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margridarnauds · 3 years

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Things I Wish I Had Known About Being A Celticist (Before Becoming One):

1. If you’re North American, you’re going to have to work twice as hard to get the same level of respect as your peers from Europe. Get used to that now, because it won’t get any easier as time goes on. You’re also going to very likely be in classes with people who, while not FLUENT in Gaeilge, have at least some background in it. This can be a blessing and a curse - The curse is that you have less of an idea of what’s going on, the blessing is that the professors will focus a lot of the tougher questions on them, at least at first.

2. “So, do you have any Irish family?” You will be asked that question. All the time. If you’re North American or English. Unless you have, say, a grandma from Tipperary, the safest answer is always “No, not at all! I just love the literature/history/language/etc.”

3. Love languages? You’re going to! On average, depending on your program, it’s likely that you’ll at least be learning two languages. At enough of a level where you can get pretty in-depth when it comes to the grammar. Most Old Irish experts are expected to know Old Irish, Middle Welsh (at least enough for comparative purposes), and German, with Latin often being brought in. You’ll also be expected to be able to comment on the development of Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge - It’s essential if you’re going to date texts. There are also multiple other Celtic languages (Breton, Manx, Cornish, Scottish) that, while they might not be ESSENTIAL for whatever you’re doing, are still going to be cropping up at different times for comparison purposes - I’d be lying if I said I knew them WELL, and most people tend to stick fairly firmly to their area, BUT you will probably be learning at least a little of them. (Personally, no one asked me, but I honestly think that I couldn’t call myself a Celticist if I just knew one Celtic language, it’s why a longterm goal of mine is to build up as much knowledge of the others as I can.) I’ve seen quite a few scholars go in thinking that the linguistics part won’t be important, only to be slammed by the program early on. Even if you just want to do literary analysis, you’re going to have to explain the meaning and development of individual words, as well as situating it in the broader scope of the development of your language of choice. (IE “This is a ninth century text, and we know that because it has intact deponent verbs, the neuter article’s dying out, and no independent object pronoun. Also everything’s on fire because Vikings.”)

4. You’re very likely going to have to move. This applies mainly for North Americans who want to do it (unless you happen to live directly in, say, Toronto or Boston, in which case ignore what I said and, Bostonians, polish off your GREs and prepare to listen to Legally Blonde the Musical on repeat because you’re going to be applying for Harvard). There are very few Celtic Studies programs in the world and, in general, most of the major programs, sensibly, are in Celtic-speaking countries - So, if you want to study Scottish, you go to Scotland, you want Irish, you go to Ireland, Welsh in Wales, etc. If you already wanted to move to Europe for a year or two while you’re doing your MA, then great (and for EU students this doesn’t apply, since they can relocate much easier...unless they were planning on going to the UK in which case.....my condolences), but if you didn’t have any sudden plans to move, keep it in mind. From an American perspective, it was literally cheaper to move to Ireland and do my MA there than to deal with the school system here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other inconveniences associated with moving to another country. Even if you’re European, the field is fickle - An Irish scholar might find themselves moving to Scotland, an English scholar might find themselves moving to Ireland, etc. etc. These things happen when you have to take what you can get.

5. You don’t need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. You do not need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. When I first applied for my MA, I thought I didn’t have a chance because I had a general Humanities degree and didn’t have any formal experience with a Celtic language, least of all Old Irish. As it turns out, most programs do not expect you to have a background in this sort of thing beforehand, and quite a few have different programs for those who have a background in this stuff VS those who don’t, so don’t feel, if this is what you REALLY want to do, like you can’t just because of that. Show your passion for the field in your application, talk a little about the texts you’ve studied, angles you’re interested in, etc., make it the best application you can, and you still have a shot even without Old Irish (or, for non-Irish potential Celticists, whatever your target is.)

6. It’s competitive - Just because you get your MA, PhD programs are fewer and farer between. Academia in general isn’t known for its phenomenal job security, but Celtic Studies in particular is very fragile, since we generally are seen as low priority even among the Humanities programs (which, in general, are the first to be axed anyway.) If you focus on medieval languages as opposed to modern ones, you might very well find your program ranked lower in priority than your colleagues in the modern departments. Especially since COVID has gutted many universities’ income. I found that getting into a MA program was significantly easier than planning on what to do afterwards, since, for a PhD, you generally have to go someplace that can pay you at least some amount of money. Going into your PhD without any departmental funding is a recipe for burnout and bankruptcy, and there are very few Celtic Studies programs that can pay. Doesn’t mean you can’t try, and, when paid PhDs become available, they tend to be quite well publicized on Celtic Studies Twitter/Facebook, but keep in mind that you’ll be in a very competitive market. Networking is key - Your MA is your time to shine and get those treasured letters of rec so that you can get that sweet, sweet institutional funding for your PhD.

7. You’re very likely not actually going to teach Celtic Studies. Because there are so few teaching positions available worldwide, it’s much more likely that you’ll be teaching general Humanities/Composition/etc. This doesn’t mean that you’ll be giving up Celtic Studies (conferences are always going to be open, you don’t have to stay in one department for your entire life and can snag a position when it becomes available, and, even if you go outside of academia, the tourism industry...well, it was looking for Celticists, before The Plague), it just means that if teaching it is what you REALLY want to do with your life, it might be good to check your expectations. A few programs even have an option where you can essentially double major for the sake of job security. (So, if you always wanted to be the world’s first French Revolution historian/Celticist/Gothic Literature triple threat......................the amount of reading you’d have to do would likely drive you insane but................)

8. Make nice with your department. Make nice with your department. Celtic Studies departments tend to be small and concentrated, so you’re going to be knowing everyone quite well by the end of your first grad degree, at least. You don’t have to like everyone in it, but they aren’t just your classmates, they’re your colleagues. You will be seeing at least some of their faces for the rest of your life. I can say that my MA department remembered students who left the program a decade ago. Your department is supposed to have your back, and they can be an invaluable source of support when you need it the most, since they understand the program and what it entails better than anyone else can. You’ll need them for everything from moral support to getting you pdfs of That One Article From A Long Discontinued Journal From The 1970s. I’ve seen students who made an ass of themselves to the department - Their classmates remembered them five years later. Don’t be that guy. Have fun, go to the holiday dinners, get to know people, ask about their work, attend the “voluntary” seminars and lectures, and do not make an ass of yourself. That is how you find yourself jumping from PhD program to PhD program because your old professors “forgot” your letter of rec until the day after the deadline. Also, since your departments are small and concentrated, it’s a good idea to prepare to separate your social media for your personal stuff vs your academics as much as you can, since it won’t be too hard to track you down if people just know that you do Celtic Studies.

9. Some areas of the field are more respected than others. If you want to do work on the legal or ecclesiastical aspects, excellent. If you want to focus on the linguistic elements, excellent. If you’re here for literature.....there’s a place, though you’re going to have to make damned sure to back it up with linguistic and historical evidence. (There’s less theory for theory’s sake, though theoretical approaches are slowly gaining more acceptance.) But if you’re here for mythography or comparative approaches...there is a PLACE for you, but it’s a little dustier than the others. There are fewer programs willing to outright teach mythology, mainly because it’s seen as outdated and unorthodox, especially since the term itself in a Celtic context is controversial. Pursue it, God knows we need the support, but just...be prepared to mute a lot of your academic social media. And, really, your social media in general. And have a defense prepared ahead of time. With citations. Frankly, I think my Bitch Levels have gone up a solid 50% since getting into this area, because consistently seeing the blue checkmarks on Twitter acting like you’re not doing real work while you’re knees deep in a five volume genealogical tract tends to do that to you. If it ever seems like I go overboard with the citations when it comes to talking about the Mythological Cycle, this is why - I have to. It’s how I maintain what legitimacy I have. I’d still do it if I’d have known, but I would have appreciated the heads up. (On the plus side - It means that, in those few programs that DO teach mythology, you’re golden, because they want all the serious students they can get.)

10. If you really, really love it, it’s worth it. After all this, you’re probably wondering why anyone would sign on for this. The work’s grueling and often unrewarding, you might or might not get respect for what you do based off of where you were born and what your interests are, and you’re subject to an incredibly unpredictable job market so you might never see any material compensation for all of it. But, if you can check your expectations of becoming rich off of it, if all you REALLY want to do is chase it as far as it can go, then it’s worth it. There’s a lot of work to be done, so you don’t have to worry too much about trotting over the same thing that a dozen scholars have already done. You might get the chance to be the very first person, for example, to crack into a text that no one’s read for over a thousand years, or you might totally re-analyze something because the last person to look at it did it in the 19th century, or you might get to be the first person to look at an angle for a text or figure that no one’s considered. If finding a reference to your favorite person in a single annal from the 17th century makes you walk on air for the entire day, then you might very well be the sort of person the field needs.

#celtic studies #long post #school tw

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awed-frog · 4 years

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I like reading from your blog cause I see all the blqck/white discourse from an European pov and it sounds so crazy but then I read what you can add to those post and I'm like, yes thank you for being the voice of reason here... Like jesus I can't believe people are so hellbent on some things they forget the world is not like the usa and its specificities

Thank you for this message! I’m not sure which posts you’re referring to, but I do try very hard to learn about stuff so I can have an informed opinion - it means a lot that you think I sometimes succeed.

I think that maybe we were too optimistic about this ‘global village’ thing, and specifically in thinking that widespread knowledge of English would help people understand one another. Because you’re right: in my experience, Americans tend to dominate conversations because a) they speak their native language all the time, b) they’re often a majority in online spaces, c) they’re not used to living with other cultures and also d) they grow up with the idea that being loud and confident is a good thing.

(As a kind of apology: I know the US is a big country, and I’m sure there are endless differences in social rules and stuff like that. I can only comment on what I’ve seen in fiction and IRL, which, to be fair, seems to be pretty consistent.)

As for the race part, yeah, that’s complicated. Every time I think I understand it a bit more, I find out about yet another horrifying detail and I have to start from scratch again. What is universal is that ‘we forgot those nobodies we needed as workers were actual people’ thing - you find it over and over again and it always causes problems. And obviously in the US it took the form of actual slavery, but the schematics are pretty much the same everywhere? You see it in Germany with the Gastarbeiter, in France with people from Maghreb - both groups were invited in because of a lack of workers, with the explicit or implicit expectation that they would keep to themselves, do nothing outside of work and fuck off asap when they were no longer needed. But, of course, people are people. We want to make friends, get married, have kids, be reunited with relatives, and eventually we get used to or come to like the place we’re living in, despite the fact it’s so very different from our childhood home. In the US, of course, the matter is complicated by the fact these workers were slaves and were bought and kept as slaves long after we knew slavery wasn’t acceptable.

(Because that’s the horror on top of the horror: in the ancient world, you only get the odd philosopher speculating about human rights; but by the late 17th century, those ideas were - if not 100% established - something many countries were using as foundation for their laws and codes of conduct.

We knew. We all knew.

And yet.)

And as outsiders, I know what puzzles many people here is the degree to which this segregation still exists. Many of us know our ancestors who emigrated to the US faced poverty, abuse and severe discrimination, but those things eased - as they generally do - generation after generation. Unfortunately, it’s easy to hate and distrust a recent immigrant; but once they have children, once those children have children, there is no longer any objective difference between those children and native children. They go to the same schools, support the same teams, watch the same programs. Of course, one house may have a black-dressed grandma lurking in a corner, or different cooking smells, but that is about it. In the US, despite the constant talk of patriotism and the flags and the relentless cultural indoctrination, this process happens very unevely across different communities.

For instance, one thing I don’t really understand is how African-Americans managed to keep their own specific form of English (truth be told, I don’t actually know whether AAE is the same in every state/family, and how that works exactly?). Because every black person I met in the UK had either a national accent (first generation immigrants and exchange students) or a 100% British accent. The fact an entire community is so linguistically distinct - that must be evidence of a deep segregation that’s still pervasive - in the school system, in the job market, in social circles. I know this must be obvious to any American, but I don’t know how obvious it is to them that in Europe, accent is generally lost in the span of 20 years - even if a community is deliberately marginalized (just watch any interview with an Italian Romani).

(One thing that struck me was an op-ed written by an African-American man who’d grown up on a US military base in Germany. He said that when his family came back to the US, he was actively bullied by the other black kids because he didn’t speak the ‘right’ kind of English and was completely unaware of the rules framing US race relations. Twenty years later, he still didn’t feel part of either community.)

Anyway - I don’t know where I was going with this. I talked about racism before, when someone asked why Europeans don’t use the word ‘race’, and while our system is very far from perfect, I think what’s going on in the US is far more fucked up. People need to live together so it becomes clear that the only real distinction is between those who worry about the next meal and those who do not. Until we sit here and retreat into our own actual or perceived identity, to the point where we refuse to engage with someone who’s not ‘like us’, nothing’s ever going to get fixed; and that’s the same everywhere, isn’t it?

#ask #racism #slavery #the us is one weird country #random-ass outsider opinion

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selfcareparker · 4 years

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(lovely anon) ok so this may sound so dramatic but; let me paint you a picture: i’m responding to your latest message, sitting on the edge of the sofa. i type in “lovely anon” into the search and see this longgg post come up and i’m like uhhh... i scroll down and see the people you tagged and literally. when i saw @ lovely anon. i . cried . like full on tears. my brother goes “what are you doing” “she tagged meeeee” and he continued what he was doing and didn’t care LMAOO but i was so emotional? i love and appreciate you too and aAH IM CRYING!! you’re just really sweet and i didn’t expect it at all and it was really lovely to be a part of something :’)

the kermit pic sent meee but yes yes yes!! when you start uni let me know, lol i’m so excited for you!! let me know how it goes cuz i’m literally hype hahah & yes we will be in our sad corners of the world, missing england but you’re right it’ll be sooooo worth it in the end!!! and oH i’m glad you talk to them lol i truly thought you like haven’t seen them/haven’t spoken to them this whole time😭 that would’ve been awful!

also i totallyyy get what your saying about the english speaking thing. and idk why you’re insecure (well i *knowww* bc it’s not your first language and you’re studying it in college so yuh) but your english is great :)))

lol yeah that makes sense.. my mom took french in college and she remembers NOTHING HDJSHSJ (the fact that you wanna learn MORE languages i- ahh i so admire you.. you literally know so many languages🥺) yea i mean you know a bunch of languages bc you know the base of words lol, but i wonder if because you know latin it’ll be easier for you to learn french? oh- oh wait you said it’ll be easier HAHHAHA

THERES SO MUCH EXCITING STUFF TO TALK ABOUT HDGSJSJSL it’s so wild to me that you can’t watch chaos walking :( i’m a professional hacker tho so i’ll try and find a way for you LMAO (by professional hacker i mean i literally have gotten multiple free trials and i’m pretty sure the hulu police are after me bUT ITS THEIR FAULT BC WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE???) i mean the movie was good? and cute? and funny? but yea don’t think it’s gonna be the most fantastic thing haha AND THE DOGGO AWWW (i saw it again today- or my today lol, saturday, aND THESE OLD PEOPLE CAME AND SAT IN FRONT OF ME AND MY FRIEND LIKE ITS A LONG STORY LMK IF YOU WANNA HEAR IT)

SHARK FILMS?!?!! PLEASE READING THIS I HAD NO IDEA YOU WOULD LIKE SHARK MOVIES TOO FHSKSHSHDJDJGAJAYSJS ok so i haven’t seen any of the classics (i’m working on it) but i would probably watch jaws to laugh at it? not like that lmao but like comparing it. OKAY BUT HONESTLY I BARELY KNOW ANYONE WHO LIKES SHARK FILMS AHHH OKAY im adding “the shallows” to my watchlist bc it sounds super good AND SAME AHSJD ANY BODY OF WATER IN A MOVIE I JUST KNOW ITS COMING LMAO watch me not go in the water anymore after seeing that picture HHDJSJ

WHEN I READ THIS I JUST GOT DONE TALKING TO MY MOM ABOUT THE MEG AND THAT SCENE WHERE THE SHARKKK JUMPEDDDD AND ATE THE OTHER ONEEEE AND THEN JONAS HAD TO DO- bro i cannot (i think that one is my favorite because i love me a bit of romance and the subtle romance hAD ME) 47 meters down PHEW could you imagine?? i try not to think too hard about it i’m like “don’t be dumb catherine, don’t put yourself in a dumb situation” (not autocorrect having “dumb bitch” ready i am not lying) and i literally understand... there is no other way to explain 47 meters down

i CANNOT watch horror movies, can’t can’t can’t, i literally hate them i cannot do it!!! the thrill is tempting and it’s cool in the moment but i cant lmao. i don’t have nightmares about scary things (for the majority of the time) but going to sleep i’m like oooohhhhhh shit 🥲 literally what you explained

music !!!! music !!!! music !!!! (u ever write a word and now it looks weird lmao) MY BROTHER DOESNT LIKE MUSIC AND ITS SHIT IM LIKE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU- anyway, my music taste is all over the place i mean......... it’s crazy. earlier today i was listening to meghan trainor’s album “title” oUT OF NOWHERE, but just a few minutes ago i was listening to fall in love with me by earth wind and fire soooo lol .. megan is *chefs kiss*, i’m not familiar with stormzy🙈, harry styles.... IM SORRY IM THAT PERSON but i don’t listen to his solo music EEK i only listen to adore you... and not that frequently... the music video freaked me out... i like niall’s solo music a lot more, which i listen to a lot more. now. one direction. favorite. please & thank you. i have a playlist called “boy bands” and it consists of one direction and the vamps (obsessed with cherry blossom btw) but as you can see my taste is all over the place!! fr fr if i sent you what apple music has as my “favorites” it went from ariana grande to carrie underwood to glee (OBSESSED DONT LET ME TALK ABOUT IT) i mean please if you let me i will nonstop (hamilton HDJSH) talk about music all day😩 & NOOO UR MUSIC IS GREAT HAHSK IM NOT A BIG RAP PERSON BUT DOJA CAT IS MY FAVORITE!!

okay good, i’m glad :) i was just nervous that you did feel that way <3 and GOT IT HAHAJ healthy pressure is always good :’) my friend got me these pens cuz i love stationary and school supplies lol and was like “now you have to write something” soooo yea i feel that! and i saw you posted the ficcccccc literally so proud of you 🥺🥺 i’m trying to decide if i read it tomorrow or tonight..... sleep or a literal beautiful creation made by the sweetest person and is v v nice smut and college!peter and 4.7k...... sleep aint really calling no more.

GIRL ALL OF MY SENTENCES ARE TOO LONG HAHAHAH IN FACT THIS IS TOO LONG SOOO (also why am i 3 days late..😑) anywho it’s 1 in the morning so <33 lovely anon

🥰

oh my god the fact that you cried nearly made me cry too😭😭🥺🥺 (also, your brother LMAO), i wasn‘t even sure if you‘d see it but i immediately thought of you so of COURSE i included you <333

the hulu police lsjsjaiaik, girl i was ready to get a hulu membership when i wanted to watch big time adolescence and i couldn‘t find it anywhereee, and when i got to the payment it said i need a bank account that‘s based in the US or whatever. like bro i was about to pay you!! but i was forced to find it somewhere (and i did, on levidia,— not that i‘ve ever used it because it‘s illegal 😤 i would never!!! i‘d rather support billion dollar companies and spend my money on watching films that i can find for free 🥰🥰🥰 not

i‘ve found chaos walking online so i‘ll watch it som time this week!! also YES TELL ME THE STORY

okay so idk if you watched/are planning on watching falcon and winter soldier but i watched the first episode the other day and they were speaking french (just a few seconds) and I UNDERSTOOD SOME WORDS DLDJDJ and i was so proud of myself. i‘ve only ever learned french with duolingo lol (i only do like 5 mins a day and that‘s why i was so surprised that i understood some of it!!). and yeah apart from latin i feel like italian, german, french and english are all similar in a sense.. i mean obviously they‘re completely different languages but for example there are some grammatical constructions in french that i think i wouldn‘t understand if i only spoke english? so when i translate those things into english you can‘t directly translate them bc you say things differently, but when i translate them into german then it makes more sense to me. idk that‘s something i noticed so i feel like if you already know multiple languages it‘s easier to learn another language compared to if you only know one language and are trying to learn a second one. even if the languages aren‘t similar then i think you get the hang of it easier.

ikd slsjsjs also i don‘t want you to think that i‘m a linguistic genius or anything lmfao, like i‘m only fluent in english and german and i‘m just a wannabe (ew that word) polyglot sksj (yes i had to google polyglot— i do think learning ancient greek would be super cool tho? like imagine studying latin AND ancient greek, whew). and honestly i don‘t think i‘ll ever be fluent in another language bc i don‘t plan on living anywhere other than germany or possibly england and i‘m not dedicated enough to properly learn any other languages esp if i don‘t have anyone to speak the language with. but i still try my best and i just love language/languages as a whole so yeah i‘m happy & just learning as much as i can dkdjh🥰

(I guess language/linguistics are/is my passion (which sounds sooo lame lmaoooo) and the word passion comes from the latin word pati (i think💀) which means to suffer, and in german passion is called Leidenschaft which basically means suffering too, idk why i‘m telling you this maybe you know it already. but ok dumb fun fact, in german you can make compound words with as many words as you like, and the longest official german word is Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz which is a law for the monitoring of labels on beef... this is such a dumb fact but i think about that word like once a day idk why dodjsjsj so... 👁👄👁)

but i‘ll stop boring you with my linguistics talk because truly i don‘t know much about languages but i am interested omg i‘m gonna shut up now.

now water + sharks. (so in non-covid times i always go to croatia with my dad during the summer, and even before ever watching a shark film i was always kind of scared in water.. but after watching so many shark films wldjdj HELP Like you know when you go deeper into the ocean and you can‘t see or feel the ground/floor? anymore.. then i just start imagining sharks. like i can‘t help it i just imagine a shark sneaking up on me or feeling something graze my foot ABD I JUST START FREAKING OUT SSKJSHSJ. idk. anyway kdkdh i do love the ocean/swimming though but the older i get the more i realise how fucking scary the ocean is ( even if we’re gonna disregard sharks)

your brother... what‘s wrong with him? HOw CAN YOU NOT LIKE MUSIC LIKE WHAT THE FAWK

OKAY BUT SAME ABOUT THE ADORE YOU MUSIC VIDEO DLDKDJSJSKSLSLKSKSJSHSH and yeah i have to say harry’s style (styles lol) as a solo artist isn‘t reaaally my cup of tea, and i only like the popular songs from his second album and the first album is only good when i‘m in the right mood (haven‘t actually listened to it in a while though, but kiwi is one of my all time favourites along with only angel but i hate the start, like it takes 40 seconds to actually begin properly). i like mgk and because of him i watched the dirt which is a film about motley crue, and now one of my favourite songs ever is same ol situation and i‘m into rock now lol. +++ justin bieber. I had a justin bieber cardboard cutout thingy😭 i was the biggest Belieber on earth when i was 13-16, but i didn‘t like his last album and tbh he‘s become a bit weird lately, BUT OH MY GOD. i Listened to his new album yesterday and i‘m in LOVE with the song hold on

i really like niall‘s music toooo!!!! And doja cat 😌😌😌😌 And THE VAMPS OG MY GOD. i got to see them live bc they were the opening/support act for little mix and ajdsjskslslsjsjsj. (Also i love concerts, some of the best memories of my life are concerts, i‘ve seen nicki minaj live 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and justin twice and my heart fills every time i think about how excited i was, it was my first concert ever (16th of September 2016 😌) and i was the happiest person alive seeing justin drew fucking bieber (even if i‘m not tooo sure about justin nowadays)

i have a confession? Idk what hamilton is. I mean I‘ve heard about it and i keep googling it but i‘ve never watched it (is it even a film???? or like a proper musical? also pls tell me you grew up with high school musical. i have a few friends who didn‘t and it makes me so sad 😭😭😭 hsm is the best thing to happen to my childhood , the sooooongs— i still listen to some of them every week or month lool they make me so happy)

(Okay wait i was about to recommend some stormzy songs but you said you‘re not that into rap so i won‘t dksksjl)

What you said about my fic AHSLSLSJB (i wasn‘t sure if you sent an ask about it earlier? idk that might have been someone else, so if it was (and you‘ve read it already) i hope you liked it sksjsj i was...... unsure about it. and i have this reeaaallly long peter fic that i started writing in december and that‘s the only peter thing i currently want to write but also i can‘t because idk how to continue kddjj.) but I’m definitely getting back into writing i have a few blurbs that i want to write so 🥰🥰🥰

Oh and pls as soon as you read this let me know: violet or yellow? (it‘s just a tiny thing for my new theme slsksj)

#lovely anon #BY THE WAY: do not feel bad or apologise for not answering straight away #you can take your time i know it can be exhausting (not bc its anything bad but just because its so much and so long) to answer to my shit #all at once*#so really i don‘t mind if you take a few days or a week or whatever to respond #or if you want to you can respond bit by bit/topic by topic whenever you feel like it #so you don‘t have to concentrate on an ask and my post for like AN HOUR DLSKJ but rather do it in smaller chunks #if you want <3 #btw i‘m always so scared that i‘ll type lonely anon instead of lovely dldjdjsksk so if i ever do that i‘m just being #(cue your autocorrect dldkdj) a dumb bitch #its 1 am now sorry if there are any mistakes (i‘ll stop apologing from now now lol but i still am sorry you have to read my word vomit lmao)#*apologis #*from now on #omg

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theseerasures · 5 years

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Frozen 2 Reaction Post

surprisebitch.gif

this is 5000% because i don’t wanna do other stuff, but is it not poetic justice that i should come back to the tumbls for Frozen 2: Elsa Runs Away Some More

i’m gonna prologue this by saying that by and large i enjoyed the film tremendously; of course since this is 2019 i would have enjoyed anything that didn’t end with Elsa committing nonsensical war crimes before being put down like Old Yeller or pulling a no-homo to transcend time and space (that’s right, i’m hip enough to know about TWO of the biggest media fiascos this year, you jelly?), but the film was enjoyable even beyond that, mostly in how it affirmed my own opinions about the universe

HOWEVER, there were also huge problems that really have to be addressed, and we’re gonna start with those

cut for length and a truly immense amount of spoilers

things i didn’t like:

so the Iduna being Sami All Along thing was, um. bad! it was bad, and really reads like the team trying to cover their asses after the blowback from the first movie. why was it such a big deal for ~a Northuldran to love an Arendellian~ when Arendelle was 100% at fault in the conflict? were the spirits just like “oh the indigenous tribe that has cared for us and lived alongside us for centuries are fine i guess but OH LOOK the whitest among them just made googly eyes at the son of the guy who wants to colonize and enslave us, let’s root for those crazy kids and make their firstborn the avatar”

making Iduna a White Sami and leaning on the excuse that in real life the Sami people are linguistic and ethnically diverse and some of them can pass as white would have been fine if they didn’t EXPLICITLY RACIALIZE EVERY OTHER TRIBE MEMBER ON SCREEN. come on guys, just admit you liked Last Samurai but knew that that exact premise wouldn’t fly anymore

why couldn’t it be just a nice person who saved Agnar? why did we get yet another version of the old Pocahontas fetish?

why did Iduna being Northuldran REMAIN such a big deal to the point that she never told her kids about it and she and Agnar had to tell separate but equal bedtime stories about the same event??

whew i’m so glad this all happened so Elsa, the whitest non-anthropomorphic-snowman character in the movie, could save those savage natives with spears! They Needed Her Guidance

the songs this time mostly...felt like they didn’t really want this movie to be a musical but were contractually obligated to write songs for Disney until the heat death of the universe

case in point: Some Things Never Change was going for the Happily Ever After vibe that the Steven Universe movie had, but it...didn’t really feel earned. we obviously needed a place-setter song, but it didn’t really establish anything about what the characters have been up to or what might be still bothering them, because apparently everything is great! this worked for Steven Universe because it came off of five SEASONS of character development, but Elsa’s last big character revelation that we the audience saw was “wow guess i’m not the worst scum on earth after all.” the timeskip can only do so much, is what i’m saying

Kristoff got NOTHING to work with. i’m not like, horribly broken up about it since i know they had to keep it tight for the kids, but fucking OLAF got a heavier arc than he did, and it feels like a missed opportunity that they didn’t link HIS backstory to the Northuldrans, what with him being orphaned/abandoned/raised by trolls already set up. it doesn’t have to siphon into the White Savior main story at all, just have--i dunno, a few more scenes with the Northuldrans and him realizing that he’s probably descended from refugees who got cut off from the forest

the proposal thing was cute until i realized that they were going to just hit the same beats over and over again with each scene. it should have been resolved in act 1 instead of Kristoff disappearing for half the movie and then tacking on the proposal at the very end. not every subplot has to be stretched out to the end! in this case i feel like stretching it out actually REGRESSED aspects of Kristanna, since it relied on Anna misreading so many signals that it strained believability even for Anna. we’re supposed to think they’ve NEVER talked about this, despite having dated for 3 years and consistently trading off on being the most Extra person in the room?

the confirmation that Olaf’s fingers can wiggle will haunt my dreams

me when the stone giants interrupted Elsa’s conversation with Honeymaren: yOU COCKBLOCKERS

i find myself growing increasingly weary of the now token Disney Wink at Camera, and Elsa rolling her eyes and her past self doing Let It Go was probably the apex of that particular antipathy. showing that you’re so Over the song that made you billions in a movie that you’re shilling to the EXACT SAME CROWD is the most obnoxious humble-flex i can think of

as much as i liked Elsa jumping into the Pit of Past Misdeeds and freezing to death, i think the scene happened waaaaaayyyy too fast, especially if you compare it to how long it took for Anna in the first movie. she’s not really given any time to process what’s happening, and it kind of lessens the emotional impact.

Olaf is gone!! he’s gone, i miss him so much!! i cry myself to sleep!!!! OLAFFFFFFF!!! false. i do not miss him

i distinctly recall liking Olaf just fine in the first movie and actually found him tolerable here too, but wow i was not happy when they resurrected him, even though i knew it was a sure thing

maybe it’s because NOTHING had consequences in the end and even Arendelle, the place that all the characters have been treating like a thoroughfare for two movies, had to get saved at the last second!! Arendelle the place??? we were supposed to care enough about that to want it to be saved?? it’s not the fucking GALACTICA guys! there weren’t even any people left in the town! it’s bizarre that they tried to go so hard in the reparations route and then swerved at the last second. let Arendelle drown you cowards! let the Northuldrans offer help in solidarity if you really wanted the “bridge between worlds” angle, but come the fuck on! didn’t something like this happen with Life Is Strange already?

why didn’t Elsa go to her sister’s coronation is it just like a thing now for her to miss the major life events of her family members

the statues they unveiled at the end were horrifying

things i liked:

a lowkey thing that i’ve always appreciated about the first movie was its willingness to Go There when it came to depicting well intentioned parents who are still mired in various character flaws and wound their kids deeply, so it was nice to see that return and get expanded with parents who had Lives separate from their kids which made them That Way, and the consequences of those Lives often come back to influence subsequent generations no matter how much they try to keep it contained. it’s a good, logical extension from what happened with Elsa in the first movie.

and it’s another Steven Universe vibe, but they can go further with it faster because Elsa and Anna are the hegemony in this movie. they’re the history-makers, so their family drama very easily becomes political, and the lessons they pick up from family memories immediately end up changing the fantasy history landscape. it’s dope

baby Anna’s lil feetsies

Anna wanted to marry everyone and Elsa thought kissing was gross

everyone does feel palpably older! the first movie had a very teen feel insofar as everything was We Have to Do This or We Will All Die Immediately, but this time around all the characters feel much more comfortable in their own skin throughout the movie

everyone getting more than two outfits and all wearing pants

the revelation after so many headcanons of Elsa being a ruthless pragmatist, Elsa always being two steps ahead politically, Elsa being a literal and metaphorical chessmaster that Elsa is...actually just kind of spacey and weird was for me extremely welcome. i think part of this was done in service of Anna becoming queen at the end, but it makes sense. “attack it with ice powers” and “run away” are still pretty much the only two strings to Elsa’s bow. this is not to say that she was a bad queen, or that she didn’t try her damndest to be a fair and just ruler--when it comes down to it i think Elsa still knows more Facts about how to rule a kingdom than Anna ever will, it’s just that she’s also horribly averse to conflict and “pacing in place while blaming herself” is pretty much the extent of her productivity under serious pressure.

what sets Elsa apart (other than the ice powers) isn’t that she’s prodigiously talented, but that she’s kindhearted and extremely sensitive to the emotions and fates of others. (she’s the one who asks what happened to the spirits when Agnar is done with his half of the story.) she agonized over hurting Anna one way vs. hurting Anna another way for THIRTEEN YEARS and still couldn’t make up her mind until she was literally backed into a corner, and even that decision was “run away but FARTHER.” Anna wanting to reconcile with Elsa even after thirteen years wasn’t just because Anna’s love eclipses all; Elsa also left that door open for her, because she could never be quite as ruthless or even SELFLESS as to send her sister away for good. (”then leave! actually jk i’ll leave instead”)

but Anna wasn’t ever the exception for Elsa, either. Anna wasn’t the only corner of Elsa’s heart that she left open--Elsa’s like that with EVERYONE, even people she just met, or disembodied voices in the wild. Elsa can never do quite as many Right Things as she thinks she should, she can never be quite as driven, as strong, as single-minded as she thinks she needs to be, to fully commit to making decisions for other people. she feels too deeply and wants too much, even after all those years of trying to scour herself out with a lathe. it’s what ruins and saves her.

Anna and Elsa being horrible at charades in diametrically opposite ways was the most life affirming thing to happen to me this year

Elsa couldn’t act out ice

the two of them had MULTIPLE conversations with each other that didn’t immediately result in mortal peril!!! what a world guys

Into the Unknown fucking slaps but i’m now REALLY confused about the diegesis of the songs in this movie. i’d assumed they were all happening in story, what with the Voice and the multiple references to Let It Go, but Elsa literally bays at the moon in the middle of the night here and no one woke up??? maybe they’re all just really heavy sleepers who knows

or maybe the staff just take it in stride at this point--oh, Her Majesty is singing and crying again

Kristoff and Anna CANONICALLY FUCK, and not even in the typical cartoon “look they have kids, they canonically fuck” way in the “hey my sister and her snowchild that we’re all coparenting together are asleep on the sled, shall we fuck a mere three feet away without even putting up a divider or something” way

gotta give Jen Lee kudos for making the “Elsa has ice powers because she’s the fifth spirit” retcon make thematic sense. the most obvious way to go about this WOULD have been the avatar direction, but Elsa isn’t the union of the four elements but the union of the spirits and humanity, which is to say that she witnesses them and keeps their memories, bringing them to life and solidifying them with her powers. she’s obviously the best person for the job, since y’know. she spent thirteen years on one memory alone.

wait does this mean Elsa is basically the Resurrection Stone?? buhhhh i don’t wanna think about it

of course Anna’s sword just came from her grabbing it from an ice statue i don’t know what else i expected

i laughed at both of Olaf’s reenactments i don’t know what to tell you

i feel...Some Kinda Way about the discourse saying that Mattias being black is problematic because it suggests black collusion in indigenous genocide, but it’s not my place to comment on that, so i’ll just say that it was a pleasure to see Sterling K. Brown having fun in a role instead of his usual gravitas and misery

Elsa first making eye contact with the icemander, or Two Feral Creatures Recognize Each Other As Such--i can’t believe i thought Hiccup would be the weirdest horse girl i’d ever encounter in fiction when it’s OBVIOUSLY Elsa

ELSA COULDN’T ACT OUT ICE

what a novel concept to have Elsa charging forward while Anna tries to pull her back, telling her to slow down, that she’s climbing too high

appreciated the subtle seeding they did of Anna’s political savvy, what with her actually talking to the lost Arendellian soldiers and restraining herself from making outlandish promises to everyone she meets

Kristoff made a friend!

Elsa met one (1) girl that wasn’t her sister and immediately decided she had to live in the woods forever

Tribe Leader Lady’s reaction to Kristoff’s proposal

can’t believe Lost in the Woods invented cinema and music videos

the sisters at the shipwreck is hands down the best scene in the entire movie, aided by the drastically different palette they used to color this scene--all grays, browns, and blacks, even the surrounding environment, like Agnar and Iduna’s despair polluted the whole landscape. Elsa and Anna look horribly out of place here, like they can’t possibly be real in a world that looks like this.

it really snuck up on me how much this scene is a pivot for both of their characters: Anna’s instinct here is to look forward, to find clues that will point them to the next step; Elsa’s instinct is toward grief and, after the reveal, self-blame. for all her growth there’s still a part of Elsa that sees her existence as the catastrophe that keeps hurling the wreckage of the world at her feet. it’s something that i don’t think she’ll ever be able to completely move past.

Elsa, looking at Anna like she’s the only real thing in the world as Anna tells her that she believes in her, more than anyone or anything

“i just don’t want you dying trying to be everything for everyone else!” jesus fucking CHRIST guys

Olaf’s growing up crisis was mostly just...kinda there for me, but i will say the cut to his horrified expression when Anna said the word “dying” really did get to me

Anna switching between a Formal Court hairstyle and an Athleisure hairstyle is Bi Representation, Elsa getting increasingly more disheveled over two movies is Lesbian Representation

do i Get horse movies now

Elsa happy crying when she sees her mother in the cave made ME incredibly happy--her face is so much more dynamic this time around!

i wanna make fun of her for her stupid Dance Dance Revolution ice magic during Show Yourself but honestly..........fucking superb you funky little lesbian

aw Elsa you stood up to...an ice hallucination of your racist grandpa! in another three years (six years in production) you might be ready for Thanksgiving dinner

Elsa in the last movie: i’m never going back, the past is in the past!!!!

Elsa in this movie: brb gotta go hurl myself into a Pit of Past Misdeeds and turn myself into one of the embodied memories

Anna immediately understanding what went down at the forest before and that even if she wasn’t directly complicit in the violence she benefits from it every day, deciding to rip down Imperialism Dam without hesitation

The Next Right Thing didn’t really do it for me musically but as a core concept for Anna’s character and ethos it fucking ROCKS (pun obviously intended). i was so worried going in that they wouldn’t know what to do with Anna after the first movie other than give her powers, but instead we got confirmation that this IS her superpower: her ability to forge ahead with whatever life has given her has ALWAYS been her greatest strength.

this also explains why she felt so aimless and intent on protecting Elsa and nothing else before this point; Anna isn’t interested in delving deeply into the past, not when every other member of her family was consumed by it. with this she’s finally able to convert memory into action, and she shines.

(of course she couldn’t have GOTTEN to this point if Elsa hadn’t been so convinced that the past was worth pursuing, confirming my belief that the two of them share exactly one brain cell)

OBVIOUSLY action for Anna translates into “make myself bait for stone giants and STAND ON THE VERY DAM I WANT THEM TO RIP APART” Anna you fucking walnut

Anna threw the first brick at Imperialism Dam, actually

the understated moment when Kristoff just pushes aside his own insecurities and just asks Anna what she needs

the shot of Elsa falling into the water after she’s thawed nearly did me in

Elsa horseback riding over the water is. wow it’s the gayest thing i’ve ever seen

Anna’s coronation outfit made me kinda wistful. she looks so grown up! she looks like her mother

(i mean she always looks like her mother they literally have the same face but whatever you know what i mean)

me on my deathbed: eLSA COuldN’T aCT oUt ICE

stray observations:

is Arendelle just a tourist town where one day the guy who owned the largest house was like “this is a KINGDOM NOW I’M THE KING” and the 50 other townies who lived there were just too polite to argue

i mean it’d explain why the queen, her heir, and the heir’s consort could just waltz out of there for a week long trip and leAVE THE TROLLS IN CHARGE

when they first started getting chummy with the Northuldrans i lost my god damn mind and was like “are they gonna give Kristoff a boyfriend and Anna a girlfriend what’s happening”

is it required that female Disney protagonists have to go to a blue tinted place to realize that the magic answer was in them all along now the same exact thing happened to Moana and Rey

Elsa’s ice creations are confirmed to fade away if she dies, which...is a confirmation we needed i guess

why didn’t Mattias and Yelana fall in love to make the Chosen One instead, they had chemistry

(i mean. i know why)

i hope Anna got to yell at Elsa for at least five minutes and maybe slug her for pulling that “i’m going to Mordor alone!!!” bullshit

for a second at the end i was like “are they gonna do the HTTYD thing where we flash forward to ten years later and Anna and Kristoff take their kids to visit Elsa IS KRISTOFF GONNA GROW A DAD BEARD” but no we just had lesbian wind and origami instead

whatever your take on the movie i think we can all agree that the scene where Olaf calls the Irish “a plague on this planet which is slowly rotting it down to the rind and which must be excised” was NOT okay

#'wow i wonder how many words this post is--actually maybe i don't wanna know'#frozen 2 #disney #helen writes meta

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cherryfi · 5 years

Text

Bedtime Stories

Word Count: 4424.

Plot: Siren!Doyoung x female reader. The only way to get your kids to sleep is with a bedtime story and this time you tell them about how you met their father.

A/N: It’s Halloween Hoes!!! I’m kicking off the series with some fluffy Doyoung goodness! I’ve been sitting on this one for like a week now :(. I’m a little disappointed with it but, tell me what you think.

Requests are open!! Let me know if you have any other idols/ pairings you want for the series!

“Can you put them to bed for me?” Your husband’s frustrated voice calls out from the top of the stairs down to the kitchen; where you sat working on your next book. The sound of socked feet padding down the stairs quickly followed. With your deadline fast approaching, you were working double time, trying to pull extra hours so that you could finish it on time.

Technically, it was finished but, following the success of your first book, there were obviously expectations set for you to write something bigger and better, the added pressure was stifling your creativity and making you question the directions you took your stories in. A lot of the added pressure came from within. You were a perfectionist by nature; and you wanted to prove to your fans that you could consistently produce incredible works but, you also wanted to silence your critics.

You weren’t a one hit wonder; you were here to stay.

“Y/N? Did you hear me? Can you put them to bed for me?” Now normally, your husband wasn’t this easily frustrated but, it was the holidays and both of your children: your 6-year-old daughter and 3-year-old son were at home all day because it was the holidays. Which meant their father (your husband) had been watching them all day while you worked on your novel.

“Just one more line and then I’ll take over, I promise.” Doyoung wraps his arms around you from behind, squeezing you tightly and rested his head on your shoulder. A small sigh leaves his mouth, his lips next to your ear.

“I’m sure it’s perfect already, you’re just a massive worrier so everything looks like crap to a perfectionist like you. Plus, you’ve been looking at that screen all day , you need a break before you go mad. Anyway, the kids want you to read them and I need to head out. You’ve got it covered yeah?” You kiss his cheek and quietly agree.

“What time is it anyway?”

“It’s 9, you’ve been on it all day. I’m only going to be gone for a few hours but if you’re not up when I get back; goodnight and I love you. Tell the kids I love them too.” He kisses you tenderly and heads out the door into the crisp night air. You watch him grab his car keys from the breakfast bar and the gold plate from its spot by the door.

You roll your shoulders and prepare to get your energetic kids to bed.

“Alright you two little monsters I’m coming to get you!” You hear shrills of laughter as you comically stomp up the stairs; making roaring noises as you go.

As you turn the corner into your son’s room, you see both children dive under the bed.

“I see you!” You drag them both from under the bed, all 3 of you in fits of giggles. You tickle them both until you’re all on the ground, tired from laughing .

“How about a bedtime story?” Quick to their feet both of your kids climb onto your little boy’s bed.

Wracking your mind for a good story to tell, you try to find one in the bookshelf when your daughter pipes up.

“No Mummy I don’t want a book, make one up please?” She bounces excitedly with a sweet smile and who are you to tell her no? Especially when your 3-year-old chants “No books, no books!”

“Alright, Have I ever told you about when I used to be a fisherwoman?” You give a pause and watch both kids dramatically shake their heads.

“No? All right then.”

Deadhorse was a small town, just south of nowhere, that lay along the coastline. It was a fishing town, with no discernible features and nothing interesting to do. There were no tourists here.

If you had the displeasure of being born in Deadhorse, you did everything you could to get the hell out of town.

It was that kind of town. The kind of town that wasn’t on any major map and didn’t connect to the freeway. With a population of 1000, it was relatively sleepy. Everybody went to the same schools and worked in the same places.

The biggest attraction was a beaten up, old pub: ‘The moon and mermaid.’

It was boring and filled with small minded and old people but, it was home and until you could escape, you would the make the most of your situation.

But, it also had it’s perks. Being a sea town there was never a shortage of sea shanties and fire-side tales.

In every small, rural town there are the legends.

Be it myths about harbingers of death in the form of old hags carrying brooms or rakes, or whistled songs from forest depths carried on the wind that lure people in; each town had its story.

For Deadhorse it was the sea.

The sea was a dark and beautiful mistress – calm on the surface but bustling with activity in its depth.

Many a fisherman came into the pub and shared stories of sea creatures who would protect their boats during heavy storms or, recount hearing eerie songs that wrapped around them like the briny air. Though they’d remember hearing the song, they could never recount what it sounded like.

But this wasn’t about them, this was about you.

It was the summer of your 18th birthday, and your life was finally beginning to take shape.

You were going to a big college in the city and you were so close to achieving your dreams you could almost taste them – the same way you could taste the sea brine on the air.

“Pass me the crab cage Y/N?” Your father’s voice breaks you out of your stupor and shake your head. Reaching down, you pick up and hand him the cage. Loose sand shakes itself from the cage and you dust it off your arm.

You loved your parents more than anything, they were kind, hard-working people. They’d worked hard to put food on the table and keep you safe. You weren’t ashamed of your humble beginnings, in the same way that you weren’t ashamed of Deadhorse; it just wasn’t what you wanted.

Fishing was never your dream (was it ever anyone’s?).

“We’re going to have to come in earlier than normal today, Pete called in last night and told us that there’s a storm brewing and the meteorology office just put in a warning to the rest of the guys – storm’s coming in at about 5 so we’ve got to be back by the latest 4. Plus, have you seen the sky? It’s fire red.” He shrugs, throwing the cage into the back of the boat and unties the rope from the harbour.

“Yeah. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor’s take warning.” He laughed as you rattled off the saying in a deadpan voice.

You and your dad were close in an odd way. You could spend hours together in silence, doing absolutely nothing or working on tasks together. You were always in sync and that’s what you had done the day everything changed.

You fished together, hauling nets and cages with the occasional remark until around 3pm.

The sky, that was previously a blazing red had gone black. As if the sun’s fire had been snuffed out.

If that wasn’t terrifying enough, the sea had gone eerily calm and there was stillness in the air that was choking.

It was the only time you’d seen your father scared. As an experienced fisher he’d seen his fair share of storms, so you knew this one would be huge.

“Let’s head in.”

“Yeah.”

You’d arrived home in the nick of time, as the waves had begun picking up as you headed back in.

It had gotten worse throughout the night, the thunder and waves beating a chaotic cacophony against the small town. Truly, it was the stuff of nightmares and had been one of the worst storms the town had seen in a long time.

But, in the morning, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Everything resumed as normal.

Except it wasn’t.

It started with the singing.

Every night, just as the sun was setting a mournful song carried itself across the island – seemingly from the depths of the sea.

In the pub local fishermen debated that it must have been the sea itself.

“It’s the storm, brewin’ up all sorts of trouble. You know the sea’s alive. She needs to settle.”

“Don’t be foolish Pete! The sea’s not alive but, what’s in it is. I bet that storm probably woke some long dormant creature.”

“Maybe it’s the whalien.” Everyone turned to look at the new voice; curious to hear about this newly mentioned sea creature that they’d never heard of before.

“It’s this whale that sings at a different frequency to every known whale in the world. Apparently, it’s always singing because it’s lonely. Scientists think it’s probably one of the biggest whales in the world.” Sean was a level-headed, young Marine-biologist – he knew what he was talking about so, they agreed it must have been an amalgamation of all those things.

The Whalien, disturbed by the churning waves must have become scared and was calling out, hoping to find another whale like itself. It was plausible except for the fact that the song sounded entirely too human to be from any animal.

They were all wrong.

You’d heard the song and it wasn’t a whale.

It had to be a siren or a mermaid and to be fair, those that didn’t believe it was a whale were in agreement that it must have been some kind of Siren.

You’d read about them in the library (the only place where there was anything fun to do), you knew about them from ‘Odyssey’.

But that wasn’t what bought you to that conclusion.

2 days after the storm, you were walking along the beach in an area that was seldom travelled.

You hadn’t been searching for anything in particular; just walking. But the glare from the sun, reflecting off something in the sand made you take notice.

It was a gold plate.

It was heavy when you picked it up and to the best of your knowledge it looked like real gold.

There were inscriptions on it but, you couldn’t decipher anything – it wasn’t in any language that you could recognise (not that you were a linguistics expert).

You took it home to look at it later but, for some reason, it didn’t feel right to tell anyone.

The singing started that night.

Describing a siren song was hard. In Greek mythology, the song was meant to be captivating.

Sirens would sing of the loneliness they felt – trapped on their island and of the betrayal of the Olympians and the Muses.

It would lure pirates and sailors alike, who, hearing of these foreign tongued songs, would lose all care and steer into the island. They would be stuck there because their ships were ruined and would eventually perish not because (as is commonly thought) the Sirens would eat them but, because the Sirens couldn’t feed them.

They were immortals trapped on an island that had no need for food but, their mortal companions did.

They would forgo all human needs to hear the Siren song and would die.

This song, however, sounded like a warning.

It was a threat.

You didn’t know how to explain how you knew this; because you couldn’t understand its song and no one else in your small community seemed to have the same experience as you.

One thing everyone agreed on, was that the song was getting louder and seemed to take on multiple voices.

It had something to do with the golden plate. You just knew it.

The louder the song grew, the closer you knew the Siren was to the island – it was hunting you.

By the 5th day, the town had no fish.

Nets were empty and any catches made were often dead before they entered the net. The fish were avoiding the town.

This pushed the fishers into deeper, often unchartered, waters that still yielded no results. Savings were running dry fast and to top it off, the song was so loud that no one got any sleep.

You had to do something.

It was 2am on what would be the 6th day and here you were on the beach, plate in your satchel.

You took it out of the bag.

“Is this a scary story mummy?” Your little girl interrupts your flow, you’d lost yourself for a moment, almost able to smell the brine of the sea; wafting in your face.

Her blanket was up to her eyes and her brother was hidden behind it completely.

You sat on the floor opposite the bed. You quickly got up and picked up your daughter, setting her in your lap and pulling your son beside you.

“It might sound a little scary now but, I promise it has a happy ending. Should I continue?”

“Finish it please.” Your son responds hugging your arm tightly and you turn to your daughter for confirmation.

She gives you a toothy, gap-filled smile and nods quickly.

“Alright, where was I?”

“The plate!” They shout unison.

Yes, the plate.

You tried to hold it up above your head but, it was far too heavy.

Somehow, it had increased in mass (to the point where you couldn’t even hold it up) and was getting warmer, to the point where it soon began to glow white-hot.

“I guess you know that it’s here because it’s never done that before.” The singing had grown quieter and the plate was no longer glowing.

You kept talking.

“I don’t want it. I didn’t mean to take something that’s obviously so important to you, I just found it on the island. I’m guessing you lost it in the storm? I would love to return it to you. It must be awfully important given how loud you’ve been singing. Please bring the fish back. I was the one that did something wrong, no one else and I take full responsibility. You can get it whenever you’d like. Please just bring the fish back.” Honestly, you feel dumb.

Talking to the air, to the sea but somehow, you knew that the Siren was listening.

“Also, you have a lovely voice.”

You left quickly after.

In the morning, or well, the evening, it had become clear that you did the right thing.

The fish and crabs were back, almost as if they’d never left.

“How was today’s catch?” Your mother had asked. She’d been worried for your father. Aware of how tense he’d been since the storm. But his answer immediately put her heart at ease.

“It was good. The sea was kind to all of us today. So, I’m thankful. I also apologise for making you so tense.” Just like that the balance was restored.

But, that night, there was no singing.

This should have meant that you could relax but, you were restless.

The plate was still in your possession.

After hours of tossing and turning, you finally fell asleep.

Only to wake with a jolt.

Your bed was soaking wet. The air heavy with the smell of, salt.

You couldn’t breathe. There was something lying on top of you.

In your alarm, you tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down and what felt like a hand reached around your neck, squeezing a little.

It was a warning.

Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the dark, couldn’t see what was on top of you but you knew.

It was the Siren.

“Y/N.” A hissed whisper next to your ear confirmed your suspicions. The voice that spoke to you was much deeper than the one that sang to you.

Fear shot through you like a jolt of electricity and you tried to scream but then it placed a hand on your mouth.

“Y/N, you have something of mine, I would like it back. If you cooperate, I will let you live.” The voice continued as the siren sat up, straddling your waist.

Please let this be sleep paralysis, please be sleep paralysis.

“I don’t know what creature causes this paralysis but, I am not he. I want what is mine and then I will leave.”

“I need to find it for you, can I get up?” The siren gets up and sits beside you on the bed.

“Do what you must but, if you deceive me, I will kill you and I will enjoy it.” You’re terrified and the Siren knows this, smelling the air around and laughing.

“Human fear, it’s so strange to me. Why are you scared when I’ve said I won’t harm you?” He laughs.

You’re certain this Siren is a man.

It’s only confirmed when you turn on your bedside lamp.

You look back at him and despite how wet he is; he’s beautiful. His large eyes watch your every move, waiting for any sign of deception.

“Stop staring and do your part, human. Do what you promised me. Where is my Aegis?” Despite his hissing and the threats – he sounds tired.

“Here.” You take it from your bag and give it to, he holds it protectively.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you, insulted that you would point out the obvious.

“Why is that your business?” You sigh as he looks at you, unsure. He curls in on himself defensively.

“Wait here.” Honestly, you don’t know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s because his aggression only came from the fact that he was injured or, maybe because you felt like you owed him (you did, after all, accidentally steal his property), you felt the need to take care of him.

Despite his obvious apprehension, he was still sitting on your bed when you got back. Your cat had taken up residence on his lap and was purring up a storm.

“I like your animal, this cat, he’s friendly.” You placed your first aid kit on the bed beside him and his large eyes immediately focused on it, his lips curled in warning.

“Yeah, that’s mouse, he’s a Maine coon. He loves everyone.” The cat meows in response, almost as if he knows he’s being spoken about and snuggles into the Siren’s lap. He shifts his stare back to you and juts his chin towards the kit, prompting you to explain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds, okay? It’s might sting a little but, I promise it’s going to help.”

“Are you an Apothecary? What is this cream? What is in it that will sting me? Is it venom?” He picks up the tube of antiseptic cream and sniffs it. You’re not sure if he’s a nervous talker or is just very curious but, it’s almost cute. As you watch him, curious yourself, you notice he’s a little green.

“It’s antiseptic cream. I’m going to clean your wounds with it and then dress them. You’re going to need to stay out of the water for a while; just until they close.” You clean the wounds, trying as hard as you can to be gentle.

It still hurts regardless, and he hisses at you when it touches his skin.

“How is this poison meant to help me when it burns this way? How do you know it won’t poison me? I am, after all, not of your kind.” That’s a good question actually – he’s clearly not human so how will it affect him?

You pointedly avoid his question.

“How did you find me? What are you anyway?” He smiles slowly; pointed teeth on full display. His dark eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light of your bedside lamp.

“You called out to me, with my Aegis, I followed your call.” He shrugs and goes back to playing with Mouse and you notice the webbing between his fingers.

Pointed teeth bare at you when you apply the liquid dressings a little too heavy-handed in your shock. Mouse only meows in confusion but, doesn’t move from his spot on the sea creature’s lap. You cringe.

“Sorry. What got you so banged up anyway?” He looks at you quizzically, eyebrows furrowed.

“What injured you?”

“It was the storm, I lost my Aegis; the plate you stole, when the waves became rough. It heals me of injuries. You seafaring people used to steal these from creatures like me, mainly because you think it will give you immortality. Or because you want to trap us.” He’s finally calm and you take this time to really take his features in. He’s very slight and shivers a little as the water on his body chills him.

You gasp when Mouse climbs out of his lap and curls up on your bedspread.

“You’re naked.” He looks at you, incredulously.

“I have no need for clothes, I am a sea dweller.”

“Well, you’re going to freeze because you’re wet, and this is land. I’ll get you some clothes and you can stay here tonight and heal up.” He smiles, his jagged teeth on display.

They still scare you a little.

You smile when you realise that both your kids are asleep.

Picking up your daughter, you quietly carry her to her room, hoping that she doesn’t wake up.

Gently placing her in the she snuggles into her pillow, turning on her side.

“I love you, Peanut. Your daddy loves you too.” You kiss your forehead and head back to your son’s room.

Tucking him in, you kiss his forehead as well. “Good night, Honey. We both love you so much.”

You laugh when you think about the first time you met Doyoung.

He had stayed the night, curled up on your bed with Mouse; while you took the sunbed under the window in your room.

He was gone in the morning, as was his ‘plate’.

You didn’t see him again until the summer was coming to an end.

The coastal winds were sending a chill across town and the days were getting shorter. It had been a month since Doyoung had ‘answered your call’; it didn’t feel real.

If it weren’t for the wet sheets and the briny smell in the air of your room, you would have been sure that it was a vivid dream.

In the weeks that followed, you’d spent every night at the beach’s edge calling out to him, the bitter night air whipping against your body and the moonlight casting an eerie glow against the crashing waves – he never responded, and eventually you gave up.

You walk to your balcony and take a seat overlooking the sea.

The waves looked much the same as they did, the night that Doyoung finally came back.

You were heading away to university, finally. You had bought a house, just off campus, with some of your friends and had all your things packed up.

As much as you’d always complained about your small, middle of nowhere, town; you were going to miss it and all the characters that lived there.

But you also wanted to see Doyoung, just to know that he was okay.

The night before you left you walked to the beach again.

It would be the last time for a while that you would get to see the water and be this close to the coast. It was probably the last chance you would ever have to see him.

So, you’d called out to the sea, one last time.

“It’s me again. I’m sure you probably don’t care to hear from me, to be fair, I don’t even know if you can hear me; but I just want to know if you’re okay. I won’t be home for a while because I’m leaving. So, I suppose this is goodbye, unless I see you again.”

The moon casting a white glow on the inky waves as it hung larger than normal in the sky looked the same as seas at home in Deadhorse. No matter where you went, the water always looked like home.

A ‘Super’ moon the meteorology dept. had called it. They’d issued a warning about the high tide to the local fishermen and coastal folk.

And like the tide to the moon, your husband was drawn once again to the water. That’s where he was now;

Somewhere out in the water, he was doing whatever it was that Sirens did. Was he looking at the moon too? Was he thinking of you?

When you and he first got together, you often worried that each time would be the last time you would see him. The call of the sea was powerful, and you feared that it would one day mean more to him than you. Maybe some day he would never come back. But, after 8 years and 2 beautiful children, your mind was at ease.

As selfish as it sounded, you always wanted him to be by your side; from the moment he walked into library and sat across from you, you were hooked.

“What are you thinking about?” You nearly jump out of your skin when wet, webbed hands place themselves on your shoulder.

It rattles your mind for a moment until Doyoung’s smiling face comes into your view, teeth pointed again.

He always turned when he went to the sea. You’d never seen what he looked like in the water but, you’d seen its after-effects.

“I told the kids about how I first met you and I was just reminiscing about everything.” You shrug, leaving out the part where you were worrying about him leaving you.

Doyoung sits beside you and rests his head on your shoulder, making you gasp.

“Ew, you’re wet Doyoung!” He laughs and shakes his head – splashing water droplets all over you.

“I just got out of the water, I’m still a little green but wait until I’m all dry, I’ll be back to normal. The water was great tonight, you should come with me on the next full moon.” He smiles and his jagged teeth show, slowly returning to a normal state. You smile in surprise.

Whenever Doyoung returned to the sea, it was his private time. This was the first time he’d opened the suggestion to you.

“Why now?” Doyoung dries his hair with a towel and wraps his arms around you.

“You’ve always been curious about that part of my life and I think it’s only fair that I share with you.”

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 imagines #doyoung #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #kpop halloween #kpop halloween imagines #halloween fic #nct 127 scenarios #nct u imagines #nct u scenarios #bedtime stories

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aesirfalling · 4 years

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From your writing asks: #1, 8, 10, 26, and 28 :) I wasn't sure if you had wanted me to answer any specific ones myself, but since it was an ask I wanted to respond properly~

I definitely wanted you to answer some specific ones yourself :^)

What themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

I think this is obvious to everyone who’s read my more recent fics (so like... my fics from 2016 onwards?), but I like to write “realistically,” especially in regards to joys and pain. When people write about angst things like breakups and depression and physical illnesses they are sometimes hesitant (rightfully or understandably so, in many cases) to really get into the nitty gritty, and in many cases, uglier parts of them, but like, they’re a part of life and people in our lives don’t have a good time (or even many good moments at all) when these kinds of things happen to them. Those moments are still important, though, and I personally feel like embracing the dark aspects of those things makes getting through them in the end more emotionally and existentially powerful? If that makes sense. I’m definitely still wrestling with, like, the extent to which I should write such things (esp. since like, in most cases, fic readers are not reading your fic to suffer), but I think my underlying sentiment as a writer is to examine/meet feelings and life unflinchingly and with some kind of grace.

(I’ll get to the joys eventually. I swear. I have that draft of the second chapter of Lost and Found in my Google Drive. There’s Radiance and the mood in that, too. I just don’t like to write too much preemptive joy.)

The other thing I want to bring up as well is a kind of like... infrastructural realism? Or is it like, socioeconomic, worldly things? Like we’ve talked about this as well RE: how I’m covering Hope in my fics and how you worldbuild a lot around missions and such in yours. I think this is mostly a fic thing since to do this well requires a longer fic with a lot of forethought, and most people don’t have time for that. And honestly most people don’t like Hope for the structural engineering work he put into building new planets either

Favorite dialogue in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

Oh man this interlude is going to be CHOKE FULL of dialogue that will kill me and most of them haven’t even been written yet

But the things that I’ve already put down on my dump file are like all dialogue

Here I just wrote up this thing

Snow: Go on then. Tell me that you don’t miss the stars. Tell me that you are okay with just sitting here day by day, pretending that you don’t know anything, pretending that you don’t have regrets and wants. Tell me that you don’t care if I won’t invite you to the wedding with Serah, if Light finds another man, or if some orphanage is burning on the other side of town. Tell me -

Hope: I don’t think you understand. I never needed anyone to motivate me.

Hope: I needed someone to stop me.

What scene was the most fun to write for you and why?

Hmm... we might have to establish a definition for ‘fun’ :P

I think in more recent memory, I’ve had the most fun writing the dialogue between Hope and E1 in the Intermission, because I relish all opportunities to write him (especially in FWWCH where I’m usually banned from writing in his POV) and writing two of him is just double the fun. I also adore all occasions where introspective idiots have to talk to other versions of themselves because it’s kind of like. The inevitable 404 error when they realize they are actually empathizing with themselves is tearjerker and heartwarming central.

What do you feel like you need to work on as a growing writer? How can you improve?

Oh lordy there are so many things. Lemme just list a few off the top of my head

1) Linguistic ability: There is definitely a part of me that is sad about the fact that leaving my home country at the age of 11 has left me in a place where I am kind of bilingual but kind of... not really “Native” in either. Like, I have this lingering feeling that I’ll never get to the level of a “Native” English speaker/writer, and I definitely hit like language ability walls all the time when I write - things wouldn’t feel naturally lyrical, I’d run out of words, I wouldn’t know how to describe something the way it should be described, the sentence structure variety is pitiful, etc. I think it’s especially apparent when you’re writing a long fic, where like you have to deal with the same things over and over (e.g. writing Hope cooking, or how Lightning physically perceives him, etc) and there’s more of a limit on where natural inspiration can take you. I should read more good prose (since that’s apparently how I get better at English) but, ugh, effort.

2) Characterization: how many times have I whined about how much I suck at writing Lightning lmaooooooo I think the general thing is like, everyone is decent at writing someone they personally relate to, but we struggle when we try to write outside of our comfort zone. Lightning is definitely the poster child of “character unlike me that I’m trying to get a hold of,” but I think I struggled even more trying to write Fang, and I’d probably struggle trying to write someone like Cid seriously. I think a large part of the struggle is trying to morph yourself into that character (or, like, dissociating from yourself and just... “becoming” that character depending on how you view writing meta??) since like, just understanding someone is not enough. Just understanding someone won’t let you write convincing dialogue where they talk and move around the way they usually do. You have to like, become them and that’s really hard when you have a strong writer’s ego (I know, shocking, coming from me.)

3) Worldbuilding: wtf am I even doing with Hope’s White Lotus thing lmaoooooo anyway a world could always be more interesting, consistent, realistic, nuanced etc. And not necessarily through more word count on the worldbuilding-y stuff. I think it’s more about understanding the factors driving the world than anything else. Like what the resources are, who has power/agency, how things are done (e.g., in our world, decisions are mostly made by individual nation states, although large corporate entities often have immense political influence). AND THEN JUST LIKE CHARACTERS THERE’S THE STRUGGLE WITH EXECUTING THEM - like just because I understand there are rich oligarchs behind things doesn’t mean I’m good at writing the Great Gatsby. I dunno, I have a perpetual sense of imposter syndrome when I try to understand and write things about the world, regardless of whether or not the world is real. I feel like a large part of this goes back to the fact that I’m still only in my 20s and haven’t seen much of the ‘real world’ as they say, although I guess I’m technically still way ahead of most fic writers.

4) General writer’s attitude: this influences themes and the heart of one’s writing. When I say that I care a lot about the grace and dignity of my narratives and my characters, it ties back into this - I want to tell human stories, and I want to tell stories that reflect on our struggles and our faith despite said struggles. It’s the kind of lens that I filter all my words through and impacts every word I write. The obvious problem, then, is that my writing’s only ever going to be as perceptive or sympathetic as I am, and that’s something that I can and should always work on. Am I too obsessed with tragedy? Am I honestly far better at posing questions than providing solutions, even when I highly value solutions? How do I become the kind of writer and person that I want to be without driving myself insane or losing touch with the people that I want my writing to speak to?

5) Discipline: Am I ever going to finish FWWCH (or H&L or any of my other WIPs lmao)? Stay tuned.

I think a lot of my self-doubt as a writer comes from just how much I know I can improve on tbh

Do you need background noise to write? If so, what do you listen to?

I wouldn’t say I work with “background noise” - I work with mood-appropriate playlists (did you know I’ve been gratuitously naming all my fic chapters after songs?), or you know, the good ole 2 o’clock cosmic silence. It’s pretty interesting to me actually, since I also have an engineering degree and like... I need silence when I’m trying to logick things like math or the correct wording for a formal writing thing (e.g. a grant or policy proposal). So my creative hemisphere wants stimulation while my mechanical brain wants silence. Figures.

#thank you for sending these in ;_;#writing tag #long post

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pippin-kun · 4 years

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Linguistics 3, Final Assignment

· Some languages are harder than others.

· First off, I would like to start with what I learned from reading through this chapter in the book: Language Myths.

Many people say that certain languages are easy or difficult to learn. Linguists, however, don’t like to speak on such a global scale for whether you find a language easy or difficult to learn is very much based on your mother tongue and the language you are trying to learn. Take for instance a Swede, it would be much easier for him/her to learn Norwegian than Polish. Now if we take a Czech, it would be much easier for him/her to learn Polish than Norwegian. Swedish and Norwegian are similar because of the fact that these two languages are so closely related linguistically and also because they have existed in close cultural contact for several centuries. Correspondingly, this Slavic languages Czech and Polish are also close to each other. This means that if you’re English and English is your mother tongue it would be easier to learn Germanic languages like German and Dutch. This is primarily due to the fact that the vocabularies have so many similarities in both form and content in the related languages.

Let us assume that our knowledge of a language consists of three parts:

1. Grammar

2. Vocabulary

3. Rules of usage

Let’s say English is your first language, you would have an English grammar in your head. This grammar would make you sound a lot like other English speakers. You would also have an English vocabulary at your disposal, while we won’t always find the right word we often do. You will also have a number of rules of usage, these rules tell you when to speak up, when to stay quiet, how to address a person, how to ask questions and how to conduct a telephone conversation for instance.

Now arguably, the most difficult thing to learn in any language is vocabulary. Whether one is learning their native language’s vocabulary or a foreign language’s vocabulary. While vocabulary might not instantly come to mind when you think about the hardest thing to learn about a language it is, this is because it is the most time consuming one to learn. We learn the grammar of our native language before we start school, but we work on our vocabulary for as long as we live. So you could say a language with not a lot of words would be very easy to learn however it is not that simple. We need words to express our ideas and emotions. No one learns all the words in a language not even in their native language. Nor can anyone specify how many words there are in a language exactly, for it is very difficult to define whether a word is a word or not.

Now the ‘rules of usage’ refers to number of things such as how and when someone should speak and rules for who gets the floor in various situations. In this case it is probably that increased cultural proximity leads to increasingly similar rules of usage. In the absolute sense, a language without complicated rules of usage will be much easier to learn because you will not need to learn the subtle differences in tone, sentences and conversations to learn the language.

Another big obstacle for a lot of language learners are the writing system and the orthography of a language. Europeans, for instance, have to spend a lot of time learning how to use the Arabic, Chinese or Japanese writing systems. However, these difficulties are not considered here, and the main argument for this is that the writing system and spelling can be considered as external to the language. For it is, in principle, possible to switch from one writing system to another without changing anything in the language structure.

Now if we are looking for the absolute measure of linguistic simplicity, we should find it in the field of grammar. First we can consider the sound systems of languages. It must be the case that the fewer vowels, the fewer consonants and the simpler syllabic structure a language has, the simpler the sound system is. Take Hawaiian for instance, it has 13 distinctive sounds, of which eight are consonants and five are vowels. Since the language also has strict rules about the syllable structure, the total number of possible syllables in the language is only 162. Of all the languages in the world, Hawaiian has one of the simplest sound systems. So we could definitely say that an easy sound system makes a language easy thus it would make sense to place languages along a scale from simple sound systems to difficult. English would then take a place somewhere in the middle, where most languages would also crowd. Meaning that most languages are quite similar in regards to their sound systems, however, there are some examples of considerably simpler or complexer sound systems.

There is also the difference between analytic languages (languages with little or no inflection and derivation) and synthetic languages (languages with a large degree of inflection and derivation). In absolute terms one could say that analytic languages would be easier to learn than synthetic languages, there are two arguments for this claim. Firstly, children always learn a more analytic version of their native language, inflectional and derivational suffixes are learned later on. Secondly, pidgin languages from around the world are usually analytic. By pidgin languages I mean contact languages that arise or develop spontaneously. The world’s most famous pidgin language speaker has to be Tarzan. When he says ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane,’ he uses a simplified version of English. Since Tarzan has been translated and published in several languages, we could travel around the world and get an impression of people’s view of their simplified language.

If we were to look away from this we would stumble upon another problem when we’re trying to find out what makes a language simple or difficult. This would be the fact that languages are never uniformly simple or difficult. Simplicity in one part of the language may be balanced by complexity in another part. In fact, matters are less straightforward than even this suggests, because we cannot in any sensible way say what is simple and what is not. Would a language for instance be simpler when it uses less words to describe something or would a language be simpler if it uses a less complex structure of modification to describe something? We cannot answer these questions with clarity thus we cannot give an overall measurement of simplicity in languages.

Now considering everything that I’ve written above, the myth that some languages are harder than others is not merely a myth. In a very complicated way some languages are harder than others. Furthermore, there is not a single scale for measuring simplicity in languages; there are, at least, a handful of such scales. Summing up: some languages appear to be harder than others, but it is hard to explain exactly how and to what extent.

· What I’ve learned from this and my own thoughts.

Now I know that I’ve written down a lot above and everything that I’ve written down is indeed taken from the book Language Myths. I’ve written everything that I deemed truly important down above in, mostly, my own words. Now while I haven’t done thorough research online I do think that most of the things that we can talk about or say about this topic has been said or talked about in the book. So while I won’t really have anything to add to this topic I have to say something about this topic. Personally, I learned a lot from this. It has truly given me an insight in languages and how we learn and perceive them. I used to always learn languages with ease and thus I thought that language that I found to be difficult or hard were actually hard languages. Now I see that that might just have something to do with the cultural and linguistic differences between that language and my mother tongue. It also explained why I learned English with such ease because it is just so close to my own mother tongue, however, I do feel like my feeling for language had/has something to do with how easy I find languages to be. This is pretty much all I had to add to this ‘research’ of my topic. It was a lot of fun to do and I learned a lot from it.

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phonaesthemes · 4 years

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a list of asks

@padawanyugi tagged me in this, but Tumblr decided to eat any notification that I got tagged, so I’m glad I saw it on my dash because I like filling these things out. Thanks for tagging me! I may have typed A Lot.

Favorites: What types of books do you enjoy? Tell about what you’ve read recently (Or maybe about a book you hated recently!)I like spec-fic and sci-fi, although less “hard” science fiction, and I also enjoy fantasy. I read a lot of YA even though I’m in my 30s just because it seems easy to find a story I want to read and I’m not usually in the mood for dense prose.

I’ve been rereading the Wheel of Time series since it’s getting an Amazon TV show; it was my first non-LOTR fantasy series and I love it to death, warts and all, although I love joking about the weak points with other people who’ve read it. I think the last other thing I read was A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, which was a queer YA historical fiction, and it was a lot of fun. I wish I’d had access to all these queer stories when I was an actual teenager, but better late than never.

What types of music do you like to listen to? Share five songs from your music library. I really do like a bit of everything, although I gravitate towards certain genres more often depending on the season or time of day, so I’m going to cheat and pick 5 per season. Summer for me is lots of peppy pop (pride playlists!), punk and rock and punk-adjacent stuff, just upbeat stuff in general. -Weekender, by The Royal They -Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa -Toutes les femmes savent danser, by Loud -Ruby Soho, by Rancid -Womanarchist, by Bad Cop, Bad Cop

In the fall, my inner goth kid craves darkwave, goth rock, dramatic folk, roots rock, and also anything that reminds me of Halloween. -Iuka, by the Secret Sisters -Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhaus -How’s It Gonna End, by Tom Waits -Under the Milky Way, by The Church -I Put a Spell on You, by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I could go on about the Christmas music I like at length (Boney M’s Christmas album slaps, ngl) but I’ll just skip that and say that I listen to more classical and piano pieces in the winter. I’m terrible at remembering names, so artists only: -Ludovico Einaudi -Chopin -Debussy -Saint-Saëns -Dvořák And in spring I’m usually just depressed af and listen to whatever. -FML, by K.Flay -Weird Part of the Night, by Louis Cole -Juodaan Viinaa, by Korpiklaani -P.O.H.U.I., by Carla’s Dreams -Marryuna, by Baker Boy

Do you have a show or movie that you can just put on anytime and it’s your comfort? Definitely Star Trek. I’ve rewatched the various iterations (except TOS) so many times. Also Mean Girls and Bring It On, idk why.

Do you have a favorite dessert? Tiramisu or creme brulée! Or macarons. I don’t eat dessert really unless I’m at a restaurant.

Do you have a favorite cold drink? Sparkling water, hands down.

Do you have a favorite game? The hours I have put into the SIms in my lifetime is probably shameful, although I haven’t played in a while. Don’t Starve is another contender for hours played, but I am also really fond everything by Amanita Design

Do you have a favorite part of your self care/beauty/health routine? I haven’t been doing it much lately since I’ve been dealing with some uncertain health issues with my joints (actually have a rheumatologist appointment later today), but savasana after a long yoga workout is borderline ecstasy.

Do you have a favorite type of take-out food? Indian for sure.

What’s your favorite type of exercise/physical activity? I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don’t actually love it but I love how I feel after. I really enjoy yoga. I love playing in the water at the beach, bodyboarding and swimming.

Pick between: (you choose the context)

Cook or bake? (I love cooking A Lot)

Space or ocean? (Hard to pick, but I grew up by the ocean and it’s 100% my happy place)

Chocolate or vanilla?

City or suburb or rural? (I grew up in an isolated rural village and I miss the quiet and the slower pace of life, but I do not miss the lack of amenities and opportunities, or the smalltown gossip. I also don’t drive bc of epilepsy, so I’m fucked as far as transport in rural settings.)

Past or future?

Shower in the morning or evening?

Mac/Apple or PC/Android? (Linux in general!)

Sing or dance? (I don’t have an amazing voice but I can carry a tune without it being painful, and I love singing along with songs.)

Get up early or sleep in? (I actually love sleeping in but with two kids, early morning is my only time to myself, so I wake up before 6 most days AGGH.)

Shoes, socks, or bare feet? (Hate socks. I’m barefoot at home all year round.)

Marker, crayon, or pencil? Pen!

Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? (Coffee in the morning, tea later on.)

Random questions:

Have you ever had any pets? (Had dogs and a cat as a kid, and as an adult I’ve had betta fish and cats, and I have a cat currently.)

What is your academic background/job field? I did my undergrad in linguistics, and I am currently a stay-at-home dad lol. I do freelance editing and transcription on the side. I don’t think I’ll ever work in my field bc I really don’t have the energy to go to grad school.

What’s something random that you’re into (even if you aren’t good at it)? I signed up for a Cape Breton step dancing class in university and I loved it.

Are you good at putting away your clean laundry right away? It depends on the day, but generally yes. Mine and everyone else’s. When I lived alone? Absolutely not.

What’s one of your pet peeves? Someone trying to have a conversation with me when they have the radio or TV on. I can’t follow what you’re saying if someone else is speaking! I hate having that stuff on as background noise in general.

What’s something you’re pretty good at? I’m a great cook.

What’s the most recent nice thing you bought for yourself? A new conditioner ig? lol

Can you sew? I can mend a small tear or sew on a button, but it’s been years since I did more than that.

What’s a chore you hate (or a chore you enjoy)? I hate vacuuming so much. So much. Maybe if I had a better vaccuum cleaner I wouldn’t mind it, but I just feel like I’m fighting with the stupid thing, getting caught up on its own cords, caught on furniture, can’t quiiiite reach a spot... HATE IT. I like shoveling snow sometimes, though.

Tell us a fun fact about yourself. I am 20 years older than my youngest sibling, and five minutes younger than my “oldest” sibling.

Never have I ever... Gone fishing, even though I’m from a fishing community.

What extracurriculars did/do you do in school? In high school, I played trumpet in band until the band got dissolved from lack of funding. I played soccer one year, was in a play another year. We had an art club for like a semester that I was in. In university the first time round, I did step dancing and intramural hide and seek Second time around, I was in the linguistics club to help with assignments. (We were very much encouraged to work in pairs or groups for a lot of different classes. The only thing was that you did need to list your group members on the assignment so the prof knew who you worked with. My first morphology class in particular, we had a whole homework club where a huge portion of the class got together to work through assignments and help each other understand, and the prof would quite often show up. </tangent>

Deeper questions:

How’s your quarantine/last few months been? The cabin fever was really bad before the weather warmed up. I struggle with seasonal depression every spring, and it’s gotten much worse since we moved to Edmonton because of how long the winters are. (Snow from September to May/June? Fucccck.) It’s frankly horrifying to look at what’s going on in the US, but even though we have far fewer cases here, I’m really anxious that we’ll see another wave soon. Otherwise, I think I’ve adjusted. Home-schooling, hand-sanitizing, social distancing, masks...All feels kind of normal now, which should maybe concern me.

What do you think of human nature/society/etc.? I am like the least philosophical person you will meet so I don’t think I really have many thoughts.

What’s something you are insecure about? Writing my L2 if a native speaker is gonna read it.

What do you think is the meaning of life/reason that humans exist in the universe? I don’t think there is one, and that doesn’t bother me.

Do you think you’re better (whatever that means to you) than you used to be? Definitely. My adolescence and early adulthood was rough. I was dealing with a lot of trauma, untreated bipolar disorder, and I self-harmed for a very long time. I could not imagine making it to 30, let alone being stable and happy. I actively avoided thinking about the future because it made me spiral. But I was lucky enough to get help, consistent help from a doctor I clicked with, and it made a world of difference. I think younger me would be disappointed at how mundane my life is, but I’m thrilled to be boring because boring means no life-upending mood episodes. I have a happy partnership and two delightful kids and I couldn’t ask for more.

What are your thoughts on religion? I’m not religious and my own experience being raised in the Catholic church was frankly traumatic, but I know that it’s a source of comfort and community for many others and I think that’s awesome for them.

Do you think that there are aliens out there? I think so, although I think that we may not even know what other kinds of life to look for and may not recognize it even if we find it.

What’s something that’s been on your mind recently? We’re moving cross-country in less than a month (driving, no less, nearly 5000 km) and I still have so much to do to get ready aosjdoajdoasijdoaijsd

#personal #long post #in which i ramble about myself a great deal #@padawanyugi

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

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I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Time and again boys are raised to be men

Word Count: 10,176

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Deceit.

Pairing(s): Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety. (hints to Royality, they’re forced into an arranged marriage)

Warnings: -Mild cursing (there's just one cuss word) -Minor character death -Negative thoughts -Panic attack -Insomnia -Some kind of selective mutism -Toxic parental behavior -Mentions of hallucinations -Food mention -Self-esteem issues and self-deprecation

Summary: Growing up isn't easy for anybody. Especially when you're the new around, when you feel like you lost everything or when it seems you have the world against you.

A/N: Or of how I’m projecting slightly into one of the characters. As for the next update, I don't have much ready so you'll have to be waiting a bit for it, nothing specific this time. I'm currently working on a Prinxiety one-shot that I hope I can release soon, plus in September I'll be participating in the little event with daily prompts dedicated to the series. Also, I'll be soon starting the last year of high school, so updates will be definitely slower, but I won't give up, promise. Thank you for sticking around till now, I'll hear from you soon!

✾

❝ You are broken and callow Cautious and safe You are boundless in beauty With fright in your face ❞

The first years through his “learning how to be a valuable prince” had passed, and Roman was already grateful for the castle servants, who seldom sneaked in his room extra food. It wasn't like they were making it too hard for him and basically throwing knowledge at him or expecting him to be a natural and ace every single lesson.

His teachers adjusted to him, they let him take his time and were more than happy to explain concepts more than once.

It was just that he felt like he had to learn how to live all over again: first came posture, back at the orphanage none really cared if you were walking, skipping along the pavement, even running at times.

Here you had to keep your body in a particular position, your head straight, especially among other aristocrats. Your step had to be measured, every part of your body talked for you most of the times.

A step back could mean disdain, fright, a step forward could be interest, trust, a hand towards you is a chance to dance or an offer for a hug.

Roman had met many nobles, apart from the royals from Tinfea, after he came back to the palace; they all wanted to congratulate his parents and meet the famous lost prince. The story they knew was that a naïve servant had let the gates open and he had wandered outside by himself until he got lost for good.

As a child, he liked the attention of numerous people, but how to behave around them wasn't exactly his expertise.

Every time he did something unusual, the strangers would mention how adorable he was. His parents would smile and stroke his hair gently, a sign that, regardless of his inexperience, he was doing a good job.

To help him to get used to it, servants that casually met him in the hallways reminded him of his posture. Eventually, he got there.

While also practicing that, which reminded him to always look up to people and never look down on them, he learnt what kind of behavior he had to keep during meals, which silverware to use, how many servings there were in each meal, which one was his reserved seat.

To make it fun, he established a game between him and his parents: it consisted on guessing the food that was going to be served by the kitchen servants. It was a secret between him and the cook, but he'd occasionally sneak in the kitchen to get a “general idea”, as he liked to call it, of the possibilities. He totally wasn't cheating. Besides, he loved how his parents compared him to a magician every time he succeeded.

They made everything easier for his age, enjoyable even.

Everyday he learnt something new and everyday he was aghast: it happened even as he woke up in his chambers for the first time.

He had been woken up by the gentle daylight of the morning that was peering through the translucent curtains, pulled apart by one of the servants he had seen going around the corridors before going to sleep.

He had tried to snuggle closer to the covers and the pillows, shielding himself from the eventual tasks he had to complete during the day.

The servant had approached him and, with honey-like words, they persuaded him to get up. Only that he was simply expected to sit up on his bed.

Ever since he came to the castle, a servant would meet him in the morning to wake him up, then they'd be helped by a couple more to bring in the room a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, some objects and utensils they needed, meanwhile one of them would look into a wooden case full of rich fabrics that Roman didn't even know to distinguish.

The servants always helped him get up on his feet, they led him to the chair to sit down and they washed his face, his hair got combed and treated with products that made them soft and perfumed. Different types of oils and creams were smeared every day on his skin as they undressed him, careful not to get the night vest dirty.

No wonder they forced him to take a hot bath every night.

When they were done with that he got up, almost completely naked, and they proceeded to help him put on his clothes, which were layers on layers of various types of cloth. He didn't even know all of their names.

He looked at his minute figure on the tall mirror nailed on the wall which was perpendicular to the bed: splashes of red, gold, white and black blinded his sight as he noticed his hair tied at the nape of his neck.

After breakfast he had his first lessons of reading and writing in the library; his teacher was the same one that taught him about the history of their kingdom. She was an old lady with a streak of bright green in her white hair and a perpetual knowing look that made her seem like she had lived as long as the planet had existed. As if she knew everything there was to know.

Roman had always found her somewhat intimidating, which led to an ever-growing respect towards her: in a couple of months he had been able to read fluently and write with little to no mistakes.

The lady was amazed at how he kept practicing and demanding for books narrating fables. To the point that, unable to stop herself, she finally asked.

« What is it that interests you so much? » she lent him the second book that week, she was afraid she would run out of them soon. She made a mental note to send a man to the nearest kingdom.

« They remind me of the village I was in. » he said, eyeing the book cover with enthusiasm.

« How so? »

« I used to make up stories with a friend! » he looked up at her with a warm smile « Father said I'll visit him soon. » he added, excitement in his eyes.

Something sour set in the lady's mouth. She knew better, as always.

She couldn't help but smile back and place her hands her hips.

« Perhaps after you learn a bit of those history lessons I gave you, will you? A prince has to know everything about his kingdom if he wants to rule someday, understood? »

He let out a small huff « Of course, ma'am. »

She pat his head. « That's good. » and, as she stared at his back to check his posture while he walked away, a sad look couldn't help but make its way through her face.

After Roman had mastered all the first lessons, he was taught how to speak properly in the presence of nobles, elders, young people and the plebs in general. It was a surprisingly young servant that helped him, since sometimes it could happen that some wise and skilled enough servants could be “promoted” as teachers for the king's children.

All the letters in front of the prince seemed to swirl around his head and pressing at both sides when he looked at all the different meanings a single word could have. All the different ways that you could say something so that you could be understood by all types of audiences. The best moments were when he used the wrong linguistic register and he ended up talking to a kid the way you would treat an emperor.

At the same time he took up art lessons with that same servant. Roman found out they were not only good at how to behave with someone but they could also make the nicest instant portraits. The first one she did of him, he hanged it right after in his room, on the side of his half-empty bookshelf he asked his parents to bring in after a couple of gifts from his history teacher.

The second reaction was simply a request to teach him how to be as good as them. So they started going out of the palace daily, then into the gardens, to just sit down and draw from reference. He kept trying, transforming nature in swirls of colors and pencil figures.

Before he could say he was pretty good at it, a couple of years would have to pass, but he was content enough with just staying outside and enjoy the artistic point of view his servant offered him.

Twice a week, on the other hand, they stayed inside and flipped through a history of art book, full of pictures and analysis of the paintings or architectures.

Then, there was one of Roman's favorite things: he began sword fighting lessons. A valuable prince needed to have an eclectic knowledge and skills, but most of all if he wanted to protect a whole kingdom, he had to be able to protect himself first.

One of the Royal Guard's knights was lent to teach him; Roman believed he was going to have one of those basic lessons in which you went into the backyard of the castle, out of earshot not to disturb anyone with the clanging noise of metal.

Never in his life he would have imagined to be led into a ballroom and met with a curly dark petrol-haired man and a mischievous smile: he had two perfectly created wooden swords behind his back, like a ninja about to unsheathe his own katanas.

Roman approached the man with a confused yet composed look and when he stopped a few feet away, he held that stare.

The knight's expression shifted to a thoughtful one, never leaving that slight curve of his lips; he saw Roman, a tiny child, refraining from taking his eyes off of him, a well-trained man from the Royal Guard. And he didn't find fear in those honey-like irises, he was expectant. Rigid, but ready.

At this point silence had been enough to still keep her around. The knight threw a sword at the boy with no warning, it was definitely a test for his reflexes.

It was a habit that he always did with his new apprentices, it felt like some kind of superstitious gesture, if the person didn't catch it was probably going to have a lot of trouble teaching. On the other hand if they did …

The knight could only watch as the hilt of the wooden sword flew in Roman's hand, perfectly adjusting to his grip.

… well, it was going to be fun.

« I like you. »

The prince flashed him a satisfied smile.

The older man got a few steps closer and leaned down, Roman could see the red in his eyes that previously he thought was an unusual shade of brown.

« Shall we dance? »

Always busy with lessons and writing down stories to read to his loving parents, Roman found himself being fifteen, the village and its inhabitants was a distant memory he couldn't have the luxury to think about.

He didn't even realize he stopped asking about Virgil. He didn't realise he stopped thinking about him or the orphanage. It was less hurtful to pretend it all didn't exist than accept he would have never been able to come back. They hated him by now, probably.

His history lessons were so persistent he could now recite all his ancestors' lives backwards. Or in alphabetic order. Or in any kind of order, really. As he let go of the lessons he had mastered, new ones would come up almost instantly and, sometimes, take away even more time than the ones he had before.

Not that he wanted to complain, he'd be exhausted enough to have no trouble sleeping and never waking up a single time in the middle of the night. Which made the actual waking up ten times more challenging.

But most of all, he loved a lot of the lessons he got. Especially singing. You don't know where Roman is and it's time for his daily walk around the front garden's sculptures? He's probably moving around a large room and singing his heart out.

What was frustrating but also very surprising was how good he sang, as if he was a natural, born to entertain those around him with enchanting melodies.

His teacher couldn't believe it the first time he heard him. Soon enough, they had started a duet of voice and harp strings, creating symphonies in every different possible way.

Sometimes they really had to drag him out of rooms to participate to at least thirty minutes of his other teachings, and yes, a prince needs to know about the gods, the pontifex can't do everything by themselves.

Roman walked down the castle's external stairs, as white as the clouds above him, he occasionally thought that maybe there was a spell keeping them so clean and candid.

There was an old sage leading him towards the marble sculptures that ran along the garden's limit. Same impeccable color of the castle.

Nothing got ruined in their royal bubble, it seemed there was an invisible defense around their property. That was were the odd legend of their kingdom came from.

« Remember this one? » the sage, another one of the teachers, pointed to the marble figure they were standing in front of, halfway through the garden.

« Yes. » Roman studied the sculpture, an androgynous-looking anthropomorphic god stared him down, eyes white and empty, they had a crown on their half extended left arm, with bifurcated tips at the top.

The other hand kept their vest up, pressing it on their chest, over their heart. The pattern on it displayed, in a bas-relief, detailed and messy curves and swirls.

« The God of Death, ruler of the Underworld, also called “Dark Kingdom”. That's the reason of the crown. » the old man nodded, satisfied with the answer, but that wasn't where Roman had finished. « The vest suggests the symbol of dark magic, as they were believed to be the First Sorcerer. »

« You could have stopped before … »

Roman arched an eyebrow, it was unlikely for a man like him to be skeptical towards the Forbidden Topic. « I'm not afraid of two words. »

« You're aware of the reason why we refrain to mention it, aren't you? »

« I am. But I don't think it is right to belittle a God, or conceal one of their most important features, only because of a human dilemma. Isn't it impious to bend a deity's description to a mortal rule? » Roman turned back to his teacher, expecting a frown on the man's face.

Instead, the facade the sage was keeping up suddenly fell, only to be replaced by a satisfied and content expression; he pat the top of the boy's head while nodding slightly.

« Very good, Roman. I take you've read those books I suggested? »

The little prince showed a sheepish smile. « I guess I enjoy myths. »

Their conversation went on, the topics somehow brushing philosophy at times, but was soon abruptly interrupted by the loud noise of hooves on the stone pavement between the two sections of the garden.

Their glances turned towards the entrance, where a carriage was let in through the gates.

Both prince and sage straightened their postures and waited for the mysterious person to show themselves. They didn't expect a boy around Roman's age to come out of the carriage, all dressed up as an obvious piece of nobility, by himself.

As he got closer, Roman could notice the sneering look that engulfed him, red hair almost looked like fire under the hit of the sun rays.

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, then bowed down. « I am Desmond Ananke, marquis of the kingdom of Elis. » when he looked up, he found himself transfixed by those pitch-black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, or the moment right before your eyes adjust to the blackness of a room.

He felt dizzy for a second, was that even natural? Magic?

He came back to life when he felt the sage's hand being placed on his shoulder, when he looked over to the teacher he surprisingly found a sour expression. Roman decided to just nod at the boy, a cue for him to state the meaning of the visit.

« My parents agreed upon sending me for the monthly donation we had planned decades ago. » he turned his head to the older man. « I'm positive you wouldn't mind if I helped myself up the stairs to meet the sovereigns. » a smirk was all he needed to show for the man to understand.

He stayed silent for a few beats, then let go of the prince and stepped aside.

Desmond, before excusing himself, got a closer look to the boy. « So you must be the famous Roman Bia, I suppose. » he held his hand towards him, if he expected a handshake, he wasn't ready for the marquis to take his own hand and place a kiss on the top of his knuckles.

He looked up at him, Roman's hand still close to his lips « Your surname means “brutal strength”. I wonder if your delicacy can contrast that. »

Roman had no clue what that meant, he felt Desmond's stare on him, the warmth his hand was irradiating on his skin and the general discomfort of the whole situation. Was he supposed to answer? Was it a compliment? Did he know …

« I wonder if you're aware our prince is only fifteen and has been promised to the prince of Tinfea for five years by now. » Roman was glad his sword fighting teacher had come to the rescue, he was probably being late to his lesson.

The marquis eyed him, his smile slightly faltered and he carefully snatched his hand away.

Without any further word, he excused himself and began pacing towards the palace.

Roman had retrieved his hand as if he had just touched a burning pot, only that the only fire he felt right under his skin was dancing around his cheeks and ears because of the embarrassment. He looked at the place where the marquis once stood with a confused expression.

What was his deal?

« That motherf- »

« Language! »

« Gods! » the knight put his hands on his face and slid them up on his hair in a desperate gesture. « Stop lecturing me, dad. »

« I am not your father. » the sage gave him a puzzled look while the knight rolled his eyes.

« Maybe when you stop treating me like a child, you won't be. Well! » he clasped his gloved hands together and turned to a silent Roman that was wondering whether or not he should have let them have their moment and leave. « Ready for your lesson, kid? » Roman simply nodded.

They excused themselves from the elder and the knight, Crowley was his name, as he finally recalled, slid his arm around Roman's shoulder in a friendly way, only to lower down a little and speak to him more clearly.

« Look, that guy from before? Bad news. » he made a face. « I'll tell you, just because our kingdom is so awesome, the more outer people try to take advantage and benefit from us. »

« They're envious? »

« That's an understatement, but yeah, pretty much. » Roman felt some kind of burning feeling in his chest.

« Can't they just focus on improving their own kingdom instead of taking things from us? »

Crowley grinned. « Oh, is our prince getting bitter? »

« Hah. Not at all. I'm keeping my cool here. I'm in perfect conditions. » he flashed him a perfectly constructed smile. « See? »

« Sure, my lord. In perfect conditions of pretending, should I call the jester and tell him to call some actors to join you? »

« Oh, gladly, thank you so much. »

As they entered the fighting room, chuckling, they made their way towards their steel swords and started their usual sparring.

« Still, you should know … » the swords kept on clashing with no result. « … that boy from before talked about a donation. »

Roman started to lose some ground. « Yes? I never heard of that. »

« In my opinion, it's stupid. Arcadia has to donate part of our treasure to help other kingdoms. »

« What? » Roman's movements looked even more aggressive, tenacious.

« Apparently, it's the only way to assure they don't move war against us. » he sighed as Roman made a mistake in his posture, but regained it quickly.

« Wouldn't that lead us to eventually fall? It's not like the gods gift us gold every month. »

« That's what I've been saying. And the king's advisor too. They're ruining us anyway, this is only the slower method, the king said. »

« This is ridiculous. » the knight noticed Roman was basically throwing all his hits on him.

« I know, not to mention that marquis clearly wanted to woo you. »

« Woo me? »

« He wanted to marry you, to, of course, get your nobility status from the kingdom's alliance. There's no love there. » Crowley noticed Roman's expression hardening with rage. « Only strategy. » the prince scoffed, annoyed. « Like a mere tool. »

That's when Crowley realized his tactic was working and, in a matter of seconds, he found his sword clattering to the floor. Roman stopped moving, awed by his own doing and looked up to his teacher both smiling widely.

« Well done, kid. » he reached to pat his head, but Roman ignored that and wrapped his hands around him in a happy hug. He literally started screaming of joy.

« Gods, I did it! Did you see that? Did you see how I landed that sword? That was awesome! » he trailed off complimenting himself and pacing around the room, excitement printed on his face.

Crowley, amused, kept on watching Roman's little burst of happiness. Still, he realized it was now time for him to let other lessons take up his time. Like …

« Courting. This guy needs to learn courting. »

He was sixteen when it happened. Roman was enjoying one of the books his literature teacher had recommended, sitting at the library's table. He loved those lessons and was waiting for them to start.

His eyes lit up when he heard the door opening, but he never expected to find one of his servants and a gloomy expression. They approached him and took his hand while watery eyes threatened to start tearing up.

« Crowley is dead. »

That was the last thing he heard before zoning out, his heart sank and he felt numb; his hearing stopped working, it was as if the servant was talking to an inanimate object. They continued talking about how he died while helping a kingdom in a battle and was found lifeless, but Roman's mind couldn't process any more information.

Crowley is dead.

He could still see his mischievous red eyes in the corner of his own, now covered by a tragic and dark veil, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but there was nothing else to say at the same time. It was written all over his face.

Crowley is dead.

The servant brought him back to consciousness by touching his shoulder, the memory of his teacher doing the same burned in his mind, tears welled up in his eyes and found the strength to sprint away from a startled servant and run down the castle halls.

Crowley is dead.

He knew who he was looking for. His sight was clouded, making it harder to recognize his surroundings. He didn't care he was running, he didn't care his sobs could have been audible from outer space. He received concerned but knowing looks by anyone he crossed paths with. Then he found the room.

Crowley is dead.

His trembling hand turned the shiny and cold handle that almost blinded him. After closing the door behind him he rushed over to the person he knew needed comfort the most, just like him.

Roman hugged the sage, Nicephorus, he hugged him tight and pretended they didn't notice each other's red eyes. They also pretended they didn't hear their crying, seemingly unstoppable. Nicephorus pretended he didn't lose who could have seemed like his son, Roman pretended he didn't lose the brother he never had.

You can never judge whether someone's life was happy until it's gone.

Roman was seventeen. He was also finally allowed to make little trips outside of the palace and meet his people: he went mostly around the center, where his parents didn't prohibit him to go. Seven years kept inside the castle, busy with his education and getting to know his parents and kingdom, and everything about the village was now long gone from his mind, a distant memory he didn't dig into anymore.

Saying that he was well recognized by his people was an understatement. The people loved him. They cheered for him when his carriage made its way towards the center's plaza. He'd greet every single one of them, he let them hold his hands, he kissed little children's heads and willingly let them lead him through the city.

He wasn't like those royal people that looked down on the plebs with indifference from their carriages, he enjoyed interacting with others, being able to confront his life with the one of the others.

He often listened to their problems and realized that this type of confrontation helped the royalty greatly in fixing the kingdom's problems for the better; dealing directly with the people that faced issues that could be resolved was one of their best mechanisms.

And not only had he a great relationship with his people, but also the one with his servants couldn't be of any less importance. They were happy to spend time with him when his parents couldn't, as much as he was grateful for them for anything they had done.

People outside stopped believing he was a real prince, how could someone so kind-hearted have no dark feature?

They didn't know about his nightmares, for sure.

Or all the times he felt like he was remembering something of the night he disappeared, only to break down right after, the only comfort being his mother's embrace.

And despite being surrounded by a multitude of loved ones who loved him back, they didn't know about the loneliness he felt when he finally reached eighteen.

« Roman, dear, the Pais family is coming very soon, will you come to meet them? »

Yes, even with a guaranteed fiancé.

Royal courting was weird in their days: the two promised could see each other little to no time at all, preferably spending as less time together as they could. Meals with parents were fine, they even had the luxury to sit in front of each other, talk sometimes, but out of those? One or two hours a day were enough, thank you very much.

So, what the Tinfea and Arcadia families were doing to follow these unfathomable laws was meeting once a year, celebrating one year less to the upcoming wedding.

And now that Roman was eighteen, well, things were only starting to get faster.

« We're going to speed up the preparations with them today, you can finally spend some more time with the lovable Patton, aren't you happy? » his father was at his left as they made their way towards the entrance of the castle.

« Truly charmed. » he mused, not particularly focused on his question. It wasn't like he didn't want to meet him, or thought he wasn't at all an appreciable companion, but the little time they spent together wasn't enough for him. He wasn't even allowed to send letters; their relationship only started as acquaintances and went back to strangers after a couple of months of not seeing each other.

Roman thought that was ridiculously inconvenient for both of them.

« Wait, is Logan going to be here? »

« Honey, of course, he's always been. » Roman made a slightly frustrated pout at that.

« Don't be like that. He's their closest advisor. »

« I know, but I don't like him. He makes me feel incompetent. »

« He's older than you, Roman, it's normal if his knowledge is higher than yours. »

« And you should respect him as such. Then you will get along just fine. »

The prince sighed, he couldn't argue with that. What they always said was that he could at least act like he was glad to have someone as guest.

Furthermore, he loved acting. He couldn't remember how many times he had sneaked out to get to the local theatre to watch actors perform, or perform himself after he made sure none was there.

« Oh, I forgot to tell you! » Roman's mother turned to him, beaming. « This time, they're going to stay here longer. We're going to put into action what Logan had suggested two years ago. »

Well, that was certainly new.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Patton had often wondered why things were a certain way.

He sounded like a kid when he kept on asking different questions about the subject he was debating with someone.

Why were clouds like that? Are stars motionless? Why is grass green and not blue? How come animals didn't talk, do they even understand us?

As he grew up and reached adulthood, the questions would change into more soul-searching ones.

Does happiness really exist? Is the mind more important than the heart? What's the difference between justice and revenge? When is it required to be selfless and when is it allowed to be selfish?

One time at fourteen he found himself stargazing and wondering if he could even reach the stars one day, that sky glitter that winked and smiled at him every night. He had approached Logan's chamber and ran in the room out of breath, at which a startled seer blinked a couple of times, frozen still, and looked at him with arched eyebrows.

« Hey Lo- » a couple of short breaths. « You're a magician, right? »

A slow nod came from the older boy, whose gears began turning in his head, trying to predict which kind of outcome that conversation was going to lead to.

« So can you fly?! » Pat had clasped his hands together in little fists in front of his mouth and leaned in towards the chair his friend was sitting in.

Logan wondered if he could have either expected that kind of question or if he definitely wasn't aware this scenario could have ever taken place.

Eventually, he decided to get up from his chair and, kindly, escort Patton out of his room, while the prince whined about wanting to reach the sky.

After he closed the door behind himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back an amused smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Of course, he lost, but in his defense, he was pretty tired.

After the prince's fifteenth birthday, Logan wondered sadly why they had to unquestionably stop attending lessons together; they had less time to spend with each other now that Patton was up to courting lessons most of his day, while he retreated to his room pretty much always to self-teach himself the remaining of magic knowledge. His sovereigns told him he didn't need teachers anymore, they meant to praise him for his own talents at such a young age. But he didn't somehow feel satisfied.

On the contrary, his heart sank when he stopped in front of their closed room and heard that they were actually glad their son was going to spend less time with him and that they couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He stayed silent and moved on.

When Patton reached sixteen, Logan decided he hated feelings.

He hated feelings because he could not conceive his kingdom's rules and what sometimes they did to people, how it changed them and made them treat him from a respectable member to a simple servant undeserving of any kind of attention. He decided to stop showing such feelings as he now found them useless: what could he do with his emptiness? The anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? All the other emotions he didn't want to name? Things that only slowed down his work?

Well, there was one thing he surely could do, which was bury them deep inside and never listen to them again.

And so he did.

At seventeen, Patton was having a mental breakdown. Too many things were happening at once: preparations for the wedding (already, though Roman was still fourteen), the fate of the curse approaching which he tried to ignore, his teenage mood swings, him reaching soon adulthood and the always more persistent lessons. About literally anything.

It was especially the lessons that stressed him out. In one of them in particular, in which he had to learn how to dance but was failing miserably, he concluded it was best to abruptly storm out of the room and take his frustration out on the grass he was stomping as he made a beeline for the flower garden of the east side of the castle.

Stressful tears were prickling his eyes, he carefully wiped them away on his sleeve, growing discontent was spreading inside him since he didn't want to cry, and yet he was too vulnerable to stop himself. Why did he feel so weak?

Patton took a deep breath and made his way through the garden, hands curled in fists at his side, when he eventually had to stop himself once again.

Logan was sitting on the ground, a couple of feet away from him, he was leaning on some flowers, examining them, while some objects – related to magic, Patton thought – were lying all around him.

Suddenly aware of a viewer, his friend- wait, were they even still friends? How long ago was the last time they talked for real?

Patton grimaced, he couldn't even remember that.

Nonetheless, Logan looked up at him with a blank stare, it only faltered for a moment as he noticed the slight redness around the prince's pupils.

They kept staring silently, until eventually the mage broke the silence between them, after he turned his attention back to the flowers he was observing attentively.

« What can I help you with? » there was no real interest in his voice, no signs of concern (although he definitely knew Patton was missing his lesson), the lack of anything bothered the prince in a way he couldn't comprehend. It's like that uneasiness you feel when someone slightly moved everything in your room and you can't tell what has changed.

Patton as well couldn't tell what had happened to make their relationship so different from before.

And maybe it was exactly because of that, maybe because of how much pressure they were putting in him, the expectation of his parents that he could master all his teachings in no time, the absence of the comfort he once found in friendship with his servants, whatever case it may have been, that he found himself dropping on his knees and throwing his arms around Logan's shoulders.

Patton tried to hide his face on the other's robes, tightening his grip as little sobs shook his body.

Whatever grudge Logan could have been holding against him (which, mind you, he didn't, since Patton was just that impossible to despise), he cast that aside and surrounded the younger one's chest with his own arms, hesitantly.

They sat there for a couple of minutes as the prince let out all the displeasure and the other boy just tried to help with soft rubs on his back.

As soon as he felt an ounce of relief, Patton broke the hug and took a deep breath, after muttering an apology.

« I don't know what's happening. To me, or in general. » he sighed, a hand touching his forehead while he looked down.

Since they had basically been ignoring each other, he was expecting a remark, he thought he was going to tell him he was an idiot and it was his fault, he would have believed that.

Instead, Logan nodded. « That's perfectly understandable. »

Patton looked up at him in confusion and disbelief. « How? »

A humming sound escaped the mage's throat. « How about you describe what is bothering you? »

« Uh. » he was looking at the sky, but focusing on his thoughts. « It's like I'm in a cage. Everybody's telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act. Or who I have to talk to. » he looked Logan in the eyes. « When was even the last time talked properly? » his azure irises darkened in a greyish color. « I feel like I have no friends anymore. »

Logan's heart sank at the words, he knew he was included in that group and he couldn't help but feel ashamed for accepting the distance they suddenly began to keep, instead of doing something about it.

« It is only normal that you're getting badly affected by the situation. Look at yourself, » Patton lifted his hands to observe them. « you're clearly stressed out. Are you getting enough sleep? » there were so many questions he wanted to ask. They barely saw each other out of meals.

« Do I, they expect me to be asleep the moment they escort me to my chamber. »

One problem less ticked off of Logan's mental list.

« We both know your drinking and eating schedules are practically perfect, so I guess this is partially about pressure. Everything at once. »

« Yeah, it's mostly because of this “perfect” you said. Everyone expects me to be perfect, my parents- »

« That's it! » Logan abruptly interrupted, pointing a finger towards the sky, a knowing smile making his way through his face. He dropped the objects he was carefully putting away in his bag.

« Uh? I barely finished … »

« Listen. Don't you think your parents are a bit … too much into this? They have started preparations way ahead of time, they can't stop talking about the wedding's details when neither you nor Roman reached adulthood yet. It seems to me that they want this more than you do. To the point that they don't care about your feelings. » the words tasted sour in his mouth, talking badly about your king and queen wasn't exactly the main topic in a kingdom, but he saw the prince slowly nod in agreement.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed that, either.

« My feelings … yeah, they're definitely messed up. » he found the will to giggle.

After a beat, Logan continued with his reasoning « I can't honestly believe you forgot my most important lessons. » he looked away to open the only vial that was lying on the ground and poured a drop of its content on a dying withered flower that immediately blossomed in a soft pink hue. When he looked back at his friend he met a confused but pensive gaze, mixed with amazement by the little magic trick.

« You're your own person, Patton. You don't have to act like anyone but yourself. Break free of those puppet strings, they're not unbreakable. You can be a prince in your own way. »

Patton showed him one of his brightest smiles, gaining all the inspiration he could have ever possibly asked for. He could still be himself while having lessons or while in front of other nobility members.

« You're right! » he beamed, getting confidently on his feet. He felt like he could take on the world by himself. « Plus, how much can they go against a prince? »

Logan rolled his eyes. « As much as they like if he starts getting full of himself. »

« Aw, come on, I was just kidding. »

They made their way towards the castle's ballroom, while catching up on the things they had been up to in the past year.

Time, of course, flew by in an instant and they were already facing the entrance of the ballroom. They stopped in their tracks.

Patton turned to the magician. « I don't know if a “thank you” is enough. But I appreciate that you didn't reject me being all emotional. » he then shrugged with a small smile. « Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the smallest things. »

Logan shook his head. « You don't have to thank me. I only helped a friend in need. »

The prince almost jumped in joy at the label, it was a sign their relationship wasn't destroyed by outer circumstances, which was what Patton had feared the most. How could he have gotten such an amazing friend? He felt the desire to surround himself with more people like him.

« And remember, if you don't understand something, write it down. Only then it might become clearer. » the seer shared one of the most important pieces of information he could give in order to prevent future breakdowns anytime soon.

Patton considered carefully his words as if he had just found out a glowing treasure, then nodded. « Will do. » he made to turn away, placing his hand on the door's handle.

« Sorry for forgetting what you taught me! » he apologized with a sheepish grin. Logan only chuckled and started to step away, when he got called again.

« And Lo? » he gave him his full attention and suddenly found Patton's hand on his arm.

Patton gazed deeply in his dark eyes. « Please, talk to me more. »

And just like that, he disappeared into the room, resuming his dance lesson with a lighter feeling in his chest.

It was the moment in which Logan felt a colder spot where the prince's hand once was and his cheeks burning red that he decided he hated feelings even more.

At eighteen Patton understood that he could be a bit freer, but his parents wouldn't let it slide so easily. At least not without some guilt trip or psychological pressure.

King, queen, prince and seer (who had also become their personal adviser since they didn't find a way to get rid of him) were sitting on a carriage, seemingly talking about topics of no relevance. But one would know better than believe aristocrats didn't measure their every word, sticking hidden meanings or snide remarks in sentences here and there.

It was their charm, how they could hold a conversation while talking about something completely different.

« Did you hear about this? They say that Roman kid had already caught up with his lost lessons in less than two years, isn't that a prodigy? » their favorite topic was throwing Patton down with their “oh-so-perfect” examples.

They always told him so many things about him, things he wasn't even sure were entirely true. So many voices went around castles. Ever since Arcadia's prince came back, he had been in everyone's words and minds.

Of course, Patton's parents used all the information they could get, thinking they could have been able to attach those puppet strings back to his body.

They tried and sometimes they succeeded in grazing even just slightly his self-worth.

Self-esteem issues weren't late to the party as well.

Patton noticed a pattern in the arguments: they would find anything that didn't please them, blame him and eventually start to criticize him. His looks, his behavior, his intelligence, either the first thing they saw or the first thought that came to their mind.

Initially he apologized as much as it felt fake. But he didn't like lying every time there was a fight, though doing the opposite made the situation worse.

His parents would get frustrated by his silence, the yelling would increase for minutes until they got tired and gave up on him.

So Patton only stared at the marble pavement, his eyes danced around its colored details, a blank expression surrounded his face; when they finally let him free he'd only run back to his room.

After that there were two different outcomes: one would simply picture him crying to let out all of the horrible things they told him, as if he could shake them off and forget about it.

The other would display him lying down with a weird feeling in his guts. It was something that mixed with wanting to fight someone and wanting to fight himself. As if he deserved to feel pain. But the only thing he allowed himself was to think of all the remarks he could have done, if only they didn't make the situation worse.

Many could wonder how he managed to endure the whole thing. Patton had the kindness of his servants to get him through the day, the food they sneaked in every time he left during meals because he couldn't just bear it.

And he had a best friend he could rely on anytime he wanted or needed to vent. Especially when he saved him from annoying situations.

The conversation between his parents continued, their eulogy towards Roman never seemed to stop.

Patton breathed out slow and deep through his nose, he knew the last thing he needed was a reminder of his inferiority complex when he was on his way to Roman.

The funny thing about it was that he couldn't even blame Roman for how he felt, on the contrary the boy was always so sweet and welcoming. It was more how everybody portrayed him to be the perfect prince he could never achieve.

« On the topic of talents. » Logan, the foretold savior, spoke only after giving a sidelong glance to the younger boy.

The sovereigns immediately shut their conversation to Patton's relief.

« Since we are second in prosperity to Arcadia, I was thinking we should value our people more. » he had them hanging on his every word. « Maybe we should organize some kind of event that aims at that specific goal. »

The two adults' faces lit up, ideas flowing in their minds. Every argument on how to somehow be better than Arcadia was valid for both of them, it was the perfect diversion.

« We definitely agree. Please do tell us what you have in mind. »

Instead of going off with one of his explanations, (that often became monologues), he turned to Patton.

« What about you? Would you like that? » a faint smile crossed the prince's lips, ignoring the voices in his mind that said “How can he give his opinion? He understands nothing of it!”

« I would love that, Logan. » he nodded. « It would be ideal for our people to stand out in their specialties. I'd want to know if the best poems ever written belonged to one of our humble and simple villagers. » he stopped looking out the window to glance at his parents' shocked expressions, their mouths left hung open upon hearing his valid opinion. Suddenly they didn't have anything to remark.

He felt something very similar to pure bliss. Then he shifted his gaze to Logan. « Don't you think? »

Pride glimmered in the magician's eyes. « Exactly my thought. We could also participate or just watch, if so you desire. »

« Thank you for your suggestion! » Patton smiled even wider and Logan knew that he also silently thanked him for the attention.

After Logan finished displaying his idea, the sovereigns kept quiet for the whole trip to Arcadia's castle and Patton couldn't have been any more glad about it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How could he have been such an idiot?

Hopes and dreams, fake abstract concepts made up only to ruin people's expectations.

What was hope? It only meant relate to the future in a way that will eventually result in experiencing anxiety and anguish, whether it is a happy future you're looking for or a negative outcome that you're fearing. It is never something that helps you relax, but it keeps you in a restless mood, always unsettled because you know you're waiting for something and you're paying very much attention to it.

It is as if you're waiting for a delivery that has even the infinitesimal possibility to get lost into the nothingness. Or waiting for a person that promised to come back, a promise that has a high percent chance to be broken anyway.

But your hopes get in the way and erase any pessimistic belief, without realizing you're actually deteriorating yourself. With hope comes illusion and after that you're only left with pain.

Growing up, Virgil learnt to take nothing for granted and have very little trust in all the people who presented themselves in front of him.

To say that his parting from Roman had been a hard hit for him was an understatement: ever since then, he had never been able to get close to someone just as much or have any friendship quite as strong. It didn't feel worth it anymore.

Everything constantly reminded him of Roman and he just was so tired, he wanted the world to stop.

There had been many attempts by the school's children to get him to cheer up, but every single gesture failed its goal like they weren't even trying hard enough. But they were, when he wandered in the streets the villagers would greet him with a genuine smile on their lips, Virgil would only nod at them, unimpressed by the sudden interest.

Kids had tried to play with him, offered to go spend time in the woods together, but nothing could do. It reminded him too much of him and their memories were the last things he wanted to experience all over again.

He was eleven when hope started to fade out and disappointment took over him, a wave of sadness brushed his feet as strange thoughts began to force themselves into his mind.

These thoughts were the ones that tried to keep him awake at night, they persuaded him to think that it was better to embrace the darkness of the night, in which none would bother him as they all drifted off to sleep.

At first they scared him, so much he tried to scream to throw them away, panic didn't help his breathing problems and every other night his parents were kneeling down in his room, trying to steady him in every possible way.

At twelve, things were getting impossibly worse, because he couldn't help but comply to those musings. The first time, he found himself getting up from the small mattress, a myriad of thoughts screaming at him, so much that he preferred to stay silent, afraid that if he were to part his lips the harshness of howl-like shrieks would escape his mouth and leave him with little to no voice. The second time, he was found deadly still, bloodshot stapled open eyes, in front of the village's town hall at five in the morning by a pair of very concerned and frightened parents.

At thirteen night didn't exist anymore and the fair skin under his eyes slowly faded into a dark and purple-ish tone, he decided it was not worth to have those oniric impossible encounters in dreams or nightmares, even if his sleep deprivation did quite help making the unreal look real during his waking hours. His daylight hallucinations.

He had stopped talking at all, only considering someone when he really thought it necessary, scared they could catch him interacting with the unreal, unable to tell one from the other.

At fourteen he had visited all the doctors and magicians his family could reach, and at times their solutions were too … expensive. Out of the eight of them, there was one that stuck with Virgil, his words often played in his head as a reminder that, yes, something was definitely wrong with him. He couldn't remember his full name, something with Emile … was it? He was the only one that talked about his head. His mind; Emile's eyes had glowed, a light that made him look quite mischievous, though he truly was kind-hearted, and Virgil felt like he was piercing through his soul.

He had told him it was a mess, inside his mind. Virgil could have sworn he had heard a crack in his voice, as if he had been about to cry or needed consolation, after feeling how he did daily; but then again his reality was fake most of the time.

At fifteen the tables turned. Most of the villagers just chose to avoid him. Even if bullying didn't exist in his school, his classmates would have been too scared to approach him. A little part of him was glad he could occupy his mind with all the issues that rained down on him at once, so that he could shove his oldest problem in the deepest part of his heart and never think about it again.

It had been five years.

He couldn't say he was always successful, the best case scenario displayed a train of different thoughts that would suppress the topic he didn't want to think about. But other times … the outcome would destroy his mind.

He had never gotten angry at Roman for disappearing into the void.

He couldn't help but put the blame on himself; for god knows what reason why, he started feeling like Roman had now found better people, what if they had been friends out of pity? Sure, they were good at make-believe, and yet … Roman had never left him alone. He did feel genuine, after all.

There was too much contrast between his beliefs, but somehow he still couldn't help but crumble down in his own self-deprecation. It was none else's fault but his if he never came back. For all that he could know, by now Roman had probably already found plenty of people like him; better than him, perhaps, which wasn't that much of an impossible quest. It wasn't like he had any particular talent or was special in any way, really. Being replaced could have been just as easy even in his small little village.

He was still fifteen when he finally stepped into their forest after 5 years, for some reason he had gotten sentimental and, almost magically, his feet led him in front of the forest's entrance. He was retracing the same path they had followed the last time they were together, the sparkles caused by the sun hitting the water were already blinding his eyes as he stepped down the hill that now looked much smaller than how he remembered.

And then, the one thing that would change his life forever.

He looked at his left and that same fox from five years earlier was standing there, a cold glare piercing him through golden irises, Virgil thought he had lost his mind and the hallucinations due to lack of sleep were getting worse.

But the creature looked different, yet quite the same, he could tell it was the same one he saw, even though it seemed older.

Black fur was now added to its former colors at the base of its paws. It seemed it wanted to frighten him, but also persuade him.

Virgil held its stare, the animal didn't seem to move an inch.

« What? » he snapped, arms slightly opening in the act.

The yellow-eyed fox started pacing towards him, an elegant posture was still somehow kept in its cautious movements.

Virgil didn't take his eyes off of it, it felt like 5 years earlier: it was as if there was some sort of force tugging him in a particular direction. It was stronger than before and the lingering feeling of the animal's glare on him provoked some sort of persuasion and curiosity altogether.

The little villager just stood and watched as the creature paced forward until little to no space was left between them, then something switched in its expression after it looked around and set its focus back on Virgil with gloomy eyes.

Was it looking for Roman?

« He's not here. » Virgil wished he had said it with the most collected tone, but surprisingly found his voice cracked as if it had been smashed through a thousand palaces. It sounded rough, colliding with the ethereal aura of the place. The fox tilted its head slightly.

« What are you waiting for? It's not like he will come back. » another crash, he felt himself rapidly break down like most of the times when he listened to the thoughts screaming and raging in his head. He let his burning eyes fall to the ground and close, as the dark corners of his mind took completely over him.

« … ever. He won't- » his breath hitched and when he opened his eyes again he was on the ground, almost at eye-level with the pitying creature. He looked at his hands in terror, they were trembling visibly, his breathing grew shorter, sharp, but never like those wheezes he learnt to recognize. This was something else. How long had it been since he had last spoken to someone?

This was worse. So much worse.

His fingers brushed his cheek to find it soaking in overflowing tears already making their way on his skin; he digged his hands in his hair as to hold on for dear life. He hated when this happened. He had no control over himself, he felt hopeless, more helpless than usual, rationality flew out of his body, it was as if all of his feelings had smashed the button of “overload”, while a clutching sensation weighted down his stomach.

His mind raced between flashbacks of his childhood, belittling himself, the urge to just give up and lie down forever until someone would eventually pick him up and live his life in his place.

He was completely huddled on himself when he felt something soft trying to make its way through his limbs, as if it wanted him to relax his body and get his arms away from his face. Virgil had no choice but to comply and let the fox … help him? He felt too weak to care about what was happening anyway.

When the animal started brushing its head against Virgil's hand, he suddenly remembered about one of the doctors' suggestion; he opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings.

Five things he could see. The green blades of grass, the glimmering lake, those funny shaped clouds, the trees all around him and the fox by his side. He took another deep breath that he let out from the mouth.

Four things he could touch. The lightweight of his simple clothes, the soles of his shoes, his bangs brushing his forehead and the soft fur through his fingers. He closed his eyes.

Three things he could hear. Birds flying out of their nests to get some food for their nestlings, his rapid breath slowing down, little fishes occasionally jumping out of the lake and then back on the water.

Two things he could smell. The flowers that had started blossoming in that period, the simple essence of the forest's nature.

One thing he could taste. Oh. Had he eaten yet today?

His evened out and steady breathing had him finally relaxed, he kind of felt a smile tugging at his lips for some reason, maybe it was the comfort of the little animal, maybe because he finally got a hold of himself.

But while he pet the unusual friend, there was something he didn't notice. Someone he didn't see, but that could see him. It was somewhere Virgil had never reached. One of the deepest parts of the forest.

The man grinned in his dark room while the only source of light was a cloud of magic smoke in front of him, beaming with the picture of Virgil sitting on the grass and smiling at the fox.

The brightness touched his face with delicacy, yet you could make out the details of it with simplicity.

Like the burnt skin on the left side of his face that made it look like little scales were all over his cheek. Or the literal glowing, bright yellow eyes that slowly turned into a mild shade of white as the vision and smoke both faded away.

The man in the dark smirked.

« Perfect. »

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mszegedy · 4 years

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30 Days of Autism Acceptance 2020: Days 1-10

This is a list of questions by @autie-jake (full list here), where you’re supposed to answer one per day for every day of April. I learned about it a few days into April and intended to start doing it but I forgot, I guess, or maybe decided against it. But I wanna do it now, so here’s the first ten days really quick.

April 1: Introduce yourself. Talk about who you are as a person.

This is kind of a hard question for me. I think my younger sister (by 3¾ years) would say this, if she just made a new friend the same age as her and she asked about me:

“Well, she goes to college, but she’s graduating this semester. She does something with proteins, but honestly she should really be a linguist. I actually really hate discussing linguistics with her, because she gets so annoying and overbearing about it. I don’t understand why she’s doing whatever she is. She’s a pretty weird person. She has all sorts of problems with, like, depression and amnesia and stuff. Oh, but, she’s trans, so, like, that’s a thing, yeah. I don’t like talking about most things with her because she thinks she’s always right. And also, she’s kind of mean to our mom. I don’t know why she does that. But at the same time she’s, like, really sensitive, and will be offended by the stupidest things. Okay, this is making it sound like I don’t like her, but I do, okay? She’s my sister, of course I love her. We’ve bonded a lot. She’s moving to DC in October, so we’ll be able to hang out during the school year, and that’ll be really fun. I think I’m just a little fed up with her right now from having to live with her for a whole month.“

April 2: Post your red instead selfie today! Alternatively, you could talk about why you choose to go redinstead and what it means to you.

I don’t know what “redinstead” is. I googled it and it sounds like you wear differently-themed stuff from what’s recommended by Autism Speaks, to dunk on them. Like a lot of people, I’m stuck inside this April, so there’s no point in me wearing pride clothing, because nobody will see it. But I do disapprove of Autism Speaks, because they don’t treat autistic people like people, and they try to spread that ideology. If you trick them into thinking you’re a person first, they won’t change their mind; instead, they’ll say you’re not autistic. People defend them by recounting the problems that nonverbal autistic people face, as though nonverbal autistic people have an inherently worse neurotype than everyone else, and not just one that’s more difficult to accomodate for society, and as though that justifies the abuses levied against them by Autism Speaks. I could go into details, but I won’t, because it would be emotionally draining for me as a writer, and you as a reader.

Suffice to say, I love being autistic. It has inspired a lot of people to treat me very badly, and probably led to a degree of abuse and neglect in my childhood that resulted in dissociative identity disorder. But all of my autistic traits are things that I love about myself. I like how emotionally expressive my stims make me. I like how I’ve learned to dissect a lot of social stuff and I can explain it. I like how I can just dispense with all of that social stuff around autistic people. Hell, I think it gives the neurotypical people I hang out with some relief, too, when I’m straightforward and explicit all the time. I like how good I am at linguistics, and how I can use it as a way to relate to the world.

April 3: Talk about special interests. Do you have any? What are they? How long have you had them? What does it feel like to have special interests? What does having special interests mean to you? Talk about your past special interests

My special interests are unusually slow burns. I’ve had linguistics-related special interests for the past ten years. They’re peripherally useful for language learning, but mostly I’ve just accumulated academic knowledge. They’ve, however, also led me to reconnect with my Ugric heritage culture, which is very important to me. (It wouldn’t be important to me if language weren’t my primary way of relating to the world; paradox?)

I have a wide variety of other interests, but few of them are really “special”. As a kid, my special interest was marine life. Unfortunately, I haven’t retained much of that, although I do have the privilege of having a diver’s license, which I’ll use again someday when I pass better naked. I also briefly had a special interest in… building computers, or something. I didn’t have the money to make anything particularly powerful (not that I had anything at the time to use computational power for), but I did run some workshops for middle-schoolers.

I think maybe my interest as a kid in Homestuck was special? It ran pretty deep, anyway. It’s hard to say, when you can’t remember most of your life.

April 4: Do you consider your autism to be an important part of your identity?

Because we have DID (or something like it), we don’t have an identity in the traditional sense. We do have a system identity, but that’s built around our mutual goals and guidelines. However, we’d be very sad to lose our autistic traits. Also, it might mess with the standard of consistency we’ve established for ourselves; we might not be able to predict our future actions, because losing our autistic traits may interfere with our ability to follow the aforementioned goals and guidelines, which are what help keep us focused and consistent.

April 5: Talk about your living situation. Do you live with your parents? Do you live on your own? Have roommates? Etc. If you live on your own how hard was it to get used to?

Right now, I’m quarantining with my mom, my sister, and my brother (who is actually my sister’s boyfriend), at my mom’s house. The mess that’s accumulating in the house is slowly causing my mom more and more stress, I think. I’ve never really lived on my own. For a lot of college, I lived with roommates or housemates, but I don’t think I was very good at that. Also, my mom lived nearby, and I stayed at her place on the weekends. The closest I’ve come to living on my own is watching my mom’s house for up to a few weeks at a time, and that wasn’t sustainable. (To be fair, what kind of house has a lawn? When I get a house with a lawn in the future, I will make sure that it’s a wild lawn that I don’t have to mow.)

The third to last time that I house-sitted for my mom, I ended up getting hospitalized for self-harm. It took her a while to let me do it again after that. Although, not a very long while, I guess. That was at the end of last September.

April 6: Are you able to drive? If you can, was it hard for you to learn? If not, what alternatives do you use, if any

I’m not able to drive. Driving is scary and difficult for me. I went through the motions of learning it in high school, but my track was interrupted by a move across state lines (I lived in the US at the time), and I never recovered. I’ve failed the NJ written driver’s exam, which grants you a one-year permit with restrictions, a total of roughly ten times. I’ve never been this bad at a subject; it’s like I have the opposite of a special interest in driving. A special lack-of-interest. My brain won’t retain any information about NJ driving laws whatsoever. It doesn’t help that I had a traumatic car crash when I was very young.

So far, I’ve just gotten my mom and coworkers to drive me places, or taken Ubers or trains. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that if I leave NJ, I’ll probably have to get a driver’s license. Although, I’ve already got a carpool set up at my next job in October.

April 7: Talk about autism in the media. Do you think that autism is typically portayed well? Badly? Is there anything you’d like to see more of when it comes to autistic representation? Who are your favorite autistic characters? Do you have any headcanons?

The media that I consume doesn’t really have autistic characters, so I can’t comment on how autistic people are portrayed, except that I’d like us to be portrayed more, period. I’ve only really seen us in teen dramas. To be fair, one of my favorite webcomics, El Goonish Shive, is a teen drama, and has a great autistic character (Susan). I’d say I identify with her, but not really. It’s very hard for me to identify with people, fictional or nonfictional, because my neurotype is greatly influenced by autism, DID, chronic depression, and gender dysphoria, and you don’t see combinations of traits in media that come even close to that.

Speaking of another teen drama, I wish I were half as cool as Matilda from Everything’s Gonna Be Okay. I guess that makes her my favorite canon autistic character, but that’s pretty easy, because I don’t know any other ones. I can’t say that I wanna hug her, because she doesn’t like that, but her general substitute for hugs is dancing, and I can’t dance. I guess I’d learn how, to show my appreciation for her.

Archer from Archer is probably autistic. I like him a lot.

April 8: What are some misconceptions/stereotypes about autism that you hate?

“Hating” is not something I can really do, even when it’s recommended to do it. I haven’t been open about my autism, so I haven’t been exposed to too many misconceptions or stereotypes about it firsthand, anyway. I guess if I had to pick, it would be whatever made my dad call me autistic as an insult and use a bunch of ableist slurs at me a whole lot. I don’t know how he understands autism, however. He doesn’t seem to realize that he has it himself. (It’s not usually one’s place to diagnose other people like that, but one of the most degrading things that my mom says to me very often is that I’m exactly like my father. He even has some traits that I don’t, like touch-aversion and samefoods.)

April 9: How sensitive are you when it comes to touch? Are you pro hug or anti hug?

I’m hyposensitive. I’m really losing it here under this quarantine. I had a girlfriend who always made me feel so respected whenever she responded to my touch-based needs, by squeezing me, hugging me, or otherwise cuddling me very tight, but then she broke up with me because of my mental health issues, and because her parents hated me and her friends were made very uncomfortable by me.

April 10: Do you have trouble understanding when someone is being sarcastic or joking?

It depends. I think I’m as good at it as I’ll ever be, and my false negative rate is under 0.5 (and my false positive rate is very low, but not 0). But I don’t think the same thing goes on in my head as in neurotypical people’s heads when I determine something to be a joke. I almost explicitly do a Bayesian calculation; “Based on what I know about this person and this context, how well can I imagine them meaning this statement unironically in this context? How well can I imagine them meaning this statement ironically in this context?” It’s pretty automatic now, but sometimes it doesn’t work very well, when I’m not so familiar with the person and/or the context, and occasionally the intended interpretation of the statement.

#2020 #30daysofautismacceptance

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hardlyfatal · 5 years

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gary’s writing workshop: lesson 5: point of view, part 1

Defining Points of View

Points of view, which I’ll refer to henceforth as POVs, is the narrator’s position in describing the events unfolding in a story. POV filters everything in a story, so if you get it wrong, the entire thing is compromised. There are four types: first, second, third limited, and third omniscient.

First, let’s go over why they’re named as they are. Linguistically, grammatical person is the distinction between who is participating in an event. If a person is by themselves, to whom would they speak? Themselves. They are alone, there’s just one of them, so they are the first person.

If they are speaking directly to someone else, instead of one person, there are two. The other person is the second person.

More than that, by default, is three or more, so if the individual narrating isn’t first or second, all that’s left is the third person, of which there are two kinds1.

Note: This explanation is solely to explain how the terms came to be called this. It does not mean that scenes with one person must be done in first, with two people in second, and 3+ people in third.

So what does all of this have to do with us? What does it mean to us as writers of fiction?

Narrative Modes/Voices

POVs are also known as narrative modes or narrative voices. I’m still going to call them POVs to make it easier for us, though.

1. First person:

When the story is told by the narrator, filtered through the protagonist as if they’re telling it themselves. “I” tells the story. The character relates the story directly, using the pronoun “I” but also sometimes “we” if the narrator is part of a group. “We” should only be used very sparingly.

Pros: It mirrors real life, as we experience our lives only from our own POVs and think of ourselves in terms of “I” and “we”. It creates a clear and direct connection with the reader, and thus also sense of immediacy and intimacy. Excellent for getting the protagonist’s opinion of their own appearance – you get a front-row seat to how they sees themselves, through the filter of their own experiences and conditionings. Their looks could cause them pain… or pleasure, if they think they’re hot stuff.

Cons: Like all limited POVs, you’re pretty much restricted only to scenes showing what the protagonist experiences. Using “I” all the damned time can quickly become redundant and repetitive, and there’s no effective way to make substitutions for it. It’s harder to establish who, exactly, “I” is so you have to take care to pinpoint the protagonist’s identity at the start of the story, and it can feel awkward2.

There’s also a risk of too much introspection, to the point of claustrophobia since we lack exposure to any other POVs besides the primary. The character has to be particularly strong and compelling to sustain interest throughout the story. There’s a danger of the author inserting too much of themselves because it’s easy to slip into that when you’re writing a lot of “I” statements.

Examples: The Hunger Games series, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, Moby Dick, and Rebecca.

2. Second person:

When the story is told to “you”, where “you” are one of the characters. It’s pretty rare to see this in published fiction, usually just when someone’s trying to be artsy, but more frequently in fanfiction, where it’s used in “you are the OFC paired with (Favorite Hot Dude) stories that don’t even try to be anything but blatant self-inserts. Gotta give them points for honesty, at least.

It works best, IMO, in an epistolary story, such as Part Two of my None But You series, where the characters were writing letters to each other. The letters were written in second person, with the assumption that the letters’ authors were directly addressing the recipients. Dracula by Bram Stoker is primarily an epistolary novel and much of it is written in this way as well.

Pros: It creates a feeling of closeness and intimacy between the narrator and reader; it’s as if the former is speaking directly to the latter. It makes the writer less likely to yammer on about backstory or engage in overlong or unnecessary flashbacks.

If your aim is to render the narrator oblivious to or disrespectful of boundaries, or to describe a dynamic between two people that is intense and encompassing, this is an excellent way to create that ambiance and hammer home the point without having to use the narrative itself; the POV does a lot of the heavy lifting in this regard.

Cons: That closeness and intimacy is kind of intrusive and can feel uncomfortable and downright unpleasant to the reader. It can seem like an assault, relentless and exhausting, since you’re dictating what the reader is supposed to be experiencing, thinking, and feeling. It’s harder to develop secondary characters, and subplots featuring them, because the focus is inherently on the narrator-and-reader duo. It’s weird and uncommon and can be distracting and hard to get through.

Examples: Bright Lights, Big City and various shorter stories by Margaret Atwood, Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Faulkner, and Leo Tolstoy.

3. Third person:

When the story is told about one or more characters: “he” or “she” or, more rarely, “they”. The two main kinds consist of:

a) Third omniscient: This POV has been extensively used in some of the most famous fictional works of all time. The story is presented by a narrator with an overarching, all-knowing POV that sees, hears, and knows everything that is happening at all times, including the thoughts and emotions of each character.

The narrator may not be a character in the story, even, merely acting as an observer from a distance who’s recounting events as they progress. Think of it as someone describing a movie they watched; they weren’t in it, but they know everything that happened, regardless of whether various characters were present in a scene or not.

Pros: It can feel ‘traditional’ in the manner of great works of literature. It gives the author freedom to explore multiple characters in a way that sees the ‘bigger picture’ instead of only what each character would be able to perceive; a forest-instead-of-the-trees perspective. Your voice as the author will end up coming through more strongly than that of the characters; if your intent is to give a sense of godliness, that the story is being relayed by a superior figure who sees it all, this would work well.

The author, and therefore the narrator, is not restricted only to what the character would be able to know because there is no filtering3 through a character to begin with. It can create an ‘epic’ format of storytelling because it grants the author the ability to dart back in time for a flashback, or ahead in time to hint at or fully reveal the repercussions of current events in the story, thus contributing to the forest-not-the-trees big picture feel.

It creates a lot of distance between narrator and reader, thus permitting a more effective and easier-to-write description of events since you don’t get bogged down with as much need for showing instead of telling. If your aim is to create a more remote dynamic between characters and reader, this is the best way to go about it.

Cons: The same distance that makes it easier to describe events can weaken the sense of intimacy and how personal the story feels to the reader, and since third person omniscient is already pretty distant feeling, that can make identification with the characters take a big hit.

Can lead to info-dumping; feels a lot like ‘telling’ instead of ‘showing’ because, as an omniscient narrator, they might know everything that’s happening, but they’re not really feeling as the characters feel, as they act and react to events. Thus it can significantly reduce the visceral feel of the story, and whatever connection the reader makes with it.

If you do try to ‘zoom into’ a character’s feelings, you then have to ‘zoom out’ again so you can either return to omniscient narration or zoom into another character, and all that back-and-forth can create not only a sense of literary vertigo but also make the story feel uneven and disorganized. That same strength of voice, with the author being stronger than the characters, can become a problem if it feels like the story is more about you than them.

Examples: The Da Vinci Code, Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, Brokeback Mountain, the Discworld series, the Lord of the Rings series, and The Scarlet Letter.

b) Third limited: The story is restricted to narration by only the main character(s). In mainstream literature, it’s usually just the single, main protagonist, but in popular fiction, including many romance novels, there are two or more characters who narrate from their POV4. The huge majority of stories are written in third limited.

Pros: This is the best of all worlds; you get the ‘bigger picture’ benefit of distance that first and second persons lack, but also have access to the thoughts and feelings of the characters in an effective, less distant way. Since the majority of fiction is written in this way, it feels effortless and doesn’t force the reader to stretch to comprehend what’s happening. Since the scope of narration is smaller, and the characters only know whatever is filtered through them, the author can write them in ways that make it easier for the reader to identify and connect – enhances intimacy between character and reader.

Cons: Likewise, with the smaller scope, narration loses that all-encompassing sense of time from past through present to future, and of space from events unfolding in a number of places – you’re limited to only what the narrating character perceives in their particular time and space until and unless you switch to someone else.

Examples: the Harry Potter series, the Song of Ice and Fire series, 1984, Cloud Atlas, Ender’s Game, Fahrenheit 451, The Old Man and the Sea, Alice in Wonderland, and The Cask of Amontillado.

Homework

Your homework is that, if you have any questions or are confused about any of it on the first read-through, write out your thoughts to help organize them, and then try to answer them on your own through in-depth scrutiny of the lesson’s contents – see if you can figure it out for yourself, without explanation from me or anyone else.

I’m hoping you’ll have epiphanies because if you can catch on without assistance it will have more meaning and you’ll get a deeper comprehension of the issue. It’s so important, I really want to you get it as well as possible.

Endnotes

1 There are actually more than two but they fit under the umbrellas of either omniscient or limited and only literary analysts actually care and none of us are here to write a dissertation about this shit so let’s just narrow it down to the main two.

2 Many a Mary Sue and Gary Stu is born because a less-than-deft author favorably describes their protagonist in a way that irritates the reader. Plus, how to go about it? Many fall into the trap of the ol’ “looking in a mirror” scene, which ends up seeming narcissistic more than not. It’s been done and done and done a zillion times since the invention of fiction a few thousand years ago – it’s gone beyond trope to cliché and now is universally considered by good authors to be lazy, shitty writing.

3 We’ll be going over filter words in more depth in a later lesson but for our purposes here: they are words that aren’t strictly necessary and act as a layer, or filter, through which the reader must pass to get to the story’s meaning. This meaning as well as urgency and intimacy can create distance between the character and the reader. Words like “saw”, “thought”, “wondered”, “felt”, etc. are filters.

4 Having numerous POVs in a single story is very difficult to keep organized and maintain, and I advise against it until you have mastered just doing two of them, as in a romance novel. I took on five POVs for Desperado, and don’t think I don’t regret that choice every damned time I have to write another chapter.

#gary's writing workshop #writing #writing tips #writing resources #writing references

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