At surface level, this is concerning because they are awesome stories, and everyone’s life is made a little better when they find an awesome story.
On more serious levels, fandom is a wacky place, full of people doing wacky, occasionally damaging things to each other. Some of that has evolved, but some of it is the same as it ever was. History rocks because you can learn from the mistakes of others, and maybe hurt people a little less in the future. Fandom being a giant, convoluted web of passion, some history that could use sharing goes missed.
The two stories linked are from early 2000s Harry Potter fandom. The Ms. Scribe Story is a tale of one person’s aggressive use of sockpuppets to work their way up fandom hierarchy. The Cassandra Claire Debacle is about how the top name in that fandom hierarchy is a plagiarist.
They’re prime examples of fandom being fandom in intensely negative
ways. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a brand of fandom toxicity that isn’t on display in some way within these write-ups, and while that is admittedly sort of depressing, having things to point at that make you stop and think, “Wait, I’ve seen this before, this is not a thing I want to be part of,” can keep you out of some of the deeper fandom pitfalls.
They are also deeply fascinating reads. If you haven’t explored them before, or only know the summary versions, give them a shot.
I still have a moment of distinct disbelief every time I see one of Cassie Claire’s published works in a bookstore.
Oh gods so do I
It’s WEIRD
Apparently she lives somewhere around Western Massachusetts, because when the movie came out I saw notes attached to posters for it in our local multiplex saying “by a local author!”.
I had the sudden, wild urge to stand in the centre of the lobby and go “LET ME TELL YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT THIS LOCAL AUTHOR”
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ 🙂
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
This is why I love Tumblr so much! Thank you all for collaborating on this prompt and turning it into something beautiful ❤
If you shoplift don’t reblog posts about respecting retail workers doing holiday seasons.
It’s very clear you don’t respect them if you’re willing to ignore the fact that they say they risk being laid off, having fewer hours, etc. as a result of people shoplifting. You are fucking over someone’s livelihood.
I’ve started taking photos of stolen merchandise I find around our store (empty boxes, torn open packaging, etc).
That money literally comes out of my paycheck. I’m struggling to pay my mortgage and still be able to feed myself, let alone my bills, medication, or even just A Nice Thing every once in a while.
(All of that is from two or three days, by the way. I could go on.)
If you shoplift, or condone shoplifting, go fuck yourself. Don’t fucking pretend you care about respecting me or anyone else working retail this holiday season, or ever. You clearly don’t.
I’m currently doing security for a mall and I have to deal with shoplifters quite often. Lemme tell you, they are some if the most self absorbed and stupid assholes I’ve ever met.
They are typically fairly young, around 12-21, and are not in hard spots in life. The mall I work for stocks some fairly high end products, so these things that these shitheels take are not necessities. They’re things like iPhones, makeup, jewelry, expensive clothes, and the like. They don’t need these things, and we know this because after we arrest their dumb ass we check their record with the police to determine what we will do with them.
One case I had to handle was a group of girls stealing hundreds of dollars in goods from stores that their friends worked at. They exploited the trust of their friends so they could get some fucking yoga pants. Upon my arrival and speaking to the shopkeep, it was decided that I would let them off the hook so long as the merchandise was to be returned. They returned most of it, but STILL stole from their friend’s store. Last I heard, they got busted trying the same stunt elsewhere, one of these idiots is currently in County.
Many of them, once caught, are already running a record as long as my fucking arm, and here in Utah retail theft cam escalate to a felony. Meaning, after enough reported cases of a person stealing goods (either by arrest or if they have video evidence of the person stealing) or after a certain dollar amount stolen the crime is moved from misdemeanor to felony and is punished as such.
To you shoplifting shits out there, quit while you’re ahead. You are ruining people’s lives for trinkets and you will be caught sooner or later. You will ruin your lives for absolutely nothing, and you will always be known as a dishonest individual and barred from numerous employment opportunities as well as losing certain rights.
If your employer is taking stolen goods out of your paycheck, that is wage theft. That is your employer paying you less than you are owed, as punishment for something you did not do. Please explain to me how shoplifters are responsible for your boss violating labour law? Why are we implicitly defending the cruelty of a person in a position of power threatening subordinates for things beyond their control?
Except they don’t literally deduct it from the worker’s paycheck.
They give them fewer hours. Instead of giving them 40 hours in a week they may only get 16 hours that week as a result of people repeatedly shoplifting. Retail workers have repeatedly made posts about how shoplifters cause them to get laid off, get fewer hours, make it harder for them to pay their bills, etc. yet you still try to defend your own shitty behavior. It costs literally z e r o dollars to not shoplift and make shit harder for retail workers. Why is it that you’re so ready to make bad and rude customers take responsibility for making shit difficult for retail workers yet you can’t even do the same thing?
Not to mention y’all are stealing shit YOU DONT NEED when I worked at Target we didn’t have to deal with people stealing food, we dealt with people stealing literally dozens of electronics or, at one point, a woman walking out with at least $200 worth of clothes on her person. Fuck off with this “well it’s not MY fault” shit, you’re making my already hard retail job even harder
This post ignores that 1) it’s majority people in poverty who steal and 2) big companies like Walmart have money set aside to cover product loss.
No dipshit most of the people that are shoplifting shit, especially on tumblr, are upper middle class white kids that can afford to just buy it but steal because “getting back at corperations uwu” and steal hundreds of thousands of dollars from places like Sephora because they want designer makeup.
And product loss is for when products expire or can no longer be sold. Not to accomidate people that decide to just steal it, especially when they steal hundreds of thousands of dollars in shit that they don’t need and retail workers often end up losing hours because corperate decides they’re just gunna cut the numbers of hours the store is allowed to allocate
if nothing else convinces y’all to not shoplift, consider this: there is nothing that is profoundly humiliating in quite the same way as sitting in a back retail office being shown the empty pokémon card wrappers you hid behind some cat food in aisle six. there is a manager with terrible breath wearing a polyester vest looking condescendingly at you and calling your parents. you are crying. your dad has to leave work early to come pick you up and pay your fine.
i have had to watch several kids and a coworker get caught shoplifting and it ain’t cute. it’s degrading. and the employees talk about it for months.
i know you like having new things and it’s sort of exciting to escape having ripped all the electronic trackers off some shirts and hidden them under the changing room bench at kohl’s, but one day you will get caught.
it will happen. this isn’t an idle threat. some of the kids we caught stealing, we didn’t catch them right away. we collected the wrappers they left behind and added up the total losses and finally after two months the manager cornered them. you’ve probably been spotted as we speak. you think nobody looks at security footage? they see you. they just haven’t taken you in yet.
i know exactly two people who used to shoplift and didn’t stop because they got caught. and they didn’t get caught because their friend took the fall for them.
the coworker who was fired for stealing? he was sixteen. it was his little friends from the basketball team. they convinced him to pretend to ring them up for candy. they stole a bunch of candy and he lost his job over it.
and after you get caught stealing, you look like the biggest, snottiest asshole. everyone looks at you with pity and loathing.
so… you’re hurting people. and you’re hurting yourself. for a $30 jacket. seriously. i’m so serious. once you’re there you’ll be like “wow! wish i hadn’t done this!” but it’ll be too late lmao.
It just occurred to me, as I’m going through the Harry Potter books again, that whenever Harry has visions through Voldemorts eyes that he always, every single time, distinguishes between himself and Voldemort with the mention of “a white hand held a wand which was not his own”, or something to the effect of describing Voldemorts whiteness. While I’ve always taken this as a comment on how Voldemort is inhumanly, disgustingly pale, It occurred to me that a dark-skinned Harry Potter WOULD notice the stark, shocking difference in hands every single time without fail.
Fucking here for it
I’m just imagining someone asking Harry about his dreams and being like “are you sure it just wasn’t a dream and it was you?” And Harry’s like “Yeah I’m pretty fuckin sure, I’m not white”
Tumblr backup 