Someone In A Fanfic: S-stutters In Embarrassment

someone in a fanfic: s-stutters in embarrassment

me, closing the tab: sorry I must go

Penelope: I can’t believe we got locked in this room together!

Callisto: *discreetly throws key out the window* I know! How unfortunate.

You know, an interesting tumblr transformation that's happened gradually, and which I've seen no one talk about: ask-culture has essentially dropped off to nothing.

By which I mean, asks used to be WAY more of the tumblr economy. They used to be more common to send, and receive, and see. They were integral to the collaborative, forum-like behavior of old tumblr communities, not even to speak on the HUGE number of ask-blogs that used to exist to only be interacted with in ask-form.

I'm not saying this in a vying-for-attention way but instead in an observational way: I used to get way way more asks in like 2015, even with a fraction of my follower count. I wonder if it's due to the homogenization of social media sites? There's a lot more of this divide between "content creator" and "consumer" instead of just a bunch of peer blogs who would talk to each other. "Asks" aren't really a thing on twitter, are they? And as I understand it, the closest thing to an "ask" on instagram or tiktok would be a creator screenshotting some comment and responding to it in a new reel or video or whatever those content mediums are. Are asks just too tumblr-specific? Is that aspect of the site culture dying out as more and more people converge to using all their social media sites in the same way?

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Manifesting that at Callisto's birthday party, he will be wearing something to match the dress he gifted Penelope

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

The Handkerchief

Okay, am I the only one who thought Penelope might have been slightly jealous when Callisto brought up the fact that the handkerchief was from another woman? It seemed to me like Callisto might have been angling for one from her. (And I’m disregarding the translation that says it was given before the hunt. Because what I remembered reading originally was before the war).

There’s a symbolism of accepting and keeping a woman’s hanky which means that you accept and reciprocate her feelings.

Callisto: I’ll give it to the Princess and maybe she’ll give me one as an indirect love confession.

Penelope, a bit jealous: Here, wash it up and give it back to her if you don’t want it.

Callisto: The Princess is cold but I love it.

(Callisto likes the chase)

It could be that the handkerchief was really Callisto’s and he was giving it to her, just hoping for an exchange as well because then she’d be obligated to keep it to wash it and she could conveniently forget it and give him a new one.

Meaning that they reciprocate each other’s feelings and want a relationship. But he also wasn’t sure how it’d be taken so he tells her it’s from another woman to gauge her reaction.

Because Callisto at 12 or 13 receiving a hanky and holding on to it without it getting soiled or stained, or just plain ruined while he was at war for almost ten years is nearly impossible unless he left it at his palace. In that case, how’d he even remember something like that? Like this man, I think also has a case of subjective memory… He purposefully forgot that he nearly killed her at the maze.

-

-

If you’ve read this far… welcome to the hidden side plot from the past.

Penelope at the age of seven was an independent child who had grown up practical and pragmatic but loved deeply by her family. Penelope was there with her mother and the caravan and runs into an older child who was about eleven or twelve. He was a pretty boy with hair like gold and eyes like the rubies the wealthier merchants traded.

She was unknowing of his real identity, of the Crown Prince that now holds her hands and takes in the streets of the capital, the narrow corridors of the slums that she’s taken to showing him around. He’s a wealthy child, she can tell immediately from the make of his clothes. The merchant in her can easily see that. The poor commoner child that she was felt some slight envy at the obvious luxuries he had. But more than that… he looked the very definition of rich and she loved looking at rich people. Especially when they were like this boy who was like a living jewelry. Gold and rubies.

She shows him the life of a commoner, of the children she’s learned to play with. And teaches him what it’s like, let’s him experience what her life is like. She calls him Cal and he calls her Penny.

Mother calls for her and she pulls him along, laughing happily. (She doesn’t know that the boy looks enraptured at the child with dark pink hair who laughs so freely). Mother pats her head and bends down to kiss her and give her a hug, inquiring over her health before turning to Cal who she introduces immediately.

Mother smiles at him and pats him as well. Gives him a small kiss on the forehead and a hug. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine as well.”

The caravan, her family, all laughingly echo that. And they give him a place at their table. Invite some of the others as well and share a simple meal. Cal watches all this with a wistful longing smile, listening to their tales and happy teasing. (He nods to himself, resolute. He marches off to war soon and he knows what he needs to fight for now. It’s this tangible thing, this one happy family. This warm girl who smiles and laughs freely.)

When the sun dips low, Cal says goodbye. Penelope is used to this. Never has friends that she gets to keep, is used to hellos and goodbyes and reunions and distances but somehow she thinks it’s different with Cal, as if he’s found the answer to some question that’s been in his mind for so long. She wonders what it was but knows better to ask so she wishes him well.

She has nothing to give but a simple handkerchief. It’s not to the quality that he’s no doubt used to but it’s the best thing she has, it’s clean and new. Grandma had made it for her. Had woven it herself and created the patterns on it. She presses it to his hands.

“For you.” She says. “To remember today.”

He’s silent, looking at it with a frown but he nods.

“Have a good life, Cal. And be safe.”

The golden boy walks away into the distance and she returns to her family.

-

-

Callisto walks no more than twenty steps into the alley he’d turned into when he stops. Porter appears silent like a shadow along with three other men, his guards who’d been shadowing him from a distance. He knows they’d been following him since he snuck out but he just… he needed this moment.

Needed to understand the heart of the Empire, of this place that he was being sacrificed for. Needed to see why he was being sent off to fight in a war. Why he needed to bloody his hands, his mind, his heart; why he needed to taint his very soul.

But he’s found that answer. He wants to do it for her. This innocent little girl who welcomed him without another thought.

“Are you done, Your Highness?” Porter asked. Not commenting on the handkerchief he holds in his hands. Staring at the delicate fabric.

“Yes, let’s return to the palace now.”

If the Empire had more children, more families like that one… he wanted to protect them. He remembered the spike of jealousy at the way her family had so easily shown affection. At the open love her mother showered her with. His forehead feels warm from where the woman had given him a motherly kiss.

His heart has been closed for awhile now, after his mother’s death. After, the remarriage. After the assassination. But for a moment… even if he felt like an outsider as he ate that simple fare, he felt that he wanted to belong. Felt as though the food was the most delicious he’d ever eaten.

-

-

Callisto marches off to war not too long after that. He brings the handkerchief with him, cherishes it and keeps it practically pristine. Holds on to it only when his hands are clean. Washes it gently by hand when it gets even a single speck of dirt. Uses it to remind him of that one day when he got to act as a normal child with her; uses it to remind him of the innocence he wants to protect.

-

-

Time has dulled their memories of one another. Callisto no longer remembers her name or what she looks like. All he has is the simple handkerchief made of common cotton to remember her by. And the ghost of her laughter ringing in his ears, the feeling he felt when he held her hand and the warmth that spread through him when she looked him in the eyes bravely and gave him that sunshine smile.

-

-

Penelope’s memories are warped through all that she’s suffered from. The abuse has her lock those happy days away, knows that she’d shatter if she remembered them. The regressions don’t help. Now all she remembers is pain, humiliation, and death. Her soul cracks and shatters, forming anew in another world before she’s returned to this world.

-

-

Even after the war, even after the jaded, brutal thing that he becomes. He still keeps the handkerchief with him. He never offers it to anyone.

At least he didn’t. And then Penelope Eckhart came into the picture and he finds himself offering the handkerchief to her. Feels right to do it, even when she dirties it with soot and gives it back to him with an annoyed face.

He tucks it back into his pocket determined to wash it when he got back to the palace.

-

-

After all is said and done, Penelope finds the handkerchief again among his possessions. He doesn’t try to justify it. But she merely raises a brow. Penelope now remembers the child she’d been.

Touches the handkerchief and feels the fabric. There’s one feature to it that she knows deeply. A minuscule P is embroider there.

“I didn’t know you’d kept it all these years. I’m glad you remembered that day even after all these years, Cal.” She said.

His eyes snap up to her and he laughs, feels as though fate had been telling him where his heart and future lay all along with that handkerchief. “I’m glad I got to meet you again, my beloved Penny.” He pulls her in for a kiss.

a comic about fix-it fanfics