I have seen a young lady with her table loaded with volumes loaded of fictitious trash, poring day after day and night after night over highly wrought scenes and skillfully portrayed pictures of romance, until her cheeks grew pale, her eyes became wild and reckless, and her mind wandered and was lost â the light of intelligence passed behind a cloud, and her soul was forever benighted. She was insane, incurably insane from reading novels.
-- an anonymous pastor in 1864, on the greatest threat to young women
I like it when characters are really close friends but theyre like. Bad at friendship. like theyre not great people . theyre not necessarily always good to each other. But they are friends!! Incredibly close friends at that!!!! They're Just Not GOOD At It
there will never be anything as funny as the mutual disbelief between long form and short form fic writers about each other's style.
short form writers look at people writing 100k+ fics as though this is some sort of talent given as part of a fae bargain, that the commitment required shows some sort of ungodly mental fortitude.
meanwhile long form writers look at people writing 1000 word one shots like god I would cut off my left nipple to be able to say anything concisely. i would love to play with multiple ideas. free me from the shackles of this child I have birthed. i love them but I now must take them to t-ball and doctor's appointments and they're going to destroy everything I own.
hey boy don't kill yourself. green's dictionary of slang is available online and allows you to explore 500 years of english vulgarity. you can search by part of speech, source, time period, etymology, and usage. there's a whole category for gay slang. they even have specific citations listed so you can see the exact context for yourself. boy did you know that in 1927 "to kneel at the altar" was slang for "to sodomize"
Princess: an effeminate and relatively youthful male homosexual or lesbian (1931-4)
Daffodil: effeminate young man (1925)
To throw a fuck into: to have sex with (1919)
Top sergeant: a masculine lesbian (1939) [âshe takes command of the girlsâ privatesâ]
Lily: penis (1919)
Wolf: sexually aggressive man (1847); a homosexual top (1918)
Soul kiss: a deep kiss, involving putting oneâs tongue into oneâs partnerâs mouth (1907)
Tom: a lesbian (1909); [in 'old tom'] prostitute catering to lesbians (1966)
Church mouse: a male homosexual who frequents crowded churches in order to fondle any potential sex partners. (1941)
Discover one's gender: to accept or acknowledge oneâs homosexuality (1941) / Lose one's gender: To return to living as a heterosexual
Minty: a masculine lesbian (1941)
Also a lot of early 20th century vulgarity is recorded in Letter from My Father, which is a collection of letters published by a man who's dad was, in short, a major slut and human disaster who wrote about his sex life for his son. It's insane. You can find copies of it online & it's a wild fucking read (literally!) and I think a really interesting look at the life of a person who goes against our stereotypes of what people in the past were "supposed" to be like.
Anyways feel free to add y'all's favs to this post. & if you use this for gay historical fanfic please share with the class
#OH THIS IS EXTREMELY EXTREMELY HELPFUL#writing#resources#saving for later#maybe i should move my 1920s story from '25 to '27 because..... bro..........
note for writers: these are dated to the first time they were recorded, not necessarily to their first use. I imagine for many of these, they came about naturally through spoken language before they were written down anywhere. This is especially true of more underground slang because it's probably being recorded (in ways we still have) the least. So if you wanna use a term but it's a little off date-wise, give yourself some wiggle room.
also gonna take this moment to highlight two more i found recently:
Best boy: a sweetheart, a boyfriend, a husband. (1893) [w the obvious equivalent term 'best girl']
Honeydripper or honeydrips: a sexual partner (1917)
Like. Honeydripper?????? That's so horny I can't stop thinking about it. We need to bring THAT back
hey boy don't kill yourself. green's dictionary of slang is available online and allows you to explore 500 years of english vulgarity. you can search by part of speech, source, time period, etymology, and usage. there's a whole category for gay slang. they even have specific citations listed so you can see the exact context for yourself. boy did you know that in 1927 "to kneel at the altar" was slang for "to sodomize"
Princess: an effeminate and relatively youthful male homosexual or lesbian (1931-4)
Daffodil: effeminate young man (1925)
To throw a fuck into: to have sex with (1919)
Top sergeant: a masculine lesbian (1939) [âshe takes command of the girlsâ privatesâ]
Lily: penis (1919)
Wolf: sexually aggressive man (1847); a homosexual top (1918)
Soul kiss: a deep kiss, involving putting oneâs tongue into oneâs partnerâs mouth (1907)
Tom: a lesbian (1909); [in 'old tom'] prostitute catering to lesbians (1966)
Church mouse: a male homosexual who frequents crowded churches in order to fondle any potential sex partners. (1941)
Discover one's gender: to accept or acknowledge oneâs homosexuality (1941) / Lose one's gender: To return to living as a heterosexual
Minty: a masculine lesbian (1941)
Also a lot of early 20th century vulgarity is recorded in Letter from My Father, which is a collection of letters published by a man who's dad was, in short, a major slut and human disaster who wrote about his sex life for his son. It's insane. You can find copies of it online & it's a wild fucking read (literally!) and I think a really interesting look at the life of a person who goes against our stereotypes of what people in the past were "supposed" to be like.
Anyways feel free to add y'all's favs to this post. & if you use this for gay historical fanfic please share with the class
#OH THIS IS EXTREMELY EXTREMELY HELPFUL#writing#resources#saving for later#maybe i should move my 1920s story from '25 to '27 because..... bro..........
note for writers: these are dated to the first time they were recorded, not necessarily to their first use. I imagine for many of these, they came about naturally through spoken language before they were written down anywhere. This is especially true of more underground slang because it's probably being recorded (in ways we still have) the least. So if you wanna use a term but it's a little off date-wise, give yourself some wiggle room.
also gonna take this moment to highlight two more i found recently:
Best boy: a sweetheart, a boyfriend, a husband. (1893) [w the obvious equivalent term 'best girl']
Honeydripper or honeydrips: a sexual partner (1917)
Like. Honeydripper?????? That's so horny I can't stop thinking about it. We need to bring THAT back
Here's some of the notes, starting with the things multiple people brought up:
SHRIMP COCKTAIL:
banahbanah: #flashback to that one fic where Peter Parker frets about drinking shrimp cocktail because of the alcohol
generaldeliciousness: adding: what a prawn/shrimp cocktail is
#why is your character turning it down because they're under 21 #do you think prawn cocktail is a cocktail #this lives in my brain rent-free constantly #the rest of the fic was so normal #and good enough that i'll still re-read it #but bro
And then many, MANY, people wondering if this was actually authour mistake, since Peter really would do this!
POMEGRANATES:
zhajhassa: #haha where's that post that was like someone describing someone eating a pomegranate but they ate it like an apple
thornhands: #once someone wrote persephone biting into a whole Pomegranate #had to stop and stare at a wall for a minute
sungsingsanguine: I once saw someone very confidently write about a character eating slices of pomegranate.
FRUIT TREES:
zagreuses-toast: #given a very endearing glimpse into a writers blindspots by seeing them describe someone sitting under a ''pineapple tree''
salatrash: I remember something about picking watermelons... OF A FUCKING TREE
baander: #cranberry trees
DOUGH/BATTER:
maycelium: #I'm a chef so I'm really used to people not accurately describing how to cook food #But I was surprisingly flabbergasted when someone was writing making a cake and was kneading it. Which uh #Not necessary for cake. It was interesting for sure but just bizarre
livebloggingmydescentintomadness: #the one that drove me nuts was when a character set aside a batch of PASTA DOUGH 'to rise' #pasta doesn't have yeast!! #it does need to REST but it will never RISE #you do not want an airy crumb on your noodles
lovesodeepandwideandwell: #THE ONE WHERE THEY MADE COOKIES BY LADLING BATTER INTO A TRAY
Some other topics:
ANIMALS:
catenarwhal: #mandatory 'how cows produce milk' mention#i'll never recover from that one I fear
piromantic: #one time i saw someone fake their way through describing how spiders behave
pluto-lichen: horses
misskittypotter: #stardew valley faking its way through what fresh fish smell like
pa-pa-plasma: #saw someone faking their way through knowing what a seal is once #i still am fucked up over that one to this day. they just straight up did not know #& they were NOT good at guessing it either like it was clear they had never googled that animal ever #& was only just now realizing via answering questions from anons that seals are not!! what they assumed. initially
SEX:
dykevandyke: #what a prostate is #and where it is located #as in. external.
dreamyeyedrose: #I remember back in the ff.net days reading an Ichigo/Renji fic where the writer assumed the penises go inside each other #and I was like âI mean I don't know how it works for sure I don't have one but idk if that's how it worksâ
SOME OTHER FOOD STUFF:
thetrekkiehasthephonebox: #add another one to the list bloggers#this character is cooking a salad
shosta: #still baffled about the published work that didn't know food could freeze
sun-dari: #once i read a fic where the author didn't understand cinnamon
alto-tenure: #read something recently where the author was just. blatantly wrong about spices
dramatic-dolphin: #i saw someone try to fake their way through what ramen is once. like 14 years ago.#but i remember.#i was very confused about ramen for a few months. they were writing it so authoritatively.
the-celery-stalks-at-midnight: #i will never ever forget someone putting leftover fries in the microwave to reheat them and setting the timer for five minutes
typeghost: #this sparked a memory of a hannibal fic where the author had to fake their way through writing about gravy
draculin: #the one fanfic where the author knows about coffee only as a concept wrote a character as a coffee drinker#was very interesting#I don't remember the fandom or the plot but I was mesmerized by the coffee actions and choices
11235811235811: #there's a lot of faking their way thru congee in the svsss fandom i'll also note
fishali3n: #read one where the person clearly didnt know what tofu is
emmy-everafter: #in the aftermath of shadow and bone s2 i saw a lot of people pretending to know what stroopwafels are #babes they are more like cookies than breakfast waffles #like yes there is a waffle pattern but you're not gonna cut into a stack of them with syrup and sugar#đ€Łđ€Łđ€Ł
NON-FOOD STUFF:
red-umbrella-811: Shoutout to Dame Agatha Christie for faking her way through what a wrench is in a very popular published work.
bluebeetle: #once saw someone have a character put an entire phone book in their pocket
nonametis: #- sex talk in languages other than english #<- or just the petnames in a different language other than English
sadisticpony: #the fanfiction i saw this week where op DIDNT KNOW HOW AUTOMATIC DOORS WORKED #and that they arent in peoples homes!!! of course. also opening the automatic door for someone is unironically very funny but its not #its not like. grabbing the door handle to let someone in. helpppp
danmeichael: #reminds me of the fic with the figure drawing class where the character started with the feet. #i love you feet first figure drawing author
meowmix1100blr: #me watching this one fic absolutely obliterate what the board of directors does
vexedhexes: #one time i read an architect character making a doorway bigger by building a bigger door #what a beautiful world. #OH. also gravity falls fic where they go 'oh piedmont is in california so its warm all year round'
leveragehunters: #characters going to a beer garden #And it's literally a garden outside the pub#It was a very cute mistake
fitofpique: #yes! #grown men do not get blind drunk off two beers #but i am possibly guilty of the hypothermia one #assuming it does not make you very horny?
dadvans-likes: #always thinking abt the soup kitchen fic #the entire setting of the fic was 'soup kitchen' #and i very quickly realized #the author did not know what a soup kitchen was #and they thought that soup kitchens only served soup #fic
msmargaretmurry: #i love fanfiction #once read a fic where the characters played 20 questions #but the author seemed to not know how to play 20 questions and was just kind of winging it........ #immaculate
shakespeareaddict: #Look I know not all of us are hockey experts #But it takes about ten seconds of research or any attention paid to the show to realize #That the Stanley cup playoffs are not in fucking September
baejax-the-great: #the funniest one i saw #was someone faking what church is like #like 1. they really didn't have to write an entire church experience for their fic #and 2. they had clearly never even watched a show where people went to church #it was bonkers weird
twosunson: #things ive seen authors faking #knowing how to unclog a drain #knowing. literally any history #knowing what ketamine looks like (apparently- oregano) #(you know who you are)
waterhorseyblues-ao3: #beltane being celebrated in winter #wales being portrayed as a completely separated land from england (i wish) #characters getting up after weeks of bedrest like that dosnt completely fuck you up
violetfairydust: #i once read a fic where the flight time from london to seattle was 3 hours
purekesseltrash: One time, in a fic set specifically in Des Moines, IA, two of the characters casually drove 20 minutes to the ocean. The memory continues to delight me. I want to know where that author thought that Iowa was.
i AM gonna start writing!! i just need to clean my desk, reorganize my 50 empty notebooks, play with my cats, stare out the window like a victorian poet, and then maybe spend two hours finding the perfect playlist. itâs called process.
the writerâs urge to ask your friends âdo you wanna see a little somethinâ iâve been working on?â when the little somethinâ youâve been working on is 800 words and ends in the middle of a sentence
me, whispering to the ao3 page of an author who wrote one life altering banger and nothing else: I hope your pillow is cool and your skin is clear and you find money in a forgotten jeans pocket
Something indeed lurks in the dark and it wants to feast on yours fears. There are some who want to stand against them and wish to keep them from overwhelming those who share the world with them.
Two of these people are Champagne Pailyu, The Archivist and Head of the Keay Institute Archives, and Gerry Delano, Archival Assistant.
Gerry wants every tool he can get to help manage the Fears. Even if it costs him his humanity.
--
This is a bit of a concept based off of @dcartcorner 's Reset: Elsewhere AU. Specifically set around how Gerry got his tattoo.
âYou said you used to do tattoo work?â
Champagne Pailyu looked up from the files she was reading over and raised a brow at the disheveled man leaning against the doorway. He wore a comfortable sweater vest over a button up shirt that he rolled the sleeves up on and kept unbuttoned. Somewhere in the Archives she was sure was his jacket. Poorly dyed black hair revealed that his natural hair color was blond. He had it haphazardly pulled back. Champagne wondered if he would ever let anyone else dye his hair or if he did it himself to make a point.
ââHello, Champagne. How are you doing, Champagne? Has anything tried to eat your face off lately?â She responded blandly as she pulled a small page marker post-it and tacked it along the side of the paper she was reading.
The woman in question had long sunset and copper hair that was currently braided back. With the colder damp weather, she was comfortable being cozied up in a thick oversized pink sweater pulled over her own white button up shirt.Â
Gerry rolled his eyes at her, he would never admit the small huff was a laugh. The woman was the most polite person he had ever met, but she could be just as blunt as he was.
âHas anything tried since I last saw you?â Gerry asked as he walked into the office.
Filing cabinets filled the room along the walls, some old and overstuffed. Filing boxes filled the rest of the room. Each one was labeled in bright neat letters. Flesh. Dark. Eyes. Web. There were more lurking about and some had combinations. There were other things drawn onto the boxes and filing cabinets. Wards to keep things in⊠or out. Knowledge was just as dangerous as the things they tangled with.
Champagne snorted and waved her hand in the air. There were bandages wrapping her fingers, slightly stained, âYes, actually. I shoved it back where it belonged so my face is whole.â
âYour face might be, but your hands donât look like it.â He wasnât worried. Gerry Delano could not afford to be worried. It would just be a terrible thing to lose a valuable resource like the woman who looked up at him with eyes that nearly matched the old amber colored light bulbs in the archive.
Champagne looked at her hand and wiggled the fingers, âEh, it is fine. Just some nasty little Flesh monster. Blood often reinforces my work anyway. I cleaned it thoroughly and will heal. At the most slightly marked, but not enough to become a big problem. Just another scar for the collection.â
Two of the most notable ones that she didnât bother to hide were the large claw marks across her throat and the curious hand shaped burn on her wrist. Gerry didnât ask how she earned them, even if part of him nagged to do so. He couldnât tell how much was the Eye or was his own morbid curiosity.
Asking would mean he cared.
He didnât care.
âRight. So, back to my first question.â Gerry pushed forward and he leaned his hip against her desk, arms crossed over his chest.
Champagne leaned back in her chair and looked up at him, âYes, I used to be a professional tattoo artist. Shop and everything. Technically still am. Why?â
âI realized I canât rely on you to bind things and seal them away all of the time.â Gerry responded and he watched her brow raise silently and a flicker of annoyance in her features before she smoothed them over. He wouldnât admit to the pang of guilt he had as he quickly added, âWeâre not always in the same place and you are dealing with plenty here, Archivist.â
âChampagne.â She sighed at him, âI keep telling you to use my name, Gerry.â
He wouldnât do that. Archivists were a dime a dozen. Why bother learning a new name when another one would soon take their place?
When she noticed he wasnât contributing more or bothering to correct himself, she sighed and studied him, âYou want a tattoo, I take it, to enable you to bind the fears? You realize it took me years to learn how to do this? To learn what my gifts were meant for?â
âSure, but I donât have years. Iâve seen you do it. I have a basic idea. I need to be on the same level they are.â He told her, studying her features as she carefully schooled most of hers, only allowing bits and pieces out. It was something he appreciated, the professional distance between them. She had been integral in taking down the head of the institute, but there was a cost to such a thing.
A tangled web woven by more than one. A ritual interrupted and the place of power claimed in such a way so the burden was shared. Neither losing their humanity as a whole, but he was certain his upbringing gave him a head start. Yet she took the position that risked so much more. Gerry was not sure how much was happenstance or choice, if he just happened to hand the Eye a more suitable vessel than himself.
Champagne pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something quietly under her breath. She must have been really annoyed to be showing this much to him.
âQuick and dirty will hurt. It will take a piece of you with it every time you use it. The only way to be on the same level to be able to tie them down is going to be⊠the cost is too high, Gerry. Working for me⊠being here already marked you. You are going to have to reach for that part of yourself and risk your humanity every time.â
âWhatever it takes.â Gerry told her firmly, even if his heart had begun to pound harder and his palms started to sweat. He understood what she was telling him. That this was just another way to go about shaving off bits and pieces of himself. Yet, if it got the job done and there was one less monster in the world, then he supposed it would be worth it.
âGuess you will just need to outlive me to deal with me when the time comes.â
There was a sudden quiet after Champagne took a sharp inhale and she seemed to be mentally counting down. Eyes closed as she did so and Gerry watched her go incredibly still. There were so many unspoken reasons for why that upset her. Her hands curled into fists for a moment and then relaxed. She wasnât even entirely sure how she got wrapped up in this in the first place, just coming across a strange man in America. Yet here she was, in London.
âFine.â She broke the silence with a single word. It was sharp like glass.
Then her tone softened with resignation, âLet me finish what I am doing and we can do it tonight if you would like.â
Guilt again that Gerry was determined to ignore. He didnât care. He couldnât risk that. Maybe she was stronger than them both. Maybe she would keep her humanity longer where he would lose his own, and it was her who would have to learn a new name.
Then again, maybe someone else would one day need to bind her and replace her and the cycle would continue forevermore.
Part of him hoped not.
The awkward silence was made worse when Champagne simply picked up her file and started reading again where she left off. The room felt colder, though he was certain that was just his emotions betraying him before he could squash them.
âRight. Tonight then, Archivist.â He turned away and left the office.
He didnât hear when she softly whispered her name.
+~+~+
Gerry was startled out of his reading when he heard sharp knocks on his door, nearly upending his chair at the sound. A grimace and he snapped.
âWhat do you want?â
When the door opened the familiar tinge of guilt returned and he smothered it quickly.
The prickly attitude was something Champagne was used to. She was also used to sneaking up on someone easily. It wasnât a function she could turn off. Though Gerry normally wasnât so skittish. Probably running from his own thoughts again. It was something she could empathize with. Gods knew she spent a lot of time running.
âIâm done with work. Rest went home.â She held up a worn leather messenger bag as she stepped in further and closed the door. It was something she always had with her. Gerry had always figured it simply held whatever people normally carried back and forth. Except now he was really looking at how the leather strained.
âOh.â He looked at the time and then was aware of how his eyes ached and the bodyâs need to stand up.
Awkward silence stretched once again and Champagne took it upon herself to break it, âWe have the Archives to ourselves. Where do you want to do this?â
âHere is fine.â It was as even as he could make his voice when it sunk in that they were doing this. Part of him wished she would have said no, but he knew that if he asked anyone else or he tried to figure it out himself, it could go badly very quickly. He already had too many close calls. He didnât want this, but he had to do something.
âAlright. Letâs clear your desk off.â Champagne set the bag down by the desk and started to scoop up one of the stacks of files.
Gerry hesitated before he got up and grabbed another stack, something to ignore the tension between them. He could tell that she didnât want to be there either. Didnât want to permanently mark him with fears and have them woven into his skin.
Where he treated the files callously, Champagne handled them carefully. The desk was cleared quickly and he watched her set the bag on his desk and start to pull out bottles of ink, inspecting each one. Then it was a tattoo gun. Sealed needles. A variety of other tools laid out over a silicone mat she rolled out and disinfected first. It was neat and organized and clean.
âDo you really carry that everywhere with you?â Gerry found himself asking. An old itch that begged to be scratched. He suddenly wanted to pick up and look over every tool and ink. Tools that were meant to create and were not tainted by Fear.
Champagne nodded without looking at him as she prepped her gun and pulled on gloves. There was tension still there and the fact she wasnât talking to him nor looking at him dug at the guilt he wanted to ignore.
âWhy?â He couldnât sit with the silence. Couldnât sit with the fear gnawing at him. Needed something else to focus on.
For a moment Gerry thought Champagne had not heard him, or she just refused to answer. Definitely the silent treatment as she continued to look over everything and check that it was all working.
âSit down and take your shirt off.â Champagne said finally.
The unexpected order startled him out of his thoughts and it took a moment for him to process, âWhat?â
âSit down and take your shirt off.â She repeated firmly, âOr at least enough to expose the non-dominant arm. I am thinking shoulder down. Enough to hide it if needed.â
There was a snappy response he wanted to give to her. A million other responses to the order to remove his clothes came to mind and then died when he met her amber eyes. They were unreadable and her expression carefully blank. He could tell she was upset.
âSure.â He finally said, pulling off the sweater vest and tossing it onto the chair. He knocked his hair askew in the process. Gerry didnât try to fix it as he started to unbutton his shirt. It was something for him to focus on. Instead he tried ignoring the way his fingers almost fumbled with every button. It was hard. The way that he still felt fear even when he desperately didnât want to. Fear that made him nearly jump out of his skin when gloved hands gently rested on top of his, stilling his movements.
He looked up enough to look down at Champagne. There was concern there, a look he had seen countless times before from her. He always forgot that she was that much shorter than him. Sometimes she felt like she should have been taller. He hardly ever saw her outside of this place and he couldnât tell if her eyes just gave the illusion of glowing or if they actually were that bright.
âYou donât have to do this.â Champagne told him softly, âI am alright being the one to bind things. It doesnât make me lose parts of myself to do so. I am just naturally weird.â
Her silence was as intense as the emotions she openly displayed in that moment. Gerry realized that it scared him just as much as the fears. That she could See him in a way that had nothing to do with the Watcher. It made part of him want to run and curl up in a corner. It was a part of himself that he argued with often. That he made him regularly decide that Fears would be faced out of spite, even when everything made him want to flee.
The fear he felt now had nothing to do with the Fears, at least that was what he told himself, but he still wanted to run. Maybe he could face this head on out of spite too.
âI do, Archivist.â Gerry told her, voice trembled slightly. He supposed he could not hide everything.
Champagne rolled her eyes and sighed at the continued insistence to call her Archivist. The stubbornly placed wall between them. The instinctual response of correcting him died at her lips, however. After all, she was going to mark him with something that would be a tool that tore away at him piece by piece. That risked losing someone that she might care about.
It was so easy to care.
Easy to care without committing entirely. Without letting them know. Sure the actions bled through, but it never was voiced. Perhaps in agreeing to this, she had no right to demand she be addressed by name.
âYou asked me to trust you enough to get rid of the last head of the institute. I did and I am here. Trust me to take care of binding. Of pushing back the fears so you do not have to.â She had tied herself there. He did too, to a degree. He could go out further than she could. Gerry was still more Web than Eye. Less about seeing and more about feeling and following the tugs where they took him. Instinct.
She would be hurt if he didnât come back from those ventures.
Not that she could just say that. Not to him. Not when he kept himself so distant.
Guilt clawed at him a little harder. She could leave, in theory, provided she continued to feed the Eye. It was easier here, closer to the Institute. Where he could keep watch. He could bring her back stories of places further away⊠if he ever told her any. Gerry realized he didnât tell her very much either. Didnât feed the very thing that tied her there.
That she willingly tied herself to for the sake of others.
Champagne trusted him enough to follow through on his plan. She now was just asking for one thing: to trust her to do the hard part so he could keep his humanity a little longer. Something forfeit as soon as his mother saw fit. He stood in the legacy handed down to him.
A legacy he did not want, and yet here he was, partly bound to this place.
âI canât trust you. I need to do this.â He said quietly, taking a deep breath and shaking off her hands, forcing them to be steady even when he did not feel it. He resumed unbuttoning his shirt and didnât look too closely at the regret of lost touch.
âStubborn ass.â Champagne muttered, taking a step back and sighing as she returned to preparing. It didnât surprise her that he voiced his distrust, but oh did it hurt.
That earned her a soft scoff as he got far enough down to pull his arm out from the sleeve and he shivered at the feeling of the cool air on his skin. He looked over to see what Champagne was doing. Mostly it seemed to just consist of her fidgeting with the tools on the table. As if making them all just right one last time would make it better. He sat down and cleared his throat, getting her attention.
Champagne looked over at him and opened her mouth to say something before quickly looking away and grabbing one of the markers she needed. It took a few breaths to fight off the warmth on her cheeks, but she managed it and cleared her own throat.
âRight. Alright then. I donât have all of the tools for designing it and making a transfer, so I'm going to freehand it. Doesnât need to be complicated, and I have an idea in mind.â
Champagne looked him in the eyes, âAnd seeing as we are integrating this into Fear. I need you to give me a Statement.â
Gerry scowled, âA Statement? Really. You canât just do it without?â
âYou said you needed to be on the same level they are. You want it to be effective? Then you need it to be your tool to work with. So it needs to be your Statement. Your Fear is what I will weave into this.â She explained.
In the end, he was going to have to trust her. In hindsight, he should have expected that. He was the one demanding a tattoo after all. Demanding an ability that took her years to learn. Having the skill to do so was perhaps an entirely different matter.
âFine, do you want a tape recorder too while youâre at it? So you can transcribe it?â
Champagne shook her head and she seated herself on the edge of his desk and reached for his wrist, âNo, I wonât need that. Iâll be transcribing it onto your skin, in a fashion.â
âHave you done this before?â Gerry asked warily, yet he still gave his arm to her easily enough. It was the most physical contact he had allowed with anyone. It surprised him to see how much he did trust her.
âNot with Fears.â Champagne admitted, âBut same concept. Impressions have always told a story, but the story means the most to the one telling it rather than the listener.â
âImpressions?â There was that damn genuine curiosity that creeped out.
The woman tilted her head as she started to gently draw lines from his shoulder down the arm, âEver since I was young, I have always gotten⊠strong imagery off of others. Something significant and important to them that is always close to the surface. As soon as I could hold a pencil, I would draw them. I thought I just was hit with inspiration, but I always felt those pieces would belong to someone. The reactions to their owners have been mixed.â
Gerry studied her bitter smile and then craned his neck to study the lines she was drawing, âNo wonder the Eye took to you.â
âYeah, I suppose it was either that or the Lonely.â She said and hummed, âI suppose the End was an option, but I am ambivalent about my mortality. I think the patron needs you to be afraid of it.â
âFancy way of saying you have zero self preservation.â
âLike you are any better.â She then tapped his nose with the end of her marker, âSo, Statement. How about⊠what led you to getting tangled up in the Web.â
Nose scrunched up at the act and he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, âAlright. Fine. Suppose I owe you anyway given you helped overthrow my Mum. I should start with that.â
Champagne nodded and she took a deep steadying breath, âStatement of Gerry Delano, Archival Assistant, taken from source and committed to flesh and ink by the Archivist and Head of the Keay Institute Archives, London. At your leisure.â
Gerry watched her as best as he could while he started to tell Champagne about Mary Keay, his mother. It was something he had not told anyone, and as soon as he started with his childhood he found it hard to stop. He thought he knew what it was, but she had not needed compulsion to get him to speak. One of the few damn people who had dealt directly with the wretched woman, he supposed, deserved to know.
It would be a hefty meal for the Eye. A little less humanity for the both of them, he supposed.
The lines she drew were careful and stretched from the boney joint and down to just a few inches above his elbow. Varying lengths of straight lines that even crossed over his collarbone and towards his heart. Then she began to make graceful arcs. He was admittedly impressed by how easily she created the design. It made him wonder what her first Impression of him was.
The design was quickly evident that it was a web. A fitting thing for him, but he noticed that some of the arcs began to form eyes. Little dashes for the pupils in the form of thin slits. Whatever words were falling from his lips were ignored now as he recounted his childhood growing up roaming the halls of the Institute. It was like his body went on autopilot while he stared at her work in morbid fascination.
He was still talking when she stopped and inspected her work, pulling his limb this way and that to watch how the muscles shifted the temporary purple linework. Now he was certain her eyes were glowing as pieces of her hair fell forward, shrouding her face in shadows to contrast luminescent amber eyes that seemed to almost contain a soft halo of an eerie green.
When she let go of his arm and met his eyes, there was a mix of terror and a strange thrill that ran through him. He was sure he stumbled over his words, and part of his mind felt like it suddenly had cobwebs as he tried to focus hard to pinpoint what he was actually saying. Was he still talking about his childhood? About the number of assistants and archivists that had fallen in his motherâs efforts to build her legacy? Gerry was not sure anymore as his lips moved and words just kept spilling out like water. Everything was automatic, things pulling on his mind like he was a puppet and his chest aching with every voiced pain and fear he had thought he buried.
A thread of panic coursed through him and he started to try and move, trying to push away the cobwebs that prevented any clear thought outside of his story. Tried to get himself to stop speaking. Instinct screamed at him to stop. Stop before she committed it all to Flesh. To stop spilling his life story to the Archivist with glowing eyes. To stop telling her all of his secrets and reveal the large gaping wounds that she could dig her needle into.
He blinked when she touched over his racing heart so gently and he felt his vision blur. Eyes burned as tears formed and began to fall. It was such a kind gesture in contrast to an act as cruel as making him relive that story.
Gerry was sure he saw sympathy on her features, but he could not make out the apology she murmured over the sound of his own voice. Despite tear blurred vision and a fuzzy mind, he was aware of every single thing she was doing. He could somehow still see her face as she chose the color of ink. A small blend of two colors, a little amber orange and the deep blue based black, but still as dark as he often tried to make his hair as the darker hue drowned out the lighter.
Gerry watched her adjust her grip on the tattoo gun through persistent tears. Listened to its loud buzzing sound and the Fear in him spiked with Knowing. His vision blurred more, and yet he was aware of her coming closer. Every second of the gun nearing was excruciating. He wanted to change his mind so badly, but he no longer had control.
It was a familiar feeling, a terrible one. It became worse as he felt the stinging of needles hitting his skin. Did he make a sound of surprise? The needles hurt, a rhythmic relentless burn that did not seem to numb itself as she worked. Yet her touch was so gentle, so careful, it was almost enough of an anchor despite the loss of control and Fear. Was that why she incorporated the eyes? To weave her influence into his? To give him a fighting chance?
Would the use of that ability shred her humanity as much as his own with every use?
He supposed that was appropriate, he was her assistant after all. They shared the burden of that terrible place, now dedicating themselves to gaining control over such forces to keep them in line. Try to reduce the number of victims. Sacrifice their humanity to save the humanity of others.
Though Gerry always heard Champagne say it was simply a matter of maintaining the âecosystemâ. Whatever that meant.
Gerry did not want to sacrifice his humanity any longer, but it was too late. Had this even been his idea? Was it ever his choice or was the Web just pulling him into spilling his guts out as distinct symbolism of that fear marked his skin? Burning wretched lines with blood oozing out with every prick of the needle. Even if he wanted to, he could not will himself to pull his arm away. Instead his arm was stretched across Champagneâs lap and cradled there as she studiously traced over her guide while he spoke through barely restrained whimpers about lost control.
He just wanted to have control over himself again.
Soon enough something soft was being dabbed against his face and he startled. Eyes blinked to finally clear away tears and he saw the apologetic face of Champagne. Eyes no longer glowed as she carefully wiped away his tears. He suddenly felt exhausted, pressure in his head no doubt from crying and he could do nothing but slump forward and rest his head against her lap.
âIâm done.â She said softly as she wiped carefully at his face. Gerry had no idea when she had finished. Apparently she had time to clean his arm. It still stung horribly, but it was eased by whatever cooling ointment she had spread over it, âIâm sorry.â
Gerry made a sound of dismissal at her apology and he tried to push himself into a sitting up, but a wave of vertigo hit him and he grumbled incoherently.
âI thought your name was Champagne.â He mumbled into her skirt.
âExcuse me?â
âChampagne⊠sham pain⊠that felt pretty damn real to me.â He slowly enunciated each word through his exhaustion. His entire body started to tremble from the effort.
A loud groan and she actually laughed. It wasnât a cruel sound. It was⊠nice.
âThat was terrible. Look, letâs get you into that spare room I know you pass out in when you work too much. If you are feeling up to it later, I owe you a drink. For now, water and painkillers and at least one meal bar.â
Gerry made a noncommittal sound and he let her ease him upright into the chair. He looked over at the swollen red of pale skin with stark lines of black sprawled across his skin. It shined with the ointment she put on it.
The rest was a hazy blur as he found himself led off to the quiet room that always seemed to always be clean. He swore he saw her stuff something discreetly under the pillow as she went through the effort to make him comfortable. He was too tired to argue with her, to tell her to bugger off. Gerry did not want to admit that it was nice to have something so gentle after facing painful memories.
It felt grounding to have a bottle of water pressed into his hands as well as some pills he didnât immediately recognize. A meal bar was also pressed into his hands and somehow he was able to eat it without fail. Maybe it was the Web again, or it was just the gentle insistence of the Archivist.
The Archivist. She was a terrifying force. He helped make her that way. He was too tired to regret that now. Too tired and numb to feel any more fear as he was pressed down into the bed and covered with a blanket. Her cool hands smoothed his hair from his face.
The room became dark, but not uncomfortably so, a dim lamp left on at the desk in the room and light refracted by several water bottles left behind and several more meal bars that tasted neither bad or notably good.
Gerry slept off and on for days, and for the first time he did not dream.
Yet, he could not get rid of the feeling of amber eyes focused on him through cobwebs in his head.
