sprite · 11 months

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Its November fucking first, Halloween is over, the ground is covered in snow and I've been rehearsing for the christmas show for a month so there will no longer be any stopping me

Ok so best laid plans of mice and men yadda yadda I did not in fact complete whumptober in time, but fear not, I'm still filling all the requests, I've got a lot written, just be patient and it'll all come hopefully by the end of November.

Related to that, I promised that since whumptober was to be all batman related, I'd run something with similar rules for all the non-batman fandoms I'm in when I had time to refamiliarize with those source materials. Originally I said December, with Winter Whumpterland in mind, but as much as I love everyone's ideas, I need to return to my own creative roots for a while after this batch, so instead I'm looking at taking those requests for either Januwhump or Trop-A-Thon (run by amonthofwhump), based on my school schedule. Januwhump would have 15 days of prompts + Alt, Trop-A-Thon is one week with 4 optional prompts per day. If y'all want something more like whumptober, 30 days with a theme and 3 options per day, you'll have to wait for June of Doom. Please drop me a line here or on AYW 31 to say which option you'd like best

Between now and whenever that is however comes my favorite holiday (like literally 10% of my fics are christmas themed... oops) along with HOLIDAY BREAK FROM SCHOOL WHICH MEANS WRITING TIME! Now I usually dabble in some amount of Winter Whumpterland bc I can't help myself when it comes to hurting the batboys it seems, BUT.

Last year (and the year before, only I chickened out lol) I sort of tried to make my own start up event for Christmas called Christmas Countdown Playlist, because music is my favorite thing about my favorite holiday. This time I wanted to reach out (since I... know people? Am tumblring?) And ask whether anyone would be interested in me making an annual Thing of this event. The gist would be

12 days of prompts all based on christmas songs or lyrics

Still open to any faith or nonfaith, just that xmas songs are what inspire my generalized prompts

Fluff whump angst anything goes

Any type of created content

Open from Thanksgiving to new years to participate as much or as little as desired

Thanks so much for reading and I hope to hear from ya soon!

#sprite said #sprite's plan #havent used that tag in a while #poll #sprite asked #christmas countdown playlist #whumptober #whump request events

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olderthannetfic · 4 months

Note

Ok so I'm thinking this could just be because of the online spaces I'm surrounded with and the absolute shit algorithms, but where does the assertion come from that white people are the ones who have super high standards for POC writing?

Ok I know, traditional publishing. Yeah, that's one side of things. The professional realm of US publishing is definitely high and staked against POC authors. No need to argue about that.

But I mean like, as readers. Because after seeing some people talk about that POC written "Wicked Gods book" I went on an age old online pastime of drama and tea spills in incognito mode, and the main people who seem to put POC writing to super high standards are... other POC people. Staying on topic for Wicked Gods, on that GR page of Wicked Gods there are tons of POC/BIPOC (they state it in the reviews) who're throwing out accusations that imply the writer is a traitor, hates POC, fetishizes colonialism, the impact of it, feeds into the WMAW trope etc etc. Even some who go full attack on the author saying their grandparents would be ashamed of them if they were still alive or that the author doesn't care about the people affected by history.

Then went to youtube, and while most of the POC reviewers are good at staying constructive, there are those who just immediately go to drag the author and do the same shit as some of the GR reviews I mentioned.

Anyway went down the rabbit hole of checking "controversial POC authors" or just some more reader bait books and yeah, a lot of the actual "high standard" talks come from a lot of POC reviewers. Though the standards are mostly POC having super high standards for other POC people on how to represent POC authors, writing and experiences, and culture. Anything that could be "bad" like colonizer romance, gets a lot of angry reviews from POCs about that, and some other tropes. Even in the cases where the POC in question isn't even of the same race as the author. The only real "white ppl standards" thing is that on average there seem to be more white readers on some books, but most of the white people deliberately reading POC books don't seem to actually have that high standards for the POC novels, they're actually kinda boring. Either it's very touristy, very nothing, just parroting some POC reviewer, or it's actually just a normal review with no commenting on accuracy or expectations, just taking the book for what it is and criticising what they do know, eg poor depictions of feminism, or just poor writing..

I suspect the actual pattern is 50% the "How it works" thing where a minority person is anomalous and memorable while a "default" person's bad writing/actions/etc. are forgotten and not treated as part of a pattern we should pay attention to...

And 50% people being more sensitive to portrayals of their own group or a minority group they relate to or whatever. I know bad depictions of women annoy me more than those of men, and my standards for f/f are unfortunately higher than my standards for m/m.

I do see white people signal boosting pseudo-activist stuff they clearly don't have enough context for and should probably not be signal boosting, but I'd say the actual white person bad behavior in this sphere is more often abject indifference.

As for where the assertion comes from... I presume it's the usual "My enemies must be of the demographic I dislike!" idiocy. You see this fallacy in every type of argument put forward by every type of person. It's certainly not restricted to POC bitching about white people.

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euphor1a · 2 years

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For those who missed it: introducing txt fic hub!

Hello moablr! Guess who? 🥸 I don’t know if anyone is here who does not know that I moved blogs, but, surprise! It’s aleyna from the now deleted blog, cupidchois xD

Anyway, let me get back on track.

Back on December 2021, I was sketching out a plan to start a discord server for all txt fic writers & readers!

Why was I working on something like that? Well, the writing community was declining rapidly. And sadly, it has only worsened since then. In case you’re still not aware, the interactions have been decreasing to the point it feels pointless sometimes, writers have got their works stolen and reposted, and, people still get hate over literally anything, for god knows what reason! So many writers have quit because of the above mentioned reasons and more, and there are many who are contemplating to do the same. Can you blame them, though?

If you are someone who has been here since 2020/21, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And what does this server has to do with what is going on? It’s an attempt to help with the current situation.

Now, why should you consider joining the txt fic hub? How will that benefit you?

If you are a writer, we strive to create a space where you can promote your works, seek help for anything writing related (beta readers, fic banners, tumblr advice) and connect with the fellow writers and obviously, the readers. We’ve added the sprinto bot for writers who are looking for sprints! We welcome mxr writers as well as mxm writers!

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ink-flavored · 6 months

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Reworking Pride

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents - Reworking Justice ➡ Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze @zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

The first thing I decided needed a rework was, no surprise, the protagonist. Pride would need to change significantly, and not just for the obvious reasons. I needed to have a different visual for him so I could more easily create a separate personality and motivation from scratch, instead of constantly associating him with his alternate fanfiction self. I can’t draw, so I went onto this Picrew and threw together an initial appearance I could work off of.

I wanted to keep some of the punk elements like piercings and alternative dress, both as a kind of homage and to put a big neon sign over his head that reads HAS PROBLEMS WITH AUTHORITY. Same thing with the eyeliner—explicitly not conforming to gender norms, both signaling a problem with authority and implied queerness, which is intentional. The goatee was for fun, since “haha goats and Satan,” but I liked it so much I kept it. I did decide to make him white, instead of Japanese like his fanfiction counterpart, which is a change I did make with a purpose (I’ll get into it). The horns and tail being the classic cartoon devil were the only options available. It wasn’t the look I was going for with the story, but I added them anyway because they were cute.

One big deviation I decided on right away was that this isn’t going to be a stolen body, for Pride or Justice. Their appearances are what they look like, all the time, and Pride will ferry the soul for his contract without hijacking their appearance. I actually changed the way the whole contract thing works, too, but that’s a story for another post.

From here, I began brainstorming his personality. The fanfiction Pride & Justice was very short, so there wasn’t a whole lot of room for character development or action. In fact, Pride has a static character arc through the whole story. The only thing that changes by the end is him admitting that he’s scared to go back to Hell, and the rest of his personality remains exactly the same. That isn’t going to fly as an original character in a longer story.

In this new story, Pride as a character needs to be a shithead, for lack of better description. Not only is he a demon, he’s the embodiment of hubris, self-importance, and the root of all sin. He needs to be loud, obnoxious, arrogant, and outraged, if not violent, when he doesn’t get his way. Paradoxically, he also desperately needs people to like him. It’s well-documented that people with healthy relationships with their pride don’t do the grandiose “look at me, I’m so special” thing—their pride is self-evident, and exudes naturally. The people who do act incredibly shitty like this are compensating for a low self-esteem, declaring that they’re the best, that everything they do is the best, and that everyone should like them for being so obviously the best. This, of course, turns potential friends and companions away, and sends them further down into their spiral.

I took a great deal of (mostly tongue-in-cheek) inspiration from a Tweet by Sarah Hagi (that I can unfortunately not find the link to): “God, give me the confidence of a mediocre white dude.” I want Pride to be a critique of that guy you know, the one who acts like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, but isn’t really as great as he claims, and deep down he knows it. He hurts people to boost himself up, using his position of power over others to make himself feel more secure. Sure, he’s had pain, maybe even trauma, but he doesn’t want you to know that. It would be weak, in his mind, to admit that he has wounds so deep he can’t even look himself in the mirror.

So, as my protagonist, Pride needs to be fundamentally self-absorbed, taking pleasure in the pain of others, because he’s compensating for and masking a very deep emotional pain. I don’t want to be so black-and-white as to make the entire concept of “having pride” a strict evil, so over the course of the story I want to develop him into a healthier version of it. This would give him a very fulfilling arc—he begins the story as the negative expression of pride, hubris and self-importance and viciousness, and ends on the positive end of the spectrum, with genuine self-respect and confidence without needing to harm others. That’s a whole dang character with flaws and potential for growth if I do say so myself!

Obviously, I wasn’t quite done. Pride needed a pain to endure, something that would turn him into the vindictive little asshole we see before us. What better pain for a demon to have, what better way to turn them bitter against all of humanity and virtue, than to be cast out of Heaven by God for questioning His authority? Not only is Pride a demon, he’s one of the fallen angels who rebelled with Lucifer when he fell from Heaven.

My wonderful girlfriend, AuroBlaze, helped me solidify Pride’s appearance so I wouldn’t have to use the Picrew forever. The idea of him having the blond roots of his hair exposed was played as a joke, at first, because how funny would it be for him to always look like he had a shitty hair-dye job? But while we were talking, I realized it could be a brilliant metaphor for the very shoddy mask he wears to hide his aforementioned bitterness and trauma—especially if those exposed roots are the color his hair used to be as an angel, that won’t stay covered up, no matter how hard he tries.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The blond roots are still the color his hair was as an angel, but the reason they stick around is because it's essentially a magical scar. His dark hair stops right where it meets his horns, his broken halo. His former-holiness is burned into him, and can't be transformed or dyed away.

While we were discussing what I actually wanted his horns to look like, I solved a few world-building birds with one stone. The demons in this story, instead of just being goth angels, have their wings cut off by the other angels when they fall. Their halos are cracked in two, jammed into their heads, and become their horns, eternally smoking with once-holy fire. They grow tails from the trails of fire they leave as they fall to Hell, like the trail of a comet. They have several permanent reminders of the grace they lost.

Lo and behold, we have our final design:

[Tumblr version] [Instagram version]

Welcome to the world, Pride! You are a menace to society and will cause so much distress to everyone around you.

A few other details that I want to mention before we go: All demons have a secondary beast form they can transform into, either fully or partially (i.e. Pride can summon one monster arm if he wants). Compare this to angels having a human form and a “flaming wheel of eyes and fire” form. His horns and tail are also optional in this way—he can hide them from humans entirely if he wants. I won’t get deep into his powers or how this story’s version of magic works, but there’s a good chance I’ll make a separate post about it later.

EDITOR’S NOTE: You can see his beast form here, also drawn by AuroBlaze!

Also, for those of you waiting with bated breath for this: Pride will be explicitly bisexual in this book. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to bring it up yet, but I am very excited to populate this story with a lot of queer and trans characters, so it’ll be a topic at some point for sure.

On that note, there’s an internal war waging within me about whether or not I should make Pride trans. I’ve been on the fence about it for a while. Since he’s a multi-dimensional immortal creature who chose every detail of his body to his exact specifications, he wouldn’t need top surgery, hormones, or anything like that. It would just be the lower half that’s the contested zone. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but this story is a romance and there will be sex in it. So it’s unusually pressing!

The arguments against? I don’t want to perpetuate any harmful assumptions by making a trans character literally on the side of the devil. I already have more than a few trans side characters in the story, but I still don’t want to make any unfortunate comparisons in today’s landscape. There’s the whole “indoctrination” thing, tempting others to sin is a big part of his personal magic arsenal, don’t need to make too many jumps to get disingenuous there. There’s also the matter of my intended commentary—the “mediocre white man” stuff. While being trans wouldn’t make him less of a man, obviously, the kind of behavior I’m trying to critique is seen most often in cis white men. They use toxic masculinity as a shield because they’ve been told all their lives they aren’t allowed to show “weakness” in the form of emotional vulnerability, and hurting others is how they feel strong—like a “real man”—in the face of their pain. I don’t want to mess with the foundations of that critique, risk muddying it, or accidentally send a completely different message than I intended with such a delicate subject.

The arguments for are more self-indulgent. I am a huge fan of adding things to a story just because you like them, and something about Pride screams TRANS! at me. Trans men aren’t seen often in media, especially trans men who are visibly, vocally, and proudly gender non-conforming, and that representation is personally important to me. Also, trans men who don’t feel the need to get surgery are plenty scarce in the media landscape, which is again important to me personally. Beyond my personal investment, the metaphors I could play with regarding transness and fallen angels, and how toxic American Evangelical Christianity is to queer identities would tie in with a lot of other themes in the book. For any other story, that alone would be enough for me to shrug and make the change, but still I hesitate. Thoughts? Feelings? Advice? I’d love to hear it.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In the time since I wrote this post, I did decide to make Pride canonically a trans man. Once I started viewing him as trans, I couldn’t un-see it, and it became an inextricable part of him as a character. I do plan on tying in all of the above-mentioned metaphors into his character, and more. One of Pride’s arcs in the book is about his self-discovery—about becoming someone he actually wants to be, not tied down to anyone’s opinion of him, and growing into a person who doesn’t need to identify himself with his past trauma. It moves him so powerfully, he genuinely wants to be a human by the end of the book, something he once reviled because of how they stole God’s love from him. I think the growth, metaphor, and representation all come together to be more important than the “mediocre white man” thing, or any possible bad-faith readings of a trans character (which the inevitable dipshits will do no matter what).

WHEW, this one was a doozy. I guess I was really excited to introduce this story officially! Thanks for reading this ramble all the way to the end. And as always, thank you for your continued support!

See you next time for more Behind The Scenes action!

— Annika

#writeblr #original writing #writeblr community #amwriting #original characters #writers on tumblr #queer writers #prose #WIP #annika talks #Pride #Pride & Justice #P&J #P&J: Worldbuilding

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laurabwrites · 2 years

Text

Plotting out loud, because I can. Glimmerglanger/Star Wars edition.

I read a fun smut Padmé/Obi-Wan piece from @glimmerglanger (another author I will read basically anything they write) that had a an interesting author end note:

....and the galaxy is saved because when Anakin tries to flirt with Padmé she goes, "Sorry, kiddo, not interested," because she's busy trying to arrange a time and place when she, Obi-Wan, and anyone else who wants to get down can all meet up.

And being me, I decided to plot out how this AU changes the timeline/plot. Because I can. And maybe if I do, it’ll stop knocking around my head.

So, relevant ‘plot’ points to this exercise for those who don’t want to read smut:

In Attack of the Clones, Anakin took a minor injury chasing Zam Wesell and went back to the Temple for treatment.

Padmé and the handmaids had crushes on Obi-Wan in The Phantom Menace.

Most of Padmé’s sexual experience up to this point has been with her handmaids (and they with each other).

Padmé initiates; the sex is very good; Padmé’s reaction is “I should see if he’s up for an orgy with the handmaids, they deserve something this nice.”

So! How I would plot out what comes next:

1) Anakin still tries to flirt with Padmé. It’s just as embarrassing as in the movies. Padmé decides to bring one of her handmaids with her to Naboo, hoping she’ll act as a buffer with Anakin. Let’s pick Dormé.

Dormé tells R2 to hang around Padmé when Anakin is there & don’t be afraid to use his arc welder/taser if he gets too pushy

2) The sojourn on Naboo is going to include fewer picnics and more Anakin bugging Padmé while she’s working with Dormé on Senatorial work. I see this leading to at least one argument about political structures.

Dormé totally yells at Anakin that he’s proposing fascism

How can a former slave think the scaled up version of what he suffered is a good idea?!?

Well the Chancellor could get so much more done if—

Dormé slaps massive history tome down on table

3) Padmé has good memories of Shmi, so they still go to Tatooine once Anakin shares he’s having nightmares.

4) Anakin does a Mass Murder™️ out of Revenge™️

5) When Anakin has his little ranting confession to Padmé (because he’s thinks they’re closer than Padmé feels), R2 starts pretending to be shutdown in the corner and gets a recording of his confession. Because Padmé is not interested in Anakin romantically, her little “anger is human” part of the speech also includes a “and I’m going to be very careful not to trigger the anger of this person who can throw things with his mind and has a sword that can bisect people easily.” mental clause. It’s a textual medium instead of a visual one. I get to include internal thoughts.

6) MEANWHILE, Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan got a nice dose of happy brain chemicals before starting his hunt and has gotten a decent amount of sleep while bouncing around the galaxy chasing down this attempted assassin. Obi-Wan digs in a little further at Kamino compared to the movies canon. He gets a copy of the contract from the Kaminoans. He ducks meeting Jango until after talking to some of the Alpha class (who introduce him to a couple of their proteges). Jango cannot hurry luring Obi-Wan to Genosis because he cannot find Obi for a couple days.

When Obi-Wan does talk with Jango there’s a lot more “why are you building an army for the Republic” and more paying attention in the Force to his answers.

Obi-Wan has concerns™️

Obi-Wan sends his concerns to the Council and Anakin with instructions to boost his signal to the Council and make sure it gets there. Also DO NOT COME.

7) Genosis. Obi-Wan sneaks around Genosis for a little bit longer before getting caught. He gets a little more information back to the Council. When Dooku says “there’s a Sith in the Senate”, Obi-Wan says “evidence or I think you’re lying to sow discord and ignore you.”

8) Padmé and Anakin get caught on Genosis just as fast as in the movie. Dormé and R2 do not get caught. They feed technical info about the droids and on the ground tactical information to the arriving Jedi and clone rescue force. The rescue force tries a more diversionary attack expecting Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padmé to get themselves out of the arena. Fewer clones and Jedi die. It’s still a shitshow with terrible numbers of casualties. Just fewer than in the movie.

9) Anakin still goes after Dooku. He still looses his arm. Dooku still gets away. Padmé and Anakin do not kiss, and do not sneak off to Naboo to get married.

10) Anakin is brought back to the Temple to start healing and doing PT for his new space-future prosthetic arm (see recent writing advice re:arm amputations and why they’re portrayed unrealistically). Obi-Wan is sent off on a mission with Alpha-17. Padmé, Dormé, and R2 speak with the council about Tatooine — the council diverts a Shadow to Tatooine for more evidence to back up the decision they know they’ll have to justify to the Senate.

11) Obi-Wan’s mission goes badly. He and Alpha-17 are captured and tortured by Ventress. Word of this reaches the Council and Anakin...

12) After his mother’s death, Anakin has slotted Obi-Wan into the ‘must not die, will burn down the Galaxy’ slot that Padmé occupied in movie canon. Padmé has made herself unavailable for the role since they’re not in a romantic relationship (although Anakin would like to and plans to continue pursuing her). So Anakin subconsciously choose the other parental figure in his life, instead of the female person he cares most about.

13) Anakin freaks the fuck out, runs off to Kamino, grabs the 212th being assembled for Obi-Wan’s return from this mission (which includes Rex and Cody), says he’s the General’s Padawan/Commander, and they’re going to go rescue Obi-Wan.

14) Anakin did not have an assignment to do this. Anakin is disobeying direct orders to come the fuck back to the Temple. Anakin takes the 212th and runs silently. No one in the 212th knows that they’re not in communication with the rest of the GAR and are in danger of being declared AWOL.

15) Obi-Wan or Alpha escape long enough to send a transmission to the GAR before getting recaptured. The 212th pick up the signal and rescue Obi-Wan and Alpha. Obi-Wan contacts his superiors (the Council and GAR military) and gets informed of the situation with Anakin. Obi-Wan orders them all back to Coruscant.

16) The dressing down of Anakin is a) in the medbay before Obi-Wan is dunked in a bacta tank and b) EPIC. Phrases used include “My life is not worth all of these men!” and “Do you have any idea what happens to AWOL clones?!” Obi-Wan has to arrest Anakin for fear the boy will accidentally start a mutiny by ordering the ship NOT to go to Coruscant.

17) The Jedi Council. Anakin and Obi-Wan think they’re there for Anakin’s punishment for absconding with the 212th and disobeying order. Nope. Surprise. You done did a mass murder. Into Jedi jail you got to go Anakin. “It’s not fair! You need me in this war!” excuse me? “They’re just animals” excuse me? “The chancellor didn’t think I did anything wrong?” ex-fucking-cuse me? say that one again.

18) So yeah, Anakin goes to Jedi jail, the Jedi Council decides to hide that fact to figure out the Chancellor’s involvement in that and prevent him from ordering the Jedi to release Anakin, Shadows start investigating the Chancellor (plus keep an eye on the Coruscant guard who have to interact with him), and sad Obi-Wan goes back to war while trying to investigate his concerns™️ about the Kaminoans and the clones (which is where I want the discovery of the chips to come in, but like, later. In a different story in the series. One where Ahsoka is Obi-Wan’s Padawan.

And yes, Padmé and crew do occasionally meet up with Obi-Wan during the war for some mutually fun sex.)

#writing #am writing #fanfiction #writeblr #star wars #plotting #wip #plotting out loud #long post #good grief #how do other authors make those pithy 5 point bullet posts that are hilarious and outline an entire story #believe it or not I see the series ending with Padmé/Sabé and Codywan

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