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geordiewrites · 3 years

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I Did Something Bad | James Potter

A/N: Before reading, I just want to say this story is based around cheating, so simply if you don’t like that, don’t read it! It’s also really bad, but I need to get back into the swing of regular writing for my mental health’s sake, and this was my way of doing it so please don’t be too harsh reading it. I’m still v new to this shit, and v Geordie too so if I’m using words you don’t get or smth like that, just lemme know.

Summary: Y/N has been in love with James Potter for who knows how long... the only problem is when something happens between them, he’s in a relationship with someone else.

Warning: Infidelity, cheating, mentions of sex, angst, shit writing, shit characters, just don’t expect much okay?

“I have to tell you something.” Y/N says, fiddling awkwardly with the now frayed hem of her mustard-yellow jumper, fingers fumbling as she tries to speak.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Marlene, her best friend, asks worriedly, but Y/N just shakes her head, tears beginning to spring in her eyes. Seeing this, Marlene quickly rushes to sit next to Y/N on the edge of her bed in their gold and crimson adorned dormitory. She just stares blankly out of the window, trying and miserably failing to hide the fact that all she wants to do is rush out of Hogwarts and never return.

“I don’t even know where to start, Marls.” She mewls between choked sobs. “There’s so much I haven’t told anybody.”

“You can tell me.” Marlene continues, throwing a comforting arm over her friend’s shoulders with ease. Her face is twisted with worry, the kind of anxiousness that Marlene has never seen before and frankly is terrified by. “Just start at the beginning, I suppose. Who’s all this about anyway? Do I need to beat anyone up?” Marlene says frantically, and Y/N lets out a humourless laugh.

“No. Me, perhaps. Just promise if I tell you, you won’t tell Lily about it?” Her voice breaks more and more with every syllable.

“Why would I need to keep something from Lily?”

“Because it’s about James. Me and James.” Y/N whispers, pressing her face into her trembling hands.

“You and James?” She questions just a little too satirically, causing Y/N to send her a withering glare. “What is it you need to tell me?”

“I slept with him, Marlene.” Y/N cries before she finally collapses into a flummox of tears and loud cries that fill the dormitory with a tense, thick silence as the information settles in.

“When?” Only one word is managed from Marlene, said in a half shocked, half angry tone. Y/N feels Marlene’s arm shift off of her shoulder as she moves to sit cross legged on the floor. Away. Away from Y/N.

“The night of the party in September when they had that huge row because he got drunk when they had agreed not to.” She replied, her throat dry and hoarse making speaking physically painful, but she had to tell somebody. Anybody who would listen and wouldn’t judge her too harshly. Unfortunately however for Marlene, this burden fell to her since everyone else was out that day including both Lily and James, leaving no chance of being overheard.

“How did it happen?” Merlin, Y/N, why did it fucking happen?” Marlene said angrily, looking for something to throw across the room just to watch it smash into millions of irreparable pieces.

“You know bloody why, Marls.” Y/N snapped crossly, earning something close to a sympathetic look from Marlene.

Y/N couldn’t remember a time she had felt so lonely as to when James was kissing her.

It was strange really, since she had been madly in love with him for who knows how long at this point. But there, with their clandestine kiss captured into fracturing moonlight in the middle of her otherwise empty dorm room, with his hands travelling softly past her waist and to her hips, lips moving against hers in the way she had dreamed of, Y/N felt more solitary than ever. Perhaps it was because she knew he didn’t love her, that to him it was just completely physical. Maybe it was because he loved another, and someone she had been friends with for years at that. Deep down she knew it was simply because it was James.

James. James who used to carry her books because he was a whole head taller than her, and therefore claimed she needed a prince to save her. James who played Quidditch with her even though she was hopeless at it, and in return she waved a Gryffindor scarf for him at his games. Sometimes he even claimed it was the reason he won. James who told her that Lily was the love of his life while crying into her shoulder, unknowing that Y/N wanted nothing more than to hear those words about herself. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever.

She could taste alcohol on his tongue as it moved expertly against her own, dark and bitter and sweet all at the same time. He carried a beautiful aroma of cigarette smoke, just slightly stale, and strangely oranges and the overly expensive cologne he always wore because Lily told Marlene she liked it four years previous. Everything about him screamed his love for Lily. From tousled hair to mirror her celebrity crush, to the way his eyes lit up every time the redhead walked into a room. And then there was Y/N, hopeless and drowning in an unrequited affection.

James and Lily were the Romeo and Juliet of Hogwarts, the epitome of a saccharine love story stretching over the expanse of seven years. Seeing them together was to be in the presence of true love, at least that was what almost everyone said. Nevertheless, only Y/N seemed to notice otherwise. The longing looks at other girls from James, the way they barely ever held hands, the fact they never kissed in public... although she had brushed this all aside, convincing herself she only saw it because he was looking, and that it wasn’t actually there at all.

But there James was, about to sleep with Y/N and throw that supposedly perfect relationship with the girl he had fawned over for years into turmoil. Some selfish part of Y/N wanted just that, perhaps that was the biggest reason when he whispered an “Are you sure?” against the skin of her jawline, she replied with a definite yes.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of afterglow and skin against skin, and for the most part, Y/N felt oddly sad. James’ touch felt hot enough to let her very skin on fire where he had touched her, and yet she still felt cold knowing he didn’t love her. He didn’t spend his nights dreaming of the colour of her eyes, but she knew his were a shining hazel with tiny flecks of green interspersed within them. She knew his birthday, his favourite colours and lessons and movies and stupid muggle bands... useless details really. They didn’t mean anything except to remind her of what she didn’t have, and of what Lily did.

And of what Y/N was now taking away from her.

“He was sad and we were drunk out of our minds. I remember finding him alone in the corridor. I remember talking to him about Lily for awhile, and then suddenly we were kissing and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.” Y/N explained slowly, the hazy memories of that night becoming more and more clear with each passing second.

“I can’t believe this.” Marlene said, raking fingers through her honey hair and pulling on the roots in shock. “I can’t believe it, Y/N.” She repeated, over and over and over until it seemed just a little more plausible. A little more tangible. A little more real. “I don’t blame you, you know.”

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed, an icy surprise erupting in her veins and sending a cold chill throughout her body.

Marlene smiled painfully. “What you did was awful, but he was the one in a relationship.”

“‘Suppose so. What should I do?” She blurted desperately, running her hands over the burgundy silk of her duvet as she anxiously stood up.

“You have to tell Lily.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to, Y/N. He cheated on her with you!” Marlene shouted, previously calm voice rising with exasperation.

“You don’t think I know that?” Y/N hissed back, venom beginning to seep into her voice but it wasn’t even aimed at Marlene. It was aimed at James, and at herself. “I fucking know I fucked up, Marls. But I can’t tell Lily - the literal sweetest person - that I shagged her boyfriend and that I’ve been in love with him since James learned who she even was. And he’ll never feel that way about me. Ever. He saw a quick fuck when he looked at me that night and a future wife when he saw Lily. Why do you think they’re still together? Because he doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so very sorry. But James isn’t going to tell her, and she has to know-!”

“Maybe he will.” Y/N interrupted.

“We both know that’s a lie. Somebody has to tell her, and it’s going to have to be you.”

“Please Marlene.” She begged, heart aching within her chest as a million unkempt memories flashed through her mind in the space of a mere moment.

“Come on, Y/N, truth or dare?” James asks through laughter.

“I should never have agreed to play one-on-one truth or dare with you.” Y/N replies irritably, although it’s stupidly short lived when he sends her that shit eating grin, and all over again she feels like a thirteen year old with a crush. Deep down she still is, underneath the makeup and the fake laughter, she’s still the same little girl who thinks she doesn’t deserve love. “But fine, I choose truth.”

“Good choice. Alright, who was the first person you ever shagged?” James asks curiously.

“Wow, James, way to make it seem as though I’ve done a hundred people.”

“Apologies, but go on.”

“Fine.” Y/N shifts awkwardly. “It was you, actually. Back in fifth year.”

“Oh.” He replies after a long pause, which to Y/N feels as though it will never end.

“I don’t really remember it if I’m being honest.” She adds in an attempt to dispel the thick tension that has built up. It doesn’t, and James can barely meet her eyes. “We were drunk, I think.”

“I often am when I spend time with you.”

And that was the moment it hit Y/N. The moment when he started giggling at her confession. The moment when she knew she hated him almost just as much as she loved him, because she had let that infatuation with him consume her. The moment when he told her in return that he only needed her for drunken sex, after she had lied about remembering it. Because she did remember it, so well in fact that it may as well have been etched into her skin with scarring inks. Where he touched her, how it felt that first night. And how it felt the one they wrecked his relationship.

That day, sitting with Marlene in her dormitory having just told her of the worst crime Y/N had ever committed, it hurt just the same. And now she was stuck with this pain, this awful, selfish feeling every time she saw him and Lily together that she just wished something would happen to her and James could be together.

Y/N never expecting it to be through cheating, but perhaps that was all it would ever be.

A one night stand, forever kept in the darkest part of her mind with the rest of her regrets. Regretting never telling James of her love for him. Regretting not asking him years ago to kiss her age fourteen, maybe she could’ve had a chance to get over him then. It felt like she never had that. It was a hookup, a torrid, illicit affair.

And that was all it would ever be. But perhaps that was what she deserved.

As Y/N walked down towards the Gryffindor common room, she could only think of a few things. How Lily could possibly react, how James would react to her telling Lily because he didn’t. Both had thousands of answers, none of which she could possibly predict in the moment. Step by step down the mahogany staircase leading to the plush, homey centre room the Gryffindors adored so much, Y/N inhaled and exhaled sharp breaths, planning out exactly what she was going to say to Lily in her mind.

All of that went away when she saw them together, curled up on the red velvet sofa in front of the dying embers of a once roaring fire, just watching it flicker away with their hands intertwined. Just sat there, staring hopelessly into one another’s eyes, so deep in love they didn’t even notice her step in the room. While she expected tears to spring in her eyes, they didn’t, the usual feeling of suffocation she felt around them had suddenly disappeared.

And as Y/N watched them, it finally hit her that what James did wasn’t some way of trying to communicate a discontent in their relationship, it was a stupid, pathetic mistake. But that’s all it was: a mistake.

And they would just have to live with that.

Nancy xx (again, apologies for how crap this is but it’s my first attempt at writing in a loooong time)!

#james potter imagine #james potter smut #harry james potter #harry potter #hogwarts #harry potter imagines #lily evans #sirius black #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #harry potter x reader #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #nancy writes

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Caught

A/N: Hello hello! Here’s some (more) fluff!! Who am I? But anyway, I wrote this from this sensory request and it was actually the first request I GOT ON THIS BLOG (!!!) so I'm so sorry that it’s coming so late!! But I’ll always remember this request bc it was the first🥺

Anywaayyyy thank you all so much for reading, sending me the nicest messages, reblog-ing, and requesting prompts!! I get so much motivation from you all it’s insane!! Thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you!!

PROMPT: Licking your fingers while eating Cheetos

Chat Chat Chat | MASTERLIST

Warnings: One (1) swear word & a bit of a heated make out session😶

Word Count: 3.9K

Being a twenty-year-old and playing sold out shows in stadiums around the world was abnormal. But what was more abnormal was that the twenty-year-old who spent most of his time on a tour bus than in his own apartment was your boyfriend. Not many people could say that their boyfriend was in Amsterdam one day and then Paris the next.

Shawn had spent spring in Europe on a tourbus and hotel rooms, and his summer wasn’t much different, except for the fact that he was on his North American leg of the tour. He had convinced you to come traveling across America; it was more in your budget and convenient with your university schedule.

Every now and then, Shawn would have some down time, but it wasn’t very often. He kept apologizing whenever he was pulled away and promised to spend time with you more. But you didn’t mind. Shawn had given you a front seat to his career and everything it entails. And it was fascinating. You would be in one city and everyone would already be advancing for a show that was two weeks away. The precision and detail of obscure jobs that some crew had gone over your head in the past, but seeing all the mechanics of everything that goes on for the show to happen…it made you appreciate Shawn’s performances even more.

You had gotten fairly close with Shawn’s head of tour merchandiser, Dane, and often found yourself helping him set up the merchandise stands when Shawn was off at a meet and greet, sound check, or wherever Andrew had pulled him away to.

“Are you playing in the little soccer match they have going on later today?” You asked Dane as you carried over a large brown cardboard box.

He held up a finger to you as he finished up his count in of tour posters and typed it on a tour merchandise app on his phone, “Yeah, you?”

You shook your head as you used a key to tear through the sealed box. Once the tape that held the box together was ripped, you opened the four flaps and saw that you were counting in some sweatshirts. Silently, you counted ten sweatshirts, put them in a pile on the side with a sticky note on top with a number ten circled and then counted out another ten sweatshirts.

“I’ve never been good with hand eye coordination,” you didn’t look up at him as you continued to count ten sweatshirts, “I’ve always been better at cheering people on from the sides.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

You had just finished circling a ten on a neon green sticky note as you capped the sharpie and looked at Dane, “You’ve noticed?”

Dane nodded with a smile on his face as he hung up a piece of paper with a blown up image of a keychain; he stuck a large sticker with the price of the keychain on the corner of the paper. He hung it up on the black tapestry so that way fans would be able to see it before they got up to the front of the merchandise line.

“You’re always there for Shawn when he walks on and off stage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go to the bathroom when he’s performing.”

You blushed as you finished counting the last of the sweatshirts in the box you carried in, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“He loves it,” Dane took a t-shirt and clipped the sleeves of it to the top of the tapestry, “The week before you came he literally wouldn’t shut up––Y/n’s coming next week, did you know? I just love her so much! I miss her so much!”

You bunched up a t-shirt and threw it at Dane as he miserably failed at impersonating Shawn’s voice, “He didn’t say that.”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I––“

“Ask who yourself?”

You spun your head around and came face to face with your boyfriend. You smiled at him and threw another balled up shirt at Dane.

“Hey! That’s merchandise we’re selling tonight!”

You waved Dane off and rested your hands on your hips, “Before I came on tour were you non-stop going around telling people I was coming and saying how much you love me and saying how much you missed me?”

Shawn still had a slight smile on his face as he gazed at you. His facial expression hadn’t changed since he walked up behind you, so you thought you had proved Dane wrong, but that wasn’t the case when Shawn spoke up.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why?” He spoke as if it that information was public knowledge.

Before you had the chance to say anything, you felt a soft material collide with the back of your head. Your head slightly jerked forward from the contact of the t-shirt that was just thrown at you. You quickly picked the shirt off the dusty ground and glared at Dane, “This is merchandise that you’re selling tonight.”

Dane barked out a laugh as he finished setting up the merchandise display. He stood back and admired his work for a few seconds before informing Shawn he was going to check on the other stands and make sure everyone else on the merchandise team had completed their count in. They did some sort of bro handshake, before telling one another that they’d see each other shortly for the soccer game.

Shawn walked up to your side and threw an arm over your shoulder. You leaned your head back on his shoulder and looked up at him, “Excited for the match?”

“Yeah, just wish you were playing.”

Your eyes closed as Shawn lightly traced circles on your upper arm with the tips of his fingers. Shivers ran down your spine as you closed your eyes, “You’ve seen me play.”

Shawn let out a laugh as he started walking, guiding you around the main floor of the arena, “Even though it is probably a good idea that you’re not playing, it still would’ve been fun to be on the same team.”

You let out a snort as you snaked a hand around his back to pinch his hip. Shawn lightly jerked away from you before he tickled your shoulder in retaliation, “I’d make sure we’d be on separate teams.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in response and let the conversation die down. Whenever a crew member passed, you offered a smile and Shawn greeted them by name. Seeing the dynamic he had with his crew was heartwarming because you had read of horror stories of main acts being absolute divas to their crew members.

Shawn led you backstage as the two of you wandered into his dressing room. You sat on the couch as he went over to a little duffle bag he packed just for the soccer game. Carefully, you watched him as he bent over, staring at how his shoulder blades could be seen through his white t-shirt as he rummaged through the bag.

Swiftly, he tore his white shirt off and you were graced with a second of seeing your boyfriend’s muscles. The sight didn’t last long because Shawn threw his t-shirt at your face. You scrunched your nose up at the slightly sweaty smell mixed in with his signature scent.

“Hey!”

It only took you a second to throw the shirt off your face, but it was a second too long because Shawn was already in a vintage t-shirt and sliding on a pair of athletic shorts up past his thighs.

“That’s not fair,” you whined.

Shawn threw his head back in laughter as he picked up his sneakers. He walked over to where you sat on the couch, picked up your legs without any hesitation, and as he sat down on the couch, he rested your calves on his thighs.

He hunched over your legs as you watched him slide his sneakers on and tie them up. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but he managed to get his sneakers on without complaining for you to move your legs. And you weren’t complaining about the physical contact your legs had with his thighs.

Once he was done tying his shoes, he sat up and stretched his back, a few pops emitted from his body and you flinched, not liking the sounds of bones cracking together.

Shawn rested his hands on your knees as he leaned his head on top of the couch cushion, eyes closed he said, “I don’t wanna play.”

A small chuckle left your lips, “That’s a lie.”

He turned his head slightly towards you and opened one eye, “Yeah, I do wanna play,” he let out a sigh, “but sitting here with you is so nice.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips as you looked over at him, both of his eyes now opened and intently staring at you with adoration.

“We’re literally doing nothing.”

“As long as I’m with you,” he lifted his shoulders up in a shrug, “I don’t care what we’re doing.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Truth is, you loved doing nothing with him. You savored the days when all Shawn wanted to do was spend all day tangled in your bedsheets. You adored the days when you would sit on your couch reading a book––in a similar position to how you were sitting now––and Shawn would be hunched over scribbling lyrics down in a journal, using your legs as a writing surface.

You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Too sweet.”

“Uh huh,” Shawn grumbled as he pointed to his lips with his index finger, “I want a real kiss.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before swinging a leg over his lap, adjusting your knees on either side as you straddled him. Shawn’s hands instantly moved with your body as they landed on your waist. Unlike your hands that were pressed flat on his chest, Shawn’s hands slowly rubbed your lower back and come back around to your waist.

The only thing more heavenly than his touch was the feeling of his kiss.

Shawn craned his neck up to reach your teasing smile and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. Your smile was slow to disappear; being in Shawn’s presence was a reason for you to smile in itself, but once he pinched your hips silently telling you to focus on kissing him, you thought that was a good enough reason to stop smiling.

Your hands trailed up Shawn’s chest until they rounded his neck. He hummed as he pulled you closer to his chest and your fingers began to play with the small curls on the nape of his neck. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss at the same time his hands tightly balled up the bottom of your shirt. He lifted your shirt at a painstakingly slow pace to the point where you wanted to rip it off yourself.

Shawn had the shirt bunched up right under your bra. Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, untangled your arms from around his neck and raised them over your head to aid Shawn in taking your shirt off. Once the shirt was off, he carelessly threw it somewhere behind you, and without any hesitation, Shawn reattached his lips to yours as you felt a magnetic pull bring you closer to him.

His calloused fingertips were hot on your bare skin as they danced around.

Just as you lowered your body to grind against his, a loud single knock, followed by a Shawn, caused both of your heads to snap toward the door. Shawn practically threw you off him as he looked for your shirt––for anything––to cover up your exposed chest.

You were leaning back against the arm rest of the couch, trying to calm down your erratic breathing, as you watched Shawn’s eyes widened as the door handle rattled. It looked as if Shawn threw every ounce of common sense out the window as he threw a pillow that hit you in the face.

You clutched the pillow in your hands as you briefly looked down at it, and then back to Shawn, realizing what he wanted you to do with it, “I’m not––“

“Use it, Y/n––“

“Shawn!”

Your harsh whispers were cut off when Dane walked carelessly into the room. The pillow was still limp in your hands; in shock that Dane came into the room with little announcement. Shawn took notice of your chest still out for Dane to see––if he hadn’t seen it already––and with panicked eyes, he flung himself from the other end of the couch to lay on top of you.

You let out an oof as you felt Shawn’s full body weight collapsed on you; the pillow nestled between your stomachs. You had never complained about Shawn being on top of you, but with this position, the arm of the couch was digging into your back and you and causing you to cramp up.

“Shawn,” Dane said his name again as he continued to walk further into the dressing room, “Are you gonna come and warm up? The game starts in–––Oh.”

You tried to peak over Shawn’s shoulder to gauge Dane’s facial expression, but with the way Shawn was pressed up against you, you couldn’t see him. But from the suggestive tone of his voice, you knew that teasing would be soon to follow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You squeaked out a not at all as Shawn let out a frustrated of fucking course.

You smacked Shawn’s back with his hand at his crude response.

Dane let out a bellowing laugh, “How ya feeling down there, y/n?” You heard his footsteps come closer and your hands clutched the fabric of Shawn’s shirt out of nervousness, “This is pure gold. Andrew has said that he’s never caught you two in the middle of doing something––I, of course, called total bull on that––and I’m so happy to have caught you two.”

“Dane,” You said as you drug out the vowels in his name.

His laughter rumbled through the room. Even though Dane was the person you were closest to on Shawn’s crew, it was still embarrassing to have been caught in a compromising position with your boyfriend. It felt like you were fifteen.

“I’ll be out in ten,” Shawn answered.

Dane’s laughter died down as you heard his footsteps carry themselves back over towards the door, “I’ll put a timer on, Oh, and Y/n––“ you could hear the smirk on his lips, “––I hope to see you on the sidelines, preferably with a shirt on.”

You dug your head into the crook of Shawn’s neck as you felt all of the blood rush to your face. Your hands were still tightly hanging onto the back of Shawn’s shirt for the next few minutes as he stayed in his position on top of you.

“At least it was Dane?”

At his weak attempt of lightening up the mood, you pushed him off and sat up on the couch, “At least?! He saw me without a shirt!”

“I covered you up!”

You shot a glare toward his direction as you got up from the couch and searched for your shirt. It was crumpled up in a ball on the coffee table. You let out a deep sigh, of course your shirt was thrown somewhere that was obvious. Lifting the shirt up by the sleeves, you frowned as you examined all of the wrinkles.

“Here,” Shawn was already walking over to his duffle bag, “You can wear my shirt––“

“I’m––No,” you answered him as you tugged on your shirt, “I’d rather wear a wrinkled shirt than have Dane point out that I’m in one of your shirts.”

“But––“

“Let’s go,” you were a few steps away from the door as you held your hand out for him to take, “I want to pick a snack from the vending machine before the game.”

Shawn let out a sigh and grumbled something about how he loved seeing you in his shirts, but he still took ahold of your hand. The two of you walked out the dressing room as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. A small smile overtook his face.

The two of you walked toward the backstage part of the arena where the vending machines were held. You brought up a finger to your chin, debating on what snack to pick, as the vending machine lights illuminated your face. Once you decided what snack you wanted, you pressed a knuckle to the letter L and then to the number 3.

You watched with excitement as the circular black rings slowly pushed your snack forward. And then as it was finally tipping over the edge, you smiled as the bag fell with a soft fmmp as it reached the bottom of the machine. You let go of Shawn’s hand to retrieve your snack from under the plastic black flap.

“Cheetos?” Shawn questioned just as you stood up and opened up the bag with a loud crinkle, “If I’d known you’d want Cheetos, I could’ve like added it to my rider and it would’ve been in the dressing room for you.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you held out the bag, offering your Cheetos to Shawn. He dug his hand into the bag and took one out. He popped it into his mouth with a loud crunch as he closed his eyes, “God, it’s been forever since I’ve had these.”

Shawn led you out of the vending machine room as you continued to share your Cheetos with him, “I remember having them as a snack after soccer games,” you shared, “You know how parents would sign up to bring snacks after games? I feel like every parent would buy that big value size pack of like twenty-four different chips, and I––“ you licked your fingers that were covered in Cheeto dust, “––Always picked Cheetos.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter as he pushed open a back exit door and held it open for you to walk through, “I was always more of a Fritos guy.”

You scrunched your nose up, “Fritos?”

“They’re good!” Shawn defended himself as the people from the tour crew, who were playing in the soccer match, came into view, “Don’t knock ‘em ’til you try ‘em.”

You scoffed, “There are literally dozens of other chips you could chose from,” you stopped walking when you and Shawn came up to the sideline his ‘team’ was on, “Doritos, Lays, Chex Mix––“

“Hey, Y/n!” Your eyes widened as you heard Dane yell out your name. His feet hit the pavement hard as he ran over, “Glad you could make it––fully clothed.” While he was talking in a calm soft voice, not raising it to cause suspicion, it still made Andrew’s head perk up.

“You caught them?” Andrew looked up from tying his shoes at Dane.

You blushed as Shawn’s manager looked between the two of you and then back at Dane as you tried to defend yourself, “He didn’t really see anything––“

“See any of what?” Brian had jogged over and started to stretch, lunging on his left leg as he reached down to touch the toes on his right foot.

“It was nothing––“

“Just Shawn and Y/n going at it in the dressing room,” Dane shrugged as he gave you a wink, “Boyfriend, girlfriend stuff.”

Andrew’s shoulders slumped as he reached over to his bag and pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Dane, “I’m his day-to-day,” Andrew grumbled, “Can’t believe it was the merchandise manager who caught you two first.”

You stood there dumfounded, hand frozen in your bag of Cheetos. You and Shawn kept your relationship as private as possible––private from the media, your social medias, and made sure to keep your PDA to a minimum when you visited him on tour. So it was a bit comical to see how intrigued Andrew and Dane were in catching the two of you.

Brian straightened up from his stretching and held a fist out toward Shawn, “Sweet, man––Just like Denver last tour?”

Your bag of Cheetos dropped to the ground, the little you had left of your snack spilled, covering the pavement with an artificial orange color. You felt the heat of your oncoming blush rise up to your cheeks. With Brian being Shawn’s best friend, you had an inclination that he knew some––if not most––of your sexual relationship with Shawn. Which you were fine with because you told your best friend almost everything.

But it was always a topic you never discussed between the two of you. It was mutually understood that while you talked to your best friend’s about each other, you would never talk about it directly to each other. Shawn talked to Brian about you; You talked to your best friend about Shawn. But never would your best friend bring it up in front of Shawn. And never––did you think––Brian would bring it up in front of you.

The same thought seemed to be stirring within Shawn’s head as his eyes widened for a second. He was only shocked for a split second more before he let out a chuckle and returned the fist bump to Brian and chose to ignore his comment about what happened Denver, “Thanks, man.”

“Thanks man?!” You turned to face Shawn who had an amused smirk on his face.

You weren’t mad at the display of masculinity in front of you, in fact, you saw the humor in it, but it was still embarrassing having your boyfriend be congratulated in front of you for hooking up.

The sound of a high pitch whistle echoed off the pavement. With the sound of the start whistle, and players heading toward the makeshift field, it took away any chance you had of laying into Shawn more.

Brian ran away laughing, escaping the choice words you had for him, which just left you with Shawn. You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and tore your head away from Shawn as he lifted a finger under your chin to try and get you to look at him.

“Good luck kiss?”

With a playful sigh, you leaned up on your tip toes to press a peck to Shawn’s smile. His eyes were still closed when you pulled away and his smile grew wider, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said as you couldn’t fight Shawn’s contagious smile, “I love you a lot.”

Shawn let out a laugh as a few people hollered at him to come over, “How unfortunate for me,” he pressed another quick kiss to your lips before he started to walk backwards toward the game that had started without him, “Are you free tonight?”

You leaned your weight on your left leg as you tapped a finger on your cheek, “Hm…I’m watching my boyfriend sing at a little show,” Shawn stopped walking backwards, his full attention on you, and showed all his teeth in a grin, “But I’m free after.”

“It’s a date,” Shawn said before he spun around and ran toward the soccer ball.

#woot!!#some fluff #and a bit of teasing #:)#all in good fun #come tell me what you thought of it!! I love hearing what you all have to say!!#your messages make my day/night/mid-afternoon/whole year #🤩 🥰#thanks a million!!!#(the next piece of writing I post will be ANGST)#((or it'll be the prologue to my coffee shop au))#(((the angst needs some MAJOR editing so I think the prologue will come first lmao)))#which one would you want to read first?? okay im rambling I'll stop #enjoy!#Shawn mendes #Shawn Peter raul mendes #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes writings #Shawn Mendes writer #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes ff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn Mendes reader insert #Shawn Mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes one shot

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #369

“so close, no matter how far / couldn’t be much more from the heart / forever trusting who we are / and nothing else matters”

What are three emotions you experience regularly? Sadness, shame, and stress. Is there someone right now whom you really wish would care for you? -___- Does your job allow visible tattoos? I don’t have a job, but quite honestly, I probably wouldn't take a job that didn't. I just love tattoos a lot and plan on having many, and ignorance and old-fashioned bullshit isn't gonna stop me. Do you know anyone that’s transgender? Yes. Do you think dress codes are unfair? In some places, like schools, yes. Are in a relationship? Tell me about it. I'm not. How is your road rage? I don't have road rage. By god does my sister, though. Favorite cosmetic brands? I don't wear makeup nearly enough to have a preference. The beach or the pool? The pool. I hate the feeling of sand, plus the salty wind and heat. Manga or anime? Anime. Favorites for manga? I've never read any. It's tempting to read Deadman Wonderland since it continues off the very short anime, but I just don't want to. Manga isn't my style. Favorites for anime? Fullmetal Alchemist (including Brotherhood), Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. Favorite academic subject? English. A card game that you’re good at? I'm not exceptionally good at any. Do you eat breakfast? Pretty much always. A popular book you haven’t read yet? To Kill A Mockingbird, to name one I feel like everyone had to read in school. Do you like sweaters? I'm an oversized hoodie person, really. I don't like the look of zippers. Do you like sushi? Never tried it, never will. Do you wear prescription glasses? Yes. I badly need a new pair, because I can't see for shit. Generally, are you more likely to blame others or yourself for problems you experience? Myself. What is one thing about your life that you don’t ever see changing, even if you might wish it would? I have a feeling I'll always have some degree of social anxiety. I'm sure there are other things just not coming to me. At what point in your life have you been the most social or had the most friendships? And at which point have you been the least social? I had the most friends in my childhood years, probably. Or high school when I actually had a friend group. I'm sure I was most social as a kid in elementary school, not dealing with my social anxiety. I've been the least social like... now, honestly. I go essentially nowhere and have very few friends. Do you prefer to have a few close friends or a bunch of random acquaintances? Which would describe what you have now? I want close friends. I have like... two or so close friends and a handful of acquaintances. I don't know which I have "more" of when you consider the actual level of friendship/"quality" I guess. Do you journal? Generally, what do you write about? Do you find it helpful to get your thoughts out that way, or do you prefer another form of self-expression? I don't actually journal, but you could consider these surveys my "journal." I guess it's kinda why I do them so frequently? Like it lets me get stuff that's going on out, so I find it kinda therapeutic versus keeping all my thoughts jumbled up in my head. Have you ever been somewhere and REALLY didn't like a food that you were expected to eat? How did you deal with this? Are you someone who is likely to suck it up and be polite or refuse and save your taste buds? To start off, I am VERY bad at sucking it up and eating something I don't like. My gag reflex is very strong, and I'm also extremely sensitive to textures I don't like, so my reactions are just very involuntary. I can try to subdue my expression when I dislike something, buuut that's extremely difficult. But anyway, yes, I've been to places where I definitely disliked the food, especially this one occasion where we went to a local Southern cooking restaurant that literally ASSUMED you want the staple foods and sweet tea, none of which I enjoy. While everyone else was eating, I just very awkwardly sat there doing nothing and pretty much panicking over looking rude. Thank god, Ashley's father-in-law noticed and called over the waiter for me to actually order something, the way it should be. I was very thankful but still felt bad. What is one way in which you compare yourself to others? In this comparison, do you regard yourself as better or worse off than the people to whom you usually do the comparing? I am very bad and comparing successes with others, but only in ways that demeans me. Like I look at others and am just like, "Why aren't I there yet?" It always leads to anger and disgust of myself. What is something you’ve been particularly grateful for lately? I've thought a lot lately about how thankful I am to have my mom. She does so very much for me, and I don't think I could absolutely ever repay her in full. I wish I could. She's a damn superhero. What kind of change or opportunity would be the biggest help in your life right now? I was initially going to say getting a job, but thinking about it, getting to my goal weight might be an even greater help. It would help my leg pain, not having to carry as much around, I'm sure my hyperhidrosis wouldn't be as bad (I hope), and it would MASSIVELY affect my happiness. Like I cannot tell you how negatively my weight has damaged my self-esteem, confidence, and peace with myself. Is there one emotion that you experience more often than any other? Is there an emotion you rarely ever experience? I'd say I experience stress more than anything. I'm always thinking of something that's causing a ruckus in my life. A rare emotion for me is uhhhh jealousy, even though I've dealt with it more lately. What is one illness you are afraid of having? Do you know anyone who has faced this illness? The disease that I think scares me more than any is Alzheimer's/dementia. I just... cannot possibly imagine. How do you tend to behave when you’re sick? What kinds of things do you like people to do for you, if anything, to help you feel better? I'm very mopey and tired, and I can be a bit more irritable. I really, really appreciate help with things like chores when I'm not feeling well. When was the last time you did something you were proud of? Were other people proud of you as well? Does it matter to you whether or not other people care about your accomplishments, or is your own satisfaction enough? It's a very small thing, but I weaned down from having two cans of soda a day to just one. Mom is proud of me for it, which I appreciate a lot. Admittedly, it does kinda matter to me that those who know it's a big deal to me see and care about my accomplishments. I'm bad about needing external validation. What is your least favorite thing about the season you’re currently experiencing? Are you okay with most types of weather, or are you only happy under certain conditions? Ugh, the heat. Spring and summer are miserable to me because I veeery much love the chilly weather and no damn humidity. Have you made any changes to your style or “look” lately? How often do you change your appearance, hairstyle, fashion, etc? Or is it a pretty constant thing? No; my style is pretty constant. What was the last thing you felt hopeful about? Do you think there’s a good chance of whatever-it-is working out in your favor, or not so much? Getting a job at the tattoo parlor. I'm fearful that they won't be open to the position I'd like, so I'm trying to not get my hopes up too high. We'll find out in two days. Have you ever “recovered” from anything? What does “recovery” mean or look like to you? Yes, a traumatic breakup. I'd say recovery is just healing as much as possible from something, be it physical or emotional. What are some ways your childhood differed from those of others around you? Do you think this difference was harmful or advantageous in the long run? My dad was an alcoholic, if that qualifies. That definitely isn't a *normal* thing for someone's childhood. I think it was harmful, honestly, especially because I've had more than a few nightmares about my dad drunk. When was the last time you did something out in nature? Do you notice a dip in your mood when you don’t get enough of the Great Outdoors? Oh jeez... Probably not since Sara and I went catfishing with my dad. I wandered around with her some as she ventured for toads, haha. I don't really notice a dip in my mood, just because I'm so used to being indoors. I do prefer getting some time with nature, it's just hard and uncomfortable with how easy I sweat, and my knees sure do cuss me the fuck out in the form of a billion cracks if I walk much (by my standards...). What did you dream about last night? I had two dreams, but I only remember one, in which a giant green tree python was eating me backwards so I was conscious through it all. No hard feelings, I still want one as a pet, haha. They're GORGEOUS snakes and no, absolutely cannot eat you even if it tried its damnedest. What were your childhood dreams? To be a paleontologist, then a vet. What are your dreams now? If we're talking career-wise, to be a nature and wildlife photographer that gets to travel a lot. What are some Halloween costumes you would like to wear in the future? I've mentioned that #1 on my list is Ms. Oogie Boogie, then uhhhh... wow, I'm surprised I'm blanking, because I know there are lots I've thought of. Were you born with hair on your head? Yes. Would you rather have a home birth or hospital birth? I'm not having kids, but holy mother of fuck I'd have my baby at a hospital with a goddamn epidural. I do NOT know how some people can do it naturally, bigass props to them. Do you currently live in the house you grew up in? No. If not, what do you miss about it?^ It was just in general a nice house, the best one we've lived in. We had a pretty big yard too, so lots of room to play around as kids. What’s your favorite type of yogurt? I'm not a big yogurt person, really. What were your high school’s team colors? Red and white. Who were your best friends in high school? Hannia, Girt, Maria, Megan, Dennis, Dakota... What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? A tarantula. *puppy eyes emoji* Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? If so, what? English courses were very easy for me, and I was pretty good with science. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? Not like, a whole grade, but I surpassed Writing I in my last college endeavor and started out in Writing II instead. What’s your favorite rock band? Oh brother, you can't ask me this. Who’s your favorite country singer? I consistently like Tim McGraw a bit. How many drawers does your dresser have? My dresser is unnecessarily big. There's like five or six. Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? Yes. One of my favorite pictures I've taken was at Ashley's gender reveal for Emerson; even she didn't know. When her husband pulled the fog thing and it was pink, her expression was just priceless. Was your first car used or new? I haven't had my first personal car. How did you discover your favorite band? By going through my mom's CDs when I was getting into rock music. Ozzy was the first truly metal and not rock band that I ventured into. What was the last big decision you made? BIG decision... I don't know. Probably dropping out of college. What is your favorite thing to go shopping for? I love window shopping for pets online, haha. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? A political stance. Who was the last friend you saw, and what did you do together? Oh yikes, it's been more than a while... It may have been Girt? In which case we probably watched TV or played board games together. Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else’s dreams? Jason just loves to show up in my dreams more than anyone else. I don't really wonder that, no. What is something you wish you could say to someone who is no longer in your life, or something you wish they could know? I wish I could tell Bryar (Jason's friend I got in a fight with) I misunderstood something he said to me ("martyr" has two different definitions, and I somehow didn't know the modern one at the time) that made me seem like an absolute, attention-seeking bitch. It's so fucking embarrassing to look back on, because I agreed with him because I thought he meant it as I would die for my beliefs, which is true. What worries you most about your future? Whether or not I'll ever be in the physical shape I want to be in again. Or if I'll have a stable job. What is something you do to feel better when you’re scared? Find distractions, like funny YouTube videos. I also engage in deep breathing and grounding methods. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? Oh my god, in elementary school, we read a book where everything a boy touched turned to chocolate. Weird book. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? Other people, definitely. I like having someone to talk to and comment on what we're watching. There's nothing I won't watch alone. What was the subject of the last video you watched? It was a let's play.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''nothing else matters'' by metallica

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thecrenellations · 3 years

Text

Return of the Thief Notes, Part One: The Book of Pheris, Volume I

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part Two | Part Three | TaT)

Contents: "So, so, so” watch, Costis watch, swearing, trashing the king’s attendants, being objectively wrong, boundless enthusiasm and love

I promise I’ve had more developed thoughts since these often incoherent ones, but I’ve enjoyed having these notes to refer to - for sentimental reasons and for entertainment, so here they are, for others who enjoy liveblogs and/or being whisked back in time to their first read of this wonderful book.

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Dedication, Table of Contents, Exordium:

There it is – to Sounis

Exordium – vocab #1

Interregnum?!? Alyta?

Pheris!!!

Yeah I love him from the first page

MOIRA

MOCKING COMMENTS HELP! Gen lives!

A new level of unreliable narrator

Moira, messages of Gods, Pheris, messages of __

Wtf is going on in this study? A zoo?

high king vs great king vs annux?

okie dokie dude

Chapter 1

1. Susa – Costis

2. Infirmity – who gets to be hero/tell story (I started reading right after the book launch, in which mwt spent some time talking about her writing influences and decisions connect to this question - Pheris isn’t her first disabled protagonist and storyteller, of course, but it was lovely to meet him properly directly after hearing her talk about it. Book launch foreshadowing part 1...)

Melisande?

Is this why he wasn’t taught to read?

3. Always the summer

Bees!

4. Hunting cat… hm…

Ok … shrine … 😬

5. Once again we start with a disaster or having to flee

Which Eugenides precipitated

Bite!

Little monster :(

6. Falling…

7. :( :( :(

His purpose? D:

8. YIKES

Chapter 2

9. Hello there! (Gen!)

Massive chair?

10. CRACKED WATER JUG (amphora motif???)

11. Triangle from seal!

Gen that’s rude to Pheris :( (“He will fit in very well with my attendants”)

Wait. This must have happened before ACoK! (nope)

12. :(

Xikander … never made an impression before

How old is Pheris? (lol)

13. Philologos come thru!

Royal closet reappears!

14. Hello weird secondhand scene!

He is Eugenides

Marina…

15. Petrus? GALEN? OH SHIT!

Is this why Galen was called? (nope)

16. Hell yea Petrus

Miras’ golden balls oh no

All these previously unnamed sucky attendants!

17. Ula – goddess of hearth and healing

Ok … Galen … or a god? Eugenides????? (why did these options occur to me before Mr. Shows Up At Your Bedside At Night himself)

18. Finally the attendant floor plans I crave + hunting scenes!

19. EXCUSE ME he slept through Sounis + Eddis wedding!!!

Again – high king!

20. So Ion is beautiful … hmm.

Yeah … Sejanus has facets. I like it.

21. Clearly no one would know what king would do … lol

Don’t mind me just sorting the attendants on a spectrum of awfulness!!!

22. SO SO SO – ION!!!!!

How many fucking attendants are there and how many are on my hit list!

Is “the necessaries” bathrooms or like … him stealing? (just the bathrooms ... the Gen-Pheris parallels were really getting to me at this point)

23. OH MY GOD THE UNIFIED CREST

Also … frogs. Frogs.

24. Big day for Gen huh

Definitely an aura of Something as he writes about Gen

25. HELLO EVERYONE

26. Sorry Kamet, Pheris does the physical descriptions better. They’re beautiful

I’m blacking out at Eddis and Sounis

27. Jesus Christ. The bear.

Cousin time!

Under the table is the new up on the roof!

Uh… twin imagery ….

Gen’s feet!

Jesus. The matching

28. Cleon … wtf? A cousin?

A trial for Sophos?

Show! Us! Sophos’s! Shoes!

29. If u throw things out the air shaft you might hit the king

Was it a chicken?

Lol nvm the guy at night is Gen. That is … very sweet

- Showing up at night

- Accent

- Complaining about Petrus

- Swearing

- One hand

I am judging Costis and Sophos for not describing the paneling in Gen’s room!

Chapter 3

30. Was it a chicken?

An earring huh, good hand huh

31. Literally screaming “NO!” at Gen. Don’t joke about dying! I am killed by Gen on annux day. This is. My boy. Yes he is perfect. Yes he will refuse to get up. I love him. I died on page 31

Philologos is still the best of them

32. Dancing bear indeed

Always the powdered gold

Ruby!!!!! <3

Aww a smile!!! <3

Pheris he likes you!

33. They both love invisibility and lost it … I cry

Erupt like the sacred mountain excuse me!

OR WORSE return to bed! Lol

34. He’s Eugenides when he’s talking to Attolia

Ouch hero talk

! from Irene!

My queen!

Hey Phresine!

They way we do <3 he’s hating it but he’s so comfortable with her

Sister and bro mention! C’mon!

I love them

EYEBROW

35. Honestly that’s a yes (“I have no idea what you mean, my queen”)

It’s so cute they hang out in the morning … like how long was it even since they’ve seen each other lol

:( tough walk for Pheris

Is it prophecy time?

Lol how long does this construction take?!

Also … she’s pregnant, huh? but no one knows (nope)

Is befriending someone weaponized as a prank count for Gen’s enemies to friends list?

Also SHOW ME the magus. I know he’s here!

36. Pheris excuse me, why not recreate this!

Lol cast off language of history indeed

Feel the thrum of the goddess!

EXCUSE ME… a minor goddess? Mystery goddess? Or Philia?

Oh Gen

37. Well, Gen, someone is having a worse day than you.

Damn, how far we come.

Aww Sounis, babe, I love you and so does Gen

[drawing of the four of them sitting in a row]

38. Artadorus???? Pomegranate?

39. HEIRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A friend! Also lol. Two smiles, for Pheris and Heiro..

40. Yesss Melheret joke in action.

Costis has left tho right?

Jesus, Melheret

SHE GAVE HIM A HORSE (I COULD NOT DEAL with this entire conversation, but then again I could not deal with this whole book.)

41. I love them all so much

“on that horse, you will look like a king” I can’t with her sense of humor

He sure did say that

I feel like I’m missing something with the fight on foot thing … remembering battles?

Helen called him Gen!

Sophos stop talking about yourself and bringing apricots into everything lol

Lol these bystanders don’t know how lucky they are. Nor does Pheris, yet

42. She’s protecting him

Also … Gen … you didn’t want to be a soldier.

43. Guards have capes

2 startled men … hm …

Oh Gen. The fucking brutal echoes…

44. :( :( :(

Gen tell your wife you’re sick!

The attendants are so dumb

45. So, so, so :(

Tell who? Petrus?

Wink!

Yes?

46. Bleeding! Salt! Lemon! Heck no! What is he, a piece of meat?

Oranges?

47. “savoring each bite as if it were my last” ... Same … but with this book

Hmm… Alyta! Goddess of the gentle rain! (despite this “hmm,” I did not put the pieces together)

48. Oh no Teleus! And someone?

Aw he realized <3 lemon water

49. Gen eat your broth lol

50. I love them.

Ion’s really trying to make up for what he did that one time

51. Without the approval of the great goddess HAHAHA

I love them. Cousin time! Growl?

Idk whether or not to be reassured, Gen.

Wow Cleon I do not like that. Also didn’t he die? (...)

Comma (“I am not, Eddis”)

Go smack him!

52. Gen I love you.

Helen I love you.

He’s so bad at self care but I love him

Chapter 4

55. love that our narrator just disappears and reappears

56. Attolia’s brother’s bedroom? Yikes. Ominous. A detail in a story we’ve already gotten, different every time <3

57. fucking attendants. 3 good ones. Medander you were beneath Costis’s notice before but I hate you. Costis didn’t have time for you or Xikos or Xikander and nor do I

58. interesting pawn talk!!!

59. <3 Pheris :(

The Gen comparisons though

:( :( :( :(

60. flamboyance <3

Cemphora bush

Bees

61. I love him

62. I love them

Also lol “Your majesty?”

63. Name … hm … (“I have deliberately omitted [my tutor’s] name here”)

64. more twin imagery I swear

WAIT … it was his birthday! Not just Annux day?!! Gen was born in late summer???

Attendant list thank you

65. laying it all out there, huh … (that one Gen quote)

Lol they’re the same but Pheris likes horses

66. Insellia! Hello nice to meet you

67. Gen that’s mean. (“He is hardly even half of one.”)

68. Coleus leves???

“I am Eugenides.” <3

Gen why

69. Gold cups???? Hmmmmm. Also lioness. Def invoking Costis. (they’re probably not the cups, but STILL)

Earth….

70. Moira! Hi!!! Rainbow shawl!

Like a rabbit!

Pester!

I’m … very sad he uses his Attolian accent with Helen

71. Aaah so good

Mortals

Moira knows another messenger?

Does he think he can’t die in battle?

72. hmm are they WRANGLING?! (Galen and Petrus and my Fire and Hemlock word association)

Kill that pastry Irene I love you

morning training with his … guard? (Is that the whole guard or a guard? Costis senses tingling once again.)

73. Oh gen.

Ouch! (“to send people to their deaths and not risk my own is contemptible”)

Is she implying he’s paying Therespides?

74. Interesting Cleon plan. So many doubles

OUCH. (“Only if he comes back from the dead.” I assumed Lader had died in the war; it’s a different ouch now. I love that they both accidentally say things to each other that poke old wounds, and it’s not a big deal but it’s also not dismissed! Their relationship has come so far, and I love them so much.)

75. Verimius – Lavia – Celia??? Somebody is queer in there!

A GUARD

This scene confuses me. Xortix? Layteres? Aris! but dice thing is less political … so maybe? (just wait....)

76. So many reasons to hate Medander

Hey Costis! You exist! KoA happened!

Gen is just … still so uncomfortable and miserable. He chose, he has people, but still.

RIP Clopius also WHAT

77. Lol Hilarion’s grand statements

78. Yorn Fordad Hello!

Luxurious mustache

The mighty Pents?

Besin Quedue – she’s coming 4 you watch out

79. RIP Baron Hippias

Chapter 5

80. Spring! Plays! Cenna!

81. Oh dear

Oh dear

At least they said he was pretty

83. ?!? :( wine

Uh oh. Stockpiling

85. What even.

AAAAAAAAAH COSTIS

86. Omg Irene. Hissing. I love her.

Also … Gen’s the viper

Also this scene was written by Pheris.

Damn.

87. oh no.

What better man

She fucking quoted Howl. I love them.

Also, bees (this scene killed me)

90. Falling?

Oh shit

Also … Juridius and Pheris, Susa and Costis (comparing demands for information)

93. oh my god (IT’S THE WINDOW SCENE)

Oh my god

94. She! Called! Him! Gen!

I love this and it scares me

Lol Chloe

Irene you learned from her though

95. D:

96. :(

97. water stuff

98. what the heck

OH NO (Quedue scene)

100. yikes

Omg

Wow.

102. yikes yikes YIKES

103. a blade has protruded from his chest (tbt to The Thief)

jesus

106. shit

Did Gen hit him?

108. lol Phresine

109. lol

I want genuinely every character’s reaction to this shit

Chapter 6

111. what the heck Gen.

112. like a god [crown doodle]

114. Perma?

116. Gen. Gen. Gen. Do not.

117. AAAA (god intervention)

122. Juridius to Dite

124. bye Iolanthe and Ileia! Tell us about Caeta and Silla.

125. did not expect so much Ion

Chapter 7

127. Fryst god of winter

She laughed!

They’re so married

128. OH SHIT (Costis ship is sighted and I remember what’s about to happen next)

Interesting timing

He rode the horse home?

131. Beauty and good, beauty and kind

134. The gods’ goodwill

Keep them safe <3

135. Is that his MOM?!! Wtf (it was!)

Pheris steal those earrings!!!

RING! SMASH BOX!

137. AMPHORA EARRINGS (and flowers)

138. I love Phresine

139. Why do I feel like all the game birds are pigeons

140. meanwhile Gen’s been hanging out with Kamet. Shit. I cannot.

WELCOME HOME BOYS!

HELL YEAH KAMET ATTEND THOSE MEETINGS!

RELIUS COME THRU

141. lethium soup! The reversal

Safe for you

142. of course he knew <3

143. Kamet time! I love him. We get to see Kamet!!!

Also … echo of Gen’s notes on Mede

145. very handsome. … gaycostis vindication (referring to @costis’s url at the time and this post. Little did I know what else was to come in the next chapter and then a few months later with the adaptation news...)

Do you know who I am?

Chapter 8

147. Of course he’s a cartographer

A favorite huh

148. of course she didn’t tell us his age!

149. the angsty window staring I crave

Music!

151. adventure, huh

I do have a soft spot for Melheret

152. concerned about amphora gift

153. Glad they can be well and united in spite!! (Gen and Melheret)

154. Pheris loves math and I love him

155. Hello Teleus. Hello olives

Lol Relius is not into math

156. pigeons. Inkpot!

157. yeah honestly. He tortures people. He was NOT tortured by the king

159. lol (“I have noted the elective nature of certain behaviors” ... I love Relius and Pheris.)

160. The Invitation! I <3 it

161. EXCUSE ME WHO

Legarus!

FOLKS HERE WE ARE (I cannot overstate how wonderful it was to read this page. I did not know who the poem was from, and “Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults” is even sweeter to reread, but it’s just ... his confidence is so different from the tentative consideration of a new philosophy of trust and love we see in KoA. And there is subtextual queerness in the books before this one, some more apparent and some more subtle (and what is obvious to one reader may be subtle or invisible to another, in these books especially), and there is the attendant love triangle a few chapters back, but HERE - here, Pheris acknowledges the real feeling and love in Legarus’s disastrous relationship and tells us directly that his lover was a man, here he seamlessly makes it clear how bi and poly Relius is, and he quietly ties these relationships and realities to his growing understanding of the world. It’s not subtext. And there’s a lot more to come, but this page really hit me, and sort of promised the “more to come” while assuring me that what had come before, more subtly, was there. I used to have heteronormative readings of both these books and myself, and when Thick as Thieves brought them crashing back into my heart after years away, I knew better about myself, and I saw that - or the possibility of that reading - reflected in the new book, and it was such a good surprise. It meant a lot, and this page meant a lot, and that is why I’m writing a small essay to accompany this note.)

Lol wow

162. Where are you traveling, man (this question remains)

163. Fuck you, Orutus

164. Stole an inkpot!

165. the map!!! (Kamet’s)

166. I love them!

167. The Math Master hmm

Am I an oracle (Nope! :) )

#there is SOME context #and some rambling #but i'm sure some of it doesn't make sense so i'm very up for explaining anything #return of the thief #the queen's thief #mwt #something i #rott spoilers #return of the thief spoilers

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 4 years

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Notes on Robert McKee’s “Story” 28: How to Express Progression in Your Story

☝ A very literal progression lol. I still have yet to find a single-take fight scene as impressive, though some of John Wick’s come close.

Expressing Progression

“When a story genuinely progresses it calls upon greater and greater human capacity, demands greater and greater willpower, generates greater and greater change in characters’ lives, and places them all at greater and greater jeopardy. How are we to express this? How will the audience sense the progressions?”

How can we get it across to the audience that things are getting serious? Well, McKee shows us four different ways.

1. Social Progression

“Widen the impact of character actions into society.”

Have your story start intimately, with only a few principal characters. But as the telling moves forward, allow their actions to ramify outward into the world around them, touching and changing the lives of more and more people. Not all at once. Rather, spread the effect gradually through the progressions.

A good example of this would be ANY of the first films for each of the Marvel Heroes. In particular, the first Iron Man movie springs to my mind. It starts off as being all about Tony Stark and Pepper, but very quickly he learns that his family business and his decisions to run it and develop weapons have impacts on others, gradually increasing as the story unfolds.

2. Personal Progression

“Drive actions deeply into the intimate relationships and inner lives of our characters.”

If the logic of your setting doesn’t allow you to go wide, then you must go deep. Start with a personal or inner conflict that demands balancing, yet seems relatively solvable. Then, as the work progresses, hammer the story downward--emotionally, psychologically, physically, morally--to the dark secrets, the unspoken truths that hide behind a public mask.

I suppose the Iron Man films could also show a Personal Progression for Tony Stark, though certainly Social Progression takes the front seat. A better example would be...hmm. Perhaps A Telltale Heart by Poe? It’s been quite a while since I read it, but I feel like because it mainly focuses on the narrator and the old man, it could be classified as personal progression. If I’m wrong or if you have other examples, please let me know in a comment!

3. Symbolic Ascension

“Build the symbolic charge of the story’s imagery from the particular to the universal, the specific to the archetypal.”

A good story well told fosters a good film. But a good story well told with the added power of subliminal symbolism lifts the telling to the next level of expressivity, and the payoff may be a great film. Symbolism is very compelling. Like images in our dreams, it invades the unconscious mind and touches us deeply--as long as we’re unaware of its presence. If, in a heavy-handed way, we label images as “symbolic,” their effect is destroyed. But if they are slipped quietly, gradually, and unassumingly into the telling, they move us profoundly.

Symbolic progression works in this way: start with actions, locations, and roles that represent only themselves. But as the story progresses, choose images that gather greater and greater meaning, until by the end of the telling characters, settings, and events stand for universal ideas.

Man am I struggling to come up with a good example of a film or book that does this. McKee uses the films THE DEER HUNTER and THE TERMINATOR as examples. I’m not cultured enough to have seen The Deer Hunter, so let’s talk about The Terminator. I know, at first glance it might not seem deep enough to qualify for symbolic ascension, but hear McKee out.

“Opening with step-down imagery of commonplace people in commonplace settings, it tells the story of Sarah Connor, a fast-food waitress in Los Angeles. Suddenly, the Terminator and Reese explode into the present from the year 2029, and pursue Sarah through the streets of L.A., one trying to kill her, the other to save her.

We learn that in the future robots become self-aware and try to stamp out the human race that created them. They nearly succeed when the remnants of humanity are led in a revolt by the charismatic John Connor. He turns the tide against hte robots and all but stamps them out, when the robots invent a time machine and send into the past an assassin to kill Connor’s mother before he’s born, thus eliminating Connor from existence and winning the war for the robots. Connor captures the time machine, discovers the plan, and sends back his lieutenant, Reese, to kill this monster before it kills his mother.

The streets of Los Angeles conspire into the ancient archetype of the labyrinth. Freeways, alleyways, cul-de-sacs, and corridors of buildings twist and turn the characters until they work their way down to its tangled heart. There Sarah, like Theseus at the center of the Minoan maze battling the Minotaur, confronts the half-man/half-robot Terminator. If she vanquishes the demon, she will, like the Virgin Mary, give birth to the savior of humanity, John Connor (JC), and raise him to lead humanity to deliverance in the coming holocaust. Sarah progresses from waitress to goddess, and the film’s symbolic progression lifts it above almost all others in its genre.”

Gotta say, I never thought I would consider TERMINATOR to be a deep film, but here we are. I’m sold.

4. Ironic Ascension

“Turn progression on irony.”

Irony is the subtlest manifestation of story pleasure, that delicious sense of “Ah, life is just like that.” It sees life in duality; it plays with our paradoxical existence, aware of the bottomless chasm between what seems and what is. In story, irony plays between actions and results--the primary source of story energy, between appearance and reality--the primary source of truth and emotion.

An ironic sensibility is a precious asset, a razor to cut to the truth, but it can’t be used directly. It does us no good to have a character wander the story saying, “How ironic!” Like symbolism, to point at irony is to destroy it.

McKee defines six ironic story patterns:

He gets at last what he’s always wanted...but too late to have it.

He’s pushed further and further from his goal...only to discover that in fact he’s been led right to it.

He throws away what he later finds is indispensable to his happiness

To reach a goal he unwittingly takes the precise steps necessary to lead him away.

The actions he takes to destroy something becomes exactly what are needed to be destroyed by it.

He comes into possession of something he’s certain will make him miserable, does everything possible to get rid of it...only to discover it’s the gift of happiness.

The key to ironic progression, McKee states, is certainty and precision. These are stories of protagonists who feel they know for certain what they must do and have a precise plan how to do it. They think life is A, B, C, D, E. That’s just when life likes to turn you around, kick you in the butt, and grin: “Not today, my friend. Today it’s E, D, C, B, A. Sorry.”

In Summary

I think most all of my stories have taken the Social Progression route, which makes sense since they’re fantasy action/adventure for the most part. But I’m very interested in attempting more Personal Progression, and even more interested in Ironic Ascension, which sounds like a truly difficult thing to pull off well. What style of progression do your stories follow? I hope this post helped you frame your stories and perhaps help you find direction with them.

Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print

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altik-0 · 4 years

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Personal Revelation

I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out how to write this post, but my mind has felt like it's tumbling around a washing machine and trying to figure out how to straighten my thoughts into a coherent message has felt impossible. But I'm driving myself crazy continuing to hold off on saying something, so I'm going to just rip off the bandage now, and we can talk in more depth after the cut.

Hi! 👋 I'm Asexual and Aromantic! Let's talk about it.

Where to even start

This month has been a fucking trip.

On the one hand, this has been the fourth month of nearly continuous quarantine for the COVID-19 pandemic. On the other, the end of May was the spark that began a wildfire of protests against police brutality that have swept across the country, including the seemingly milquetoast land of Salt Lake City. I found myself simultaneously figuring out the umpteenth way to keep myself entertained while being in home nearly uninterrupted for over 90 days, while also desperately searching for the courage to exit my home and join the marches against injustice.

And in the background of all of this, it was Pride Month.

On the 12th, a Youtube creator I follow released a video about their experience discovering themselves as non-binary. You should watch it, but what is important for the sake of this post is that the bulk of the video is an asynchronous telling of various moments throughout their life that, in reflection, show them that "[they] were who [they] are now, back then". These moments form a tapestry that tell a story of self discovery, and the result is incredibly powerful.

They released a rough cut about a week earlier for Patreon supporters, and I was immediately transfixed. I watched it three times in a row on the first day it was uploaded. I watched it twice more after the release. Hell, when I pulled this video up now to get the share link I couldn't help but sit and watch through it all over again.

At first I didn't really know why I felt so attached to this piece in particular. Yet still, I spent multiple nights laying awake for hours in what felt like a dreamlike haze at the time. It took three nights like this for me to realize I had spent all this time reflecting on my own past moments, and revisiting them through the lens this video had shared with me.

How I got here

It is September 2005. I am currently at a school dance. I know I am supposed to be finding someone to dance with and enjoy that for some reason, but all I want to do is go home. I might consider mustering up some courage and just asking someone, anyone, to dance, if it weren't for the fact that I still didn't have any friends. Instead, I feel trapped, wandering up and down the side wall, waiting for it to be over so I can finally leave. I stumble across a small group also sitting on the sides; a girl reading manga, and another playing Yu-Gi-Oh! with a boy across from her. I approach: "I didn't realize anyone still played this" They invite me to join, and soon I find myself with genuine friends at school for the first time in years. I never think about asking someone to dance again.

It is the summer of 2017. I am at a bar with some coworkers at the end of the week. I don't drink, but I've opened myself up to joining people for happy hour because it feels like a good way to socialize, and I've genuinely enjoyed getting to know folks. My team lead makes a comment that he feels it's impossible for a man and a woman to ever have a friendly relationship without having some element of sexual tension between them. I rebuff this comment -- initially I feel a sense of feminist frustration at the concept, as if it is implicitly saying that men and women should not work together. As the conversation continues, I realize the real reason I feel so sure this is wrong is because I have never felt this way toward anyone I've worked with.

It is the summer of 2008. I am in church, listening to the new instructor for my Sunday school class shift the discussion towards politics. Since he began, every lesson without fail will eventually derail into right-wing screeds. For him, any issue that is even vaguely left-leaning is a potential avenue for Satan to take hold of you: feminism, activism, even environmentalism. But lately he has had a particular fixation on the topic of gay marriage, and it is beginning to take a toll on my mental health. Being in these classes, hearing a man in a position of authority repeatedly say "it is not that we shouldn't love these people, but we need to still understand that they are committing a sin" has become physically painful to listen to. Of course, I am not queer, just an ally -- I can only imagine how painful this must be for those who are directly affected. I will nearly pass out from exhaustion and anxiety during sacrament meeting a few hours later.

It is February 2020. I am out to lunch with a friend and coworker. I have just recently changed jobs after less than a year, because I was hopelessly miserable at my last one. It should have been a dream job, marrying two of my closest passions, but instead I felt suffocated by being in a world where everyone seemed indifferent towards me at best, or actively hated me at worst. My friend invited me to join this job, and although it is a miserable job, I find solace in being able to go to lunch and have genuine conversations with someone I get along with. He mentions his wife is pregnant, and the stress of tending for his current child while she is resting. I acknowledge the frustration, though somewhat awkwardly since I am still single. "Oh, yeah, I sometimes forget you aren't married yet, haha. Well, don't worry, you'll get to join in on the fun soon enough!" I want to say "I very much doubt that"; instead I say "Well, I guess we'll see." The conversation does not feel so genuine anymore.

It is January 2009. I am watching House M.D. with my dad. We bond a lot while watching tv. We're both avid fans of MST3K, and we are invariably the obnoxious people in a movie theater a few rows down cracking jokes throughout the film. It feels fun and rebellious, even if we're doing it at home where nobody will be annoyed. This episode starts with Foreman and Thirteen waking up together in bed after clearly spending the night together. My dad cracks a joke about how "they're going to get in trouble, since they aren't married!" I quip back "nah, it's not a big deal, they just slept together, haha." My dad pauses the show and turns to me, deadly serious: "Who told you that was okay?!" I am a deer in headlights. I suddenly realize that I meant "slept together" literally, but nobody else uses it that way. I don't understand how I missed that.

It is October 2010. I am at home, speaking with my mother after coming home from school. She has always been a political firebrand, and especially after I left the church and started college the two of us have connected on this a lot. She has just read an article that mentioned the expanded acronym "LGBTQIA", and says she doesn’t know what all the "I" and "A" refer to. I don't yet know what the "I" refers to, but I suggest the "A" is probably for "asexual". She says she hadn't heard of asexuality, though that does make sense. I realize I don't recall hearing about asexuality before either. I don't actually know if anyone identifies like that. It just somehow feels like something that must exist.

It is the spring of 2007. I am at a local game store playing at a Friday Night Magic event for the first time. I suffer from very extreme social anxiety, and I spent the entire week a ball of nervous energy. Despite myself, I have managed to drive myself to the event and register. I have promised myself dozens of times over that I already knew Magic players were people similar to me, so there was no reason to worry. My first match is against someone wearing a frilly dress, cat ears, and tail. She mews at me several times while playing. On the surface I have frozen and only robotically go through motions of playing the game because my anxiety has boiled over to the point that I cannot quite function properly. Inside, I am filled with pure delight at realizing that someone could feel comfortable expressing themselves that openly in a space like this. I eventually become friends with this person who I will later learn is trans -- I had never met a trans person before. I will become close friends with three more trans people, at least two enbies, and countless other queer people over the next decade of playing this wonderful game.

It is November 2019. I am at work, sitting at my desk, feeling completely numb despite starting the day energetic to the point of mania. I've just had an argument with a close friend -- perhaps the closest friend I've ever had -- and it ended... poorly, to put it mildly. So poorly, in fact, that it is safe to say we are just not friends anymore. The reality was that there were always problems between us, and this was a culmination of conflict that never really got effectively resolved. It might not have even been possible to resolve. In the moment, though, I cannot escape the suffocating feeling that I am a failure as a human being; someone who simply does not know how to maintain a relationship. My mind goes through loops of how I could have said something differently to have it end better. The emotional pain will not fully make sense to me until several months later, when I realize this was the closest thing to a break-up that I've ever experienced.

It is January 2012. I am watching House M.D. with my dad again. Since leaving the church, watching shows like this has been a desperate lifeline for our relationship. We don't joke as much anymore. This episode features a side plot with an asexual couple, who House determines is simply impossible, and uses his power of supreme logic to prove the asexuality wasn't real all along. I have heard of asexuality, though I don't know where or when, so I am angry at this. Of course, as an ally. I want to joke with my dad to release some frustration, but he is still in the church, and I don’t think he will empathize. I stay silent, and do not enjoy this episode.

It is December 2019. I am scrolling through a Discord channel I was invited to from one of the leftist creators I follow. This community has been a breath of fresh air in many ways, and one I found surprisingly helpful was an NSFW adult content chat channel where people are open about sex, fetishes, and more. I've considered myself fairly open-minded and sex-positive, but I'm still a virgin at 28 so I've found there is a lot I just don't know about. Today, someone has started a conversation about what qualifies as "taboo" and relating it to kink-shaming. Another member replies, mentioning they are asexual and find the whole notion of taboos being kind of bizarre. My mind reels at seeing someone who identifies as asexual in this chat. Over time I find out there are several other people who identify at least gray-ace in this chat, some who even draw risque artwork for commission. I realize how little I actually understood about what asexuality really was, and begin scouring the internet for articles and wikis on asexuality.

It is April 2010. I am at an Apollo Burger across the street from the local game store where I am playing in a Magic prerelease. My friends I followed over are talking about weekend plans, and one of them makes a joke about doing some chores to butter up his partner to have sex. The joke does not go over my head -- I am straight, and understand sex, even if I am still a virgin -- but I still can't help but think out loud: "You know, I just don't get why people make such a big deal out of sex." The awkwardness and confused looks are suffocating. I drop the topic immediately.

It is June 2020. I have just watched a video from an enby Youtube creator about their experience discovering their own gender identity. Over the next three days I will see every one of these past experiences, along with hundreds of others, flash before my eyes in rapid succession, over and over, until I begin to realize that I haven't allowed myself to truly identify how I do. Every time I asked "am I asexual?" in the past, I would dismiss it because I understood sex and have a sex drive. Once I actually researched asexuality, though, I almost immediately found stories of people who identify as ace and still experience a sex drive. I also discover a lot of stories from aromantic people that sound painfully similar to feelings I hadn't even realized were not the norm. For the first time I begin to realize I may not just be an ally.

So what does this mean

I came to a sense of satisfaction with living alone and single a long time ago. At first this came with a certain level of shame, because I felt like it was only because I was too cowardly to enter the dating scene and try to find a relationship for myself. Over time the impact of the shame diminished, but it never went away; it just became a quiet background noise that I got accustomed to pushing back.

But now that I feel comfortable calling myself "Aromantic", I don't feel any shame. A romantic relationship is simply something I don't need. Instead, I can focus on fostering the kinds of deep relationships that do feed my soul. That will likely be a difficult thing to do -- awkwardly traversing intimacy was something most people worked through as a teenager or young adult, and I'm nearly 30, haha. But it at least feels possible now.

But really the biggest change for me is that I feel like I can be honest and public about who I am in a way I never was before. Simply being open about this piece of my identity somehow feels important if for no other reason than to let other people who felt like I did growing up that they aren't alone.

So... yeah. I'm aroace. And I always have been.

#coming out #aroace #aromantic #asexual #pride #god it's nice to have an emotional post that doesn't need to be tagged as garbage for once

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master-thief-gray-shadow · 5 years

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So as of today it’s been exactly one year since I first watched Revue Starlight, and it’s been a really interesting year. I’ve been thinking about the impact the series has had on my life lately and felt like I needed to get some thoughts down.

TW: self harm mention, suicide mention

Love Live changed my life. It was not my first fandom ever, but it was the first one where I got seriously involved with the community. Not only did I manage to make friends within the fandom (and to be honest these friends have proven truer than any I’ve had in real life), but I also managed to meet not one but two amazing partners, which is two more than I’d ever anticipated I’d have. Love Live was good to me, and for a good three years I happily allowed it to consume my very soul. But things like these don’t last forever.

I don’t talk about it much (there’s a reason why but that’s another story), but I am autistic and I do have ADHD. Obviously hyperfixations are a big part of my life. The big ones tend to last for years. Naruto was three or four, Touhou was a solid three, Kancolle was less than a year but I feel like it would have been longer if I hadn’t forcibly divorced myself from it due to the fact that my mental health at the time was spiraling out of control. Love Live was just another one of these things. For years it was constantly in my thoughts, and at the height of all this I couldn’t watch a movie without thinking “hm, what if this was Love Live characters?” It gave me a reason to live and got me through a few rough patches. But my interest did eventually start to wane. Unfortunately this coincided with one of those rough patches, and this particular one had something that I hadn’t had to deal with in a while: uncertainty.

Early last year I quit my job. It was a customer service job, one that I had been at for a few years and was starting to get tired of. I figured that I would be unemployed for a month or two (which at the time sounded refreshing, one of the reasons I quit was because the job had become so soul-sucking that I didn’t have energy for anything else) before getting a new one, preferably one with better hours and better pay. What I hadn’t counted on was my depression, which was already a contributing factor in my somewhat fragile state, utterly consuming me now that I didn’t have any kind of routine or purpose, and was therefore at the mercy of my thoughts at all times. I tried to take refuge in Love Live like I always had, and for a while, it worked. But eventually it just kind of...stopped working. So here I was, unemployed, depressed, and rapidly losing the ability to find joy in things. All that, but thankfully in no actual, real, physical danger. But apparently my brain thought I was. So that’s what it started telling me.

I’m not gonna go into what I specifically believed was happening. The long and short of it was that I started having irrational fears about my health, brought upon by some discussion that was going on in the spaces I hung out in. At first I was able to just dismiss it as paranoia, but certain things happened that only served to deepen it. Eventually I started thinking that I needed to go to the hospital, but what for? Nobody would believe there was anything wrong. I didn’t even believe it myself, at least consciously. But my brain was telling me I needed to go. And if I didn’t have an obvious reason to, I should give myself one.

I did not actually reach the point of doing self-harm, fortunately. But I came close. One evening something triggered a massive panic attack, and I, sincerely believing my life was in danger, began seriously, seriously considering it. I was very lucky that my parents kind of knew what was going on and rushed me to the hospital before I could do anything I might regret. I ended up spending a few days in the hospital’s psyche ward, which from what I’ve gathered was actually pretty okay as far as psyche wards go, but it was still a quiet and sterile place with no clocks and no contact with the outside. I was relieved to get out, to say the least. Even spending five and a half hours a day in intensive therapy, five days a week, was an improvement. I even managed to keep the job I had just started.

And that was the state I was in when I first watched Revue Starlight. Crawling my way out from the bottom of a pit. I had heard of the show, I’d seen it on my dash a few times, and this one anon, you know who you are, kept recommending it to me, which I had responded to every time with “okay, I’ll consider it.” For the past month or two I had been watching JoJo for the first time, and I had just finished Stardust Crusaders. Stardust Crusaders, if you haven’t watched it, is not bad at all. But it is very long and has some pacing issues. I needed a break from JoJo. A short one-season anime like Revue Starlight? The perfect palette cleanser. After all, it’s just Love Live with swords, right? It’s not like it’s gonna take over my life or anything.

And it didn’t. The first three episodes were...uh...well, I was more than a little confused. I didn’t really gel with any of the characters or understand what was going on, so, upon finishing episode 3, I unceremoniously closed the tab and declared myself done. At least that was how it was initially. One evening a couple days later I found myself bored, and figured that I might as well just finish the thing. I had time to kill, after all.

Now this was what did the trick. This time I found myself blown out of the water, especially by the finale, which had just aired that day. Revue Starlight quickly flooded in to fill the void Love Live had left, and I found myself giddy with that new hyperfixation feel. Therapy was going extremely smoothly, I started getting the hang of my new job, and I was even going to the gym regularly. I had something to live for again. A rope to hold onto so I wouldn’t fall deeper and hit the bottom that I’d struggled so hard to climb away from. No matter what happened, I would have the 99th Seisho class to fall back on.

Things, of course, did happen. I grew to resent my job, which wasn’t well-suited for me, so I started looking for a new one. A better one. I had my eye on one in particular, it seemed like a nice cushy desk job that probably had good pay and benefits. I was sure I had nailed the interview. I’d opted to finish the holiday season with my current job, but I really, really wanted that new one. I’d just start once I was finished with my current one, and I had gathered the next starting date was early in the spring. It was for this reason that I wasn’t too concerned when the place I was currently working at got closed down. No problem. I’d just wait for my new job to start.

And so I was unemployed again. In winter, no less, so my depression was particularly monstrous now. For two months I sat in figurative and literal darkness, clinging onto two things: the expectation that I would hear back from the people I was hoping to hear from, and my love for Revue Starlight. I was absolutely miserable. But I held on. I held onto those two things. And finally, the date where I would be called in for an initiation drew near.

Unfortunately, it turned out I actually hadn’t gotten the job after all. I nearly fell apart completely.

I’m kind of convinced that if I hadn’t gotten into RevStar and renewed my need to hyperfixate on things I might’ve actually gone through with killing myself. The sheer despair I felt when I found out I had just spent so much time sitting around for nothing, that I had wasted a whole two months of my life, was crushing. In the heat of the moment, I really did think about it. I felt so utterly worthless and foolish, and if I took my own life I wouldn’t have to feel that way anymore. But I couldn’t. Because I did have a reason to keep living and to move on. I still had Revue Starlight.

Eventually I did manage to get a job, my current one. It’s not ideal, but the pay and hours are better than either of my previous ones, as is the nature of the job itself. The effects of my hormone replacement therapy, which I had only been on for about a month when everything had fallen apart, soon started to become more apparent. Now that I had a steady and regular source of income I decided to make plans to go out and see my girlfriend, who I figured it was about time I met in real life, which I eventually did, and she was wonderful. And those were just things that happened within my personal life. As for Revue Starlight? Shortly after I’d gotten the job, I managed to actually watch the stage plays, which I hadn’t seen yet, and they were amazing, especially the second one. Starira got an English release, pulling new blood into the fandom. Sato Hinata was slated to appear at Anime Central, which is the one con I actually bother to attend, and I got to meet her. For real. In person.

And if I’d gone and killed myself? I would never have gotten any of that. I would have missed out on so much. As much of a fool as I had felt like at the time, at least I didn’t do the single most foolish thing that I could have. And I’m glad. And thankful.

So thank you, to that one anon (you know who you are) for pointing me in the right direction. Thank you to the fellow fans who make up this community that I’ve settled down in. Thank you to the seiyuu in front of the mics, and the artists, animators, composers, writers, and coders behind them. I’m here right now because of you. Thank you.

#i've just been thinking about this #like a lot #because so much has happened in the past year #so much has changed and i feel like a different person now #and i feel like i really do owe it to this series #revue starlight #gray posts

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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Like, I definitely firmly believe that someday soon I will be able to finally resolve this whole jaw issue once and for all, because like....I have to, lol, that’s literally how I get up in the morning.

But just...lmao its so weird to think about how I really have no idea how to picture my life after that point, because like....every day is a ridiculous onslaught of ridiculous that keeps me so stressed, panicked, desperate and oh yeah in pain, to the point of not being able to have a single life goal, ambition or like....future event I want to do, because its almost all about ‘must make today’s rent and food by the end of today so I can eat and sleep and oh yeah also another $800 by the end of each month so I can continue to enjoy even the possibility of this not being the state of my existence for the rest of my life.

Wow, that came out way more pity party than I intended, lmfao, because like the whole point of this post and why I started writing it was not like oh look at me, my life sucks so many balls, whine whine, a little bit of cheese, barrels of more whine. Like, believe it or not I was kinda rolling my eyes while typing out that above paragraph and literally laughing in that “look I know its not funny but I’m still laughing because fuck you that’s why” kinda way.

Bizarre as it may seem, this is actually intended as an optimistic kinda post? And like....the result of me doing deep breathing exercises and making a concerted effort to be optimistic today? Because the point is, the above has been the day to day state of my existence for almost two straight years (look, I’m not SAYING all things straight are bad, but hey if you can, be gay, do crimes). And its definitely not like my life was all sunshine and roses before that, lmfao, but at least there were breaks in the storm clouds, like...I had actually hills and valleys of suck but also wahoo! It wasn’t like........the constant annoying beep that accompanies a flatlining heart monitor, but also somehow seems to keep descending.

Like, I can handle sucky events, as long as I can find that bit of normalcy in between, and I mean, I feel like the fact that I’m still here and have at no point really entertained the thought of not still being at this point, like, it kinda lends credence to the idea that I can also handle sucky events even when I CAN’T find any bit of normalcy in between. I don’t LIKE to, because who would, lmfao, but I can, and do, and will continue to do so.

Its just.....I mean bottom line of where this whole train of thought started and was aimed at is.....its been so long since I wasn’t just preoccupied day to day with constant chronic pain and stress and an unknown future or how long this would last, as well as repeated attempts to fix things that have managed to end up just being a disappointment at every turn so far.....like....I’ve literally forgotten what it FEELS like to not wake up every day in pain and spend the whole day worrying about making enough money to still have somewhere to sleep before the day is over. LOLOLOL, like the bar is super low, I’m aware, but like....I remember that state of existence exists, and that I’ve definitely enjoyed it in the past and have every hope of doing so in the future, its just....I don’t remember how it FEELS for this not to be the only thing on my mind, 24-7.

And I’m so looking forward to that, to feeling that again, even if I can’t picture it at the moment, because like...I’m anticipating how MIND-BLOWING it’ll be, the first time I can spend a whole day just...enjoying myself. With no interruptions, no pain. And as crazy as it may sound, I’m so lucky in that I know that day is even out there? Like I know that as bad as things have gotten for me over the past two years, I can hold out hope that there is an actual end point to THIS state of existence, that it is a specific problem with a specific solution, and once I find it, so much about my life will change because I’ll be able to stand on my feet for hours at a time, go running, exercise, all things that I enjoy and use to keep myself centered, I’ll be able to take a day to just go to the movies even if its just by myself and like, have a fucking chewy pretzel without having to worry that doing so will actually be the thing that finally fractures my jaw beyond repair, lmfao.

And the thing is.....as sucky as the last two years have been.....constantly, day to day....its not like they’ve been nothing BUT suck. I may not have had a single day in the past two years where there hasn’t been at least SOME pain, SOME stress, SOME inescapable awareness of like....all the things I can’t do and the reasons why, all the things I desperately want to do but can’t afford or physically am incapable of, but none of that means that through all this time I haven’t also had tons of good moments to carry me through.

Because I have. And I’m so thankful for them. Even if they seem miniscule to other people in comparison, they mean everything to me, because any moment that takes my mind off all the things that are wrong or that suck and just lets me laugh and MEAN it, be truly entertained, any moment where I’m more preoccupied with being inspired by an idea or something someone said or something I’m picturing, any moment where I’m just smacked in the face with the undeniable truth that I have some of the best friends on the planet and who love me unconditionally and are here for me even if its just to bombard me with cute animal pictures at 2 am so I go to bed with a smile on my face instead of focused on the pain...and the flip side of that, any moment where I’m able to feel good that I was able to provide one of my friends with that good moment for themselves, to make THEM laugh or be inspired or take their mind off their pain or troubles, like.....

Those good moments still exist, no matter what else exists or in what quantities. They still count. They still add up. And the point isn’t even about them needing to add up to some specific tally or quota or otherwise they don’t mean anything, or don’t mean enough....because each good moment exists purely on its own, for itself. There’s no POINT to them, they’re not FOR any specific purpose or outcome. They just exist. They simply are. And that’s all they need, in order to matter.

Because I firmly believe, and honestly always have, that ultimately, life is just about the good moments. They’re the things we focus on when times are hardest, they’re the things that spring to mind when we try and think of reasons to keep going. Because I mean...there ISN’T a specific tally of how many good moments you need to reach before life is worth living, before there’s a reason to be alive. Because each good moment is enough, all on its own. Each good moment, no matter how small it is in anyone else’s eyes, IS the reason to be alive. The whole reason. The only one anyone needs. Because the only way you get those good moments, those small snapshots that are for whatever reason, just wholly, undeniably GOOD and WORTH IT.....is by being alive. That’s the only way you ever get to have any more of them.

Like yeah, 90% of 99% of the days over the past two years might have epicly sucked for the most part, especially if we’re focusing on percentages, defining each day’s ‘success’ by whether or not I spent more of the day miserable or more of it enjoying myself...but when you say screw the percentages, the quotas the tallies....when you look just at the good moments, specifically, let each one of them matter by themselves and be worthwhile, worth EVERYTHING just in and of itself....

The whole picture changes. Because that one conversation I had with my friend Moukie on a day where I just laughed myself breathless at something he said.....that good moment wouldn’t exist if I threw in the towel before I got to it. That one story I loved and just blew me away with how perfectly it encapsulated everything I wanted from certain characters but that I would never have dreamed up myself, but that I kept thinking about days, even weeks after I read it.....that’s a story I wouldn’t have read if I only let the fact that it’d been seven months of chronic pain at that point, like, be the only thing that mattered. Instead of how just that one story made me feel, for however long I felt it. That one conversation, that one episode, that one post or tweet or daydream or whatever.

Anyway. I wasn’t intending to get all sappy or life coach woowoo or whatever, more just thinking out loud or in text, as I’m wont to do, and I use it to put my complaints to paper often enough I might as well use it to put the non-complaints to paper too, lmao.

But I mean. Yeah. Its the good moments that really matter, if you ask me. They’re what any of us are here for any way, no matter what form they take or how much space there is between them, but like....idk, I think we could all benefit from being reminded from time to time that they all count. They all matter. They’re the POINT. At least if you ask me, because if we’re not here to enjoy good moments in whatever shape or quantity we get to enjoy them, like, what other reason IS there, to spend however many years on this earth as we end up getting?

*Shrugs* So yeah. That’s it. That’s the point. Enjoy the good moments, and don’t forget to keep them somewhere you can queue them up when you need a reminder that they exist, they’re out there, you’ve had them before and no matter how long it takes, you’ll have them again. They’re what carry us through however much suck we have to wade through before we chance upon the next one, and the one after that and the one after that. And the more we carry with us, keep with us, THAT’S when the percentages start to matter, if by the end of it all we can say no matter what the actual quantities of good vs suck, or what shapes or sizes that good and that suck took....its the good moments that mattered most. Stuck with us most. Defined us most.

Anyway, that’s where my thoughts took me just now and it helped so maybe it’ll help someone else too, and if not. More verbal diarrhea, business as usual. Same place, same Batchannel. Tune in tomorrow, I’ll probably be bitching about Tim. Or hey, maybe I’ll surprise myself. Who knows?

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Ask Naboo

Author: Nonexistantpup

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Naboo, Bollo, Spider Dijon, Rudi Van DiSarzio, The Braincell, Howince, Moss/Roy

Bollo slid his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his hairy temples with two fingers. “It no good,” he said with a frown. Naboo looked up, annoyed. He was busy relaxing and smoking and hated to be interrupted. “What’s no good?” “Books no add up,” Bollo said. He sigh. “Bollo warn Naboo that monkeys not make good book keeper.” “What are you saying?” asked Naboo, with an impending feeling of doom. He’d have said he had a bad feeling, but didn’t want to steal Bollo's favourite phrase. “Need money,” Bollo explained. “Stop paying the losers workin’ downstairs then,” said Naboo. “Done that. Sold beach house too. No more money. What else can Naboo spare?” Naboo frowned. There was his submarine, but he never felt comfortable without one of them in the house. His Rudi & Spider memorabilia couldn't go either, of course, and his rug collection was pretty vital. “We better fix this,” he said unhelpfully. “Otherwise I’ll have to sell you, Bollo.” Bollo paled. Or - well, he didn't really pale. His fur remained the same colour. He seemed unnerved, however. “But - Naboo need familiar!” “I know,” said Naboo. He tapped his chin. “We need make money.” Naboo clicked his tongue and took another drag from his hookah. “I suppose I can go back into pop psychiatry,” he said thoughtfully. “I do sort of miss it. Hearing about peoples’ problems. Imparting wisdom. The regular income...” “What about Bollo?” asked Bollo. Naboo shrugged. “You could be my editor.” Bollo seemed appeased by this idea, and put his glasses back down onto the table. “Now,” said Naboo, “Call up the newspapers and tell them I'm willing to reinstate my relationships column." Dear Naboo, I can’t fulfill my partner’s sexual needs anymore; I'm exhausted! If it was just a good, hard romp four or five times a day, it would be no problem, but he’s practically insatiable! He has eight cocks, you see, which means every time we make love, we do it eight times in a row, each time lasting at least a month and a half. Now, I'm not great at mathematics, but I contacted a local mathematician, who informs me that 4 x 8 x 1.5 equals 48. Which means that every day, I have sex for over forty-eight months - in other words, more than four years! I'm exhausted! What should I do? - A Worn-Out Woman ‘Worn-Out Woman’, As I see it, your options are threefold. 1. Dump the freak and get some sleep. 2. Let me tell you the story of the broken flute. Once upon a time, there was a flute. One day, he tripped over one of his shoelaces and fell onto the footpath, breaking to pieces instantly. All the little shards of flute were scattered all over the place, causing passing bare-footed pedestrians to cut their feet. One of these pedestrians happened to be a passing eccentric billionare, who limped home, not realising the shard was still in his foot. The shard of flute had never been in a mansion before, and hopped off gleefully to look around, and liked the place so much that, that night, it cut the millionaire's throat while he slept and inherited his entire fortune. See what I'm sayin’? 3. Get over it. Sure, it may be hard to deal with at times. I get that. But think about it, yeah? You’ve got a man who alters the very laws of physics, the axioms of reality, just in order to have enough time to spend in the sack with you every day. There’s not many men who would do that. Love, Naboo

= =

To Naboo, How can I make my boyfriend take our relationship more seriously? I mean, we have so much fun together and I know he cares about me, and yet whenever people ask him about me, he lies as if he’s ashamed, saying he is merely changing one of my strings. I love him, but if this doesn’t change, I don’t think I can go on seeing him. Please save our relationship? - Irritated Instrument Irritated Instrument, I had a similar conundrum in the forties, as it happens, when my girlfriend at the time wouldn't admit to being deeply in love with our cutlery drawer. They got together eventually, and are still together today, I believe, and expecting their second child. There are two options I can reccommend: 1. Don’t give up! If he cares for you, he will come through. Speak to him openly and honestly and tell him how you feel. 2. Give up! He’s a loser who seems to enjoy getting off with inanimate objects anyway. Find somebody more your type - a cello or perhaps a ukulele if you’re strung that way. Love, Naboo = = Deer Naboo, It’s got to the point where I just don’t no what to do anymore. I am married with children, yet I can’t seem to think of anything except the other people I’d like to shag and how much the drudgery of an unhappy marriage is marring my carefully pampered image. It would be alright, you know, but the person I’d really ideally like to fool around with just sees me as her boss. I’ve tried everything! I invited her to work late, and she worked late. I told her she was cute and she said ‘thank you’. I even custom-designed a sparkly soot, just to get her attention, but she still doesn't notice me. I'm starting to doubt my dead sexiness and although I know I have quite an important job, my work ethic is crumbling like a fresh piece of shortbread. What can I do?! - Suffering Cell Suffering Cell, I have some words of wisdom for you, although I can’t be sure they will be anything new. You have not been specific about many of your problems, but my crystal ball has kindly filled in most of the blanks. What you must consider very seriously is this tale - the tale of the ant and the grasshopper. Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. They were experiencing a fruitful summer. For the whole season, the ant worked hard, storing up food for the winter while the grasshopper just hung around smoking joints and watching the telly, not collecting any food except for what he wanted to eat that day. The ant warned him that laziness came with consequences, but the grasshopper didn't care. When winter came, the ant had a huge stockpile of food - enough to keep it and its family nourished all the way through until spring, while the grasshopper was left outside, cold and hungry. He had run out of weed and the electric company disconnected his telly. Desperate, he knocked on the ant’s front door to beg for food, but frustrated with the grasshopper’s lack of responsibility, the ant said he would only share his family’s food if the grasshopper sold his body, prostituting himself off to the ant in exchange for food. The grasshopper, who wasn’t into that kind of thing (in fact, he was a bit of a prude) turned away in disgust, and the very next day he hopped aboard a plane, smuggling himself in the luggage of a slightly inebriated badger. He found himself on the other side of the world, where it was summer and food was plentiful, paid his way out of debt quickly and hired a lawyer so he could sue the ant for sexual harassment. I hope this has cleared some things up for you. Love, Naboo.

= = Alright, Naboo? Probably are. You seem to be pretty on top of things, being a shaman and that. Anyway, I live with a friend of mine who drives me nuts. He has no taste in clothes or music (ie. wears tweed and listens to jazz), is finicky (ie. Control Freak!) and I just fancy the pants off him. Well - not literally. Do you think it would be possible for me to actually do that though? But that’s not my question. See, he's taken to walking around the place wearing nothing. Well, nothing except this monocle of his - something to do with ‘going au naturale with class’. Whatever the reason behind it, it’s making me mental. I can’t even fancy the pants off him from afar, because a whole lot of the time he ain’t wearing them to begin with! So, what do you reckon? - A Very Randy Socialite Very Randy Socialite, You batty crease. Can't you tell? He's trying to seduce you. Just don't do anything unless you're sure there’s nobody else in the house, yeah? Love, Naboo P.S. I mean it. If I hear you two humping away in the next room, I'm throwing you out on your naked arses. I don't need that shit.

= =

Dear Naboo, I'm having the most awful trouble getting girls. See, I'm not bad to look at and I'm a clever, sensitive man, but none of them will look past my career. I am a homocidal maniac (hoping to climb the ladder and become an official genocidal maniac). I can't give that up! How can I get girls to accept me? - Bloody Lonely Bloody Lonely, I had a friend with the same problem. He worked in Dickson’s and girls could never come to terms with it, judging him and all that. Here's some wisdom that helped him and will hopefully do the same for you. This is the story of the green crow. Once upon a time, there was a crow. He was a normal crow, except for the fact that he was green and looked like a big, feathered, mouldy potato. In fact, one day Marilyn Manson saw him and was so disgusted that he kicked the poor crow into the recycling bin at a local primary school. The green crow was very upset, especially since he was such a huge Marilyn Manson fan he had a milky lens in one eye and hadn't drunk any water since 1997. Depressed, he sat in the recycling bin for days, ‘caw’ing miserably. On the fourth day, however, a whole lot of colourful craft paper cuttings rained down on him. The green crow was newly inspired. He found some old chewing gum and made himself a turban and cloak out of the colourful paper. From that day on, everybody treated him with respect because they thought he was a mouldy, green, feathered shaman and Marilyn Manson issued a public apology. That should clear up your problems. Love, Naboo.

= =

To Sir/Madam (I'm sorry, your name is quite androgynous), I must admit I am quite distressed. My best friend and I are always doing things together. We should be seeing girls but instead we’re always in each other’s company like an old married couple. I'm at the end of my tether. Thank you in advance, - In A Flippin’ Rut In A Flippin’ Rut, The answer to your problem is so simple, I'm frankly staggered that you’ve even found the need to ask my advice. Obviously, you and your best friend are meant to be together. The real problem is just that you have all the elements of a successful marriage except for a healthy sex life. So, you know. Get it on. Duh! Love, Naboo P.S. I do have more specific advice regarding what you should do, but it is inappropriate material to have published here. Send me a private email and I shall tell you the story of the phallus-shaped coral.

= =

Dear Naboo, Just what kind of an advice columnist are you? My friend wrote to you, complaining that we can't meet anyone because we're "like an old married couple" and you send him some story about coral willies and tell him to seduce me in the most disgusting way imaginable. You are obviously a pervert and shouldn't be allowed to give advice to anyone. -Thoroughly Repulsed P.S. Just to clear things up, we are NOT like a married couple in any way.

= =

Thoroughly Repulsed, That’s gratitude for you. From your indignation, it’s pretty clear to me that the seduction worked. If you wanted it to happen in another way - one that perhaps didn't involve an aquarium, smelling salts or three feet of chicken wire - you should have stepped up and made the first move on your ‘friend’ long ago. What are you, some kind of selfish, absent-minded, narcissistic slacker? You pompous bloody wanker. Love, Naboo P.S. Whatever. P.P.S. Bite me. P.P.P.S. Prick. P.P.P.P.S. Watch your step, yeah? Or I will turn my back on you.

= =

Naboo, I'll have you know that the seduction did NOT work. What I saw when I got into work this morning made me want to vomit. It's pretty clear to me that you're a wanker with nothing better to do than corrupt perfectly nice people with your kinky fantasies. My friend and I haven't spoken to each other all day and it's been very awkward for the both of us. I hope you're happy. -Repulsed P.S. You're the prick. And how dare you call me narcissistic.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #the braincell #rudi van disarzio #spider dijon #vince noir #howard moon #howince #vince noir/howard moon #vince/howard #the it crowd #it crowd #maurice moss #roy trenneman #moss/roy #maurice moss/roy trenneman

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leviosarpg · 5 years

Text

Congratulations, SNOOZE! You have been accepted for the role of AMADEUS AVERY! Snooze, where do I begin with this app? When I created Amadeus I knew I wanted depth, but Snooze, you gave me so much more depth than I could have ever dreamed, I mean for goodness sake, you gave me an entire diagram! Your app genuinely captured me from beginning to end. From Amadeus’s relationship with his sister, Isolda, to his fascination with Ancient Runes, I was beyond blown away with how you managed to flesh Amadeus out into a fully actualized person--a living, breathing wizard. But what put this incredible app over-the-top, was your incredible second para sample. Despite bringing so much depth to Amadeus, you still manged to highlight his cruelty in a way so gut-wrenchingly perfect, know I will remain in complete awe for the rest of the night.

Your faceclaim change to: Keith Powers has been accepted. Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: Susan (though I prefer Snooze); 18; she/her; PST

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Funny story! Amadeus was actually not my first choice. I was trying to figure out who to apply between Bishop, Odin, and Silvanus. I got my Amadeus inspiration from brainstorming for Bishop, because I was asking myself, what kind of dude is Bishop listening to? Then I got into a rabbit hole and tada! Amadeus app.

Here’s the thing: Amadeus is nothing like any character I’ve played/written before. I tend to be attracted to characters who stand in the middle, who are struggling with a decision, torn between two sides, who don’t want to check the option boxes presented to them and who seek to make their own paths. But Amadeus grabs my attention. He grows up with a solid foundation and he’s sure of himself. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What happens if things deviate from his plans? He may be smart but he’s only eighteen. There are things he doesn’t know and situations he hasn’t experienced. His relationship with Seneca is so, so intriguing because how in Merlin’s name can a person like him has feelings? I’m also a sucker for secret/forbidden romance, so there’s that. I want to let him suffer and make mistakes — I want to see his growth and how the war and certain secrets will change him. He’s a volatile little guy. Anyway, read on!

gender/pronouns: he/him; cis-male

extracurriculars: In addition to the pre-selected ones, Amadeus is also in Astronomy Club, Charms Club, and Dueling Club,

para sample:

Note: The first sample I have no specific year in mind — it could be Amadeus’ fifth, sixth, or seventh year. The second one takes place in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year.

Also! To prevent any confusion, since I wrote the app non-chronologically, Isolda is Amadeus’ little sister. They are eight years apart. Isolda was kidnapped in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year, and he was the one who tortured and killed her kidnapper afterward.

————————————

Amadeus dressed in the dark, glancing at a mirror that only outlined the dark silhouette of his body, as the sun has yet to rise this early in the day, and he broke the unbearable silence by humming quietly a tune whose origin he could not recall. His mind was still groggy from the ten-hour sleep he’d indulged in yesterday. Stifling a yawn, he snatched his wand from the nightstand and whispered a Reducio to his trunk.

When he was about to leave, the door to his room cracked open, letting in a sliver of darkness against the grey carpet of the floor — the hallways had always had a tendency to cloak itself in pitch-black shadows, even darker than his room. A small figure entered.

“Where ar’ya goin’,” Isolda muttered, her words slurred together because she certainly shouldn’t be up at this time. Amadeus frowned, turned on the chandelier light with a wandless wave, and kneeled down to see her face-to-face.

“Hogwarts, of course,” he replied. “I would’ve stopped by your room before I leave, you know that?”

She nodded, though she didn’t seem convinced. “Papa said the same when he was going to Turkey, but he didn’t.”

Amadeus sighed; his father may be a great man, but he never remembered his promises. He hoisted Isolda up and tucked his left arm underneath her legs so that her face was buried in his neck, then he walked to her room. His nerves tingled while going upstairs, but his parents, he thought, were still deeply asleep and thus unlikely to appear and shake their heads at his physical display of care. It was a shame that Isolda was born into a culture of rigidity. She was too emotional for her own good.

She was already sleeping when they arrived, so Amadeus laid her gently on her bed and pulled the blanket over her. He fished from his pocket a small set of papers, upon which he’d copied numerous alchemical formulas from Hogwarts’ library. Surely she would have a grand time looking through them until Christmas.

After that, he called for Milsy, their house-elf, to make sure that his notes to his parents would be delivered when they breakfasted later. Shrugging on a suit jacket and a hat, he left the Averys’ premises with his miniaturized trunk and apparated away.

Amadeus stopped by Hogsmeade Post Office to drop off several contract packages for his father, then he headed to Borgin and Burkes. The air was so foggy and saturated that he felt as if he’d just swam the Thames.

“The Tome of Cleopatra,” he demanded upon entering. The man working behind the faux-wood table pursed his lips and sniffed his rat-like nose twice, but Amadeus only needed to lift his eyebrows to kick the man into gear. Anyone who didn’t recognize him may as well sign a death warrant — a social one if he was in a good mood or a literal one if he wasn’t. While waiting, he eyed a pair of gilded cufflinks sitting in a glass box on a shelf. Diamonds decorated their surface, glittering brightly despite the dust that had settled on the box. They were certainly expensive and a fitting gift for someone he knew. He may have to lift some curses, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Small, probably unnoticeable, easily excusable price, perhaps …

No, no. Amadeus let the temptation slide. He should not be so careless — nor should he, for that matter, assume that the action would be appreciated. The man returned, slamming the thick book on the counter, and Amadeus felt dread creeping up his spine.

Merlin helps me, how can I go through this whole thing?

He slid the pouch of Galleon over and left with the tome. Seeing a beggar on the side of the road, he spat on the old woman’s face, then, for good measure, kicked her can of coins as far as possible. He wanted to make other people feel as miserable as he suddenly was.

The damn book. These damn feelings. This bloody muggy weather. What rights do they have to make him feel like a failure? Nothing! He was fucking Amadeus Avery! His throne sat on a wealth of power and money and he knew how to keep and better them. The economy of Wizarding Britain lay in his palm. The rich magic of this planet was his to command. He was not a failure.

Platform 9 ¾ was, as expected, empty, with only a couple of stragglers here and there and two shady individuals whispering near the ticket station. The Hogwarts train was here though, and its doors were unlocked, so Amadeus entered and claimed a cabin for himself. On the cabins of the Gryffindors he carved a mild curse of bad vision, created a few weeks ago, and hoped that it would kick in at opportune times during Quidditch matches, though there was a large chance that he guessed the cabin wrong or that the curse would have already petered out by then.

Satisfied with his task, he returned to his cabin and lay down on the bench, drifting off to a quick nap.

————————————

Trigger warning: Violence, gore, death, vomiting, torture

Money changed hands, and Amadeus stepped inside the cell where Isolda’s kidnapper was sleeping, resting, so peacefully that Amadeus felt his hatred burst out like a cobra springing to tear apart its prey. The man shifted on the stone floor. Amadeus gripped his wand tighter and thought, if you know what’s good for you, you will wake up now, a clumsy attempt at Legilimency, but he didn’t care for it had succeeded. The man’s eyes snapped open, deranged and red, and a half-smile tugged on the corner of his chapped, bloody lips.

“What’s this?” he spoke, voice hoarse and tinged with amusement. “Come to kill me?”

He stared down at the wretched piece of shit that didn’t deserve the mercy of the Dementors with his back straight, his voice steady, and he said, “Yes.”

The man mustn’t have expected a direct answer, as his expression faltered for a moment, but he went on, “Yeah, let’s do it then.”

“Not yet. Petrificus Totalus.”

The spell hit true. Amadeus shrugged off his suit jacket and set it on the floor; then he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, unhurried, for he had all the time in the world, all the while he flickered brief glances at the kidnapper to gauge his emotions, which had become more muted, more cautious, and, to Amadeus’ pleasure, more frightened.

Amadeus placed his wand on top of his rumpled suit, popped a collar button open, and kicked the man’s stomach hard. The man’s back slammed into the wall with a satisfying crack. Amadeus kicked again, this time to the man’s chest, and heard the pleasant sound of ribs breaking. He went on, and on, and on, lost in the vesuvian rage, in the rhythm of grunts and the thudding of soft flesh. At one point Amadeus straddled the man’s body and started punching his face, aiming everywhere he could—cheeks, nose, mouth, forehead.

“You think you can insult an Avery and leave unscathed?” Amadeus shouted, panting from the physical exertion. “You touched my sister, filthy mudblood, and I will make you fucking beg to be killed by the end of this.”

He stood up and backed away a few steps, grabbing his wand.

“Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus,” Amadeus intoned.

The man’s muscles seized tighter, tighter, until he was shaking and sweating and the veins in his neck were bulging, until several loud snaps rang loud, the sounds of ruptured muscles and tendons, and Amadeus felt the delicious, ugly glee in him morph into a grin. He released the spell, but the man remained in the same position, cursing, pleading, tearing up.

“Crucio.” A roar of pain; the man’s body arched up.

“Crucio.” Nonsensical babbling for mercy; empty promises to do whatever the Averys wanted. Too late.

“Crucio.” Eyes rolled up; a drooling mess; broken whimpers.

Amadeus paused. He breathed. He calmed his pounding heart. He’d gone further than he had ever been, and his fingers were trembling, maybe from the magical drain, maybe from the bleeding knuckles, maybe from the horror that was beginning to overcome his fury. But—Isolda, he thought. The rational part of his mind was yelling at him to stop, retreat, recalculate, for he, frankly, didn’t know where this was heading toward, didn’t know if he would jump off that cliff of indecision and into the chasm of immorality, passing the point of no return, staining his hand with the blood of another.

So Amadeus delayed. He transfigured all his buttons to thin needles, then he crouched down and held up the man’s hand. The hand that dared take away Isolda.

“Ennervate.”

This was the part he would not remember, the part that would appear blank were he to search for it:

Amadeus lined a needle to the tip of the man’s index finger and pushed it in steadily, watching life, awakened by pain, returning to the man’s dull eyes. The man screamed, wildly, uncontrollably, all his self-control gone. Amadeus kept on going: middle finger, ring finger, pinky. Deaf to the howling, he repeated the procedure to the other hand, half of his mind a far distance from reality while the other half drew on courage from hatred. Afterward, Amadeus stabbed the man in the stomach with the knife in his pants’ pocket, once for every hour Isolda was missing, methodically, as if hypnotized. He switched to the thighs once he ran out of space.

Finished, Amadeus moved back and took stock of his handiwork. The darkness of night hid the worst parts, but somehow he could still make out every bruise, every cut, and every bit of blood that littered the man’s body. The man yet lived.

“Merlin,” he murmured.

He pointed his wand to the man again.

You’ve got to mean it.

He’d done this before, a dozen times, but only to kill insects or to pretend to kill Isolda’s monster in the closet, never to a human.

You’ve got to be calm. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a five-way duel, find that moment of silence in your head.

He reminded himself that this—this was worth it. For Isolda. For the Averys name. Or, if not, to end the man’s suffering.

Aim, draw on your willingness to kill, and be swift. Like snapping your fingers.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green, and then, the end.

He put on his suit jacket and cast an illusion over himself. Money changed hands, from a quivering grip to a hesitant palm, and Amadeus apparated back home. All of the lights were off, and he stumbled down the hallway, noisily, but only one elf appeared. She asked what he needed, but he didn’t reply, so she followed him as he opened the door to his room, crossed the bed, pushed forward the bathroom’s door, planted his hands on the sides of the sink, looked at himself in the mirror, and saw, as reality closed down on him like a strangling noose, the wretched face of a murderer and the wide, panicked eyes of a teenager yet to be of age.

He threw up. For a while.

“Milsy,” he called after his stomach stopped churning, throat still burning from the acid and nose thick with the scent of vomit.

“Yes, Master?”

“Get me some warm milk.”

“With three spoons of honey, Master?”

“Yeah.”

The house elf went away.

Now facing his reflection alone, Amadeus glared at himself, as if disgusted with his inability to contain the appearance of shock, and he said, “It was a good kill.”

Then, again, with more bravo, “It was a good kill. Your first one too.” He paused. “You need to learn that sooner or later, so it doesn’t matter either way. Father did it when he was eighteen. Mother when she was twenty. Everyone does it.” Not to mention it was a befitting punishment for taking away Isolda for thirty six hours.

And so he kept on going, muttering to himself, repeating what he’d said, making it a mantra, making it his truth, a truth that he, perhaps, could live with.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

FC: Keith Powers!

Extra Content!

Disclaimer: I’m 100% down to change some details of what I wrote below, since a lot of them involve my cursory interpretation of the rest of the characters. Also, I try to explore his relationship with Seneca as much as possible, but I don’t want to delve too deep until I talk to Seneca’s writer & discuss some details.

BIOGRAPHY (Intro, Hogwarts, Tom Riddle): An imaginary piece of writing by Amadeus, briefly exploring his past and his years at Hogwarts. Note that this represents his perception of the world around him and does not necessarily reflect reality, especially when he boasts about his accomplishments. This is how he wants people to remember him.

LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND, WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY: Short, non-chronological pieces that Amadeus “writes” (the exact mechanics are explained in PERSONALITY section) and burns as an outlet for his emotions for Seneca. Amadeus only pens these when he’s overwhelmed with feelings, so they may seem excessively sentimental.

PERSONALITY: Self-explanatory.

HEADCANONS: Things that I can’t fit into other categories. This part may seem really messy because I was jotting down thoughts as I go, so I apologize in advance!

THE DIAGRAM: Because I got lost in Amadeus’ complexity. It’s in a separate photo submission.

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BIOGRAPHY

Introduction

August 15, 1942

As the heir of the Illustrious and Ancient House of Avery, it is traditional that I record the events in my life for future generations to peruse. For this is merely the first draft, I shall save the typical long-winded introduction for later and get started on the story.

My parents are a good match, perhaps the best there has ever been in the Avery line. My mother is Calista Avery, the Averys’ Matriarch, and my father Sivert Solberg, heir to the prominent Solberg line in Norway. They met during the Autumn Ball of Marseilles and was engaged three years later, in 1925. Their marriage was a winter one, brilliant and luxurious with six hundred and eighty two guests from Britain and Norway. Sivert adopted our name as per traditions of marrying a Head of a family, and I was born about two years later in the summer solstice of 1928. I should have had two sisters, but my mother miscarried once, so now it is only me and little Isolda, who is eight years younger than me. She will be attending Beauxbaton three years from now, and we are, naturally, very excited, for our private tutors have affirmed that she has talents in Alchemy. I was jealous of her for a while — Alchemy, after all, is the field of famous wizards such as Nicholas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore. But I later realized that her work would bring her to the shadows, to the edge of the crowd, while I, heir and a genius myself of the Dark Arts, would have the spotlight. I have stopped my unwarranted competition with her since and have fully devoted to train her to be worthy of the Avery name.

But enough about my sister. My name is Amadeus Avery. I have no middle name, for I am in the shadow of no one but myself. The Avery name is powerful, the Avery blood more so, and I plan to be the greatest Avery to have ever lived. I was born June 22, 1928, a day brimming with magic and, coincidentally, also the birthdate of the 5th Head of the Averys. My birth was a hard one, for I was my mother’s first child, twelve hours in total, a sign, apparently, for my stubbornness and determination. I grew up in a household of emotional detachment — not apathy, I must clarify, as I always know that my parents love and want the best for me. Public and private gestures of affection are much frowned upon, and we show our care through indirect means — material goods and gifts, the sharing of secrets and inner thoughts, criticisms and advice (how else could we maintain the image of a perfect family?).

My parents have had rough times — the aftermath of the first miscarriage when I was six, for example. My mother shut herself from my father, and he, frustrated with the isolation, left the country for two weeks, during which he had a tryst with some Ukranian lover. My mother, too, went out more frequently to meet with, I had guessed, her own lover, and sometimes my tutors and I would be the only inhabitants of the house. The Lestranges and the Rowles had had a grand time with the gossip then, I remember. At some point, I’m not sure when, my parents properly talked with each other (thanks to my uncle’s insistent; I have mentioned, of course, that my family does not explicitly express emotions) and the issue was resolved. Their connection and loyalty, strangely, only grew stronger. Perhaps the bad streak in their history motivated them to shine even brighter than before. Isolda’s birth when I was eight smoothed over the last of the scars, though I knew they could never forget their first daughter, Leona Avery.

Up until six I was showered with toys and magical trinkets, with bedtime stories of the founding of the Dark Arts and the beginnings of the Averys in the Fertile Crescent. We are part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, but such title is inconsequential, for the Avery name has, for the better part of the Wizarding World’s history, though not without ups and downs, garnered much reverence from the general populace due to our natural inclination to the Arts of Old Magic, recently defined as the Dark Arts by the more ignorant. My first accidental magic occurred when I was seven months old — hunger had compelled me to call upon all the chocolate cakes reserved for a party later — and after I learned to speak, my paternal granduncle, the former Norwegian Head of Law Enforcement, came down to teach me the basics of manipulating magic. Afterward tutors taught me, only the best in London, among which are a former assistant to Nicholas Flamel, Vice Chief of the Auror Department (my maternal aunt), a descendant of the Gamp family, and the reigning Champion of European Dueling Tournament (though she only started when I got into Hogwarts).

I mastered the curriculum of Hogwarts’ first year when I was nine, and after that I branch sideways instead of forward (it was later explained that my physical body needed to catch up with my magical prowess; balance and harmony are important in the making of a strong wizard like me). We possess two libraries worth of tomes — one in the current Averys mansion and one in our ancestral home in Babylon (formerly known as the Babylonian Society of Ancient Magic). Books are not my forte, as I learned better with practical demonstration, but they nonetheless are an incredible source of knowledge. I delve into the arts of occlumency, legilimency, necromancy, ritual magic, blood magic, bone magic, runic magic, demonology (rather too obscure and unstable to be feasible, sadly), various branches of hex- and spellcrafting, ancient Egyptian and Roman curses (those people have a fascinating imagination, I must admit), and the lighter sides of magic such as arithmancy and charms. When I entered Hogwarts, I was not a master in any of those fields, but I knew enough to be one of the top students, and my sheer power was often enough to overwhelm my opponents.

Hogwarts

I have been aware of pureblood politics since I could read, but to be thrown into such a large body of students was a nasty surprise. Slytherin, the microcosm of pureblood society, was filled with intricate schemes and power plays between noble houses, a network that I at first found it hard to engage in, for the Averys had never been terribly friendly or popular. We stand above everyone else — because we are, indeed, better than most — and the purebloods, with their fragile egos, often take offense to our supposed arrogance. It is the Lestranges, the Rowles, the Malfoys, the Blacks, among many others, whose voices are heard and frequently recited. I struggled for two years to gain a footing in their network to no avail until I realized that I did not have to do so. I am Amadeus Avery, and I need not their acknowledgement. As soon as I stopped participating in their games, I became respected. They value me because they understand my importance, because they see my influence despite not being the top of their food chain. And so I gained my footing in pureblood society by refusing to acknowledge its presence. My parents were proud, and that Christmas they gifted me a brilliant case of jewelry stones for me to practice my blood curses on.

In school I focus on the Dark Arts, Charms, and Ancient Runes — the rest are unimportant to me, though I maintain respectable grades. I am far too busy with my projects nfor silly creatures or, Merlin forbid, divination. Astronomy is decent, but the subject is impossible to enjoy because the Blacks are so disgustingly vocal about their naming traditions. The teachers are merely satisfactory — none of them seemed to appreciate my talents in Dark Magic. Their responses typically fall into two camps, wariness or jealousy. Horace Slughorn is slightly better than most, as his Slug Club provides immense networking opportunities for like-minded individuals. It is where I developed a friendship with Tom Riddle — rest assured that I shall expand upon this remarkable person later.

I discovered the joy of inter-house rivalry in my second year when I became Beater for Slytherin’s Quidditch Team. Ivon Blaine was particularly entertaining. He’d always been weaker than me in all aspects — save for some lucky instances on the Quidditch field, of course — and I wholeheartedly enjoyed taunting him. He’d always been so easy to rile up, so easy to manipulate, and I, who had recently discovered my sharp tongue, was only too thrilled to test it on him. Gryffindors have always been so embarrassingly brash and physical — it is absolutely nauseating how they publicly display their affections and weaknesses out in the open air, as if they are desperate to be hurt. The duels were mere exercises to me, though they had the side benefit of elevating my reputation. Ivon became predictable as time passed, however, and I stopped enjoying our little games. I had better things to worry about — Grindelwald, for instance, and Tom Riddle’s vision. Though riling up Ivon no longer brought me as much joy as it did before, I am still rather entertained by his reaction whenever I speak to him.

Bishop Vermeer is a Ravenclaw that I respect. I met him during my fourth year while preparing for my OWLs and was impressed with his intelligence, which rivaled mine. He listens more than he speaks, but his interjections are always insightful and helpful to me, and so I come back to him as a friend, always, for his ears. We work on projects too, mine more often than his. I think he is too smart for his own good — he is never swayed by my honey sweet words, even though he sometimes pretends he does, and I am both disappointed and pleased by that. Had he been more weak-willed, I doubt I would have respected him as much as I am now. It is a shame that he is not more zealous about Riddle’s cause, but when the time comes, I have faith that he will side with us. If not — well, I would not wish to face him, out of respect for our companionship.

Tom Riddle

He was a bit of an underdog, I must admit, and him being quite mum about his origins except when absolutely necessary (at least during his first year at Hogwarts) hinted at his blood status, though now I dare not think about it, for his legilimency skills far outstrip my occlumency. His cause gripped my attention the moment he mentioned it in the Slytherin common room, and I remember being vocally supportive of it, for, with the current politics surrounding Grindelwald, I recognized immediately that his ideas would bring us far. Tom Riddle is a revolutionary who will usher in an era of greatness, of pureblood culture and appreciation for real magic, not the childish stuff that Hogwarts teaches. I intend to be at the forefront of this movement alongside Riddle. I will make a name for myself.

You may wonder why I am not the leader. First of all, I have no wish to make an enemy of Riddle — we may match in dueling prowess, but he is, I am reluctant to admit, hard to outwit. Furthermore, he has a better hold on the purebloods than I do — as I have said before, the Avery name is respectable, not popular. Riddle has a way with words that is gently persuasive and malleable. He knows how to push buttons. Let him lead the movement and I be his loyal soldier. The position is prestigious enough that I can contend with not being the top. His ego and mine sometimes clash, but I try to keep to his good side more often than not. We share details of our projects, though he tends to work alone rather than in a group, and he absolutely detests me offering help.

I suppose I shall mark this as the temporary end of this biography. I intend to update this as frequently as possible.

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LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND,

WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY

My grandmother, a famous jewelry collector in her nineties, gave my father a ring of blue zircon, who, in turn, passed it down to me. It sat in a drawer back in my room, only to be worn during Christmas balls. The ring was thick and ostentatiously ornamental, heavy on my middle finger every time I wore it, and I complained all the time until I was five and learnt the art of formal presentation. The ring is a sign of power and a reminder that my parents are of two famous lines, and it often sat next to the Avery heirloom ring on my index finger, glinting, mesmerizingly blue, always distracting me when light shines at the right angle. Tonight, when I saw you, when I looked into your eyes, I thought of my ring, and I wished, for but a brief millisecond, that we were better, that I was better, so that I might, perhaps, be brave enough to —

[ … ]

I did not see you today, but I was frightened for you, for us. Charms class ended early, so I was traversing the hallway, sketching in my head a new design of some anti-apparition wards, when thoughts of you filled my mind. I remembered our kiss yesterday even though I tried not to — at least, not until I was safe in my dorm. I couldn’t help smiling. Then, Tom Riddle rounded the corner, and I froze. My heart dropped, my mind emptied, and I willed my face to express something close to pleasant surprise. You cannot imagine how fearful I was. It isn’t close to my fright for Isolda when she was kidnapped, but it is certainly high up the list. Had he been searching in my mind, we would have been discovered, and the fallout, though may seem inconsequential at first, could only be catastrophic to me. Everything would have been ruined, and the choices I would have to make were unimaginable. But he wasn’t searching, thank Merlin, and I would have known if he was. I am entertaining the thought of avoiding you for a while until I could calm down. I know I may hurt you, but you must understand that I have to control myself, I have to set boundaries, or else I —

[ … ]

You were worried today, and I am not sure why. Had you been anyone else, I would have attempted to persuade an answer out of you, but strangely I complied with your request not to pry. You have no idea how much control you have over me, and I am frightened. I cannot see our future, though I must admit that I always strived not to think about our future; there are too many complications there that I cannot resolve, and I cannot bear the thought of you absent from my life, much as I loathe to admit such weakness in myself. I want to enjoy the present and only the present. Sometimes, you are the only outlet for my emotions. Sometimes, we are strangers. Sometimes, you scare me to death with your glances and your smiles and your kisses. I have thought about breaking things cleanly between us, because the stakes are becoming higher and higher, and yet I never manage to do so, because to break cleanly is to admit that there is something to break, and because I simply —

[ … ]

Sometimes I believe my parents are clay figurines carved with human features and charmed to be alive. Their expressions are stiff, their emotions strained, and they always seem most at ease with blank countenances and frigid glances, with careless words and calculated touches. I remember vividly that they barely touched Isolda when she was returned to us, a mess of a child, eyes red and dress muddied. My mother touched her hair, and I could not tell if she was too frightened to do more or if she simply detested public displays of affections so much that she would ignore her own child’s trauma. I was the one who scooped Isolda up in my arms and soothed her cries. I tried my best anyway. No one has ever done such things to me. You may wonder why I am telling this story, and here is why: I noticed that you were distraught today. You were hurt, and I hurt for you, but I could do nothing to alleviate whatever burden you were shouldering. I was too busy struggling with my confusion toward you. I do not know what to do. I do not know what we are. I asked myself how I could grow to care for you when I was not built for such emotions, how I could be in —

[ … ]

For a moment I feared that our secret was exposed, but we both performed well the role of casual acquaintances in class today, don’t you think? I am relieved that despite certain progress in our … companionship, we are still capable of maintaining a facade of normality in front of the masses. Tom Riddle, I think, suspects I am hiding something, but he cares far too much for his pet project to figure out. He’s never been too invested in our personal lives. If worse comes to worst, I could still tell him about my projects on developing possible resistance to the Killing Curse and mass-producing Inferi through a variant of a demonic rune design, neither of which, unfortunately, are straightforward enough for practical use, but they certainly will satisfy his curiosity. On a side note, I wish so fervently that I could buy you a better gift for your birthday, but alas, I could only lie about my expenses for so much, and the size of your gift could not be too large. My wish manifested in my dream three nights ago. In it we were happy, had been for months, and I, on that brilliant winter day, like a bloody muggle, horrifyingly, was on my knees —

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PERSONALITY:

Amadeus is …

Arrogant: He believes himself to be better than everyone else due to his magical might and his bloodline tracing back to the beginning of civilization.

His arrogance doesn’t quite manifest in speech (like, say, Draco Malfoy) but in his body language, his stance, the way he looks at people, the inflections of his tone. Taken alone, his words may seem casual and respectful, but coming from him they could be the worst insults.

He doesn’t care that people are weaker because of their circumstances. He cares that people are weaker than him, period.

Hypocritical: He criticizes the actions and personalities of other people but does not admit to himself that he sometimes shares those characteristics and does similar things.

For example: He thinks displays of affection are a weakness, yet he treasures his moments with Seneca and loves Isolda. He claims that he doesn’t care about Venus’ (or Odette’s) popularity, but he is actually jealous that they, along with the Lestranges and Rowles, have the ability to influence a crowd. He preaches that you reap what you sow, but when confronted with the consequences of his actions, he will never admit his faults. He believes Olive Hornby ridiculous for being contradictory in her actions (a guilt-ridden bully), but he is a creature of dichotomy also.

Judgemental: The number of people he respects or gets along with is small due to his tendency to either be critical of their differences (compared to him) or be jealous of what they have that he doesn’t.

Obstinate & Ambitious: Once he has a goal, he will never budge from it — for instance, nothing can shake him from his desire to be the best Avery there ever has been. It is difficult to change his mind about anything, including first impressions of people and ideologies.

Cruel: He is cruel not because he wishes to hurt (unless under certain circumstances) but because he is naturally unsympathetic to most.

But he is also …

Passionate: Though he is raised and tries to be otherwise, Amadeus is a passion-driven individual.

He loves magic and the Dark Arts, loves its instability and its potential for good and bad, and he delves into research with a furious fervor, never stopping, always wanting to have more, know more, always wishing to break the limits and go beyond what is known.

His jealousy comes easily. Amadeus grows up thinking he has the world in his palm, so he’s jealous of anyone who seems to be better than he.

He absolutely adores Isolda, at least once he gets over his jealousy, and he showers her with love and affection to a level that would be frowned upon by his parents had they known. He thinks she is too soft to be an Avery — she was born to be compassionate, and the rigidity of his parents hurts her, so he will lessen that pain for her in any way possible.

As an unintentional consequence of his love for Isolda, he also comes to like her pet hippogriff (a species of smaller size, fitting to live in a mansion) despite his vocal denouncement of anything creature-related.

He has deep affections for Seneca Montague — love, perhaps, though he’d never admit it — and despite his best efforts to contain these feelings, they are too much to keep inside, always threatening to spill out, and he has to compartmentalize his feelings, sometimes unsuccessfully.

Clever: He has a different brand of intelligence, but his mind, full of knowledge, always proves to be useful.

He may not be the best strategist, but he can process information incredibly fast and skip to a conclusion in lightning-speed. He works best under pressure and during duels.

He has an instinctive grasp on spellcrafting and runic magic, though he tends to lean toward the latter. He’s like a genius computer programmer or an engineer. He knows the pieces and he knows how to put them together; when they don’t work, he could easily tweak a bit here and fix a bit there to craft better rune diagrams for long-term curses and charms.

He cannot, for the life of him, read theories, but after a single demonstration, he can understand even the most complex alchemical concept

He figures out a way to compartmentalize his feelings for Seneca so he will not have to acknowledge them:

In the moments he shares with Seneca, he will not think of the repercussions. When he is not with Seneca, he will try to put him out of mind.

Sometimes when he feels too much, he would put his feelings on paper — using a quill charmed to inscribe his thoughts — and then he’d burn it. The reasoning is that if he makes it physical and then destroys it, whatever that is bothering him would stop existing. He doesn’t read these paragraphs, nor does he physically write them, so it’s easier for him to deny his feelings.

A downside to this compartmentalizing method is that his mood can swing widely from hour to hour, and often he wonders if it would someday break him. It works for now, so he doesn’t care much.

He is proud of …

His dueling skills: He has lost to no one except Tom Riddle and occasionally some members of the Harbingers & Liberation.

His runic diagrams: They are his own creations, and he is proud and thrilled to see them in action, no matter how destructive they could be.

His knowledge: He is well-versed in the rules of Wizarding economy and pureblood politics, and he was taught to keep up the prominence of the Avery name. Magically, his knowledge is shallow but extensive, and he frequently reads (or tries to read) to gain more information.

The murder of Isolda’s kidnapper: He tortured her kidnapper before finally killing him. It was his first kill and first usage of the Killing Curse on a human at the age of fifteen. Deep down, he’s horrified at his actions, but he successfully convinces himself to be proud because he could never admit that he feels guilty — a feeling that does not exist in the Avery household.

And he hates …

Nothing, which is what he would’ve said to himself, but in reality:

The isolation of the Averys: He envies those who can participate in pureblood politics and loathes that he is often pushed to the sides. He may pretend that he doesn’t need them, that the Averys doesn’t need to be a participant, but he is, nonetheless, lonely, because he doesn’t belong properly in any community.

The rigidity of his parents: He thinks his parents are too stringent with their emotions and believes Isolda is harmed because of that. Subconsciously, he blames his parents for his cruel nature and doesn’t want Isolda to live through his loveless childhood.

A subject that belongs in neither categories is his relationship with Seneca, which he loves and hates at the same time. He likes Seneca beyond the boundaries of friendship, but he hates defining what they are. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s making a mistake, perhaps the best mistake in his life, and he’s waiting for the inescapable fallout.

HEADCANONS

What’s his attitude toward muggles?

He believes in all of the stereotypes: they are dirty, primitive, stupid, and ignorant of the true beauty of magic.

He’s actually really into classical music (once he finds out about it through William Brown, unintentionally) but he wasn’t aware that most of the composers are muggles

What does he do in his free time?

Runic projects; finance planning/investment with his father; whatever Riddle wants him to do at that time;

His relationship with Ogden:

Good relationship until the end of 6th year when Ogden approaches Amadeus about an apprenticeship in Ancient Runes. Anyone would’ve been ecstatic, as it’s a rare occasion that a sixth year would be offered such opportunity, but Amadeus was angry. He couldn’t believe Ogden would offer him such a lowly career option, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Ogden wants to supervise his work more closely to prevent him from “falling” to the darker (and purer, in his opinion) forms of magic. Their relationship has been tentative since then.

His runic experimental room arguably shows more aspects of him than his dorm, which is often under the scrutiny of his dorm mates

Amadeus stopped bullying Ivon in the aftermath of Isolda’s kidnap. The taste of real violence and death has dulled the entertaining value of sharp words and silly duels. Amadeus turns his focus to bigger targets: necromancy, darker runes, deeper & more ruthless manipulations using money that will keep him in power. He’s also more focused on Riddle’s cause, and his runes projects also take up more of his times.

Wisdom and Power, to Amadeus, go so hand-in-hand that he’s never thought that it is more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. A trait he shares with Gryffindor is how passionate he can be, though no one really knows this except Bishop & Seneca. People do know that he hates easily though.

Motto for anything too sentimental is: React first, break down later

He was taught that “Power amazes, but money drives the world.” Despite this, he’s more attracted to raw power than wealth.

Doesn’t do well with criticism, especially from people he doesn’t care about.

Will initiate duels when called for.

He can convince himself to believe in false things.

Physical marking:

A horizontal scar on the side of his neck: A kitchen house-elf once went insane and injured him as a kid with a knife; said house-elf was killed but the knife was cursed so the scar doesn’t go away. Amadeus always illusioned it or wear clothes with collars.

Amadeus doesn’t quite remember this, but the incident is one of the few times that both of his parents touch him — keeping the wound close, healing, using salve, but he was too out of it to recall properly. He was seven.

Doesn’t have a fear of knives, but if someone is to lay the blade of one on his skin, that will kick in his fight-or-flight response and (depending on the situation) he will react.

Fashion:

He’s big on fashion

Style: Expensive, trendy but not gaudy, wear accessories to show off wealth (cufflinks, rings, modified ties, shoes, etc.)

Boggart:

Its form varies; but the two forms he’s faced is the burning of the Averys mansion (signifying the end of the line, which would be his fault) and the body of Isolda (recalling the kidnap incident).

Wand: spruce wood, 12-inch, dragon heartstring core

His spells are powerful and flamboyant, often attracting the attention of other people.

Amadeus has a sweet tooth.

He also cannot hold his liquor. He’s a touchy drunk.

He produced a Patronus once, during his fifth year, a hippogriff, unsurprisingly, but he hasn’t tried again since he killed Isolda’s kidnapper, telling himself it is unnecessary while actually thinking that he can’t do light magic now that he’s killed a wizard.

House Elf Treatment:

The Averys aren’t cruel but they do think that the elves are beneath their notice. The Averys, powerful as they are, does know that house-elf betrayals can be destructive, so they strive to inspire loyalty

He’s got no sense of self-preservation:

Because he thinks he’s invincible. Also he gets excited when faced with a challenge.

Likes to write but dislikes reading:

He actually doesn’t hate reading. He just has a very specific taste for a writing style & anything that doesn’t fit the bill makes him bored. He especially hates translations because they’re so dry.

He’s bad at defense magic - he likes to be on the offense & doesn’t guard himself much

The three P’s of Amadeus: Proud, Powerful, Private

He loves to low-key taunt people he dislikes, especially back when he was still harassing Ivon, and he lets his tongue lose when he’s angry. He also speaks his mind when he’s in the company of people he trusts.

He’s very ignorant when it comes to his emotions. This is by choice, not because he’s dense.

He (lowkey) admires Dumbledore because of how powerful the man is, and he secretly wishes that they are on better terms. Their ideologies, unfortunately, create a barrier between them.

To him, wisdom is …

Tom Riddle: knowing how to play the field, how to manipulate, how to be in the spotlight and claim it for yourself

Knowing everything - hence his attempt to branch out laterally

Naively, he also thinks being wise means never makes a mistake

Amadeus is verbose in writing but succinct in speech, touch-starved yet would never initiate body contact:

The Averys household is emotionally distant but not apathetic. Amadeus grows up understanding that display of affection is a bad thing, but sometimes he mistakes this with emotions are bad. His parents’ love for him is measured with material goods—their meanings, their quantities, their qualities—though of course, their meanings are exceedingly easy to misinterpret. Writing is an outlet of emotions in the Averys household—letters to their parents when they are abroad & when Amadeus is in school, notes delivered by house-elves (their mansion is very big)—thus, Amadeus shows himself more in writing, though it always seems to be otherwise. He masks his sentiments with pureblood politeness on paper, and only those close to him (his family) could read between the lines and understand.

He was taught the concept of formal presentation when he was six and learned how to check his speech. He became more succinct and direct or persuasive and round-about when needed.

Half of the time what he says isn’t really what he thinks/feels, but he has a habit of convincing himself that what he says is always the truth, so it becomes a falsehood in him that he never notices, and from this born his hypocrisy.

The Averys household frowns upon body contact except when absolutely necessary, and so Amadeus grows up, without noticing, touch-starved. He’s hyper-aware of the distance he puts between him and other people and the casual touches he received. He, therefore, treasures his moments with Seneca, but also are scared of them, of the body contact, of physical displays of affection that he knows nothing about. He’s always hesitant, testing the boundaries, reading the signs (sometimes over-analyzing them), always so scared that he’ll fuck up somehow.

His Runes Experiment Room:

Same wing that houses the Ancient Runes classrooms.

Approximately U-shaped

Left room is for the actual experiment, connected by a hallway to a sort of “office” on the right where all the theories/writings occurred.

Office:

Big blackboard filled with maths & diagrams

Big wooden desks filled with papers, very messy, on top of which sat …

Letters sent by Isolda

A pot of talking cactus, sent by Isolda

Lots of candy boxes ordered from Hogsmeade or sent by his mother

Two bookshelves overfilled with books; papers; chalks of different materials; boxes of preserved animal blood; rulers & measurement devices; bowls of different parts of different animals scattered around; a locked metal chest of rarer materials

When there are visitors, he puts everything personal to him in a trunk in the corner of the room

Two sofas for guests

Experimental room:

Kept clean & in pristine condition

Two Parts

A square part of the room in the middle, sectioned off by magic & physical means (eg: salt, powdered thestral fur, etc.):

This is where the floor diagrams occur, for more complex projects. Experiments here are frequently unstable.

The rest: There’s a trunk of gemstones + other objects for blood curses; there’s a long desk lining the wall with tools for carving, burning, melting, writing, and holding on top

He usually levitates the object or holds them by physical means as he carves runes on it

The long table is also used to deconstruct runes done by other people

People who have seen this room: Riddle, Bishop, Seneca, Ogden

Attitude toward teachers:

Ogden: already mentioned

Dumbledore: professional admiration. Amadeus secretly idolizes him because Dumbledore is too Badass not to, though he thinks Dumbledore is too soft on Muggleborns.

Rakepick: doesn’t like since she likes the Gryffs

Edgecomb: likes her tattoos; on good terms because Isolda will be going to Beauxbatons; tries too hard not to ask her questions about schooling & dorming over there

Dippet: nice man, not useful but it helps that he likes Riddle

Fairbanks: likes her for various reasons. She went to Durmstrang is number one. She’s intense and, to him, she has a real appreciation for the true nature of magic. That she’s a Herbology professor irks him — he wishes she was teaching Dark Arts instead. Imagine the kind of spells she would’ve taught!

Isadora: annoying because of the homework

William Brown: muggle lover, ew

Sylvia: doesn’t care

Astrid: doesn’t like divination because he’s not a seer, but on good terms with Astrid because of her views

Binns: doesn’t care, except when his lessons mentions something related to the Averys

In summary: Amadeus is an ambitious individual who grew up in a distant household. He experiences lots of emotions despite being groomed not to. He is smart about many things except himself. He has the ability to rationalize his feelings but chooses to ignore them. He can exert great control over himself and he chooses his words carefully. He is proud and powerful and knows exactly what he wants — but what he wants may not be what he needs in the end.

Playlist: here

#rp #rpg #roleplay #harry potter rp #literate roleplay #accepted #amadeus

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wlwinry · 6 years

Text

Fae and Feline

for @itsyaboimilk

----------

"He's a cat."

King rolls his eyes from where he lies sprawled across bar, tail flicking in mild annoyance as Ban prods at him with a look of delighted incredulity. Diane swats the immortal's hand away (and thank the gods for that, because the imbecile was about to rub his fur the wrong way on top of it all) and scratches him behind the ears gently. "Yes, he's a cat, and don't poke at him, Ban!" He lets out a meow of surprise as Diane scoops him up, but swiftly goes boneless in her arms, purring to let her know of his appreciation. She giggles, before shooting a sharp look back up at Ban. "He hates that when he's normal; imagine what it would feel like now?"

A cackle escapes the mouth of the Sin of Greed, and King hisses at him, flattening his ears. No need for him to ruin everything, he thinks sulkily, teeth bared. Really, everything had been fine. So what if he'd poked around Merlin's lab while looking for Oslo and ended up activating a protective charm that left him as a cat? It would wear off--at least, Merlin had implied as much.

Gods, he hopes it wears off. But maybe not quite yet, because Diane's petting feels absolutely amazing and this is probably the most relaxed he's been since the war ended. He purrs as her fingers massage his scruff, letting his eyes drift closed--

"Meliodas, no!" He opens one eye as the Captain makes a dive for the window, Elizabeth grabbing him by the back of his shirt to keep him from removing himself (in the most dramatic way possible, as per demon prince prerogative, apparently) from what he'll admit is a rather bizarre situation. Meliodas grumbles, and King's purr turns into a genuine snort of amusement--he might actually be a cat, but sometimes Captain actually acts like one. I would know, he thinks, sitting up in Diane's arms as Meliodas gives Elizabeth a look of pure pleading, one that he knows quite well as the "dear gods get me away from this madness" look. He feels a bit of vindictive pleasure--normally he's the one who employs it, and it never ends in his favor after he does. Sure enough, Elizabeth only gives him a kiss on the cheek and a look of complete and utter amusement at his plight before glancing at Merlin. "When will it wear off?"

The warlock tilts her head, looking smug. "Oh, about a month or so."

A month. King resists the urge to caterwaul in fury at that; a few days would've been fine, a few weeks tolerable, but an entire month? He hisses again, lashing his tail, before springing out of Diane's arms and trotting over to Merlin, who merely looks even more self-satisfied. Damned witch, he thinks crossly, glaring at her. She shrugs in response. "I did warn you not to look through my things."

Ban cackles again, and before King even knows what he's doing, he whips around and bites the immortal hard on the ankle. The snarl that earns him seems to be more a reaction of surprise as opposed to genuine pain, but it doesn't stop Elaine from scooping him up and scolding him again. He sees Diane rolling her eyes over his sister's shoulder, though, so he doesn't feel contrite whatsoever.

"This month is going to be hell," he hears Meliodas mutter, and he can't stop a feeling of wicked glee from running through him.

This month is going to be fun.

---------------------------------------

"Why is King on the chandelier?"

King peers down at the others as Ban raises an eyebrow at him. Why not? he suggests, knowing full well the others can't understand him. It's just as well, though. If they could, then they'd know that Oslo had spooked him and he'd somehow sprung up here to escape his Black Hound's scrutiny. As it is, he can pass it off as a deliberate action and they'll be none the wiser.

It's certainly a nice change of pace from the usual "let's all laugh at King", at any rate. And, if he's being honest...it's rather warm and comfy up here, with the lamps so close by and the ability to see everything happening in the Boar Hat. He quite likes it, and he purrs and stretches out even more ostentatiously over the bars of the light fixture. Meliodas just shakes his head with a huff that seems to be more fond exasperation than anything else, turning to leave. Diane shoots him a grin and a thumbs-up (his tail curls in response and he purrs even harder) before darting outside. Gowther scribbles something down in that notebook he's taken to carrying, before giving him one of those guileless smiles and hurrying back to the stairs, presumably up to the attic-turned library (King has already started crafting a nest of sorts up there, with one of those soft throw pillows and a few torn pages that Gowther will probably gut him for once he's back to normal). And Ban...

Ban reaches up to poke him again, and King does what comes naturally--he jumps, landing lightly on the Sin of Greed's head and digging his claws in. A stream of curses erupts from Ban's mouth and King barely resists the urge to cackle in petty, vindictive glee. And so the tables are turned, he croons cheerfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as the swearing stops and a full-on death glare is unleashed instead. It seems almost half-hearted, though, and he realizes why with a faint thrill of excitement--Ban doesn't want to hurt him while he's a cat. And it makes sense, hilarious though it is, because Ban has always been easily attached to cute things. As much as King hates to admit it, he's good with kids and fond of animals (when he's not killing them--the animals, not the children. Even Ban would never stoop that low), and out of all of the Sins, their most abrasive and seemingly-superficial member is the one most likely to click with a stray. It's a bit...sad, almost, considering what little he knows of Ban's past, but it's also funny in the most ridiculous way. A six-foot-eleven monster of a man who can kill without blinking and suffer the most agonizing torture imaginable, who literally walked through hell, won't hurt stray animals and is secretly excellent with children.

Either way, it's a victory, and King settles down onto Ban's head for a nap with a contented sigh, grinning inwardly at the defeated grumble the act earns him.

------------------------------------

As it turns out, small, dark spaces are excellent for taking naps if you happen to be a creature small enough to fit inside one. Empty jars in the pantry swiftly become some of King's favorite spots to settle down for a nap; after all, no one bothers to check in the empty containers--at least, not the one person who's actually supposed to be in the kitchen. It's really Meliodas's fault, what happens before he gets banned from the kitchen entirely. It happens while he's dozing in one of the containers, snapping abruptly awake as the pantry door opens. King settles back down, though--he's taken plenty of naps like this before and Ban's never figured it out once. He'll just go back to sleep after the bastard's gotten whatever he needs.

Except the soft click of the tongue and the scent of smoke and spice and a well-masked note of sweet definitely don't belong to Ban, and he stiffens in the jar as it's picked up, the lid coming off--

King screeches as the jar is tossed suddenly, thrown with shocking force and shattering on impact; it has to be an effect of Merlin's spell or his true faerie nature that he doesn't break his ribs when he ricochets off of the wall and manages to land (with surprising grace) on his feet. He shakes out his pelt indignantly before hissing at the culprit--at Meliodas. The Captain's eyes are blown wide with shock, his shoulders shaking, and King almost feels bad before he bursts out, "What the ever-loving actual FUCK!"

That, of course, sends the whole damn household scurrying in. King swiftly sits down, washing his paws innocently. Might as well take the opportunity to pile on the indignation factor while he still can; after all, it's not often that Captain is so visible shaken, especially if it's by something so small.

"He's a cat," Elizabeth feels compelled to point out after a trembling, furious Sin of Wrath explains the situation (King feels smug to the point of impossibility), clearly barely resisting the urge to giggle at the more-than-traumatized look on Meliodas's face. "He's going to hide in places and jump out at you, it's what cats do."

"He's a DEVIL and I'm going to KICK HIM OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE," Meliodas seethes, eyeing King with a mixture of respect and fury, mostly the latter. The Faerie-turned-feline merely rolls his amber eyes and leaps onto Diane's shoulders, purring softly.

-------------------------

Normally being stroked feels quite good; it sends a rush of warmth through him and he tends to just collapse into a boneless puddle right there, especially when Diane's the one petting him. Not when Gowther does it, though. No, when Gowther does it, it takes a physical effort for King not to claw his eyes out in frustration, because poor, sweet, oh-so guileless Gowther, knowledgeable Gowther, the same Gowther who researches almost everything he's interested in the point of exhaustion, has not yet figured out that you can't stroke a cat's fur backwards.

King bites down on a hiss as Gowther hums in delight, running slim fingers through his short fur. He doesn't want to upset the doll; ever since getting his emotions back, he's been sensitive and cheerful and King likes this version of him much better than the apathetic memory-stealing (highly misguided, he'll admit) one from before their training with Gloxinia and Dolor (he pushes down the memory of his and Diane's teachers, knowing that he'll be up all night with nightmares if he thinks of them). They've become close friends, and he doesn't want to mess that up.

But goddamn if it doesn't get annoying when (like right now) Gowther's petting him so absently, so naturally, and it's the wrong fucking way.

King settles into the doll's lap and lets out a miserable sigh, enduring it.

----------------------------

The change from cat to faerie is as swift as the original shift was, except this time his instincts don't quite have the time to catch up. King finds himself hissing at Ban, purring when his hair is ruffled, and jumping on things when he ends up startled. It's unbecoming for a Faerie King, for any higher being, really, but Merlin says there's nothing he can do, so he decides to wait it out.

Except it's not really bad, he decides, a soft rumbling noise escaping his throat as Diane runs her fingers through his hair, propping himself up on his elbows in order to kiss her cheek. She giggles and kisses him back, and he feels his face heat up as he blushes, his purring increasing in volume. Not that bad at all.

#nnt #fanfiction #king gets turned into a cat #meliodas is so very Done(TM)#cute #nntsinweek #day four: king #nanatsu no taizai

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morgandria · 3 years

Text

I’m wiped out. Last week was hell for migraines, and also I think I’m just at that point where I’m done with winter but recharging myself with new energy in a new season has to wait. I’m left feeling sort of hollowed-out. I got some stuff done today that needed doing, but I am exhausted. I was baffled by this earlier (I mean, I did some things but it wasn’t anything massive) but realize now that I’m still feeling tired from last week’s manic migraine marathon.

I mean, I’m also just out of go because the last year has been a never-ending shit buffet, but it isn’t likely to change soon. A constant state of vigilance is exhausting. I’m so tired of being so wary of everyone outside my door, particularly when I’m taking the time and effort to keep the people around me safe and there’s a ton of selfish assholes out there not willing to extend the same courtesy.

I’m afraid I’m not going to have the time, energy, and ability to actually visit and catch up with all the people in my life. The knowledge that you can’t get back the time that’s gone no matter how hard you try is a true sorrow, once you realize it.

March is a miserable month in Ontario. I hate dealing with ice-sheeted ground that turns into boot-eating mud as everything continually warms, thaws, and refreezes between bouts of the inevitable mixed precipitation. Nothing sours my spirits like looking out at dirty rotten snow and grey slushy streets.

I’m trying not to dwell on it but people are posting pictures of growing things and snowless landscapes online and it always makes me a little envious and impatient. (I mean, I have a flowerbed to create in the backyard and a couple shrines to set up outside as well, but it’ll be closer to May before I can do that. I get antsy.)

I have no illusions as to why I look to the skies in March - I need a break from how ugly everything looks and feels on the ground. The days when the air is clear and sharp and so vibrantly blue, full of a slightly warmer light and draped in mare’s tails, are absolutely vital. It literally lifts my spirits. Twilight too is a perfect shade of blue at this time of year, and it’s a hue I tuck into my memories to recall when I need it. So my eyes are not on the ground. I’m equal parts earth and sky, I think, but I tend to show more of the earthy me. I really only let myself indulge in airy-ness at this time of year.

I’m trying not to rush Spring, inside my head. I know there’ll be time to wreck myself being physical in the yard in the future. I’ll do some seasonal changes on my altars and shrines once the snow is mostly off the ground or at Beltane, whichever comes first. Woo-wise, some years I’ve changed my spaces over to Spring according to the Wheel, but I’m not this year. There’s a disconnect in doing it - you create a bubble inside the home, and the vibe is an illusion that’s dispelled as soon as you step outside the door. I don’t have the energy for wishful thinking. (The last year has just eaten it.)

I know I should do - something- for the equinox, but as usual I’m finding it very challenging. I don’t have a frantic need to clean/cleanse like last year, since it’s the first whole year since the plumbing got properly fixed and we’ve been blissfully free from exploding toilets and backed-up pipes. I’m floating between focusing on “opening the door” for Spring (the equivalent of letting a friend know the back door’s unlocked and they can show up whenever they’re ready), or looking at it from the tried-and-true balance angle. Either way, I’m feeling underwhelmed by the whole thing but am trying to maintain some kind of ritual in my personal practice.

Anyway. Looking forward to tomorrow - hopefully another warm day means open windows again, and I love airing out the house. I will have the time to indulge myself in a little bit of crafty something - I could paint a little, I could fiddle with some jewelry, I could write the grounding piece I need to do. It’s not hugely ambitious, but it’s nice giving myself permission to potter away at something.

#personal #blather #March #emptying out the brain cache

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a-romance-with-misery · 4 years

Text

Day 254: A New Reality (3/4/20)

If I were to sum up what has stood out to me this year, the list of things would be overwhelmingly negative in nature. Whether that’d be because of the current miserable situation I, and billions of people around the world are trapped in, or because this year has been unusually bad is up for debate... anyhow...

I have an obsession with checking the statistics surrounding SARS-Cov-2, colloquially known as “the coronavirus”. As it stands (10pm Eastern/ NY time) on April 3rd, over 1,098,000 people have tested positive for the virus and over 59,000 have died from it. China (the place of origin for the virus) now, in official records, ranks 5th behind the U.S., Italy, Spain, and Germany in that order. In terms of overall deaths, China is now 6th behind Italy, Spain, U.S., France, and the U.K.

Focusing around the U.S., there have been over 270,000 confirmed cases and over 7,000 deaths so far. The rate of increase is slowing somewhat, but not at all enough to even say exponential growth of cases and deaths is over...

My family has been limiting shopping to once per two weeks. We wore masks, brought Clorox wipes, and kept our distance from other shoppers in every store we went to. And we were not at all alone in this trend. The CDC is now recommending people in the American populace to wear basic cloth masks when outside and to keep at least 6 ft apart from each other. This, of course, has not been followed by everyone nor is it entirely feasible to be followed by everyone. New York City has unofficially become the new epicentre of the pandemic as they record thousands of new cases and hundreds of new deaths everyday.

Life has changed drastically in a short period of time for so many. Over 6.6 million Americans have become unemployed at this point. Close to 3/4 of the nation is under a stay-at-home order/ been told to shelter in place. A sniffle or a cough is greeted with glares and nervous whispering in public. This is an event which will be remembered for an entire generation...

Some days, I’m angry. Some days, I’m fatigued beyond belief. Some days, I’m gripped by sadness and find myself unable to even perform the basic function of eating. Most days, however, I am fearful. I am scared.

Looking back at past pandemics, things came to pass after a year or two. Things settled down, albeit often with thousands gone, and life often returned to normal. It may sound insane, but I can’t imagine that happening this time. This virus has caused upheaval around the globe and has stunted the world economy. Thousands are already dead, and thousands, if not millions, are predicted to die. Hell, in the U.S. alone, a tenuous prediction of 100,000-240,000 American fatalities are being predicted from this pandemic. Most of this fear comes from the fact we don’t know when this event will end. We don’t know whether this is just the very beginning of the outbreak, whether we’re already near the peak and the worst will come to pass soon, or if we’re somewhere in the middle, with the light at the end of the tunnel rapidly approaching, but not nearly fast enough. Fear of what’s to come has led to a toxic political environment (especially given this is an election year), fear has fueled the rise of conspiracy theories, fear has crippled this and so many other nations. At this point in time, however, I can only see fear when reflecting upon my future. No tomorrow is guaranteed, especially given the severe symptoms of this virus and the high chance I will eventually be infected alongside the rest of my family despite our best efforts...

On a much lighter note, I want to talk about my crushes from previous years. I’ve had an unsual amount of time to reflect on myself, and this was one subject I had never broached until recently when evaluating who I am. Even bolder, I plan on including these people’s first names, because I have nothing left to lose. My emotional state right now can be described as outwardly calm, but inwardly on fire.

Anyhow, here we begin. First, we have Jakob from 9th grade. After I had gotten out of a sort of relationship with a girl (it lasted 6 months, but she eventually realized something that I couldn’t see in myself. I didn’t actually love her, I just thought I did because I had never experienced love before at that point, or really any kind of infatuation for that matter.) I met Jakob through a mutual friend of ours. Now, my first impression of him was...strange to say the least. He seemed friendly enough, but our mutual friend pointed out to me that Jakob has taken pizza from her fridge without her permission. My first impression of this kiddo was that he was vaguely rude, but kind of handsome in a subtle way. He was 5’11” (he told me, I didn’t literally measure him), had brown hair, blue eyes, a body on the stockier side, and had a cheeky grin that I would never admit I found super cute on him. Anyhow, I later discovered he was in my world history class, leading to an actual friendship developing out of that. He’s straight as an arrow and never knew (and still doesn’t know) that I ever had a crush on him. Hell, I only realized years later after another friend of mine asked about my personal life during a walk in the woods. This crush died, however, once he told me a few things my sophomore year of high school. He told me he didn’t believe in climate change and that I wasn’t as liberal as I thought I was (Mind you, this was 2016, an election year). That last comment especially irked me at the time, ultimately crushing any feelings I had for him. To this day, however, I’m still friends with him and hang out with him with another mutual friend of ours, Willow.

We have to jump to 12th grade for my next crush. This one, I barely want to include simply because of how brief it was. In my second semester of 12th grade, I met a kid named Chandler in my calculus class. He has (and still does) a fascination with meteorology, which, at the time, was one of my hobbies as well. He was handsome, I’ll give him that, with a slight scruff, blue eyes, strong jawline, and being on the shorter side (I’m 5’7” and he was shorter than me). This infatuation lasted just a few months, and never actually got that deep. I just remember at the end of my school’s Spring Fling event (where students got out of class early, played games outside and inside, ate food, etc) I spent a significant portion of that time just sitting with Chandler and giving him all my online meteorology resources. We reviewed some of my favourite hurricanes, current (at the time) storms, etc. Plus, I felt sympathy for him as he appeared to have only a few friends at the spring fling. Almost forgot to mention, he’s very straight too. But once again, this is a crush that I’ve come to realize after the fact, so...I mean I don’t know how that makes it better that I lacked self-awareness in the moment but for some reason it feels better?

Finally, we have three different men from my first year of college: Ryan, Carter, and Noah. These, admittedly, were shallow crushes at the time which is why I’m including them together. Ryan is my roommate. Yeah, imagine the emotions that went through my head when a hot guy direct messages me on Instagram to ask me whether I have a roommate for college yet or not. After getting to know him these past several months, I can say with conviction that I now prefer him as a friend. He’s a great guy, and I’m actually rooming with him next year. But I’m comfortable with him in the current position that he has in my life: a close friend who I can rely on (for the most part 😂). He’s hot (can grow a beard, muscular, smells good, and, although I’ve lied to him that I hate it, he generates a lot of body heat, so literally hot), but he’s simply just a great guy too, who’s actually in touch with his emotions (unlike most guys I’m friends with, who tend to be stoic unless they’re really comfortable around me). Plus...he’s over 6’2 I believe, which kind of scares me. Especially at night, where I may be in my bed already and the room’s dark, but he walks in and no matter how many times I tell myself monsters don’t exist, a tall, pale figure with long arms will always look like slenderman to me.

Now, we come to Carter and Noah. I know neither of these men at all, and I mean at all. They are simply physically attractive to me. Carter was the ripped ginger who often walked down my resident hall without a shirt on. He was stunning and I can’t deny that. It didn’t help that early on, I learned he was gay. Also, he was the community manager to my resident hall’s community and was likely nice as a result of this. Or maybe he just happens to be a nice guy and hot, I don’t know some people truly are just unbelievable like that. Noah, on the other hand, I have never seen shirtless. He’s just got an attractive face that gives me military vibes. That’s...something I’m attracted to hA I just choked while writing this...

In essence, I have been attracted to 4 straight guys and 1 gay guy in my life...what a story...

END day 254

No editing, just posting :/

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winedarkwords · 7 years

Text

Review: A Little Life by, Hanya Yanagihara

First read:March, 2015

Re-read: August, 2017

“My hope was always that the experience of reading this book would mirror my experience of writing it: I wanted it to feel like quicksand, like entering a landscape that literally swallows you and then spits you up somewhere else.”

Congratulations Hanya Yanagihara because that’s exactly what happened.

The feelings and emotions of the characters in this book are so clear and intricate in detail it felt as though I actually knew them. They are each so obviously their own person with aching aspirations and flaws and it made becoming wrapped up in their world so easily. Hanya Yanagihara’s writing is so elegantly crisp and straightforward, weaving in metaphors and comparisons so seamlessly it never once felt purple or forced. Her use of adjectives and descriptors were so simple, blunt even, but that just helped to drive the point home so much harder. Not to mention all of the beautiful descriptions of art and architecture which just helped to shape the feeling of the book and lives of the characters. It’s clear Yanagihara did her research and cared a lot for her subject.

The world of the upper-class New York art-scene she builds through atmosphere and minute detail is so vivid, intoxicating (and sure, a little pretentious) that I feel the need to exist in it. She makes me feel nostalgic for a city I’ve never seen and a lifestyle I’ve never experienced. Just read this small excerpt detailing the vacation home "Lantern House" she builds for 2 of the characters:

"...the entire interior is exposed to the outdoors, to the tree peonies and lilac bushes that bloom around it in the early spring; to the panicles of wisteria that drip from its roof in the early summer. To the right of the house is a field that paints itself red with poppies in July..."

In juxtaposition to this bright world of art, travel and fame we have Jude's physical and emotional world of pain and trauma which is painted as almost startlingly grotesque:

"He concentrates on the sound of his breath, and on his legs, which he imagines as large jumped shards of wood into which have been drilled dozens of long metal screws, each as thick as his thumb. He vomits again."

More than anything I would have to call A Little Life a love story inn both platonic and romantic regards. This is a novel that funnels intensely into the bones of human connection and looks deeply into the essence of what makes us who we are based upon the relationships we’ve shared with others. While JB and Malcolm (two of the 4 friends mentioned) are important members of the story, it’s the relationship between Willem and Jude that really holds the heart of A Little Life. Their’s is a friendship that defies the conventional limitations of the word and was what I felt brought real light to this book.

“Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.”

Despite what the descriptions of this book say in the blurb, this is not a book focusing on the lives of four friends but rather the life of one of them, Jude, and his decade’s long endeavor to try and overcome the absolutely brutal and jarring events of his past which have so viciously morphed him both physically and mentally. I know this book won’t be for everyone because at times it can be so dark, but between these moments are ones of such love and possibility that it makes up for it.

I couldn’t give the book a full five stars due to the fact that the amount of bad things that kept happening started to feel ridiculous. I found myself actually getting annoyed at one point because it just became too much and no longer felt believable (which is really just my privilege speaking because I know that there are real people out there who must have gone through similar experiences). Rather than seeing Jude for his personality and voice it began to feel like the author was trying a little too hard to manipulate me into feeling miserable. Despite this, I still couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming attachment to Jude and his story.

I would be careful with who I recommend this book to. There are extremely graphic mentions of self-harm, sexual and physical abuse, abandonment... etc. I can’t say I’ve ever read a novel that peers so deeply into the depths and long-term effects of abuse and both physical and emotional damage. I know that I’ll be reading this again in the future, and just in the past 24hrs since finishing this book I’ve already re-read certain passages.

Writing: 5/5

characters: 5/5

Pacing: 5/5

Plot: 4/5

If you liked this review I’m also on Goodreads!

#A Little Life #Hanya Yanagihara #book review #Literary Fiction #booklr

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sturlsons · 7 years

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do you have any content that you regularly keep up with? like fics/comics/shows/blogs? i want to start consuming more content and be more knowledgeable/wellread in general but i don't really know where to start :(

i saw this ask like an hour ago and promptly got distracted catching up on my youtube subscriptions so thank u for the reminder but apologies for the delay,,

LONG reply coming up, discussions of depression.

(if u’d rather skip my sob story just scroll down to the picture of the upset dude with the cigarette)

before i get to your specific question, just a little something, because you’ve unknowingly shed light on one of my B I G G E S T struggles: i’m actually real shit at consuming content myself. i have a horrible concentration span and focus issues in general, and i tend to have tunnel vision for academia and hence spend nine months of the year memorising vocab blindly and watching like three episodes of anime. i regularly try to get myself out of this habit but It’s Hard™, so instead i try to make academic choices which will automatically bring new content to the table. choosing essay topics that i’m not familiar with, using the mandatory individual reading requirements to check out books i’ve been meaning to read, trying to do more than the required reading while i’m at it, etc etc. i also try to make lists of things to watch/read every summer, but usually end up being distracted with my writing projects.

however, kinda good AND bad news. i only started getting stuck re: content consumption after moving to france and starting uni. in india my consumption was OFF THE CHARTS. eating through books and shows, doing research about all sorts of things, you name it. the good aspect of this is that as a child/teenager i already took in a way-above-average amount of information that still keeps me Smart and Cool™ in conversations to this day, but the bad aspect is that most of this was a form of escapism, a way to feed my insomnia back in the day, and then a horrible tangle with my depression which all ended in a huge mess. result: i was a pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, but i was a manically depressed pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, and what’s more-- the most hilarious-- i was actually terrified of moving out of my comfort zone in certain aspects. i used to read new things all the time, sure, watch new shows. but i’d also watch the same shows over and over until i memorised them, read the same books and poems out loud to myself, write the same kinds of fics, listen to the same artists. yeah, that one was weird as shit-- i couldn’t listen to new music, i just didn’t have the courage. the FIRST ever thing my therapist told me to do was check out a new artist by the time we had our second session. that’s when i discovered the national, one of the two most important bands of my life, and since that day i’ve made it a point to listen to at least one new artist a month.

anyway.

so then i moved to france, which was the best thing that could happen to me ever. however, as i quickly discovered (and sometimes still reel from), whether i like perpetuating this mindset or not (i don’t) the truth is at least for me, it seemed for a while that it was my very depression that kept me so Creative and Hungry For Knowledge and Pretentious Fuckwit. the happier i got, the “lazier” i got. i stopped writing for a year straight because i didn’t feel the urge to create anymore, i stopped consuming content because Who Cares I’m Living In The Moment I’m Finally Happy I Don’t Need To Hide Behind A Book. etcetera. most importantly: i was INSANELY focused on learning french and getting into the university of my choice, and since i kept seeing results in that department, i was happy with what my brain was doing.

then this dude broke my heart. if you’re from the jaywalkers readership, that’s when i started writing jaywalkers. you see how that doesn’t help the whole “no no, i’m only intelligent when i’m SAAAD” thing. i wrote jaywalkers, i wrote other fics, i wrote poetry, i sang songs and watched anime and read books and i used my brain more than i’d used it in the entirety of the year before this happened, and i was like, this is it. if i want to be great, i’ve got to be miserable.

two years later, i’m here to tell you that it’s bullshit. bullshit, you’ve gotta be sad to learn things. it’s the best thing for being sad is to learn something, NOT the best thing for learning something is to be sad. i let my habit of seeking comfort by reading/writing make me believe that i could only do that when i was heartbroken. it took me two years to understand that i was wrong. i could’ve been doing all sorts of bullshit in those two years. i could’ve watched all the james bond films! i haven’t watched all the james bond films!

does that mean i’m magically feeding myself knowledge again? nope. because it’s not all about feelings. it’s also about how much time i have, how much energy (physical and mental) i have. i still have a shitty concentration span and can barely make it through a movie without getting the creepy-crawlies over my skin. i still have to do three different things simultaneously or i’ll never get any of them done. i gotta skype someone while doing the dishes. i gotta skype someone while eating. i can’t just eat. i can’t JUST read. i SURE as hell can’t just watch something. but you know what? the only reason i figured (am still figuring) all of this out is because i got rid of the initial block that said i don’t want to. i had to realise that it was up to me whether i consumed content or not, and once i did, THEN i could get to solving the practical problems that came with it.

it’s still a work in progress. a very, VERY fresh work in progress, because i’ve only started implementing big changes this spring/summer. it’s a lot of trial and error, but there’s a lot of solutions. turns out i’m better at keeping up with shows if i make it a regular date night thing with my boyfriend. i’m better at reading things on my kindle since it throws me back to my bookworm days when i had physical books. i’m actually better at listening to content sometimes, which was a huge surprise since i’ve always staunchly believed that my auditory comprehension is utter shit. but i’m still working it out u know? i’ll make it. i don’t want to stagnate anymore.

NOW. ONTO YOUR ACTUAL QUESTION.

here’s the thing, i’m REALLY shitty at keeping up with ongoing content. my preferred m.o. is waiting for whatever ongoing thing interested me to not be ongoing anymore, and then i binge. it’s a concentration/stamina/fucks thing. hence what i do is subscribe to anything i like and save it for later.

like i like knowing what my favourite authors are up to, so i subscribe to them. if an ongoing fic’s summary seems interesting i subscribe to the writer, that way if they write something shorter/complete i can check out their writing style, and i’ll still get updates if the main fic is completed. then i save those update notifs until a time that i can get to them, so that they’re little reminders in my inbox:

i also keep lists of everything that i want to check out at some point. i try not to give myself deadlines (anymore) because i literally never stick to them when it comes to consuming content and i end up feeling like shit. i used to have like, “SUMMER 2016″ lists and shit with like seven movies and three shows and i��d never do any of it completely and that sad little list would just lie there. so instead now i try to just make lists, period. it’s like a humongous queue of things that i want to check out, and whenever i have the time/willingness for it, i refer to it.

and then i keep a list where i keep track of what i checked out.

i find that it’s less pressurising to make a separate list of what i accomplished as opposed to having a to-do list where you check things off. because like, get this. so you have a to-do that isn’t urgent, right? not like, groceries, dinner, dishes. for those it’s totally important to have a reminder right in front of you, like do your dishes brah. but for things like this, especially for someone like me who’s a flake and will say “i’m gonna watch this movie tonight” and then will literally stare in your face without a word the entire evening and not watch the movie, it’s really shit to have a “TO DO: THINGS TO READ” which just lies untouched for a month straight.

instead, i keep a reference list. and then, when i do something, i note it down. that way i satisfy my inner list monster like “i did a thing today!” and at the same time avoid the disappointment of staring at a pileup of titles that don’t have a strikethrough. this helps with everything that isn’t urgent tbh. if you can afford it practically, don’t make a “what i have to do” list. make a “what i did today” list. it actually helps you to stay positive.

NEXT. i also always, always, always invite recs from my friends. this part involves having exceptionally patient friends, because i always ask for recs. and then i never check them out. literally me checking out a rec is a once in a blue moon thing, so my friends ( @fyolette in particular, may the lord bless her) really have a calm mind because they still always send me things they think i’ll like. i’m eternally grateful for this, ETERNALLY.

so then i make a list of those. recs most commonly involve fics and music. i try to check out music recs within the day/week, and fic recs get tabbed on my favourite chrome extension ever: onetab.

boom. beautiful.

NEXT. how to retain all that Good Content™ that you binge? there’s no easy way, you have to figure it out on your own. before my depression hit i had an incredible memory and grasping power, basically reading through something once was enough to memorise it. this ability took a major hit in high school (which i nearly failed by the way, despite being one of the TOP students of my school), and i’ve never really come back to my full form. most days i fear that i never will, but i still have faith. it’s a long life. and hey, even if i don’t, i don’t shy from hard work. i’m willing to replace what was once natural intelligence with hours of manual labour if i have to. that’s a choice i’ll make.

personally, saying things out loud helps me lots. making flashcards for everything too. i like anki, it’s pretty clean and friendly, but i also struggle with screens when it comes to learning. for me the best way to learn something is to write it out by hand. there’s something about the motion of writing that permanently inks things in my head, so i try to do it whenever i can. i’m trying to shift to digital methods more, though, to save time/money/resources. i like having a split-view. i’ll open whatever i’m reading on one half of the screen, and a notepad on the other, and constantly paraphrase. paraphrasing really helps me. another fantastic thing is to highlight anything unfamiliar (technical jargon, unfamiliar names, cited works, even pop culture references that you don’t get) and make it a rule to google all of it at the end of your reading session. not immediately-- you’ll get sucked into the black hole that is wikipedia and leave your novel aside. do the reading first unless your highlighted term is essential to understanding, and then check out whatever you set aside. that way you understand your current content better, and also branch out into related topics.

i can go on about these tips for ages so if you have any specific questions/would like me to elaborate, hmu.

NEXT. your...actual...question...what content i keep up with...

so firstly, fic, because fic is life. i’m subscribed to: gentlestars, mindheist, porridgemilk, potter, retox, and rix. i’m also subscribed to a bunch of fics/series but would prefer to keep them private, so hmu off-anon if u’d like to know which ones!

i also kept up with OMGCP for an astonishingly long amount of time (for me) and then dropped off, but i do hope to catch up this summer. i adore OMGCP. i also started on WTNV the moment i realised that i’m good with audio stuff now, but i deliberately don’t binge it because its episodic narrative allows me to be sporadic, and WTNV is not something u binge. it’s something u feel in ur heart.

for music, i’m a mainstream hoe so spotify’s global top 50 is always great, i also love their daily mixes. spotify in general is fantastic, sometimes i like setting up a song radio and listening to similar music, it’s great. my cousin/best friend abhi always hits me up with fantastic music recs, he really knows my taste and knows when to insist that i listen to something. always ends up in my library.

the only thing i do on youtube is watch cooking videos and vine compilations honestly (btw nathan/ayitspnayo is the prince of my heart so i’m very much subscribed to him on snapchat, along with vice magazine and lemonde) but my favourites are sortedfood and peaceful cuisine. apart from those two the only channel i really keep up with on youtube is med school insiders. i love this dude. this dude is like my clip art older brother.

for shows i’m currently crawling through weightlifting fairy kim bokjoo, and waiting for narcos S3 and GOT S7. i want to binge either brooklyn 99 or it’s always sunny in philadelphia, or parks and recreation. i don’t know, something funny, u know. we’ll see.

of course it’s incomplete without a tumblr shoutout. i love lolmythesis, wizzard890, pyrrhiccomedy, fyolette, saintjoan and some others that i don’t follow but keep bookmarked to check regularly. also, pretty random, but reddit is fantastic for trivia and more-than-trivia. the todayilearned sub is gold.

so there u go! i’m sure i’ve missed out on some stuff (it’s 4 AM how did this happen i started answering this at 2) and maybe none of this is useful as opposed to half of it being useful, but i sincerely hope that there’s a miracle and ALL of it is useful to u. it’s never too late to start learning things, and i know that it’s overwhelming when u feel like u don’t have any kind of base so u don’t know where to start. like where does one start learning the history of everything. what does one do to get to the point where u know some obscure detail about nikola tesla’s life? i feel u! i feel u! but u gotta start somewhere. pick something that interests u and branch out from it. u can’t know Everything about Everything Ever anyway, so why not accept that from the get-go and spend ur time wisely learning about what u really want to learn about!

and it’s such a big world. i’m sure there’s so much you want to learn about.

youtube

#teesta talks for ts #this is...long #anons #replies

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