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breathlessmorro · 3 years

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*emerging from the depths of hiatus to get a sip of that destiNY* oo how about college AU shenanigans? i'm not good at prompts sorry >.<

You ask - you shall receive!

Synopsis - For years, Morro has been forced to put up with Kai's annoying antics in class, leaving him with a bad permanent record and even worse temper. However, things aren't exactly how they appear.

College Isn't Easy, They Said.

Morro grinded his teeth together as he fought to keep quiet, diligently taking his notes and trying to remember what his professor was saying. His handwriting may have been more harsh than it usually was, but at least he was managing to stay calm and collected. Already, he had half of Professor Chen's lecture condensed into clear and concise notes that could make a PowerPoint Presentation beam with pride. Not as easy a task as it might seem with the idiot next to him.

Kai Smith - as always - had his earbuds in and was completely ignoring the lesson. Not that the earbuds did much to silence the irritatingly loud and obnoxious music blaring from the mini-speakers. In fact, Morro often wondered if Kai had such a big listening problem because of the volume in the first place. The aggressive tempo of drums and guitar were grating on Morro's nerves every single day, and he had to fight to keep his cool. He wasn't even sure why Kai was taking a psychology class in the first place when his major wasn't even related to it. It seemed Kai's presence served no purpose other than to annoy; and annoy it did.

Things had been like this for years now. Morro would find out he had a class with Kai, and of course was forced to sit next to him. Showing even an ounce of distaste meant that Kai would take it as an invitation to try and distract Morro in any way possible. Whether it be tapping a pencil, playing footsie, or like now, listening to deafening metal music that he didn't even like, Kai was determined to get Morro in trouble. He took every single opportunity to try and make him look bad. The amount of times where he succeeded didn't matter, only that Morro's hatred for the smug grin that followed worsened with every passing day.

This year, Morro had sworn it wasn't going to happen. Freshmen in college did not shout at their classmates in the middle of a lecture, and Morro couldn't afford to look bad in front of the faculty here. Not while his father was the dean of the university.

So once again, he gathered his steely resolve, and brought his attention back to Chen's lecture about Elemental Envy, a condition where a person became obsessed with elemental powers to the point of violence. An ironic subject for him to teach about, Morro had once thought. Though any logical thinking had left him once he'd seen Kai make a beeline for him that morning. It had of course returned with the lecture regarding jealousy over a certain elemental ability leading some to aggression.

Sensing that Morro was gaining some moral high ground, Kai decided that right then was an appropriate moment to lean over and whisper to him.

"Sound like someone we know?" he snickered, causing Morro to shoot a nasty glare at him before turning back to his notes.

Clearly unsatisfied with the reaction, he tried again.

"C'mon, that was funny." Morro didn't think it was. "Lighten up."

Morro felt his eyebrow twitch. He was fairly certain that meant he was stressed.

He counted the seconds of sweet and glorious silence before he could hear Kai scoot closer again. Without the earbud in his ear, the music was slightly louder than before. Not that it was catching Chen's attention yet of course.

He made it five seconds even. "Think there's some kind of green ninja envy?"

Oh. Low blow.

"You're one to talk," Morro hissed at him, keeping his eyes firmly on his notes. It wasn't lashing out if it was just one statement, he reasoned with himself. "You were obsessed at one point too."

He quickly cursed himself for humoring Kai's jab once he saw the beaming grin across his face. On a good day, that kind of comment would have ticked Kai off to where he would be the one to cause a disturbance, but it seemed Kai came to class armed with patience today. A rare feat. Morro vaguely considered congratulating him.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Kai leaned back in his seat. "At least I didn't bully my own cousin." Of course, this argument again.

"Can't you leave it alone?" Morro bit back, glancing in Kai's direction before looking back to his notes. "That was in high school. I don't even-"

"What was that, Morro?" Ah shit. "Do you have something you want to share?"

Chen's high-pitched voice was tolerable when it wasn't directed at anyone specific, but the way Chen's said someone's name made it a thousand times more irritating. Seriously, did he just hate his students or something? Why even become a professor?

Meeting his eyes, Morro shook his head, leaning back into his seat. "No, sorry," he answered. "Just thinking out loud."

Chen raised a brow at the excuse. Clearly he hadn't bought it. Especially not when Kai had already scooted back into his own seat, pretending to be writing his own notes.

What a guy.

"Well keep the thinking to a minimum. Others would like peace and quiet."

No fucking shit, Morro thought to himself as he nodded. One Chen's back was turned, he glared at Kai again, before looking to see how many notes he'd missed.

Seriously, this couldn't be allowed to go on much longer. Morro had to change classes.

***

"Seriously?! There's no other -"

"If you want to stay in psychology, that is the only available class."

"But he's -"

"In the same study program as you are."

"Ugh!" Morro slumped in his seat, covering his face with his hands. He'd thought complaining to Wu would be enough to convince him to get out of the class, but apparently none of Chen's other periods had room for another elemental master. The Elemental Study Program was created for elemental masters across Ninjago who wished to learn more about their abilities. It offered an advanced learning course for those enlisted, and also kept them in classes together. Which meant there was also a limit on how many were placed in a class to, "keep other students safe." As if they were a threat. The program had become a lot less separate from other students once When had taken over, but there was still a lot to be improved on.

Wu gave Morro a sympathetic look before clearing his throat. "I understand why you have your reservations about Kai, but surely he's not distracting you too much." Morro pulled his hands away from his eyes to see Wu typing something on his computer. Leaning over the desk to see what it was, he narrowed his brows when he noticed his grade book being pulled up on the monitor. "Your grades are as excellent as ever."

Morro huffed as he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and blowing a strand of hair from his face. "My permanent record isn't," he grumbled. "Any shot I have at a future job could be completely erased once people hear about how, 'disruptive,' and, 'disrespectful,' I am in a formal setting. You don't understand how frustrating it is to have a professor automatically hate you when you haven't even done anything wrong yet."

"You're right, I don't." Wu set his elbows down on the desk, resting his chin on his hands and gazing over Morro thoughtfully. "But have you ever considered asking Kai why he likes to antagonize you?"

"I think it's obvious," Morro scoffed. He averted his eyes from Wu and uncrossed his arms, swallowing hard when he spoke again. "It's because of how I treated Lloyd in high school. I know it wasn't right, but I stopped, didn't I? And I apologized. But Kai just wants to get me in trouble."

Wu hummed, a consideration sound before setting his hands down. "Well if Lloyd has already forgiven, why would Kai continue to seek you out?"

"I don't know, probably because he hates me?"

"Now don't jump to conclusions," Wu chuckled, shaking his fondly at Morro's pout. "How about you ask him yourself? I know your next class isn't for a few hours. Surely you could track him down and confront him."

Morro thought it over. Sure, confronting Kai would give Morro the chance he needed to speak his mind without reprimand, but it could also mean making things worse between them. Morro's relationship with Lloyd was rocky enough as it was, and that was mostly because of how he and Kai were always at each other's throats. He didn't need to make it worse. Then again, he could also find a way to get Kai to stop for good, and his permanent record could have a chance to recover.

He groaned, dropping his head against the back of the chair before meeting Wu's gaze again. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll try to talk to him. But," he narrowed his eyes at Wu and pointed at him, "don't think it's gonna magically fix things. He's stubborn and an ass."

"That's two things you have in common already." Wu smiled at him. "Now go on, shoo. I have some papers to file and unless you want to help me-"

Morro was already out the door.

***

He found Kai sitting with two other students in the courtyard, their elements on display for all to see. At first, he wasn't sure who the other two were, before recognizing them as Jay and Nya. Morro didn't talk to Nya that much, but he was all too familiar with his cousin, Jay. Their delightful family reunion hadn't been that delightful, and so they barely spoke to each other.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Morro gathered the remnants of his courage and patience before stepping towards them. He stopped right behind Kai, and cleared his throat to get his attention.

Kai turned around with a gleeful expression, which quickly morphed into something more smug. "What's up, breezy?"

Morro rolled his eyes, and caught Nya doing the same before he opened his mouth. "Hi. Jay, Nya, can I borrow him for a moment?"

"I dunno," Jay squinted at him. "You gonna bring him back?"

"Only if I want to."

"Ha!" Kai grinned at him, extinguishing the small flame in his hand. "Like you're gonna get the chance. Be back in a sec, guys."

Brushing off his pants, he rose to his feet, meeting Morro's gaze. As always, Kai met his stare with defiance and smugness. Morro hated it, but he had to get this over with sooner or later. His reputation seriously depended on it. His sanity too. Morro gestured for Kai to follow him, and started walking away from the crowded campus grounds.

"So what's so urgent you just had to pull me away from my friends, huh?" Kai asked as they made their way through the crowd of students. Morro's brow quirked upwards at the laid back question, as if Kai really had no idea why Morro would want to talk to him.

Exhaling through his nose, Morro rolled his eyes. "What do you think, Kai?" he scoffed at him. "I need you to stop annoying me during class. It's distracting and I can't afford that."

Morro winced as Kai barked out a laugh. "Seriously dude?" The latter shook his head, his entire body shaking with uncontained amusement. "That's it? I thought it was something important, like Wu needed my help with something."

"If he needed your help, why wouldn't he just tell you himself?"

"I don't know," Kai shrugged. "I don't understand anything he does, honestly."

Morro glanced over his shoulder to give Kai a dirty look. "So you think he'd just ask me, when he knows I literally hate everything about you, to tell you about some important mission?"

Again, Kai's shoulders shrugged. "Wouldn't be the weirdest - wait." Kai stopped walking, prompting Morro to stop as well. He turned around, fully prepared to snap at Kai for stopping when he caught his expression. "You hate me?"

Kai's normally mischievous and vibrant brown eyes were suddenly clouded with - well, Morro didn't know what. His smug little grin was gone, and his shoulders had gone completely tense. Any biting comeback Morro could have come up with died on his tongue, and he hesitated before answering.

"Well, I guess it's a pretty strong word for it, but I don't exactly like you." Morro shifted slightly, suddenly feeling uneasy. "All you do is annoy me and get in trouble. We're not friends, and we don't talk outside of classes or the program."

The uneasy feeling crawled up Morro's throat as Kai's shoulders fell, his eyes downcast and melancholy. "Right. Sorry about that." He rubbed at his arm awkwardly before walking again. "Is that what you wanted to talk about then?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere, it took Morro a second before he too started moving. The crowd of students had decreased rapidly, leaving them alone at the edge of campus grounds. He considered Kai's words before answering them, careful not to set him off.

"Kind of, I guess." He sighed, before shaking his head. "I just want you to stop, okay? I know you're only doing it because of how I used to treat Lloyd, but I'm not like that anymore. We made up and moved on." He met Kai's gaze firmly, ignoring the warning bells that were ringing in the back of his head once he saw the disappointment reflected back at him. "So why didn't you?"

Kai sputtered for a moment, shaking his head. "What? No, I - Okay, sure. That might have been how it started, but I thought that…" He trailed off, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck and averting his eyes. "Once you apologized, I thought we were just fighting for fun. I didn't know you were still taking it personally."

"Personally?" Morro raised a brow at him. "How could I not? Every single day, it's always, 'remember when you did this?' and just constant jabs from you. What else could it have been?"

"I don't know, maybe - " Kai cut himself off before shaking his head. "No, forget it. I'm sorry, I should have been paying more attention. That's my fault."

"A little bit," Morro deadpanned.

Kai winced at that, and Morro could tell that it had stung. Maybe he should have been more careful, but Kai was confusing him now, and he didn't like being confused. He stayed quiet as Kai stared into space for a moment, considering leaving when Kai spoke again.

"Listen; after you and Lloyd made up, I realized I kind of like messing with you," he said softly, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Morro's eyes again. "I mean, you never just let me, so it kind of felt like a fun game. Everything I threw at you, you just matched super easily. I really liked messing with you, and I thought that…"

As Kai trailed off once again, Morro finally caught a glimpse of his face. A bright red blush spread from Kai's nose and cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His stance was awkward and nervous, shoulders tense and head down. At first, Morro thought that this was the beginning to a very good apology, but now it was starting to seem like something else entirely.

Taking a deep breath in, Kai finally met Morro's eyes, with enough conviction in them to make the latter freeze in place.

"I thought that you liked me too."

Oh. Oh.

Thinking back to every conversation they'd ever had, yeah. It was easy for Morro to see how Kai had come to that conclusion. All those attempts at getting each other's attention, the games to test each other's patience until one of them snapped. Of course Kai liked him. That was how every guy acted around their crush. Morro couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Guys were stupid.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Morro could see Kai staring at him almost nervously, like he was waiting for someone to shout at him. Clearing his throat, Morro opened his mouth.

"I…" Very articulate. "Oh. I didn't think of it like that I guess," he shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. "I was so busy getting mad at you, I thought… Well, you know what I thought."

"Yeah," Kai sighed, shaking his head. "I do. I'm sorry, I should have - "

"Wait!" Morro couldn't let Kai finish, not with the way this conversation appeared to be heading. "I never once said that I was against it."

That took Kai by surprise, and it showed. His shoulders dropped, his eyes went wide, and he stared at Morro for a moment before shaking his head. "But you said you hated me!"

"I also said that was a really strong word."

"So you do like me?"

Morro held up his hands. "I didn't say that either," he said, a small smile sneaking its way into his expression. Knowing that Kai had actually been crushing on him this whole wasn't an entirely unpleasant thing, actually. Morro had eyes. He knew Kai was a real piece of work when he wasn't busy being annoying. "But… I don't think I'd be opposed to trying something new."

Kai's grin practically swallowed his face, and Morro could only imagine how sore it must have made his cheeks. "Alright, something new." He hesitantly stepped closer, the blush returning in full force. "I can work with that."

"Good." Morro stepped closer to him as well, before his smile turned serious. "But don't think you can get away with annoying me every day now. Being cute is only going to get you so fa - "

Kai cut him off, pressing his lips gently to Morro's before pulling away with a smile.

"You talk too much."

Morro grinned, before pulling Kai back into another kiss.

Yeah, he could work with this.

#kai smith #morro #kai x morro #morro ninjago #kai ninjago #destinyshipping ninjago #firestorm ninjago #windflame #sensei wu #master wu #college!au #breathless writes

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princip1914 · 3 years

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A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal

Ending

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!

#long post #writing #fic #princip's fic #princip writes #princip's musings #longfic #how make words go

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vintage-brass-tc · 3 years

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4/15-16/2021

((THIS IS SO LATE — I blame the incoming exams))

Okay, wow! These two days were PACKED with moments!! I’ll try to give an overall summary of the ones I’m thinking most about. Super hard to pick which ones to write here!! 😳😳

Apologies in advance for the super long post once again! I just get carried away with these things.

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I was assigned to play something for W one morning before school. I was pretty nervous about it, so I decided to arrive thirty minutes before my time slot to give me time to practice.

After I stopped and got my stuff together to go inside, I noticed that a stunning vehicle was moving up to the left of me. It slowly rolled through the rows of other vehicles until it found an open parking space. The car then began to adjust so it could park trunk-first into the open spot.

I looked inside the wonderful car as it was almost done moving backwards, and I could not believe what I saw. Another pair of eyes were already looking at me....and they were W’s.

He seemed to share the same bewildered expression as my own. We stared at each other for two seconds until I forced my head away from his direction. I allowed myself to think.

Just then, I processed how I had arrived the same time W did. I wasn’t sure why, how, or what caused this coincidence, but I was sure that I was going nuts over it. Haha. Maybe the universe was scheming.

I called out to W as he traveled towards the door, asking him when it was okay for me to come in. He replied with a sweet tone and an even sweeter smile. “You can come in whenever you want!!”

I thanked him, got my stuff together, and sped to the (now open) door, all while remaining a good distance away from him.

Flash forward to playing the music for W. It was definitely something, let me tell you that much.

He walked in and shut the door behind him before turning his head around. “Hey R!!” He quickly shot me a wild look. “Are you ready?”

I scoffed at his jubilant attitude— which he mocked for a bit— and then got started after answering some minor questions he asked about the piece.

Having W standing behind me as I played was terrifying. 😂 I could see him clearly through the reflection of my instrument, and it was VERY hard to focus because of this.

He was moving along with the piece and taking it in the whole time. It was like he flowed with the piece, essentially. Whenever I would make a mistake, he would freeze and kind of snap back into reality.

On the subject of messing up, he stopped me quite a bit during random segments of the song to give out extra tips he had. Every time he would do this, he would step up and lean forward to the right of me. My head would be at just about the level of his chest.

This close proximity revealed to me that W’s breath smells sweet, and slightly of mint. <3 Especially when he‘d sing to me.

He sang a lot of my parts when giving feedback, and these examples, perfect or not, demonstrated what he wanted. As much as I really do adore his singing voice, 90% of the time he couldn’t hit ANY of the correct notes.

He said I was making fun of his singing voice because I was laughing so much. Really though, I was only laughing at how close we were, his volume, his expression, his dramatic dynamic range, his notes that were WAY off . . . okay. Maybe I was making fun of him just a little bit.

When we were finished, he stopped abruptly at the door and praised me right before leaving the room. “Great job, R!”

I smiled and quickly said I didn’t mean to make fun of his singing. He stopped slightly and replied, “MMmm suure, it’s fine!” before popping out to continue doing his work.

I love it when he says my name in a positive light. It’s really special to me.

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Instead of helping A as I would usually do earlier in the day, I got to assist W this time. As you have probably guessed, there are quite a few things that happened. Kind of hard to choose what to put here. 😳

I sat down on a chair next to the kids W was teaching to play along with them as an example sound. W seemed to really love having his gaze linger on mine when he signaled the other tubas to play alongside me.

At one point, he repeatedly shot long, focused glances at me when everyone was playing as a group. I met his look with a challenging one, and he seemed hesitant, as if he wanted to say something.

There were slight moments he looked away to cue others in, but most of the time his eyes were on me. I considered setting my instrument down in case he didn’t want me to play, but I pushed the idea to the side.

When we finished the rep, he told me to help someone with one of their stands, as it was falling down. I suppose I knew then why he looked at me, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

Why would he stare so long to ask me something so simple?

Two other memorable things that popped up during this period took place when W began telling his instrument jokes. He told a tuba joke that had a silly punchline making fun of the little notes tubas would stereotypically play.

I laughed pretty loudly at this despite hearing it from him two to three times before, and he gazed at me with a grin. “R’s laughing because she knows it’s true.” “Ye(hehe)ah,” I chuckled a little more and returned his look with additional nods.

Soon afterwards, he began to ramble. He mentioned that the tubas should get used to seeing while notes because this was basically their “whole life”. This ridiculous but true statement made me smile and shake my head to myself.

W THEN MOCKED ME A SECOND TIME. “R’s like—” he mimicked a person laughing, which gradually turned into crying. (His acting was actually on point though, both vocally and expressively.) I began to cackle excessively because of the imitation.

When the end of class arose and the bell rang, I stayed behind to help make sure the students packed up and left on time. Of course, in exchange, this cost me my own time, which, in hindsight, I should have thought more about in the moment.

I left the room to check if the kids in another area needed help for any reason, then came back to retrieve my stuff so I could leave.

Just in time, when I was walking back towards the entrance of the main band room, W was making his way to walk out. Our gazes locked and he stopped in place.

His left arm outstretched to hold one of the doors while his right was curved to pick up the door-stopper. His body was tilted and his legs were slightly bent to reach the bottom of the door.

I slightly lifted my eyelids at him as a greeting, and he looked back at me with curiosity. When I walked closer to him, slowing down about five or so feet away, he lifted his left eyebrow and smirked at me, seemingly amused.

I felt my brows begin to furrow at his teasing look. “Forget something?” He asked me. “Yeah, my stuff…(it’s in there) . . .” I smiled at him as I inched a little closer. “Oh.”

His face lost the smug expression and instead returned to its usual wonder-filled state. It took a few seconds of looking at me before he realized he was blocking the entrance. I mean, I could have used the other door, buuutttt I forgot about that. Whoops.

He scrambled to get up and hold the door open for me. I giggled at his frantic actions and smiled before thanking him sheepishly. After that happened, I walked to get my stuff, then put it on an empty chair in the room.

While I was packing my mouthpiece and stuff into my bag, W had walked back in at some point. He decided to take the spot on the table in front of me.

I turned to him, “Did the bell already ring?” “Yep,” He answered. “Ahh,” I breathed, facing my belongings once again, “I’m going to be late!”

W paused and looked up from the laptop in his hands, to my direction. “Do you need a pass?” He asked kindly, making me smile. “No thank you, I should be fine.”

“Is your teacher strict about tardies?” He continued the small talk inquisitively. “Oh, no, they’re not, don’t worry.” “Okay,” he muttered, sort of relieved(??). “At least, not with me,” I added.

He acknowledged my statement and I stood there for a good few extra seconds while contemplating.

I took my bag, swung it over my shoulder, and moved over to W. He looked extra confused looking up and spotting me again, haha. He was only sitting still, probably unsure of what to do.

“Uh—” “I decided I’m just going to get a pass (tardiness excuse slip) anyway, just in case.” He nodded approvingly at me. “Good choice.”

After setting his laptop down beforehand, he moved with me to a back table and grabbed a yellow sticky note. He then put it on a music stand. I walked him through my teacher’s name, but that’s it. He did everything else on his own..

I thought that it was cool he knew how to spell my name and stuff. I also got to see his messy handwriting, which is always lovely as well.

After he finished, I took hold of the note and thanked him for his help before going off to class, smiling the whole way there.

Lastly, W WOULD NOT stop letting the tubas play throughout the majority of the period. He showered us with compliments since we were sounding really good, and it was just amazing.

I always loved the way W looked at me when I was doing something right. It’s so validating. I love him a lot. ❤️

||||||||||||||||||||

Whew! That was fun. Not sure why this took a week, but ah well, hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless!

If I start posting about this week right after I publish this one— which I probably will— don’t worry about it. Just rambling as always. ^^

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caeruleis · 3 years

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@unladylikc

" Oh hey, Lancey-poo! This belongs to you, right? " The moment he'll open the door to his room, Lancelot would be greeted with the sight of Vivian holding his notebook while still wearing her banana onesie. From the looks of it, she seemed to have forgotten to get dressed. " Since ours were similar looking, I must have accidentally taken it when we were studying at the library last night, but yeah, if you noticed the notebook you opened today had different handwriting, that's totally my fault. "

Unprompted || Always accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ― ☽ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

The click of his pen upon thick parchment echoed through the cluttered room - lips purposed and foot tapping against the leg of his chair where he set at his desk. A collection of hefty books, notes, maps, and an assortment of tools - ranging from chess pieces to ink - were all stacked in a haphazard manner on the meager space he had. The gentle light of a candle bathed his work in an orange glow to keep the fog of night from spilling into his room as he worked. Ever the diligent student, he was already finished with his classwork more than a week in advance. What he was pouring over now was a personal project of his, but it soaked up most of what little free time he had between classes, and kept him up late into the night. To the point where, well, he never really bothered to take care of his room. Luckily, the dorms were single-student ones so no one actually ever actually saw what a mess it was despite how organized he always seemed. Clothes were strewn about - half hanging off of the bed, and half in random locations on the floor. He had a stack of books from the library tucked away in the far righthand corner that were collecting dust and well past their due date. Another pile he had purchased from a merchant that hadn’t been cracked open yet. His classwork was littered in every nook and cranny. Plates from the dinning hall were tucked beneath a pair of socks and some tools to keep his weapons sharp - which were in an equal state of disorder. And he knew he should clean it, but he simply didn’t have the time. So he left be, and then, clearly, it had gotten out of control.

Fingers card through messy, black locks as he leans over his desk - fingers lifting to adjust the glasses he used when he worked well into the night and exhaustion began to make his vision waver. He’s been jotting down ideas and notes for the better part of the night, and sleep still felt a long way off despite the swiftly dwindling hour. But he can’t say he minds. He’s doing all of this to achieve his dreams. It matters little to him if he goes a week without sleeping if that week can be spent, possibly, saving the lives of people like Vane’s parents who were cut down needlessly by beasts when the army could have stepped in. And it keeps him working long after he should. He knows rest is important, but he can’t being himself to stop. Or, rather, that had been his intent until he hears rap of knuckles against the door, and he quickly shuffles out from his chair, pen placed neatly atop an otherwise chaotic pile of papers. Carefully, he steps over the collection of mismatched items on the floor, pushing them out of the way of the door as he reaches out for it so they won’t be seen. Loose pants and light nightshirt are a far cry from the armor he’s always seen wearing or the uniform shoved on for classes.

He opens the door the sight of Vivian, and lips part in mild surprise the second he does because it’s impossible not to notice what she’s wearing. For a brief moment, he questions whether or not he might have fallen asleep while writing, but he dismisses that idea. He was, at least, fairly self-aware. So, he tries to will the surprise that clouds his features into a smile, and while he does manage to pull up the corners of his lips, he’s surprise remains despite his best effort. Trying his best to ignore it, he glanced down at the notebook held in her hand, and - ah, he hadn’t even looked over the notes from today. He had taken them directly from the text itself a week ago so there had been no need, but now that he sees it, it’s clearly his notebook. “It is. I should have been paying a bit more attention. I apologize for causing your trouble,” he offers before accepting the worn notebook from her, and cracking it open to scan one of the pages just to be safe. It’s very much his, which means the one he’d taken must be hers.

“I should have yours then, wait just a moment.” He slips back into his room, propping the door just slightly ajar with a book before he makes his way over to his desk and - it’s not there. Dread settles in as he quickly hoes through the notebooks there only to find that none of them have the right class or subject matter to be Vivian’s. With a series of loud clanks and slams as he digs through a few more, he realizes that her notebook is somewhere...buried in his room. With a sheepish smile he returns to the door once more. “Forgive me, I seem to have misplaced it, but I’ll find it shortly. When I do, I’ll drop it off -” he cuts himself off mid-sentence when that book he had been used to keep the door from slamming in her face fell, and, as a result, the door had swung open and realized the complete disaster his room was in, much to his dismay.

#unladylikc #| ☩ Lancelot: Thread: 04: unladylikc: Vivian ☩ |#| ☩ To carry a sword is to know both weakness and heartache ☩ (Lancelot: IC) |#| ☩ A lion is not a docile creature ; its claws are ragged ☩ (Lancelot: Verse: Three Houses) |#{ Thank you for sending this! }

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aidanchaser · 4 years

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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, and @somebodyswatson

Chapter Ten The House of Gaunt

Harry’s head was still swimming with a strange thrill of success when they sat down for dinner after their first day of classes. The Felix Felicis was tucked away in the breast pocket of his robes, the safest place he could think of until he could return to the common room with his friends.

“If you got that lucky,” Ron said as he piled his plate with roast potatoes, “you’d be the last person who needed the luck potion. Come on, what did you do?”

“You’ve never done better than me in Potions,” Hermione said, her voice full of a particular brand of acid that she usually reserved for Ron.

But Harry, still thrilled with his success, was unhurt by her comment. He’d only ever managed to outdo Hermione in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it was nice to have succeeded in something else for once, something he didn’t feel destined to succeed in.

“Maybe I’ve learned a bit from my Mum,” he said. “I brewed my own Essence of Dittany with an Infusion of Silver this summer. Even helped with a handful of Blood-Replenishing Potions.” He kept an intentionally cheeky grin as he said it, though. He would tell Ron and Hermione about the book — but later, in the common room, where they were less likely to be overheard.

Once they were seated in a quiet corner, where Harry was mostly hidden behind an overstuffed chair in order to avoid the gaping eyes of first-years and the handful of fourth and fifth year girls who had taken a fashion to saying shy “hellos” to him in the hallway, though he’d never spoken to them before, Harry showed them his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and told them about the previous owner’s additional instructions.

Hermione’s irritation transformed into cold judgement as Harry spoke, as if each of his words was part of a lengthy Transfiguration spell.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” he asked her, once he had finished explaining.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?”

“He only followed different instructions from ours,” said Ron, who was squinting at the cramped writing beside a recipe for Invigoration Draught. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk, and it paid off. Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written on. Puked on by the look of page 52.”

Harry, without meaning to, tuned out Ron’s complaints. He had become distracted by a familiar scent that entered the common room. It was earthy, like his family’s garden, like the Burrow, like the Quidditch pitch — like the Amortentia he had smelled downstairs just hours ago. Then Ginny leaned over Harry to snatch the book out of Ron’s hands and he caught a whiff of the same floral shampoo he had smelled last night, when he’d told her about the prophecy. He hadn’t been able to identify it then, as caught up as he’d been in the prophecy, but he’d smelled it again in the Potions classroom, and he knew it was jasmine. It was the same scent he caught in the garden each summer. He had wondered if the Amortentia was simply telling him he missed home. Now he wondered if it was telling him something else.

“Did I hear right?” Ginny said, apparently unconcerned with the way her long, loose red hair brushed Harry’s cheek. “You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?”

She looked both frightened and furious. Harry was eager to allay her fears.

“It’s just something someone wrote in a textbook — it’s nothing like Riddle’s diary.”

“But you’re doing what it says?”

“I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, Ginny. Honestly, there’s nothing funny —”

Hermione, though, seemed almost excited at the idea that this potions textbook, with notes from a former student, might be tantamount to the diary that had possessed Ginny and forced her to unleash a basilisk on the other students at Hogwarts.

“Ginny’s got a point,” she said. “We ought to check that there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

Ginny quickly handed the book over to Hermione before Harry could grab it from her.

“Hey —”

Hermione tapped her wand on the cover. “Specialis Revelio!”

Harry remembered trying a similar spell on Tom Riddle’s diary. He did not think that if this book was hiding comparable dark secrets, her spell would work any better than his had.

As expected, the book lay flat on the floor undamaged, apart from the wear and tear it had sustained years previously.

“Finished?” Harry asked. “Or d’you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?”

He reached for it, but Ginny leaned in and snatched it first. She squinted at the cramped handwriting in the margins and turned it over. “Writing’s familiar, though, isn’t it? Ah —” she looked at the bottom of the back cover. “‘This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince,’” she read. “Who’s the Half-Blood Prince?”

“How should I know?” Harry finally grabbed the book from Ginny. “This book’s older than I am, I’d bet.” He managed to hide his disappointment at the name in a feigned irritation with his friends.

Harry’d had a wild thought in the middle of the Potions lesson that perhaps the book had belonged to his mother. The handwriting hadn’t been hers, but the way the notes were written and the commentary they offered up about the initial author of the book had reminded him of her notes about the Essence of Dittany recipe. Unfortunately, this new discovery erased any possibility the co-author might have been his mother. She was neither a half-blood nor a prince. Besides that, as he’d already checked, the publication date was long before his mother had attended school.

“I still think you shouldn’t use it,” Hermione warned.

Harry did not plan to take her warning very seriously.

When he and Ron did finally make it upstairs to their dormitory, Harry tucked the Felix Felicis into a set of socks and buried it at the bottom of his trunk. He hid it away where he had tucked away another equally precious item, which he now removed.

Once Harry was certain none of the other boys were going to make use of the shower, Harry went inside, locked the door, and turned on the water to mask his voice as he pulled the recently repaired two-way mirror from the pocket of his robes.

Even though Umbridge was no longer searching through students’ post and limiting Harry’s contact with his family, James and Sirius had made sure to mend the shattered mirror before Harry returned to school. It was a convenient way to stay in touch, and Harry prefered talking to his parents face to face, more or less, instead of trying to parse their thoughts and worries from carefully crafted letters.

“Mum? Dad?” he said into the mirror. His breath fogged it over, and once it had cleared he had a good view of the kitchen, as if he were standing in front of the fireplace. He could see James helping Picksie finish the dishes, and Lily sitting at the small table with a small collection of letters in front of her. She was the first to look up at the mantle and the worry that was creased on her face vanished behind a relieved smile.

“Harry!” She walked over to the fireplace and took the mirror down. Harry’s view of the kitchen shifted dramatically, and became mostly consumed with Lily’s face as she sat back down at the table. “How was your first day?”

“Great — er, mostly. How are things at home? Where’s Sirius?”

“We’re alright here at home. Sirius has gone north to track a lead on some Death Eater recruiters. I’m organizing some reports for the Order and sorting out urgent information for Dumbledore. Your father’s done his part for the Order by making us an exceptional cherry pie.”

Harry laughed, because appreciating his mother’s joke was more pleasant than admitting he already missed home, and would have loved some of his father’s pie.

“What about you? What subjects did you have today?”

“I get a free period until lunch, so that’s nice,” Harry said. “But after that is Defense Against the Dark Arts with Snape.”

Lily’s smile was sympathetic, and Harry saw James approach over her shoulder.

“Sorry about that, Snitch,” James said. “We know he isn’t your favorite professor. But he’s been after that position for years. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore ran out of candidates for the job.”

“I know Mum’s already tried, but you could come back and teach it,” Harry said.

Lily shook her head. “I love your father too much to let him take on a cursed teaching position. Nearly losing you to a basilisk was enough for us, I think.”

“Besides, Snape is very good at Defense, if I recall,” James said. “I’m sure there’s loads you can learn from him.”

“Good at the Dark Arts, maybe,” Harry grumbled. He bit down on his lip and reluctantly told them the least exciting part of his day: “I already got a detention from Snape.”

Their disappointed faces were as heartbreaking as Harry had expected, but neither of them mentioned grounding Harry, or punishing him any further as they might have when he was younger.

“What for?” James asked.

“Cheek.”

“Did you deserve it?” Lily asked.

“Maybe a little.”

“I don’t expect you and Snape to get on,” James said. “I’ve certainly never managed it myself, but I think you’ll learn a bit more from him if you keep your head down and do your best not to rise to any bait, no matter how tempting it might be, alright?”

“He singles me out!” Harry protested. “I even apologized for what happened this summer, but he’s no less a git than he was before. Isn’t he on our side?”

“Of course he is,” said Lily, “but Harry — perhaps you should talk to Dumbledore about it. He’ll be able to give you a better insight on Snape, and perhaps have the most influence over Snape’s behavior. You know Snape’s relationship with the two of us is complicated, and unless you want us to insist you be removed from Defense class —”

“No. I need to know Defense.”

“Then talk to Dumbledore. That might be your best option. Though if you deserve that detention, I’m not about to write an owl to Snape asking for you to be excused.”

Harry did knew he deserved the detention, though he didn’t regret what he’d said in the least. “No, I’ll do it. It’s just one Saturday. I’ll just have to move Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs back a week.” Truthfully, he was moving Gryffindor try-outs because he had a lesson with Dumbledore this coming Saturday, but he still wasn’t keen on explaining that to his parents.

“Potions went better, though,” Harry said, eager to change the subject to a more positive topic.

“So you are doing Potions!” James smiled. “I wondered, with Dumbledore hiring Slughorn.”

“I’m glad,” said Lily, and she truly looked proud. “I know you were disappointed in your O.W.L. results. What do you think of Slughorn as a teacher?”

“Theatrical,” Harry said. “Still dotes on his favorites, but he seems to know his stuff well enough. He doesn’t have any care for Malfoy, which is a nice change, since Snape favoured him all the time. And he likes that Hermione knows her stuff. And he actually awards points to Gryffindor.”

“Sounds like an improvement, all-in-all,” James said. “Did he do his usual song and dance, with the Felix Felicis and Amortentia? I remember scrambling to win that Felix Felicis. I wanted it for the Quidditch championship.”

“Which would have been illegal,” Lily reminded him.

James only shrugged with a smile.

“Well,” Harry said, trying and failing to suppress a wide smile, “I promise I won’t use it on a Quidditch match.”

Lily gasped. “Did you really? Harry, that’s impressive!”

James’s grin was as wide as Harry’s. “Congratulations.”

“But I’ll need potions supplies. And a copy of Advanced Potion-Making.” Harry didn’t have any intention of giving up the Half-Blood Prince’s copy, but he also had no intention of letting his parents know he had a copy with altered instructions inside, especially now that he was certain the instructions weren’t his mother’s.

“Of course, we’ll get those for you in Diagon Alley and have them sent over,” Lily assured him. “I’m glad your first Potions class went over so well. I expect you get it from me. Though I suppose all the extra work you’ve put into helping me this summer helped a good deal.”

Harry grinned, wishing for all the world that she was right. “I’m sure your notes in the book you gave me for my birthday will help.”

“Just promise not to use any of my comments in any essays for Slughorn,” Lily laughed. “He and I got into some atrocious rows over Potions theory. He’s a bit more… traditional than I was.”

Harry could not imagine Slughorn getting into a row with anyone. He seemed so amenable, particularly to people like Lily, who were gifted in their field, but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted further details. “I’ll remember that. Er — one more question…. You said he did the Amortentia when you took Potions. Do you… remember what it smelled like? Was it each other? Or was it just whoever you were going out with at the time?”

Lily blushed and James grinned.

“It did not smell like the girl I was dating at the time,” James said. “But I already knew who I liked and knew I was going out with the wrong girl. It didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Your mother, on the other hand….”

Lily sighed, but her cheeks were still pink. “To be fair, what I smelled in the Amortentia wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, they were just things I didn’t want to know. Amortentia won’t tell you your true love, Harry, any more than it can create true love. It will just remind you of what you’re already attracted to.”

“If you’re really hung up on it,” James said, “you can do what your mother did, and nick a bunch of Slughorn’s potions supplies, and brew your own Amortentia in the prefect’s bathroom.”

Lily glared up at James. “That was a controlled experiment! I was… testing something.”

“Testing whether or not it smelled my cologne because I had leaned over to get a better whiff of Amortentia or because you were actually attracted to it?”

“I did not smell your cologne! I smelled — well — it was the Quidditch pitch. Or something earthy like it.”

“Like home,” Harry said, startled that he and his mother had this strange thing in common.

Lily looked surprised. “Yes. I suppose they are similar scents. Freshly cut grass, recently tilled earth, that sort of thing.”

“I smelled your mother’s shampoo,” James said. “Which is why when I caught her with a cauldron in the prefect’s bathroom, at first I thought I’d discovered the potion she used to make her hair so silky.”

“Oh, stop. You knew what it was and you teased me about it for months.”

“Sure. Once I saw the unique curls of steam and caught the smokier scent that reminded me of your temper and Sirius’s cigarettes, I knew what it was.”

Harry frowned. “Dad — why did the potion remind you of Sirius?”

James laughed. “It’s about what you’re attracted to, isn’t it? I love your mother’s temper and your mother, at times, reminds me of Sirius. Attraction and love are related, but they aren’t the same. Love is choice. It’s hard work and dedication. It’s a decision you make each day you decide to be with someone.” James leaned in closer to Lily and kissed the top of her head. “Attraction’s just a really good start.”

“Okay, thanks, that’s enough.” Harry had known it would be difficult enough to talk to his parents about Amortentia, and it had finally reached the “more than I ever wanted to know about my parents” category.

Lily seemed to understand. She smiled and said, “We’ll let you get some rest, Harry.”

“Oh — before I go — did you talk to Tonks today?”

James frowned. “She stopped in this morning to try to catch Sirius before he left, but she’d just missed him. Why? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine.” So Tonks had had an opportunity to tell his parents about his eavesdropping on Malfoy and she hadn’t. He was grateful.

Harry yawned, hoping to hide his lie of omission. “I just saw her before the feast, since she was stationed at Hogwarts for the night. Wondered if she was alright.”

Lily and James didn’t seem to buy this explanation, but they didn’t press him further.

“Good night, Snitch,” said James. “Sweet dreams, alright?”

“Sure,” Harry said, a bit dismally, but he could only hope. “No dreams,” might have been a more realistic approach. But he didn’t correct his father. He only said, “You too,” knowing sweet dreams were a similarly difficult task for his parents, who worried about him far too much.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope all is well at home. It’s only been a day at school and I miss you very much. We had Defense Against the Dark Arts today, and it is very challenging. We are learning silent spellcasting, and I can’t master it very well. But it’s only been one lesson. Maybe Harry or Hermione will be able to help me. Hermione is already doing very well.

I know Gran will be disappointed, but McGonagall would not let me continue Transfiguration. She said she was proud of my “A” but she only took students on who had achieved an “E” or above. She insisted I take Charms, though, and while it’s nice to be in a class with good friends — all of Gryffindor is taking Charms — I do feel like I’ve let Gran down a bit.

Herbology is wonderful, though! Professor Sprout is glad to have me in class, and she was very pleased with my “Outstanding,” almost as impressed as Mr. Potter was.

I know you’ve both said not to worry about you while I’m at school, but I do worry. I hope you are both safe. I was wondering what it was like during the first war. Did the two of you fight You-Know-Who a lot before I was born? Do you know how many times?

I was just wondering. Again, I hope you’re both safe. I love you very much!

Love,

Neville

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Cedric —

I hope all is well. I don’t know how bad it is at the Ministry these days, but I bet it can’t be easy. I had a sort of private lesson with Dumbledore tonight, and I already talked it over with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, but I thought you might be interested in it, too. Dumbledore’s decided to teach me stuff about Voldemort this year, stuff that he thinks might help me defeat him. I don’t totally understand how, but you might understand it better.

Tonight, Dumbledore showed me a memory of Bob Ogden. He used to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I don’t know if he was an Auror or not. He said he was the head of some Squad or something. In the memory he was delivering a court summons. Is that something you do as an Auror? I guess that’s not really important. It wasn’t what he was doing that Dumbledore wanted to show me, it was who he was going to meet that Dumbledore wanted me to see.

There was this family called the Gaunt family. They lived outside of a village called Little Hangleton, and they claimed to be really important purebloods, descended from the Peverell family and the Slytherin family. They might have been right. Everyone in the family could speak Parseltongue. It was strange, being able to understand them in the memory, when even Dumbledore and Ogden didn’t know what they were saying.

Ogden was there to deliver a court summons to the son, Morfin, because Morfin had hexed a Muggle. Morfin also hexed Ogden when he arrived, and his dad, Marvolo Gaunt wasn’t even sorry about it. He said a lot of terrible things about Muggles and Muggle-borns. While Ogden was trying to explain about Morfin being in trouble, Marvolo put on this big speech about his family history, and showed Ogden the big black-stone ring that proved he was a Peverell and he nearly choked his daughter showing off Salazar Slytherin’s locket.

I think he really hated his daughter. He was cruel to her, called her a Squib, and said mean things about her in front of Ogden and everything. And when her brother told the father she liked looking at one of the Muggles in town, he nearly choked her to death. I think he might’ve if Ogden hadn’t been there to intervene, and if Ogden hadn’t come back and arrested Morfin and Marvolo.

It was a horrible memory to witness, and after it was over Dumbledore explained to me that the family is Voldemort’s family. The daughter Merope was his mother. The Muggle she liked was Tom Riddle, Voldemort’s father. Dumbledore thinks she used a love potion to make him leave his Muggle girlfriend. At some point, she stopped using it and he left her alone with the baby, and I guess she must have died some time after Voldemort was born, but she named him Tom Marvolo Riddle, after his father and grandfather.

I don’t know why Dumbledore showed me all this and told me about Voldemort’s parents, but he promised it was important. More interesting, I thought, was what Dumbledore had on his desk. He had the ring that Marvolo wore in the memory. I remembered he was wearing it the night he stopped by my house, too. Slughorn even recognized it, I think, when we visited him. I asked Dumbledore if he’d always had it, but he said he’d only gotten it recently — around the time he’d injured his hand. He’s hurt it so badly, it’s practically useless, but he won’t tell me what he did to it, or what it’s got to do with the ring, or why the ring has a huge crack in it now. I know it’s something about Voldemort, of course, but I can’t figure out what.

He also had Salazar Slytherin’s locket on his desk. It wasn’t broken but…. There was something about the locket. I didn’t like being in the same room with it. I guess it has something to do with Slytherin? He wouldn’t tell me where he got the locket, either. Only that a mutual friend of ours had given it to him. That could be anyone, though. Practically everyone I know would be considered a friend of Dumbledore’s.

I don’t know what to make of it all, exactly. I don’t know if you know any more, but I know you were very determined this summer to fight Voldemort, so I thought you should know what I know, at least.

One more thing…. I didn’t tell Dumbledore that I’d be telling you all of this. I knew I would tell Ron and Hermione and Neville, and Dumbledore seemed to agree that it’d be hard for me to keep it from them, but I didn’t mention that I’d write it to you. Not that I think you and Dumbledore take tea regularly, but these lessons are sort of secret.

Regardless, I hope you’re well. And I hope you’re safe.

— Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Harry,

It was great to hear from you. All is well here, for now. It’s terribly busy, of course, but I’ve managed to slip away to Grimmauld Place for a few hours and thought I’d take the time to write to you. It’s curiously empty; I’m not sure where Regulus Black has gotten off to. Makes it a bit harder to nap in the parlor, wondering if he’s going to appear suddenly. But he disappeared often enough while we were here that summer, didn’t he? So maybe it’s nothing strange at all.

Your letter was especially interesting. I’ve managed to do a bit of digging, as I have access to records as an Auror that you might not find with your Hogwarts library card. Bob Ogden was a fairly decorated Hit Wizard who eventually became an Auror and moved up into administrative roles from there. The memory you described seems to have taken place about seventy years ago. I was able to find the Aurors’ arrest report for Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt, and the transcripts of their trials. They certainly weren’t my favorite sort of purebloods. Seems like inbreeding and ancestors who squandered their wealth left the Gaunts fairly unhappy with a lot of pride in blood and no interest in work.

I wasn’t able to find any sort of birth records for Merope Gaunt’s son. I don’t know if I have to dig deeper at St. Mungo’s or if there just aren’t any, but I expect Dumbledore’s not wrong. He’d know for certain, as Tom Marvolo Riddle would have been recorded in the Book of Admittance when he was born, if he were eligible for Hogwarts. I can’t imagine anyone other than a Gaunt would saddle their child with a name like Marvolo.

I don’t know if you picked up on this, since you witnessed Bob Ogden’s memory, but that village that you mentioned, Little Hangleton, happens to be home to the same graveyard you and I were transported to at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. I don’t remember everything that happened when we were there, but when you were telling Dumbledore what happened, you mentioned the potion Voldemort used to resurrect himself. He mentioned something about his father’s bone, didn’t he? It would make sense if his father, Tom Riddle, was buried there.

You also mentioned that Morfin was initially being summoned because he’d hexed a Muggle, and I found that in his initial arrest record. But he was also arrested almost seventeen years later for murdering that same muggle — Tom Riddle. I wonder if he was upset that his sister had run off with a Muggle? Seventeen years seems like a long time to wait for revenge, but he seemed mad judging by the transcripts of his sentencing. Kept going on and on about how his father would kill him for losing the family ring. I wonder how it fell into Dumbledore’s possession. If Dumbledore tells you, you’ll have to let me know.

I can see why Dumbledore doesn’t want this kind of information spreading. Imagine if Voldemort knew just how much Dumbledore knew about him! I’m happy to keep my knowledge a secret, though I should warn you, I took a friend who’s a Hit Wizard out to Little Hangleton with me. When I made the connection between Little Hangleton and Voldemort’s father, I had to see for myself if the graveyard was the same place, and I wasn’t sure I’d be alright going on my own. I didn’t tell him anything, not even that it might be a lead on Voldemort. I told him it was a personal curiosity — which was true — and he didn’t press me. Thelborne’s that kind of friend. It’s nice. I don’t know many of the other wizards who’d be willing to take their day off to go tromping around a Muggle village looking at headstones with me.

We also found the Gaunt house, or what was left of it. It’s been falling apart for centuries, it seems like. It looked like someone had been there recently, and I told Thelborne it was probably just kids getting themselves into trouble, but I wonder if it wasn’t Voldemort himself….

I hope you found my letter as interesting as I found yours. And I hope your studies are going well. Quidditch season should be starting up soon. Is everything alright with that? I can’t imagine Dumbledore is enforcing Umbridge’s ban.

Look forward to hearing from you soon.

— Cedric

#hbp #cedric diggory #harry potter everyone lives au #harry potter and the halfblood prince #hp everyone lives au #hp fic

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jenonojaem · 5 years

Text

To My Crush, With All My Heart. Part One.

(A/N) I feel like this is very long overdue and I apologise for not updating soon after the prologue. I hope this is up to everyone’s expectations! As I mentioned previously, this is based off an instagram edit I saw and gathered inspiration from! I’ve checked most parts but there still may be spelling errors/mistakes so apologies in advance for that! That’s all I have to say really! x

Genre: Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! Kinda cute & light hearted too!

Members included: Jeno, Donghyuck & Mark (they’ll all be introduced at one point muah!) This part mostly focuses on Jeno!

Word count: 2603

Warnings: there’s none, lovelies!

Dear Jeno,

It’s been two weeks since I watched you in a basketball game for the first time. Admittedly, I know nothing about sports nor am I athletic enough to even attempt anything that you can do. You’re an exceptional player and your team is so lucky to have you. At first I thought you were like any other sports team caption, full of yourself and no regards to how others around you feel.

But you aren’t like that, are you? You’re sweet, selfless, respectful and all around a decent human being who people overlook because of your god like face. That damned face. Everything about you, from the way you act to the way you look, screams perfection. From the fullness of your hair to the way you always greet everyone you bump into.

Perhaps you only act this way because of how many eyes are on you all the time. That’s what I try and tell myself anyway. We’ve only had a few brief encounters but each time you’ve been so gentle and polite. You’ve even offered your seat to me on the bus because I was struggling to keep my balance down all those twists and turns.

Not to mention you always smile at me. That beautiful, uplifting smile that I see on your face so often. The way your eyes smile with you is truly a breathtaking sight. They turn into what I can only describe as moon crescents that light up the world around them.

You-

“How much have you read?” my voice is shaky as I stand over Lee Jeno, captain of the basketball team, who just happens to be reading my love letter that somehow managed to get out. There’s no readable expression on his face, he looks dumbfounded, surprised. Despite wanting to run away and nearly doing so, I knew it was only right to come back and handle the problem head on. If there even was a problem.

Donghyuck sits beside him in silence, holding his own letter that he thankfully hasn’t touched. My heart aches as I realise that every intense feeling I’ve ever had for Jeno is now very much real in his head. That boy now knows everything that I felt for him and thought about him “Not much.” he finally replies, his tone soft and surprisingly calm. Gently, he slips the letter back into the envelope and hands it back to me “You have a crush on me?”

“No!” I deny, my voice filling the still empty cafe that will no doubt come alive at the wrong moment “Not now. I did.” with trembling hands, I slip the letter back into my bag and face Hyuck who looks like he’s trying to process this whole situation “Can I have that back too?” to my surprise he shakes his head and I watch as his grasp tightens around the note.

“I’d like to read it.” he admits, causing my whole body to break out in a cold sweat “Is it similar to Jeno’s?” with a soft sigh, I put my head down and nod slowly. Why would he want to read it? Is this a joke to him? Hyuck has always been the class clown, making everyone break out in a ferocious belly laugh due to his sarcastic remarks towards the teachers. That was one of the many reasons I adored him for weeks on end.

Jeno stands up, slinging his navy blue ruck sack over his shoulder and giving me a timid smile “Can we talk about this?” no, no we cannot. I try to concentrate on his question but soon notice that Hyuck is carefully peeling his letter open. Oh god. Now that I know that at least two out of seven boys have read their letter the feeling of being light headed soon hits back with force.

“I feel sick.” I mumble, not knowing that Jeno had caught onto what I said.

“Do you need to sit down? Some water?” his hand grabs a hold of arm, supporting me gently as though he can see that I’m moments away from passing out “This whole thing isn’t as bad as you probably think it is. I know you panic a lot, but really there’s no need.”

My eyes flicker between the two boys in front of me, both of their faces full of worry and concern “You don’t understand,” I begin, gripping onto my bag so tight my knuckles turn white “you aren’t the only two who I wrote letters for.” Hyuck’s eyes widen and I can see that the whole thing has finally now hit him.

“Damn, (Y/N), you a player-” Hyuck’s lighthearted comment is cut off by Jeno snapping at him.

“Not the time.” Jeno’s hand moves down my arm to hold my wrist, rubbing his thumb reassuringly around in circles “Who else got a letter? I’ll help you find them and get them back. But then can we talk?” why does he want to talk so badly? Oh my god-

In my head, I begin to recall the five other boys who have probably had a good laugh at my letter by now “Mark Lee, Huang Renjun, Na Jaemin, Zhong Chenle and Park Jisung.” Jeno slowly nods his head and looks over at Hyuck who’s now putting my letter down instead of choosing to read it at this particular moment. But there’s a cheeky glint in his eye that tells me I won’t be getting that letter back unread any time soon.

“They all have a lecture this morning, right? We we’re split into groups for it, they’re all group one.” Hyuck shrugged a little and got up from the table, unlocking his phone and scrolling quickly through what I can only assume is a list of groups. Finally he nods and looks at me with a sweet smile that should’ve calmed me like it usually does. However, the only thing I can think about is the fact they’re all going to be bored in that lecture and therefore decide to read that mysterious letter they were given this morning. And, hey, that’s my fight or flight triggered again-

. . .

The crowd for the lecture is huge and I can tell Jeno is desperately trying to find the five boys I mentioned who also got a letter. Hyuck had said goodbye to us both whilst leaving the cafe, saying he was going to be late for his one to one vocal lesson with Brianna. Everyone knew he had a wonderful voice but whenever he was asked to sing he’d always turn it down or try to change the subject.

I’d be lying if I said Jeno didn’t resemble a meerkat currently, his head turning in all directors as he balances perfectly on his tip toes. As if he wasn’t tall enough already. Just when I’m finally not anxious about this whole ordeal, I feel a hand on my shoulder that gently turns me to face them. Mark Lee. Jeno’s finally caught on to who it is and stops observing the sweaty group of teenage students for a moment. Both boys make eye contact for a brief second. I’ve noticed boys who aren’t really friends do that a lot. They stare each other down as though they’re trying to gain dominance over the other one. Especially when a girl’s around.

“Do you have a letter?” Jeno finally asks, looking down at Mark’s hands to see the only thing he’s holding is his phone with a watermelon case decorating it. Mark looks at me and nods, his expression somewhat embarrassed and/or sheepish.

“I actually want to speak to you about that.” he takes off his round, Harry Potter-esque glasses and pushes them onto the top of his head. His brown hair is pushed back off of his face and now I can clearly see his beautiful brown eyes that look as though they hold a whole universe in them “I haven’t read it yet because I literally just got it from Renjun. I was going to read it in the lecture but I was wondering what it was about? It’s your handwriting, right?” wait, why does Renjun have my letters?

Jeno’s obviously thinking the same thing as he furrows his brows and asks “Renjun gave it to you?” but then I remember Hyuck saying to Jeno that he got the letters from Renjun too. Before Mark can answer the question, the lecturer begins calling in the first load of students and I feel myself being pushed and barged past by the crowd. Stumbling slightly, my balance is regained by a strong arm wrapping tightly around my waist and pulling me out of the rush.

Jeno pushes against the tide and finally we’re able to breathe with the last few girls making their way into the hall “I didn’t tell Mark that I don’t want him reading it.” I sigh and look down at my shoes, feeling my first surge of wanting to run away from this whole issue “He won’t make fun of me, will I?”

There’s a short silence before he replies “I don’t think he’s the type to. Neither is Hyuck so don’t worry about him either.” he walks towards an empty bench where he takes off his bag and basketball hoodie. Underneath he’s wearing a plain white shirt that compliment his ripped jeans nicely. Stop checking him out, (Y/N).

“I’ve never wanted to yeet so much in my life.” I admit, aloud. Causing a small chuckle to come from Jeno as he opens his bottle of ludcozade. Earlier I had made him laugh in the cafe for a very similar reason-

It was a simpler time back then.

“I would yeet about twenty times a day if that were an option.” he adds, holding his bottle of drink out to me “Thirsty?” I smile shyly at him, taking the bottle and quickly skiving some of the drink before handing it back.

He’s been so nice to me since this whole thing. Maybe he feels sorry for me?

“You don’t seem like the type to yeet.” he sits on the bench and I look down at him. The sun’s hitting his features perfectly and the image reminds me of a beautiful oil painting you’d admire in an art museum. Jeno shakes his head at my comment, pulling a “are you kidding me?” expression.

“You’d be surprised.” I sit beside him, wiggling my feet as the brief silence between us eats me up inside “When did you like me?” he finally asks, and I can feel his eyes examining my face and body language. There’s no getting out of this one.

“Uh, I don’t remember exactly. I just know yours was the latest letter I wrote.” Jeno’s lips turn up into a proud smile, causing my stomach to fill up with butterflies “You wasn’t meant to read it. Like, ever.” I add on, my words coming out at the speed of light.

“I know. I’m sorry I read some of it.” there’s a rawness in his voice that tells me he genuinely feels bad. Remembering what was in the letter just makes me want to shrivel up into ball. He’s read all those cheesy statements that I thought were so romantic and thoughtful at the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he feels awkward and uncomfortable around me now... Yet, if he did, he wouldn’t be so inclined to help.

“Anyone would read a letter about them! I know I would.” I cross my legs and glance over at the lecture theatre. Mark’s probably already a quarter way through by now. If there’s a God above I ask that you allow the ground to just swallow me up right now. Literally, open the floor up and let me fall in. Anything to get away from this catastrophe that I’ve somehow brought onto myself. Let the almighty Jesus-

Jeno waves his hand in front of my face “You sure do zone out a lot, (Y/N).”

“What? Oh, yeah-” I twiddle my thumb nervously “Is that what you wanted to talk about? When I liked you?” Jeno tilts his head as though he’s oblivious to what I’m talking about; but suddenly it’s like a light bulb has lit up over his head and it’s all come back to him.

“Actually, I was going to ask how it was possible for someone to write all those nice things without even being friends first? Are you really that observant?” I’m ready to yeet now.

“You could say that...” my words trail off as I think of an excuse as to why I knew so much about him. Truth be told, Jeno was so popular amongst everyone that it was hard not to know so much about him “You’re Mr Popular, there’s not a lot people don’t know about you, you know?” his face turns up as though he’s cringing at my words followed by a small scoff that makes my heart drop.

“There’s more to me than people think.” he tells me, sincerely. Then I wonder if anyone in this college actually knows Jeno for who he is as a person “But hey, that’s college life for you. Do you still have my letter in your bag or did you yeet it somewhere?”

“I still have it.”

“If it’s not too much to ask, can I read the rest of it?” w h y.

“I think you read enough.” my tone of voice is obviously blunt and could be considered rude but in all honestly the more you read of the letter the more cringy it gets. I don’t want Lee Jeno sat in his bed and suffering from a major case of second hand embarrassment.

“I don’t. I was enjoying it.” he stands up and flings his back over his shoulder “You have a lovely way with words, (Y/N). Besides, you said yourself, who wouldn’t read a letter about them?”

I stand up with him, beginning to dig through my bag for his letter “If I give you it back do you promise to help me get the other boys to not mention it to anyone else?” his eyes and mouth widen as though what I’m asking is coming out as a shock to him.

“You think everyone’s going to make fun of you?”

“Duh.” I hand the envelope to him and for some reason he’s hesitant to take it.

“(Y/N), do you think I’m going to make fun of you too?” he holds the letter with me but doesn’t take it from my grasp just yet “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for someone else. You’d have to be the biggest prick in the world to consider making fun of you for that.”

Gently, he pulls the letter towards him and I let go “It’s just embarrassing. You expect love letters in cringy romance films, you know?” Jeno shakes his head and places his hands on either side of my shoulders.

“It’s sweet. Don’t worry about it. If anyone says anything I’ll stand up for you because I was lucky enough to get one.” excuse me, what- “Do you mind waiting for me after college? You won’t yeet, will you?” he raises an eyebrow and there’s a playful grin plastered on his face that tells me he’s trying to lighten my mood. Who would’ve known that the most popular boy at college could be such a sweetheart?

I nod and say “I won’t yeet. Thank you, Jeno.”

“Great.” and with a bright smile he turns away and begins to read where he left off.

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a-royal-obsession · 6 years

Text

The Prince of Wales to the Queen

Brighton, 24 Sept. 1792

I have hardly had a single moment ever since I left Weymouth to take up my pen in order to return you my most grateful thanks for all yr. kind attentions during my stay at yt. place. However, I have not been the less busy tho’ I have not written to you, & I only wish’d to bring the business into such a shape yt. I might be able to communicate it to you by letter. In the meantime I consider’d yt. I shd. only be wasting yr. time by plaguing you with unnecessary epistles. Tho’ I have been working very hard ever since I left you, my dear Madam, still I have not been able to advance sufficiently in the business we talk’d over so as to reduce it into a proper shape for yr. inspection, yet I flatter myself yt. everything will be ripe for yr. inspection & approbation when you return home, & then I shall lose no time in calling upon you in order to communicate the whole plan of proceeding to you, & laying before you with an explanation all the papers yt. are the necessary companions & attendants to elucidate this transaction. I do not say anything more respecting this business at present, as, when I have the happiness of seeing you next, you will be satisfied of the impossibility of our making a greater progress in so short a space of time, qui va piano va sano, the old Italian proverb may suit very well the present circumstance. But enough of this.

I am now going to take a great liberty with you, & in wh., if I am guilty of an error, I must entreat of you, my dearest mother, to ascribe it to the true motive, wh. is in the first place the natural & tender affection I have ever felt for you from the earliest period of my infancy, in the next place, the continual dread I perpetually lay under yt. both the King & you are at times totally ignorant & perhaps intentionally sometimes kept so, of the occurrences yt, happen not only in this life, but in this country of Great Britain & even of this City of London, & from wh. yr. high & exalted situation also so naturally removes you. Another apology I think I may also make for the liberty I am going to take, & wh. I think will plead for itself sufficiently with you, & yt. is the horror I feel at the disturbances of the neighbouring country, & of those democratick principles wh. have plunged her into the abyss into wh. she has fallen. I therefore think it absolutely incumbent upon me to give you every information I can get at on these subjects, as I know no one but myself who wd. venture to talk to you upon such subjects or from whom it can proceed with so much propriety as from myself, & I shd. deem it, knowing as much as I do at present & having got at as much information as I have, (& wh. I shall persist in endeavouring to get at) I shd. I say deem it an absolute crime were I not to lay the fruits of my exertions before you. You may then make what use you please of what I take the liberty of acquainting you with, either by laying it before the King or taking any other measure yt. you may judge ye most proper respecting it. However, this you may depend upon, yt. I never will think of mentioning anything gravely to you, that I do not know for certain to be true, if I shd. think myself so, & afterwards find myself misinform’d or mistaken in the intelligence I have acquir’d, I will be the first to come & say so to you. However unfortunately, what I have to mention to you at present is but too true, as I had it from one who, tho’ in a lower sphere of life, yet I can depend upon, & who I employ’d in order to ascertain the truth of some whispers wh. had come round to my ears, & yt. was yt. in the small ale houses in & about London, there were a number of French Jacobines who were industriously & strenuously endeavouring to propagate their infernal doctrines by treating the lower classes of people, & by inveighing openly, before everyone yt. enter’d upon the French Revolution & upon the blessings yt. must come to this country was she alike drench’d & delug’d with blood as France is, yt. the number of these scoundrels was daily increasing from many coming over under the pretence of being emigrants, but who really were neither more nor less than emissaries employed for the purpose of endeavouring to involve this happy country in a similar ruin with their own.

Besides what I have just mentioned in these last pages, I am now coming, my dearest mother, to what I consider as the greatest liberty of all, wh. is the inclosing to you a new publication wh. has only appear’d a very few days, wh. I look upon as the most infamous & shocking libellous production yt. ever disgrac’d the pen of man*. I wd. not for the world yt. it shd. be known I had forwarded such a thing to you, except for the reasons I have mention’d in some of the preceeding pages, & wh. I am afraid when you have perus’d it will but too much substantiate the intention, if not the facts of the propagating those damnable, for I can give ym. no other name, than those damnable doctrines of the hell-begotten Jacobines. Beleive me, my ever dearest mother, if this is not taken up in a very serious manner by Government & prosecuted as a libel upon the King, yourself, & the constitution, there will be no end to these atrocious publications, as they are not only intended to be sold but are studiously distributed amongst the common people, as the motives to instigate everyone to adopt the principles of the French Revolution, & those very emissaries who I have already mention’d before as attending all the pot houses they can gain entrance into, distribute these very pamphlets in order to enforce the language they hold. Two publications under a similar name have already [appeared] in the course of the last six months & have been laid before the publick, but then, tho’ they were the most infamous, in as far as they tore to pieces every private character, by traducing them by every falsehood & lie they cd. invent, my own among the rest, still they never ventur’d so palpably & impudently to strike at the King & country as the present pamphlet does, in open defiance of all law or decency, & boldly assert those Republican principles wh. it requires the steadiest & most united efforts of every well-wisher to his King & country to counteract by exerting every nerve to punish & at the same [time] repell such infamous attacks, in open violation of every principle & even tie either human or divine. Once more, my dearest mother, do let me entreat of you not to consider these lines I trouble you [with] as frivolous or of no consequence. Beleive me (& on my knees I implore of you to revolve it most seriously in yr. mind), beleive me it is most necessary yt. this shd. be taken up in the most serious manner, & unless it is, God only knows where they will stop or what will be the consequence. I hardly dare look forward to what it may be. When you have thoroughly perus’d it, (& I must entreat yr. particular attention to passages wh. I have mark’d with a pencil) you will then make full use of it as you in yr. judgment shall judge best, either by communicating it, if you shd. think it proper, to the King, or by some means or other to the Ministers, as the more expeditiously & warmly it is taken up the more effect it will have, but if you had rather delay taking any steps respecting it till you have seen me, I shall most eagerly concert with you any measure yt. you think will be most likely entirely to quash such horrid publications so entirely void of truth, & calculated merely to mislead the minds of the uninform’d, & to propagate the same ruinous principles wh. has overthrown France, if not for ever, at least for many centuries.

Forgive my having so long tresspass’d upon yr. patience, but my heart is so full yt. I cd. not reduce all I had to say into a smaller compass. I am fearfull yt. you will hardly be able to make out all this scrawl as I have written it in the utmost hast, fearing I shd. miss the conveyance by wh. this is to be carried to London before it is dispatch’d by the mail coach to Weymouth. You must long ago have been tired of seeing my handwriting. I therefore will conclude, my dearest mother, with entreating you to beleive me now, as at all times, [etc.].

P.S. Pray send me word what day for certain you mean to be at Windsor, & remember [me] with all affection to the dear girls.

*The Jockey club, or, a Sketch of the Manners of the Age written by radical journalist Charles Pigott. It vehemently denounced the vices of the Prince and his two eldest brothers (among others), and expressed the hope that ‘the wretched farce of royalty that the puppets are now acting’ would not delude the people much longer.

#george iv #queen charlotte #royalty #letter #george iii

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bride-and-bride · 6 years

Text

Fairy Tales make Boring Subjects

Over the course of several days, a few somewhat ragged but neatly written letters arrive here and there around Eorzea. The mail moogles can’t say from where, or who, but anyone who knows Bride would have a hard time mistaking her impeccable handwriting and precision margins for anyone else.

Of course, that’s all that arrives. Letters are really the only thing of hers that’s free to leave, at the moment.

[ @renofmanyalts, @garlean-confessions + @kadin-harrow, @enambris ]

Dear Zedyr,

I hope this letter finds you well, and doesn't take too long to reach you! I'm in a bit of an unusual situation right now, so it's possible the moogles could slack off... if this arrives well into the middle of the moon, please give them a talking to? Also, because of where I am, it may be a bit hard to send a letter in return... but I'm sure you'll be thinking of me, right?

Things are complicated where I am... in a way, you could say I've been pushed into taking a very impromptu hiatus? I'm sure some people would prefer if I used this as a vacation, but I'd get rather antsy if I wasn't doing anything at all, so I've been churning away at paperwork.

It is rather cold here, sadly! I keep wishing I was back home, so when I do, perhaps we should visit the beach? I feel as if I could lie in the sun for hours, until it all soaks into my bones...

[For some reason a small paragraph here has been meticulously scribbled over, leaving no particular hint as to what was written underneath]

We'll see each other again soon, right? Very soon, so please don't forget me in the meanwhile!

Love, Defiant ♡

===

To Whom it May Concern, within the Collegia Arcanum:

I do hope it's not overtly too much trouble, but circumstances have conspired to leave me unable to easily return to Limsa Lominsa for the moment. I hope you can all forgive me, since I realize it may be difficult without me there, but I'm sending this letter to be try and organize some of my work while I'm away!

-Headmistress Janelle-

Please continue to leave work in my mailbox for now and I'll be sure to catch up on all of it as soon as possible... I brought my work case with me, so whatever I have right now, I'll be sure to send along in short order. In the meanwhile, I may be unable to speak with the messenger we're expecting from the Ashen Enclave, so please send my regards and apologies!

-Mister Swarhaemr-

I was going to ask in person about the current progress on our project, but it seems it will have to wait... I was hoping very much that you might be willing to let me test if you've made any prototypes? I feel it may prove useful to have a better sword and shield soon.

-Miss Bridgit-

This part began and then was immediately crossed out for obvious reasons

-Someone please pass this to Mister Noise-

Miss Ki'lari was interested in more information on the magic which we were tracking before, correct? Could you please pass along to her the name of "Fujiwara no Wakana"? Don't let anyone tell her anything about the woman's reputations, this is truly the best I can do. I have no idea where she is, but please try and phrase this part better... I promise it's not my fault she's a pain.

-Everyone Else-

If you have not received payment for services rendered by the time this letter reaches you, please write up a formal request and bring it to my Secretary... he should be watching my shop in the Goblet. Be sure it's signed--if you weren't assisting, and attempt to walk away with the gil bonus, I'll be quite disappointed.

It's important to say, if anyone asks, I'm quite safe and trying to relax. Impromptu vacations are odd things!

Best Regards, Defiant Bride (secretary)

===

Mister Avos (And Mister Kadin)

Would you both be interested in house-sitting for a little while for me and Steiner? I fear we may be away for a little bit, and I don't entirely know when we'll return, but I'm worried about my garden and the pets. Can you just check in on them?

You can eat SOME of the berries that are ripe, and use the hot spring in the yard if you like... and eat any leftovers in the fridge, including desserts!

I'll be sure to pay you both back most thoroughly, so thank you in advance!

- Defiant

===

Miss Enambris

Nothing has changed from my last message, but Ric is watching over me. I apologize for my prolonged absense, and I hope that you can continue to trust me with this matter.

If anyone asks, I said hello, and I'll see them all soon.

- D.Bride

#current storyline shenanigans #not much to do in towers as it turns out

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visualkeybusby · 6 years

Text

Handwriting Tag!

I’m subjecting you all to my horrible handwriting, I apologize in advance!

Thank you for tagging me in this @sammill7 I’m sorry it took me way too long to respond to this! 😊

I’m tagging a few of my favorite tumblrs who have been fantastic people on my personal, as well as on @ohgeezokay feel free to join in if you want to!

@edgarastray @chanyounot013 @junhee @walnutastic

#handwriting tag

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fly-pow-bye · 6 years

Text

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “A Slight Hiccup”

Written by: Haley Mancini

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, Caitlin Vanarsdale

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

This is far more than a hiccup, trust me.

An apology in advance: there is not a lot to say about this episode, so do not expect as much text as the last one. This episode is a very "high concept" episode, the kind of episode idea that would appear as a short gag in The City of Clipsville. The big difference is that this short gag is going to be 12 minutes long.

Blossom: Stop right there, evil-doer!

Ah, finally, an episode that starts with a crime being fought, just like the old days!

No, she’s just practicing her next battle lines, just in case they ever have to use them. Other rejected lines include "villains stink", "we’ll save you", and "we're heroes"! Honestly, I would just stick with "not so fast."

The girl currently talking to herself about battle lines is interrupted by Buttercup trying to teach Bubbles how to do the perfect burp. Yes, it is that kind of episode.

Surrounded by tens of soda cans littered across the house, which Blossom is apparently not bothered by, Blossom asks what Bubbles and Buttercup are doing. To subvert our expectations, Blossom tells Bubbles that she should not listen to Buttercup because she should listen to her on the subject of burping. She's the leader, so she must be the best at everything, including belching!

We get a very long sequence of the Powerpuff Girls drinking several cans of soda, filling their cheeks to the brim, and throwing them on the floor. Such great role models, drinking very unhealthy drinks and littering! Hiccup punch, girl down, womp womp.

Bubbles celebrates her first good burp, apparently because she's the blonde, but Blossom knows that this is just a mere hiccup. A mere hiccup that causes them to launch across the room a split second after the hiccup. I think the timing is a little off, guys.

The Professor makes a short visit to this episode to explain what is happening to them: since they're superheroes, their hiccups are super, too. He recommends that they drink a glass of water, but it doesn't stop the hiccups. Worse, Bubbles says that now she needs to pee. They never follow through with that, and I am glad that is the case.

They get a call from the mayor that the jar district is being attacked. The Powerpuff Girls spend quite a bit of time getting shocked by this. No, not by the very existence of the jar district, or the fact that the Mayor actually called them in this reboot, but how anyone could attack the lifeblood of the town!

We cut to the Jar District...and it seems to be fine to me. The Mayor did manage to see a blimp in the shape of some green troll-faced character.

Tour Guide: And to our right is the infamous Jar District...

Random person: The lifeblood of the town!

If it is the lifeblood of the town, how is it infamous? Words have meaning. Speaking of infamy, we finally get to see some trouble.

The real threat shows up minutes later, as this episode about super-hiccups has to have the silliest of super-villains. The Gnat is here, and I deeply regret ever saying this guy is my favorite of the reboot villains. For starters, Bianca Bikini is a lot better. His gimmick seems to be committing crimes when the Powerpuff Girls have issues. Well, that and being there when the Powerpuff Girls can get beaten up so Bliss can save the day.

He pretends to be this big threat to this Jar District, and then takes a significant amount of time coughing and being incomprehensible to the other people he's threatening. I am sure this was meant to be hilarious, and not just a desperate plea to the audience that they could not squeeze enough water out of the burp and hiccup plot stone.

The Powerpuff Girls show up desperately try to stop this hot air balloon, only to be thwarted by their super-hiccups. Even worse, their super-hiccups end up interferring with what are essentially cutaway jokes. Since they already used up all of the hiccup jokes they can muster, they decide to fit in all the jar jokes they can think of.

Like...one of the super-hiccups interrupting the Jar Czar. Because Jar sounds like Czar. Bubbles, on the other hand, manages to hiccup her away into another building.

They spend a lot of time on the aftermath of that, as if this was the most tragic moment of them all. They even made a song that is in no way a reference to What A Wonderful World. How is this worth that? Is it because it’s the all important jar district? At least it's actually animated; they could just randomly put a bunch of random stock footage, I say not knowing anything about what happens later in the episode.

One part that is caused by Bubbles' accidental act of tragic destruction is that a giant jar lid almost lands on the sobbing Mayor. The Powerpuff Girls do show off another superpower other than flight in that they catch this lid, only for the Mayor to keep crying. I know, he loves his pickles, which happen to come in jars.

They do a hiccup, causing them to spin around. It turns out, while they're holding this giant jar lid, the force of their hiccups manages to make them spin at super fast speeds. What do you know, something that heavily detrimented them is now to their advantage; this episode is just going through the cycles. All we need is for them to suddenly lose those hiccups as soon as it becomes inconvienent.

In the end, this causes a giant tornado. This was something they were able to do without super hiccups earlier in even the reboot, but that regular non-hiccup tornado didn’t even stop a giant spider monster, never mind this blimp. They really needed these super-hiccups to make a tornado that easily beats this reboot’s version of the Amoeba Boys.

Of course, now there’s a giant tornado running across Townsville. The girls’ actions lead to consequences, who would have guessed? It’s also heading towards this all-important and yet infamous Jar District.

They try to stop it by hiccuping against it, only for their hiccups to go away as soon as they need them. I told ya! It’s practically a cartoon law: whenever the bad thing that happened becomes essential to their victory, they suddenly have to lose it. What are the Reboot Puffs to do? Drink more soda, of course! Cue the obvious "trying to get soda out of the vending machine" joke!

While they get the soda, they don't seem to get the hiccups. However, Bubbles is making a weird face, and not the kind used for the usual wacky face gags. To bookend this whole thing, Bubbles finally gets to do the burp she was trying to do since the opening. A burp so big, it couldn't be animated. Oh no...

...they have to use stock footage. Unlike some of the other uses of stock footage, I could see where they are going here. This burp is so monstrous, it affects real life, destroys real buildings, and even dogs from Tex Avery cartoons! May not want to reference better cartoons in your bad one, guys.

The episode ends with the irony: the episode ends with a pan shot of the rest of the city being destroyed by the stock footage-y stock footage burp of stock footage, but at least most of the Jar District is okay! This may be one of the few highlights of this episode; I could see an episode of the original ending like this.

Does the title fit?

It is about hiccups...not very slight ones, though.

How does it stack up?

This episode was chosen to be the preview episode, and I can only wonder why. It's a very silly idea, and they couldn't get of a lot of material out of it. There are episodes that have bad ideas that end up being okay in the end, and this is not one of them.

Next, Discount Jojo interrogates some toys! It's better than it sounds, but maybe it's because of this episode.

← The Buttercup Job ☆ Toy Ploy →

#fpb ppg 2016 #fpb reviews #ppg 2016 #powerpuff girls #cartoon network

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forloveoflibertea · 6 years

Text

To Be Remembered | o n e

[ originally published on Wattpad : May 23rd, 2017 . unedited . word count: 2,196 . updated January 23rd, 2018 . ]

o n e

« w h y d o y o u w a n t t o k n o w w h o i a m ? »

'"Who am I?"

'"Only you can know who you are, child; no one else can command you to become someone you are not. You are, at your innermost core, who you truly are—only you can know, only you can choose to bare your truest self to the world."

'"And if I do bare my true self? What then?"

'"The world is beautiful, but cruel. It does not know us, in the same way that we do not know its truest extent. To bare one's true self—to bare one's heart—makes us vulnerable. If you bare your true self to the world, there is no telling to the extent of the pain you will go through. I tell you, my child, only bare your truest self to the one that you love, the one who can accept who you truly are."'

He blinked tiredly at the screen, the light reflecting off of his reading glasses. With a huff, Arthur shut off his laptop directly after saving and closing the file. He pinched the bridge of his nose, blindly pulling off the glasses and placing it atop his nightstand.

Green eyes gazed at the ceiling, glazed over in thought as they idly followed the white pinpricks which were supposed to resemble the stars in the night sky. He'd long finished his homework, the papers neatly tucked into his binders, which were, in turn, carefully stashed into his messenger bag. That wasn't the problem, nor was his elder brother's distinct absence from his own house.

Arthur had met Antoinette, Camden's wife and his sister-in-law, as he'd tried to silently stalk up the stairs as soon as he'd come back to the house that afternoon. Or it was more that Antoinette, the French bitch she could be, successfully ambushed him after fifty tries ever since he'd traveled across the pond to live with his brother and his wife, and had persuaded him to join them for a disastrous dinner. (A cynical Briton forced to sit before an eccentric French woman do not a successful heart-to-heart over dinner make.)

The problem was that, as much as Arthur tried, he couldn't seem to get rid of that look in the American boy's eyes during that History class. There was incredulousness there—that was already a given—but what bothered the Briton was the smallest glint of sadness he'd managed to get a glimpse of in that tiny moment that their eyes met.

He didn't understand why that bothered him—after all, he didn't know the boy personally, aside from the occasional rumours he overheard.

"Alfred F. Jones," he muttered under his breath, the name rolling off of his tongue. The American was rather popular in the campus populace—both with the females and males, what with the widespread 'fact' that the boy was bisexual. (Although, with hearsay from the popularity-crazed teenagers who went to World Academy, Arthur could only take what they said with a grain of salt.)

A stereotypical all-American cliché—high school American football quarterback, energetic, and an everyone-loves-me kind of bloke, from the Briton's occasional (unintentional) eavesdropping on the rumour mill. But there were odd occurrences: the first was that the boy—now a Junior, like Arthur—had quit the football team the school year before, when he was a Sophomore, after building up a reputation of being the 'Golden Boy' of the academy. (Or, as Arthur could gather from what he heard through the grapevine, as the 'Crown Prince' of the social hierarchy.)

It only proved to become even stranger by the fact that no one really knew what the true reason was behind the sudden—and completely unexpected—event. The second odd occurrence was that Alfred F. Jones seemed to join the so-called 'Suicide Squadron' shortly after what was widely known in the campus as 'The Tragedy' and 'The Apocalypse'.

The third was that no matter how much Arthur tried to dig deeper into the true essence of those two events, he couldn't get a single clue from every student he came across. Each one had their lips zipped tight, and immediately left after he posed the question.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

What a troublesome web of mysteries.

—

In World Academy, there were three unspoken rules which every student—both in the Social Hierarchy and out of it—already knew by heart, and the corresponding punishments labeled to each.

The first rule: Each student must be subject to one caste only.

There were two primary castes: the Royals and the Commoners. The Royals consisted of the highest-ranking in the Hierarchy, and were made up of the most popular and the richest students. The Commoners were neutral students, or those who were average in everything a high school student considered to be important: looks, luxury, and intelligence. The Commoners were the middle class in the Hierarchy.

The second rule: No student should ever associate with one who is not from their own caste without permission from the King.

To be allowed communication with a Royal for a Commoner was treated to be a special privilege. There was a strict criteria that the current King of the Hierarchy, Ivan Braginski, followed, and thus there were limited allowances for a student to mingle with someone who wasn't from their own caste.

And the third: Associating with the Suicide Squadron or anyone rumoured to be in cohorts with the Bad Touch Trio will immediately be punished.

These were the three unspoken rules of World Academy—and Arthur Kirkland, being a newcomer to the lions' den, unwittingly branded himself a 'Rogue' as he broke the rules.

—

"Say, Arthur, why do you always want to remain anonymous?"

The addressed Briton turned around, catching the stare of the green-eyed brunette. He offered a polite half-smile as the girl tapped at the printed sheets of the articles he had left upon her desk for her perusal.

"It's better this way." He said, and the girl—Elizaveta Héderváry, the Editor-in-Chief of the campus paper—frowned heavily. She stood from her seat, sweeping up the papers to wave them in front of the mildly startled Briton as she approached him.

"Don't you know how many of the students love the works you've been submitting to the paper ever since you came in that first week?" She demanded, advancing towards the uneasy Briton, who backtracked a step with each inch she moved forward.

He remembered the first time he'd gone to the school paper office with remarkable clarity. (And an underlying embarrassment.)

It had been the Friday afternoon of his first week at World Academy, just after his final class for the day. He'd planned to spend it the way he had the entire week after school: hiding out on the rooftop of the main building, writing and discarding what he wrote until the sun lingered just above the horizon in the few moments before it finally sunk and gave way to the night.

Arthur never liked to go back to his brother's house; the layout of the entire edifice reminded him too much of their home back in England. Camden had even tried to recreate the look of Arthur's own bedroom back at the old house, perhaps to alleviate the 'homesickness' the teenager didn't have. But there were too many memories lingering in every nook and cranny which resembled the old house, too many voices crowding his mind and begging his attention.

Too many regrets he could never erase.

So he spent as much time at the campus until he was forced to go back to the house. And that afternoon, as he was heading out of the main building, he met Elizaveta, who had been locking up the school paper clubroom. Or it would be more accurate to say that he literally bumped into her, and the impact sent his papers flying every which way.

He had apologized, of course, and had almost regretted doing so when she grabbed him by the shoulders and screeched, "I found you!" (Later, Arthur would realize that she had found out from whom the anonymous poem he'd left at the school paper office's submissions box earlier that week came from due to the similar handwriting both pieces—the one he'd left and the one she was clutching that day—had.)

"Your poems alone garnered so much praise, Arthur," her voice quieted, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. When Elizaveta got going, it was extremely difficult to stop her. "Why don't you want anyone to know who's the writer behind these beautiful pieces?"

The brunette held up one of the articles, and Arthur glanced at his own looping script.

"I wait on these shores for one who'll never come back;

I wait beyond seas, beyond oceans of tears I lack."

"'And I turn away from hope, from hope that's gone,'" Elizaveta whispered, as the Briton looked away, "'And I turn to these lands, where forever I wait alone.'"

"It's better this way," Arthur repeated firmly. "Who would want to know someone like me, lass?"

Who would want to know someone who's given up on himself long ago?

The Hungarian girl smiled, and she turned around, walking towards her desk, upon which she perched herself with a knowing grin. "Oh, you never know, Arthur."

She jutted her chin in his direction, to which he elegantly raised a brow in questioning. Elizaveta merely grinned even wider, raising a hand and waving towards someone in the boy's general direction.

"Hello, Alfred!"

Arthur immediately turned around, and guarded green eyes met with amused blue. He forced himself to maintain his usual façade, crossing his arms across his torso as he regarded his fellow Junior.

The American strode into the room, nodding his head in recognition to the only girl in room with a bright grin. "Hey, Liz. Mattie's been looking for ya'; apparently, he needs your help with keeping a tight leash on the BTT again."

The Hungarian sighed, shaking her head as she hopped off of her desk, smoothing out her black Fall Out Boy tee, which was paired with a checkered skirt and ankle-high boots. (Arthur internally approved.) "Let me guess: Gil's at it again with some of the Royals, isn't he?"

Alfred nodded, stopping just a yard or so away from the Briton with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket. "Pretty much." He agreed, tilting his head in the direction of the door. "Also Franny's been flirting with the King's sisters again, while Toni... Well, I haven't seen him anywhere today."

"When will that French idiot learn that Natalya can turn his skinny ass into a freaking shish-kebab?" Elizaveta grumbled as she slung her bag over her shoulder, stomping her way to the door. (The Briton carefully kept his distance.) She turned to look at the two, tipping her head in the direction of the door. "Better get out while I'm still here; the lock on this door's been busted for a while now, which means that if somebody closes it with too much force, anybody who's still inside might get stranded for hours, and you do not want that to happen to you. Just ask Kiku—that happened once."

Arthur immediately sped out through the doorway, waiting for the Hungarian to follow suit as Alfred did the same. He kept his head turned away as Elizaveta passed by with a wave, which he returned, rather reluctantly.

He made to walk away, perhaps go up to the rooftop if he still had time, when the American reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, abruptly whirling around on his heel to face the boy.

"What was that—"

"'Who would want to know someone like you', huh?" Alfred said, and Arthur narrowed his eyes, shoulders hunching defensively. The damn American had the nerve to listen in on a private conversation.

"What's it to you?" He uttered calmly, his tone of voice betraying the underlying current of tension which threaded through his taut muscles. It had been one of his few moments of weakness, a question of bitterness he'd unknowingly let slip in front of the only person he considered an acquaintance in this school, and now this enigma—this Alfred F. Jones had overheard him.

He couldn't have been more careless.

Alfred was a mystery—a mystery he was in the process of unraveling, and perhaps in doing so, he might unravel the mystery about himself that he tried so hard to protect.

He couldn't let anyone know who he really was.

"Well.. I guess you could say that I want to know you." He smiled, and still Arthur remained tense, unable to relax.

"Why?" He finally managed after a brief moment of silence which stretched between them. "Why do you want to know who I am?"

Alfred only smiled wider.

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out, Artie."

It was when the American had started to walk away that Arthur let loose an outraged shout at the bloody insufferable nickname.

—

Notes:

Camden Kirkland — OC! Scotland

Antoinette Kirkland (neé Michel) — Nyo! France

#usuk #ukus #aph america #aph england #aph scotland #nyo! france #aph hungary #axis powers hetalia #modern au #high school au #implied/referenced self harm #implied/referenced suicide #part two

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vulpes-canis · 6 years

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Artistically Speaking

So as this New Year approaches I find myself once again fighting off some internalized fears and doubts and shame once more. And, I realize that it is not my usual forte to talk about deeply personal subjects here on my blog. And I’m sure the majority of you who come here, do not come here to hear me talk I know you come here for the inconsistent stream of my plushies crafts and primarily Pokemon related artwork with the occasional OCs mixed in, But this is related to my artwork so I feel it belong here. Anyway, apologies in advance for this one folks, but I think that maybe just maybe there are others who go through some of the same struggles that I do and maybe my words are relatable?

So I have been an artist for as long as I can remember, literally as a child I would get reams of printer paper as Christmas presents and be positively thrilled to pieces to have them (lol). I was never a naturally talented child (Tbh I was the child who struggled with every subject and had appalling handwriting). My horses had ten legs and my people looked like potatoes. But all kids’ kind of suck at art ya know? So I never really thought much of it, because I liked what I did. I knew it was bad and that there were people out there much better than me at drawing and painting and sculpting, I mean I wasn’t a stupid kid I went to art museums I saw how lines and pigment could be used to express amazing and fantastical things, and I wanted to someday be able to do that to. I’m a child of the 90’s and growing up people constantly told me if you work hard enough if you try hard enough you can be whatever you want to be. And I wanted to be an artist I still want to be an artist even now, and I did everything in my power to learn the skills to become one. When middle school came around and I was finally able to choose my own electives, I took every single art class that was offered. I learned the basics of ceramics, sculpture, and drawing, and painting. I listened to my art teachers critique and advice and tried everything they told me because I was desperate for more knowledge and skill. And finally, finally, my dedication began to show. Especially by the time, high school came around, but by then I came upon a new obstacle in my artistic journey…

The brutality of comparing myself to others. I had dealt with this a bit in middle school, but it was extremely apparent the difference in skill level between myself and other students or even worse online artists. I found myself becoming very jealous of people and there inherit talents or skill. And I began to hate almost everything I produced. Sure sometimes I would like a drawing or a painting for a week or so… But inevitably I would begin to pick it apart bit by bit and start to hate it. I still drew daily and tried to improve. I still listened to my teachers and gave every mundane assignment my full effort, but I felt like I had stagnated. Like I was just untalented and that all of my hard work and extra effort could only take me so far. Even so, I pressed on and in college, I found a lot more freedom in my assignments, I still had some pretty dull ones but I pressed on and always took critique as best I could, and used what was said to channel it back into my artwork. But the whole comparing myself to others got even worse. Suddenly I was surrounded by people who were my peers that were simply vastly more skilled then I was. I really began to doubt myself and hate my decisions, I was suddenly beginning to really talk down to myself. I was constantly telling myself “you’re lazy” “You cut corners” “You still haven’t finished?” “You don’t take this seriously enough” “You will never be at that level” “You could never do that” “You’re not good enough” “Why are you even here?” But I am nothing if not stubborn and I would swallow down those feelings as best as I could and press on anyway. I think that my worst day came at the end of my ART3 class (Figure Drawing for those who don’t know). A little-known fact about me is that for the longest time I absolutely despised figure drawing. I have always preferred drawing animals and honestly never would have even considered taking figure drawing, except it was a prerequisite for an Illustration class that I was absolutely dying to take. Now the thing about this figure drawing class is that many of the students in it had taken it multiple times and were clearly on an entirely different plane than me. Long story short final critique rolls around and the class’s professor who has said maybe 2 words to me all semester asks me “Why are you even in this class?” That same doubting question that had been plaguing my heart since I started. It took a lot out of me to not break down and cry in front of him and the entire class. Tbh I think he forgot that it was my first time in the class as he was a whole lot easier on the other kid who was a first-time figure drawer.

That was a really dark time for me and honestly I still really struggle a lot with the doubt and anger and feelings of being a failure. I did have happier times in college and despite how awful that figure drawing class made me feel I did learn a lot from it. And even the professor (who turns out was teaching the illustration class I wanted to be in) got back into my good graces, and I forgave him though honestly, I doubt he ever even realized how much his question and critique hurt me. I ended up loving the hell out of that illustration class and created some of my favorite art pieces in my college career, through that class I even managed to snag an internship (via my children’s book illustration project of all things).

I’m not really sure what the point of all this personal rambling is, to be honest. I mean I still fight self-doubt and feelings of inferiority from time to time. Of recent, it’s more frustration at my own lack of drive and enthusiasm/inability to consistently create content and new artwork. Hell, even the plushies I make end up taking me 1 to 2 weeks or more to finish sometimes simply because I cannot make myself work on them. I still get frustrated when I see people who are simply more naturally talented than me, or perhaps who have devoted more of their time to their artwork than I have. It’s especially rough seeing all of these amazingly talented 15-16-year-olds that pop up with skills that have taken me 24 years to get somewhat okay at. But more and more I have been trying to tell myself that it’s okay. That everyone feels this way. And you know honestly, it’s true, especially for artists! We are constantly dragging our own work through the mud and comparing ourselves to others, wishing we had a style like that or a talent like that or whatever. Of recent, I have made it my mission to love my own style and to be forgiving toward myself. Yes there are those who spend more time on their artwork than me, yes there are those who are faster at producing artwork than me, yes there are those who have a style I like more than my own. But that’s okay. It’s okay that I’m slow, It’s okay that I can’t make highly realistic drawings, it’s okay that I struggle with backgrounds and am still learning, it’s okay that there are artists that are more popular than I am. It’s okay as long as I keep trying and keep making things that have meaning to me.

Earlier this year I self-published a children’s book. A simple ABC book of animals. It took me a little over 2 months to complete start to finish and has only sold maybe 20 copies? (Primarily to family and friends). But each time I look at it I am filled with pride and accomplishment. Because that book is wholly mine and I’m proud of it…

So I guess what the TLDR of all this is to any beginning artists who might be reading this or even veteran artists who have been at this for years, it’s okay, your art is okay and you are okay. And you deserve to feel pride in yourself for what you’ve accomplished. Your artistic journey is your own, and even if you hate everything you are producing, keep producing, and keep trying. However you make your art and however long it takes you, you are okay. And I wish you all the best in this coming year.

-Vulpes

#foxtalks #art #long post

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yourstudyoryourlife · 7 years

Photo

Hi! I’m Iona, and tbh I have been debating making a studyblr for like… 2 years now. But I finally decided to give it a go, so here I am. I am currently in Year 13/S6/Upper 6th/Senior(?) in secondary school, and am applying to uni this year to study sociology and politics. I have lots of interests, so this blog may be a little messy… but here are some things about me! (under the cut)

17, birthday Nov 5th

Hufflepuff, INFJ, Type 4

Currently taking Geography, History and English Lit for A Levels

Already taken AS Music (the struggle)

I play Tenor Horn (it’s basically a mini mini tuba? like a tuba but... no smaller.. smaller than that.... small- oh yeah about that size thats it)

I play the mini mini tuba in school band and then a couple other bands outside school too

I also do model united nations, because I do like to argue (only a little)

4 dogs and 6 cats share my breathing space, so they may feature a lot on this blog (pls ask me about them)

I moved around Europe quite a bit as a kid, so I have always loved to travel, and I am planning on taking an Interrail trip next summer!

I love all types of music, and won’t hesitate to belt out 3 harmony lines at once: everything from BTS and EXO, to Paramore, to Mura Masa to Hamilton and Into the Woods

Favourites: Book - I’ll Give you the Sun by Jandy Nelson Film - High Society Food - fruit pastilles ice lollies (does that count as a food) (probably not)

Other things to note: I love tea, as every British person should. My handwriting is pretty shocking, so apologies in advance. Also I love writing - songs, poems, little short stories I will never finish.

I am following from my main: lacylittleday, and please strike up a conversation with me, I love to meet and get to know new people! Please like or reblog this post if you are new too, or if you are taking any of the same subjects as me (or especially if you’re taking sociology or politics at uni!). I’m really excited to become a part of this community!

Some studyblrs I really like are: @elkstudies @emmastudies @studypetals @studyneurons @nataliestudys @takostudies @mygnotes

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 7 years

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Legacy - Chapter 27

The room lapsed into silence when Mexico stopped talking. America whistled “Wow, I thought that whole thing between France and Spain was just a well-timed coincidence.” Mexico responded “There’s no such thing. Everything has a cause. I caused Spain’s downfall more directly than most people realize.” America shifted his position uncomfortably again “I’m beginning to think that I don’t want to know what you did to get France to do your dirty work. He charges a price for his alliances; I know that better than anyone.” A couple more seconds of silence passed, and then Mexico turned around to look at America as he spoke “I never asked you what you did for your alliance with France, but I know. You can’t condemn me for what I did for France’s action, when you gave him your virginity in exchange for his help.”

All the blood seemed to drain from America’s tan cheeks “How do you know that? I never told anyone about my deal with France, not even England.” Mexico couldn’t help feel sorry for his lover. America was still so naïve in some ways. He responded “Al, I hate to tell you this. But, no matter how secretive you were about this matter, France boasted about it as much as he could. I suspect he told England as soon as he could because he wanted to add insult to injury.” America looked down, obviously ashamed “My God, I can’t imagine what Arthur must have thought of me when he heard.” The other answered “He thought you were whoring yourself out for your own advancement. In other words, for a very short time, you and I had the same reputation.”

America looked back up at Mexico and his blue eyes looked genuinely hurt “You understand why I did it though, right? I was desperate. I needed help; I couldn’t win a war on my own.” Mexico wordlessly nodded “You were vulnerable, and France took advantage of you. You were the victim Alfred, and I’m not going to hold that against you. I expect you to do me the same courtesy when I tell you about my own dealings with France.” The American nodded in agreement and changed the subject “I owe you a story about why I chose to write to you. The short answer is that I was desperate, losing the war, and horribly worried that I was going to be put to death for treason and I everyone I cared about would hate me.” __________________________________________________

The winter was bitterly cold at Valley Forge, so cold that America was beginning to wonder if he still had toes. He could no longer feel his toes, even though he was wearing all the socks he owned. The icy wind seemed to cut right through any clothing, no matter how thick they were. America could have stayed inside, but he felt it was better to walk around the camp and check on the men. They were restless, as was to be expected, but at least they were in good spirits. That was more than Alfred could say about himself. He was in a dismally bad mood. He was losing the war and he knew it, the last few battles had been humiliating. No doubt, Arthur was sitting somewhere warm and opulent with a cup of tea talking about how he would soon win the war and dole out the proper punishment. It was absolutely infuriating to think about. If America lost, then Arthur would just be validated in his god damn superior attitude. What worried Alfred the most was what the punishment would be if he lost. Treason was punishable by death, but for countries this sort of rebellion was pretty much unprecedented. He had no idea how he would be punished if he lost, but execution was not out of the realm of possibility.

The thought of it tormented Alfred to the point that he had been thinking about it any time he got free time. The cold was a good distraction; the men were a good uplifting distraction. For this reason, he continued to walk around and observe the men. At one point, he stopped at a fire surrounded by a group of young men. There was an open spot next to on boy, who looked to be about 18 years old, who was scribbling on a piece of paper. America sat down next to the boy and looked over at him, interested in what he was writing so intensely.

America asked, being careful to not be intrusive, “What are you writing?” The boy looked up and smiled pleasantly, although it was quite obvious that his teeth were chattering, and replied “I’m writing to my fiancé. I want her to know I’m alright. The last scrimmage, I saw my best friend take a bullet from one of those damn redcoats. He bled out right there on the ground. It got me thinking that I can’t forget to treasure the people I still have.” The boy had a slight accent that made it quite clear that he was from Virginia.

The accent reminded America of his sister, who was staying in the South and organizing support movements among the civilians. But, her being so far away made America feel even more alone. He felt like he was standing against England almost all by himself. The words also weren’t uplifting; they reminded America that he had screwed up his own relationships with the people he loved. What he had before the rebellion with England wasn’t love, or at least it didn’t feel like it. The whole relationship had been all awkward moments and England’s dominance. But it had been clear that England at least cared.

America didn’t have anything that qualified as romance. Physically, he was 18 and all the other young men his age were either engaged or already married. Alfred couldn’t help but feel like a failure when it came to romance. The only person he truly felt something for was Mexico and the way they had parted last time was hardly hopeful. Thinking back on it was still painful. America knew he had said the stupidest thing possible. He had basically called Mexico a whore and never gotten a chance to apologize.

He was able to suppress the whole flood of emotions enough to respond “You’re lucky you have someone at home who is waiting for you.” The boy responded with slight confusion “Don’t you? You’re not plain. I’m sure you have a girl back home.” America smiled sadly, not entirely sure what the right response was. He decided on something similar to the truth “I have someone I love, but we argued the last time we saw each other. It ended badly and I doubt there is any way to fix it.” The Virginian boy said, somewhat forcefully considering his voice was shaking slightly because he was shivering, “You need to write her. No one can stay mad forever. It might not work, but you need to give yourself a chance make a mends.” America nodded.

In theory, that was good advice, but the problem was getting a letter to Mexico. The Aztec boy was most likely either at his own home or in Spain. Either way, he would be under Spain’s watchful eye. Spain had made it quite clear that he did not want America making any contact with Mexico. If America was going to get a letter of apology to Alejandro, he was going to need a secret way to do it. He turned back to the boy and said “I will try. Thank you for the advice.”

He stood up and walked away from the fire. As soon as he got outside the immediate range of the fire, the cold descended into his bones again. America jammed his heavily gloved hands back into his pockets in an attempt to keep the feeling in his fingers. Inside his head, he started thinking out the words of the letter he was going to write. It didn’t matter if Mexico actually ever read the letter, America just needed to get the emotions out. In truth, Mexico was one of the topics that hardly left America’s troubled mind. He wanted to tell Mexico how much he felt for him, but considering how well that had gone last time, he was hesitant to do so. But, now everything seemed to come into perspective. If he lost the war, he might die, and he wasn’t willing to die without telling Mexico about his feelings. On the slight chance that he did win, he could deal with Mexico’s coldness then.

He quickly walked back to the officer’s quarters, where he kept his sparse personal belongings and his clothing. Once inside, a wave of warmth hit him. He quickly closed the wooden door behind him in an attempt keep the warm air inside. The gap under the door allowed cold wind to whip under the door and chill America’s toes and feet. He hurriedly walked to his own small room and closed another door in an attempt to insulate against the cold. He had a fireplace in his room, which heated the space about as well as it possibly could considering the frigidness of the winter.

He walked over to a small desk in the corner. He quickly lit a small candle to provide extra light. He took out parchment, a quill and ink and laid them out in preparation to write. He dipped the quill in the ink and then froze with the tip of the quill above the parchment. He didn’t know how to start. Experimentally he wrote “Dear Alejandro,” This wasn’t right, the “dear” seem presumptuous of him. He crossed it all out and started again with just “Alejandro, I know you have no reason to talk to me. However, I wish to apologize for my past comments.” Now he felt that the wording was not his own. He dare not be more casual, for fear of coming across as figured there was no turning back now, and he continued to write, letting the tone of the letter get more casual as he continued.

The letter ended up being a couple pages long, it rambled at points, but America felt he had covered all the important parts. The handwriting was not neat and at points there were ink splatters in the margins where he had written too quickly. Once he was done writing, he folded up the letter and sealed it with a small glob of wax. It was done, against his better judgment. Now, he need only get it to Mexico, which was going to be almost impossible. He placed the letter in an inner pocket of his coat. It was then that America heard a knock on the door.

He stood up and opened the door to the sight of George Washington standing at the door. In typical military style, the man said “Alfred, France is here and he wishes to speak to you.” America felt his heart sink. He hadn’t seen France since he had sought an alliance and that experience had been so agonizingly shameful. He forced himself to nod stiffly “I’ll go talk to him.” Washington said coldly “Don’t do anything stupid, Alfred. This alliance is important to us.” America stopped himself from saying I’ve done more than you know for this alliance. Instead, he just responded “Yes, sir.” The other man nodded curtly and stepped out of the way.

He found France standing by the fireside in the largest room of the building. He was dressed rather fantastically in a white and sky blue outfit that was decorated with lavish embroidery and feathers. America got the distinct feeling that he was a prairie chicken standing next to a peacock. France was the first to speak “My dear Alfred, you look very tired.” He wasn’t wrong, America wasn’t sleeping well. He had a reoccurring nightmare involving walking in on Mexico and Spain. This nightmare regularly traded place with another nightmare that was him on his knees, with his hands bound behind his back, facing England, who had just executed the last of the rebellion.

He said in response to France’s statement “I haven’t slept in a few weeks. The stress of war, you know.” France smirked “Maybe a little company will help you sleep at night.” The Frenchman stepped forward and ran his hand lightly over America’s cheek. America stepped back at once. France scoffed “You still act like such a virgin. We’ve already done this once.” America didn’t feel comfortable with France touching him, even though he had already given himself to France physically. That had been a necessary business deal and he had no desire to repeat the experience. If he was going to allow someone to have that kind of physical intimacy with him again, he wanted a deep passionate emotional connection first.

America shook his head slightly “I already paid my price for this alliance. You have yet to deliver on your end. So, the question is: What are you doing here?” France seemed rather unperturbed by America’s sudden change of topic. He answered “I have been arming you, Alfred. Of course, you are already aware of that. Do not think I haven’t been helping you. I will provide you with soldiers and ships, but you need to be patient.” America knew he was being slightly unfair to France, the European country had been helping with the revolution thus far, but it wasn’t enough. He could hardly afford to wait while France provided whatever aid he felt like. He responded, somewhat angrily “It’s easy for you to tell me to be patient. I’m losing this war while you wait to send real aid. I have lost battle after battle. I hardly have enough supplies to clothe all my men, let alone keep them all fed. So, there better be a good reason why you’re here.”

France sighed, as though he found this whole thing rather irritating, “Alfred, a couple of losses does not mean there is no hope for the revolution. Look around you, the revolutionary spirit is as strong as it has ever been. As to why I am here, I have brought you someone very important. I talked to Prussia about you revolution, and he agreed to lend you one of his generals. I was going to introduce you to him, but he wanted to survey the encampment. I expect you’ll meet him in a couple hours or so.” America somewhat failed to see the importance of this “You brought me one man? I hardly see how that’s going to help.” France sighed again, apparently realizing that he was going to have to explain everything to America, and put his hand on America’s shoulder, which was a strangely paternal gesture, “My dear boy, Prussian military discipline is the best in Europe. You don’t lack in spirit, you lack the discipline to turn your fervor into victory. A winter of intensive training with a Prussian as your drill sergeant will fix that problem and you will be able to start winning against Arthur again.”

The American immediately took a step backwards so as to get France’s hand off of him. He knew he should thank France, but he felt that this sort of help was owed to him after what he had given France. He changed the subject again “So, now what? Are you going to stay here? Or are you going back to Europe?” France smirked “Do you want me here, Alfred? Did you miss me? I had planned to go back to Europe and try to convince Spain to aid your revolution.” The mention of Spain made America immediately angrier. He didn’t want or need help from that Imperialist bastard, no matter how desperate he was. On top of that, Spain hated him because of how close he had gotten to Mexico. He responded to France with a slight laugh “You won’t get anything from Spain. He hates me. Don’t bother with him; I don’t need help from him.” France responded “I can be very persuasive, especially when it comes to my friends. Honestly Alfred, you need help from anyone who is willing to give it to you.”

America suddenly thought of the letter that was in his pocket, right next to his heart. He said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, “If you’re going to Spain, then I have a favor I would like to ask.” France raised his eyebrows “Oh, and what would that be?” With shaking hands, America pulled the letter out of his pocket “If you see Mexico, give this to him.” France looked more than a little surprised “Mexico? You mean Spain’s Aztec boy?” The American nodded “Yes. He’s about my height, absolutely gorgeous. Black hair, golden eyes. If you meet him, you’ll know.” France took the letter, although he still looked confused “Why would you be writing to Spain’s favorite colony?” America said “Please just do this for me; it will put my mind at ease. My reasons are my own.” France gave him a knowing look, as though he already knew the contents of the letter, but he refrained from saying anything about it. He simply said “Alright, if I happen to meet him, then I will give him your letter.”

#aph mexico #aph spain #aph France #hetalia

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marymosley · 5 years

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Self-Identification or Self-Advancement? Warren’s Controversy Highlights The Long-Standing Debate Over Race Claims

Below is my column in The Hill Newspaper on the long-standing debate over self-identification of race — an issue brought again to the forefront by the Elizabeth Warren controversy. There is a broader issue here that impacts universities and businesses on how race should be confirmed when used professionally or academically or financially. There is an ongoing debate over self-identification of race and whether such questions are simply cultural rather than genetic.

For Warren, the desire to focus on her race announced this weekend may be overshadowed by the other race issue.

Here is the column:

For Senator Elizabeth Warren, the promise of Ancestry.com to use DNA to “celebrate how we all came to be” must have had a distinctly loathsome meaning this week. On the day of her highly anticipated announcement as a Democratic candidate for president, Warren is facing new questions in her long standing controversy over claims of Native American ancestry.

New allegations concern the discovery of a Texas legal bar registration form from 1986, on which Warren listed herself as “American Indian.” This claim of race, in her own handwriting, showed an unsolicited invocation by Warren that she is a person of color. However, her ancestry story has highlighted an even larger controversy over what actually constitutes minority status and how such claims of race can or should be confirmed.

Politicians and celebrities often seek compelling personal narratives of overcoming adversities or challenges. Warren has been dogged by other past claims. She once declared herself the first “nursing mother” to take the New Jersey bar exam, which seems not only unprovable but unlikely, since the first female lawyer in the state received a license back in 1895.

I have long had mixed feelings about the ancestry story told by Warren. Suggestions that Warren used her claimed status to secure academic positions is unproven. Her claim that she is a minority was not the reason for her considerable success as an academic. Warren has not only won teaching awards as a law professor but her writings on bankruptcy and financial markets made her a sharp intellectual with global reach. That does not mean such claims do not raise ethical or professional issues.

The Coalition of Bar Associations of Color passed a resolution several years ago calling on law schools to treat the practice of “box checking” minority status as academic “ethnic fraud.” Warren listed herself as a minority on the Association of American Law Schools directory and had her ethnicity changed from white to Native American at the University of Pennsylvania. She was listed as a minority at Harvard, which publicly highlighted her as a “Native American” law professor. The Fordham Law Review identified her as the “first woman of color” at Harvard, and she identified herself as “Cherokee” in a cookbook called “Pow Wow Chow.”

Warren rekindled the controversy over her minority status after making public a DNA test that showed a possible fraction of Native American heritage. Stanford University Professor Carlos Bustamante found that Warren may be 0.09 percent to 1.5 percent Native American. That is quite common and would place any of her possible ancestors between six to 10 generations back. If her great-great-great-grandmother were full Native American, Warren would be 1/32 Native American, but it could date back further to 10 generations, thus making her only 1/1,024 Native American.

The response from Native American groups who denounced Warren for using DNA to show ancestry was interesting. Cherokee Nation Secretary of State Chuck Hoskin insisted that “using a DNA test to lay claim to any connection to the Cherokee Nation or any tribal nation, even vaguely, is inappropriate and wrong. Senator Warren is undermining tribal interests with her continued claims of tribal heritage.” Warren privately apologized to the tribe for using a DNA test to establish status as a Native American.

The suggestion here is that actual DNA is not the measure of ancestry for Native Americans. Hoskin said that the tribe uses DNA to resolve issues of “paternity to an individual” but that “it is not evidence for tribal affiliation.” Notably, Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Bill John Baker is 1/32 Cherokee by blood. Yet, such ancestry is key to claiming not just minority status but also eligibility to share in revenues and benefits from tribal accounts and enterprises. The standards differ from tribe to tribe. Michael Woestehoff of the National Indian Gaming Association has explained that membership in the Navajo Nation requires that a person have 1/4 or more Navajo blood.

The same controversy rages on at universities, which do little to confirm minority status, making such “box checking” on college applications a self identification process. The Census Bureau approach is based solely on self identification. Since 2000, it has allowed people to check multiple boxes for races and ethnicities. Brown University attracted attention for proposing a pure self identification system for “people of color.” A host of programs can hinge on minority status, from government contracts to academic admissions to employment opportunities to financial benefits. Yet, the basis for claiming minority status remains fluid and uncertain.

When George Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin, the shooting was portrayed as a white man who killed an African American youth, even though Zimmerman is half Hispanic. Jefferson Fish, author of “Myth of Race,” suggested that Zimmerman could be defined as black because he is 1/32 black from family on the side of his mother. Nonetheless, Fish insisted that “Zimmerman’s race is a matter of cultural, not biological information. So different American subcultures classify him differently.”

That, however, does not answer how race should be legally confirmed when substantial financial, academic, and professional benefits are at stake. It seems clear to most of us that Warren should not have claimed minority status, but there is little agreement on why. The criticism of her use of a DNA test to establish her ancestry begs the question of how to objectively answer such questions. Can anyone be “culturally” part of a race or ethnicity, or is that the ultimate form of cultural appropriation?

On the one side, there is the repugnance of accepting the notion of the “one drop rule” in some states that any African blood makes someone black. On the other side, there is the understandable resistance to those people like Warren claiming to be a person of color due to having as little as 0.09 percent DNA from an ancestor who has Native American blood.

It is far from clear that her claim of being a person of color is the story of “how she came to be” a leading academic. However, it is clear how this came to be the primary subject for Warren in her bid for the presidency. Voters will decide the extent to which they view the earlier claims to be disqualifying. Yet, that is just one job dispute. We still have to decide how to deal with such claims for thousands of other applications or positions.

That may prove to be what is most discomforting for many. This question has been carefully avoided for years at universities and other institutions. Schools want to boost minority enrollment and agencies want to benefit marginalized groups. What they are not eager to do is face the difficult question on how such claims should be confirmed. While hardly her intention, Warren may have now forced that long delayed discussion.

Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University. You can follow him on Twitter @JonathanTurley.

Self-Identification or Self-Advancement? Warren’s Controversy Highlights The Long-Standing Debate Over Race Claims published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

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