#This post is my shower thoughts contextualized

[valeriehalla]

Hello! I was reminded of your webcomic Goodbye To Halos recently and wanted to let you know it had a pretty big impact on me. I read it during my teenage years and I think it really helped me to contextualize and make sense of some feelings I was going through about - well, teenage stuff. Change, I guess, mostly. Changing bodies, changing genders, changing role in society, changing relationships with others - your comic helped me process a lot of my fears about those things.

Your comic was probably my first exposure to nudity that was neither sexual nor comedic. It really stuck with me how your comic has characters in states of undress fairly casually. Not like "walking down the street" casual, they're always in a safe place like a bedroom or a bathroom or something, but still. As someone who was raised Catholic it was really powerful to see nudity portrayed as so... not-shameful. Nudity is just a state the characters pass in and out of; they're nude after taking off their clothes like they would be wet after taking a shower. There's no shame in it. And that's really the way it ought to be, right? We were all born nude, it shouldn't be such a Thing as society makes it out to be.

That's just my little input on what impact your art has had on me. It was a good thing that I read it when I did. I wish you luck on all your future endeavors.

that's extremely kind of you, and very well-said, and thank you, and also that's absolutely wild for me to read.

i actually had to remind myself just now that there was in fact a sequence of (counting) eight pages where enae had her tits out. i didn't think a ton about it at the time. i do remember debating mentally whether to slap a "warning this page has boobs in it" label on the social media posts: i chafed at the idea, and i think i didn't do it? or only did it for some of them? i didn't want to because to even put such a warning immediately prompts the reader to think "oh something Sexualle is going on here," putting them on high alert and making it into a whole Thing. and it was not a Thing.

i always thought that some day, if ever i found the right moment, i wanted to have a page where fenic was fully nude. my idea of the "right moment" for that was that it would have to be at a juncture in the story where it made sense for her to be nude, and also where it would feel to the reader like there was absolutely no "point" to her nudity. the one page in the comic where fenic is topless was sort of a prelude to that idea: that might have been the moment, if there had been any reason at all to include her lower body in those panels, which there wasn't, so i didn't.

it's a fine line to walk. i think it's fairly obvious that there were many panels in that comic where the reader absolutely was meant to think "wow this character's attractive" (if they could get past my art back then lmao). i peppered those in liberally, sometimes because it was personally fun for me to draw, but always because it just seemed, i don't know, honest? for this story about young queer adults who are sort of omnidirectionally horny for one another to have a gaze reflecting that--for the reader to feel like they're "in on it" too, not in a leering sort of way, but as if they're just, like, sharing in it with the characters themselves. but then to have that, and then to also have full-on nudity, and for that nudity to feel at home with that sensation, but also purely incidental, and not in and of itself sexual, is a lot of objects to juggle, especially if one indeed (like me) wants it to not feel like there is a "Point" being made. so, it's cool to hear that it worked for at least one person. sorry for writing 999 words about this

[marley-manson]

In Love and War

-- Potter sucked lol, straight up says he didn't tell Hawkeye about Kyung Soon's circumstances and let him go off about rich people because as a colonel he doesn't need to explain orders. Then topped it off by being condescending while stating the 'love during a war sucks' theme. Oh ALSO not a fan of his explanation for transfering the nurse who Donald hit on comparing her and Margaret to a car and a horse respectively. Minor in the grand scheme of things, but like, it's very Potter.

-- Loretta Swit was so fucking funny in the shower scene

-- the Kyung Soon + BJ goodbye scene parallels are so strong lol, kudos for that

-- headcanon that Hawkeye is not a lit guy heavily reinforced \o/ I only remembered like one line, but his interactions with Kyung Soon were actually full of not getting her lit and poetry references, and he even made a self-depricating joke about quoting the Divine Comedy from a comic book version - a joke I think is exaggerated, I do assume he's probably at least read some of it for school, but it does tell us that Hawkeye doesn't see himself as a literature knower

-- Hawkeye trying and failing to hammer a board, Kyung Soon takes the hammer from him and tells him his hands are for surgery. that's my guy

-- love Hawk and Margaret commiserating together at the end, sans explanation. it's a little odd this early, but not so odd that it feels implausible, so it strikes a good balance evocative of a burgeoning friendship.

-- Kyung Soon was a pretty solid character for a single episode love interest. kudos for that.

-- I've seen posts that interpret this episode as a critique of American imperialism so I was watching the ep with an eye out for it, but I don't see it as an intended theme. I think you can pick it up essentially as a side effect of the show trying to realistically portray a downer romance between an American draftee and a Korean civilian, but the ep is very on the nose about its theme (romance and war don't mix) and everything that points in that more specific and political 'critique of imperialism' direction is either a) undermined shortly later (eg Hawkeye suggesting they eat dinner in a bombed out restaurant initially seemed potentially insensitive and out of touch, but Kyung Soon and the narrative finds it romantic), b) furthering the more general war sux theme (eg the bombed out restaurant, or Hawkeye's class A uniform at the funeral, as foreboding symbols of the war poised to separate them), and/or c) something I wouldn't expect a mainstream 70s audience to understand as a critique of imperialism without further explicit contextualization (eg Hawkeye's uniform again).

Plus, rather than being critiqued as an American, Hawkeye is pointedly portrayed as ~one of the good ones~ with the way Kyung Soon explicitly says she likes him because he "cares about [her] people," and his response to Charles' racism. Maybe a little naive in a way that can be taken politically, but not in a way I believe is intended to be a political statement - it's Hawkeye's idealistic romanticism imo, since it's contrasted to Potter's world-weary realism.

Basically I can see the anti-imperialism lens the way you can view most of Mash through it, but I'm not inclined to give the show credit for a thoughtful anti-imperialism sentiment here. They've done anti-imperialism episodes and they tend to be more clumsy lol and much more overt. Imo the tragedy in this episode is the war, not the American presence in the war.

-- That said, I think the lack of intentional messaging and the focus on sad realism works in this episode's favour, because it's overall pretty good. I mean it's still a rushed one-ep romance which never actually works, but within the bounds of its format, it's successful imo. And the realistic touches do add up to an implicit, if accidental, critique of imperialism if you're inclined to see it. It's a solid lens to view the episode through, just not one I'd praise the writers for.

[heaven-acustic]

I was harassed online and now I can't speak to anyone

Just some brief notes after I wrote this all, that I may be considered contextually important.

I'm probably autistic. I'm not diagnosed yet because I've had bad a experience with a psychiatrist and I'm working through the trauma to go again, but I've had suspicions for a long time. This sub helped me asses myself and understand how to navigate life as a possibly autistic person, so it's why I'm here. (This is a throwaway btw)

I am fat. I know I am fat, I've been fat my entire life. I thought I made peace with it. I don't love my body so don't tell me to, but I'm okay with living in it and I understand that I should not, not enjoy life because my body don't look like the way I want to. I take care of myself, I love fashion and makeup, I dress the way I want to, I care about the way I look. I'm beautiful, but I am also fat. Also, please don't give me physical health advice, I'm not here for that.

Please don't say I need new friends and partner. Some of them I've know for a decade, we've been through worse. I'm not going to leave, block or disappear. Advice on navigating the situation is more than welcomed though...

Tuesday I was mass harassed by a community of internet men on Twitter. Although I've experienced harassment before, it was the first time they used my body to publically mock, shame and expose me to everyone. It was lead by someone with 65k followers on the gaming community. It all started because they were sexually harassing a woman, so I made a comment to defend her, and they proceeded to make many fat phobic, sexual and degrading remarks about me. They shared my pictures around (selfies I posted on my profile) to mock me, said dehumanizing things and proceeded to attack me until I was able to block everyone and close my profile.

It was hard reading them all, but as a fat person they said things I've listened to or said to myself my entire life. Yes, on a surface level I became desensitized to everything, it still hurts to remember what they said, but I know it'll pass like it did many times.

The worse thing was realizing no one cared.

I've struggled with friendships all my life and I thought (after almost 30 years) I finally had a close, safe relationship with people who cared and looked after me. Somehow I was wrong because close to no one asked how I am after this and I think it's traumatized me more than the comments themselves.

They know I'm probably autistic and have an anxious attachment style, they know I need reassurance to be okay. They've failed me before, but after years and many conversations, it's been a while they understood what I need from them (and what they need from me too!).

Some of them were horrified of what was happening and defended me on Twitter (just a like or a reply), but none of them cared to check up on my mental state after. What hurts most is to think that this happened in our friend group before (not online sexual harassment, but extreme harassment) and they rallied to shower them with love and affection, to visit them, to cook them meals, sleep and watch shows with them to distract. And they can't even ask me how I am.

The person who I'm most disappointed at is the guy I'm seeing, it's a weird long distance situationship, but we still deeply care about each other (we live different states; I was supposed to leave the country this month, so we didn't want to start anything serious until I figured out when/if I was going; but we talk every day, we travel to see each other, we met our families etc). He proceeded to never comment anything about the situation... no support at all.

He didn't check up on me, he didn't ask me how I was or if I'm alright or if I wanted to do something just to clear my mind. He didn't defend me, and I was stuck here wanting some sort of reassurance that he isn't disgusted by my body like everyone on those comments were. (He knew he was the first guy I had something with for a long time, after I understood my body, my autism and what I need in a relationship etc)

I know I am not disgusting, and those men would pick on everyone, if I were not fat they would pick something else to harass me. And I know he is okay with me looking the way I am... but somehow I still wanted the reassurance, I just wanted to listen from someone that I am beautiful, and they are just shit incels online.

So yeah. I'm just stuck here genuinely not knowing what to feel, my only response so far was a complete shut down. I've barely eaten, I've cried all day since it happened. I've cancelled all my plans, I left all social media, I haven't responded to him or any of my friends (just brief, souless responses like "ok").

I just can't understand how they could leave me like this. In other situations I've learned I had to communicate, say "I don't like that you left me like this, this and this" because they can't read my mind, but I can't fathom the idea that no one cared so far. I can't stop thinking I'm that insignificant to them. It's obvious behavior, if someone went through a hardship, you check up on them!!

My instinct is to just shut off completely and live in solitude for a while. And I hate that for me. I've done that before and it fucking sucks having no one to rely on, missing my friends etc. Specially now that I finally understood people and thought I had friends and partners.

Is it too much to ask from them to not carry on with their lives for a second, stop and check up on me after I've experienced a traumatic episode? Because I've had people text me the ins and outs of their days like nothing happened. And I just can't reply to them with: "Why are you texting me this? I'm not doing great, can't you see?" It's fucking pathetic. I feel fucking pathetic.

Again, sorry for the long rant. I don't know what exactly I want from this post, maybe some reassurance, maybe advice, I just needed to say this to someone until time's passed long enough to manage my life.

[tryst-art-archive]

Context: 2012, pt. 1

This particular year is what you might call A Big Oof.

It's going to be fairly lengthy, so we'll split it up across kind of a lot of posts.

New Living Arrangements

This will sound like starting in the middle, but I think it contextualizes the rest in a more orderly way.

In September of 2012, CatHaus (the 7-person apartment I'd been in) parted ways, and I moved in with my bestie, his partner, and one of his partner's close friends. The new digs werw a technically smaller, one-floor apartment that we had more leeway to modify because it was a bit of a train wreck. The pipes weren't in the walls, the insulation was horse hair, and there was a shower stall trapped in the back stairwell that led down to the single washer/dryer shared across the building.

I loved this apartment. I spent four or five years there, which is the longest I've lived in a single place since moving out of my parents' house for college.

I was initially trepidatious about this move. My bestie and his partner had been together for around a year at the point that we were making decisions about housing. (Boston operates on a September 1st lease cycle, for the most part, but you generally need to lock in your housing by March if you're on that schedule.)

I wasn't really convinced that their relationship would last, not because of anything about them but because neither my bestie nor I had gotten a romantic relationship past the two year mark; indeed, my bestie had only had one partner, a friends with benefits (me), and a couple of passing flings prior to dating his current partner. From a collegiate perspective, it was more reasonable to assume that they would split than that they would last. Additionally, many of our mutual friends were quite convinced that the relationship was doomed to failure because my bestie had changed greatly since it started.

Unbeknownst to any of us at the time, this change was because he had been emotionally abused in the prior relationship and he was now becoming himself again. "Himself," however, was a version of him that few, if any, of them had ever met.

I signed on to the lease despite my misgivings. I didn't want to live apart from my bestie, and it wasn't like I had a better idea. Moreover, my bestie's partner (by now we were friends, too) and the other lingering roommate were more or less pushing a third roommate out of their apartment in order to make space for me. It's sort of hard to turn down that kind of determination.

The arrangement worked out, though, and the four of us grew very close. The fourth roommate, whom we'll call Tiger, worked in game dev and would ultimately be an inroad to that industry for me, in addition to being a good friend. My bestie, whom we'll call Deer from here, and I's relationship improved as we cohabitated in a smaller group, and my bestie's partner, whom we'll call Coyote, and I simply grew closer as time went on. (If you're wondering, I was Fox in this animal-based arrangement.)

I think we basically all spoke the same, semi-nonverbal language and had similar thoughts running around in our heads. We were able to be weird with each other in a way that wasn't about being in art school or having less-than-mainstream interests but which was about what we called our animal-ness. In hindsight, it's likely that we shared varying forms of neurodivergence that happened to communicate similarly and play nicely together when combined.

Whatever it was, there's something truly liberating about being able to make weird, non-words noises and be understood intuitively. We were a collective of weird creatures, and we were a family.

[thediaryofaudreysaxton]

September 20th, 2022

In college I desperately wanted The California Boy to be more interesting than his first impression. The first time I noticed him, he was wearing a checkered fedora during a medieval literature seminar. The professor described the contextual symbolism of a daughter accepting the sword used to murder her own father as The California Boy (in a fedora) turned to his right in the lecture hall to laugh with his friends. He looks like an idiot, I thought. The idea of falling in love with an individual I automatically judged was appealing. The second time I noticed him he was strumming a guitar near the engineering building in the grass. As he leaned against the irregular blocks of pine tree bark, I sat down at a bench not far from him and pretended to read. He doesn’t know more than two chords, I noted. After 10 minutes he took his shirt off, revealing an onyx pendent around his neck. He looked towards me and saluted. I buried my head in my book and got up to leave, successfully gathering my things and disappearing without ever breaking eye contact with the book in my hand. 

But there was much in him I saw in myself. I wanted to be someone worthy of being discovered. To be more than an initial conception. And I wanted that for him too. I saw we both had a need to be noticed. I thought our laughable actions (he wore fedoras and I wore skirts over jeans) showed we were brave losers. I wanted to be known for a unique reason. He seemed prideful and not embarrassed about his obvious desire to be viewed as an artist. We both had almond shaped brown eyes and similar complexions.

I had never liked someone who liked me back. I was a junior in college and constantly spoke in a high-pitched shriek. I’d never had an orgasm, a valentines day date, or a New Years eve kiss. I was a horrible listener and a bad friend because I was always thinking about what I was supposed to say next and never about anyone but myself. 

The California Boy would eventually expand my definition of what it meant to be happy. It was addicting; being held, kissed on the shoulder, smiled at by someone so handsome. He also rewrote sadness. Trying to convince him I was a good girl after he accused me of being a flirt. Apologizing profusely for embarrassing him, like after I mimed masturbating in front of his friends or licked my own shoe as a dare. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a girlfriend, he told me, it was that he couldn’t have one. My kind, girls like me he said, had betrayed him many times in the past. 

I wasn’t sure what kind of girl I was, I just wanted him to be happy with me.  

I gave him all my adderal and in exchange he’d let me watch him play video games. I’d sit criss-cross apple sauce with wet hair after a post sex shower, laughing when he won a game and pouting when he lost.  

When the California Boy and I kissed for the first time, he pulled away rubbing his bottom lip and smiling. 

‘The way you kiss…,’ he said, grinding his teeth and playfully growling. 

I backed away from him too after our lips unlocked and plopped down into his swivel desk chair, spinning around while raising my arms in victory.

You’re ridiculous he said in a way that wasn’t right. 

For Valentines Day we went to iHop and tried different flavors of syrup. After handing me some flowers and a card, he chastised me for not getting him a present. I didn’t know I was supposed to. 

On New Years Eve I pulled on his arm and cried outside of a house party, wailing that the boy inside really was just a friend.  

After college we fought on a beach in Barcelona. He told me I wasn’t happy while I screamed back that I was. 

[jackryanfanfic]

I, His Isthmus | Chapter One

Pairing | Jack Ryan x Cathy Muller

Genre | H/C, Angst, Friendship, Romance

Warnings | Blood, PTSD, Nightmares, Medical procedures

Word Count | 1K+

Rating | T

Summary: Cathy Muller looked at herself in the visor mirror. With three deep breaths, she shoved the anxiety away and smiled, praying she looked like any other woman out on errands, and not a nervous wreck on her way to meet her ex with a secret government job and his shot-up partner in a seedy motel. I’m pretty sure I saw a thriller that started this way once.

Cathy Muller closed the door of her apartment, hung her purse and coat neatly on their assigned hooks, kicked her shoes from her sore feet, and let out her day’s stress in one long sigh. A soft smile graced her lips. Home.

Small shopping bag in hand, she glided in her socked feet to the kitchen counter, opening Spotify on her phone as she went. Some classical music would set the perfect tone for a relaxing evening to herself.

From the drawer by the stove, she pulled a box of matches. From her bag, she brought forth a lavender vanilla candle. She pried off the lid and inhaled deeply, the smile returning. It smelled just like a London Fog latte.

She put on the kettle and placed a bag of Tetley in her favorite mug. Grabbing the carton of cream from the fridge, she placed it next to the mug and headed to her bedroom to change. She discarded her scrubs and donned a dusky pink sweater and a pair of yoga pants. Another contented sigh escaped her lips. Vivaldi’s Spring floated faintly from the kitchen, bringing with it a whiff of lavender.

Back in the kitchen, she twisted her hair up with an ornamental chopstick, washed her hands, and began searching her fridge for leftovers that looked appealing. She pulled out a carton of chow mein, some baby bell peppers, and mushrooms. She laid the bounty out on the counter and was just reaching for some spices when her phone vibrated on the counter. Must be Rebecca, she thought, opening her phone.

It was not Rebecca.

On her screen there glared a name she had been trying not to think about for six months. In the last three, she had been mostly successful.

Jack Ryan.

She stared for a minute or two, wishing the notification would disappear, and she could go on with her night without any emotional turmoil. Her father’s pragmatic voice cut through her suddenly numb mind. “Wishing never did anybody any good.”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, schooled her face to an expression of calm indifference, and opened the message.

She frowned. Whatever she had or had not been expecting, this was certainly not it.

In a bit of a bind. Partner’s hurt. Help??

She almost laughed. ‘Help??’ It was ridiculous. Then her face sobered. Will I? She scoffed. How could she not? She began to type, and before she knew it, she had hit send.

Of course. Where are you?

No turning back now.

He replied almost instantly. Goodnite Motel on Kings and Philly. Room 204. Park a couple blocks away?

A strand of hair fell into her face. She swiped it back behind her ear. How is your partner hurt? What should I bring?

This time, she had to wait a full two minutes before he responded.

GSW to thigh. Think it might have hit an artery.

She frowned.  Ok. Do you know how to apply a tourniquet?

Yes

Do it. I’ll be there soon. Are you okay?

There was a pause. Then, Relatively.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that one before,” she muttered. Hang tight. I’ll get there as soon as I can.

She shook her head. “What have you gotten into, Jack?”

______________________________________________________________

Thirty-seven minutes later Cathy pulled into the parking lot of a busy shopping center.

She looked at her face in the visor mirror. With three deep breaths, she shoved the anxiety away and smiled, praying she looked like any other woman out on errands, and not a nervous wreck on her way to meet her ex with a secret government job and his shot-up partner in a seedy motel. I’m pretty sure I saw a thriller that started this way once, she thought, shaking her head. She met her eyes in the mirror. “What are you doing, Cathy?”

The idea of turning back briefly flitted through her mind, but she knew she could not. Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to three before pulling her coat more tightly about her and forcing herself out into the icy sleet. Hefting her largest purse over her shoulder, she locked the door and set off at a brisk pace, bracing herself against the wind and glancing over her shoulder periodically. It was already nearly dark, and she slid a hand in her coat pocket to ensure that her can of mace was still there.

Loose wisps of hair whipped about her face as she walked against the wind, stinging her eyes and making it difficult to read the street signs. Turning a corner, she saw the motel in question at the end of the block. Nearing, she noted that the neon sign over the door had several lights out, leaving only the perplexing message “G ODN TE MOT L” visible. That’s hardly encouraging.

Pushing the door open, she cautiously poked her head inside.

An immense receptionist sat doing a crossword puzzle, his cigar sending clouds of putrid smoke to glow with dust particles in the orange light of the bare bulb above his head. Her first thought was that he looked like he’d been working his job too long. He looked as though he’d turned to stone. He gave her only the sparest of glances as she passed before releasing a long-suffering sigh and returning to his puzzle.

She hesitated a moment more, unsure, before ducking up the stairs.

Room 204 was just to the left of the stairs. She paused before the door, suddenly breathless. Raising her eyes to the damp-stained ceiling, she offered a silent prayer and steeled herself. She knocked.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side of the door almost immediately, and then a low, “Who’s there?” (The doors didn’t even have peep-holes.)

“It’s Cathy.”

More scuffling sounds as the door was unlocked (with an actual key). Then the door swung inward, and Jack’s somewhat-the-worse-for-wear, unshaven, but oh-so-familiar face was looming over her. Lines of worry and weariness were etched deeply around his eyes and mouth, but they did nothing to suppress his boyish grin at the sight of her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. Inwardly, she cursed him for being so impossibly endearing.

He opened the door wider, his expression becoming serious. “Greer’s in here. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.” She stepped inside. “I’m a doctor. It’s what I do.”

“Right.”

She might have regretted her crisp statement, but at that moment she caught sight of her patient.

James Greer was sprawled on the bed, eyes closed, a blood-soaked tourniquet around his right leg, which was propped up on pillows that would otherwise have been beneath his head. “You’ve got the leg elevated. That’s good.” His skin was an odd, purplish color. She could see a towel, totally saturated with blood, on the bathroom’s tile floor.  

Jack followed her gaze. “Oh–here.” He extended the towel in his own hand. It, too, had a concerning amount of blood on it. Upon further inspection, so did Jack’s shirt.

Pulling the room’s single, rickety chair to the bedside, she sat to examine his wound. “You were right–the bullet grazed his femoral artery. I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, but he is going to need a transfusion. Do you know what his type is?”

“B positive.”

Her frown deepened. Her own was A positive–it would only poison him. “And yours?”

“O negative. Are they compatible?”

She shed her coat and began to unpack her purse. “Fortunately, yes. O negative is actually the universal donor.” She met his eyes. “Are you willing?”

There was no hesitation. “Absolutely.”

She nodded. “Alright. First things first. I’ll need to get the bleeding stopped.” She tugged on a pair of latex gloves.

“What can I do?”

“For now…wait.” She glanced up at him. “It’ll be your turn soon enough. Maybe get some rest? Or,” she gave him a pointed once over, “take a shower. You look like you could use one.” She smirked.

“No kidding,” he huffed, but made no move to go. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can–”

“You can get out of my hair, Jack.” She softened her words with a smile. “You’ve done what you can for now. My turn. When you’re needed, the nurse will come and get you,” she teased.

He chuckled. “Right. I’ll just…Right.” He grabbed a backpack from beneath the window sill and headed to the bathroom. The door squealed wildly on its hinges as he pushed it closed.

After a moment, she heard the shower running. She let out a sigh of relief and turned her full attention to her patient.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: There’s chapter one! There are a couplpe references to Aftermath in this story, so you may want to check that out first. Also, there’s a prologue for this fic, so if you missed that, it may be helpful for contextual purposes. ;) I’ll link those below. By the way, these are also available on ff.net and A03. My handle is Project7723.

I’m so far mostly unaffected by the corona virus where I live, but I hope this brought some enjoyment to any of you stranded at home! Wishing you the best. Stay safe, be well, and hoard your toilet paper.

Quick reminder–I’m taking requests/prompts now, so feel free to hit me up with ideas! I do have some preferences, so I’ll just link those, too.

Take your vitamins, kids. Author out.

Aftermath:

https://jackryanfanfic.tumblr.com/post/190584615907/aftermath-missing-scene-1x08

Prologue:

https://jackryanfanfic.tumblr.com/post/611939538664882176/pairing-jack-ryan-x-cathy-muller-genre-hc

Request Guidelines:

https://jackryanfanfic.tumblr.com/post/190676569367/taking-requests-yayyy

[synthes]

these garments of mortality are heavy. he is the blistered shoulders bent donning them.

layer after layer after layer, he tried peeling them to no avail. there’s no afterlife past the skin. just this, unshed as the spine curves. beneath the sun, he is another punctuated aftermath. beneath the moon, he is another pendulum’s aftertaste. no matter how bare he feels sometimes, with the crooked ridges of his ribs shivering underneath the cold shower he subjects himself to, the gunshots within the cage tend to simply rattle within. and still, he feels there are too many cloaks on his back. again, it repeats. rinses, lathers. again, until he forgets how it feels to be numb. he doesn’t believe in anaesthesia, already feeling none in the absence of it. hasn’t he been haunted by these wraiths thrashing beneath the weight of this stupor? their wings clipped. like birds… no, like beasts. small beasts. still beasts.

this image: the haunting. the poltergeists converge to become a simulacrum, and he does not know how to take that.

is it for the worse?

unhinges himself from the train of thoughts—this one does not typically make a stop anywhere. elsewhere, he is needed. at the right time, in the right place. he is this latitude intended. he tends to see himself in sepia, the colours that tint humanity faded, fading. the reflection in the mirror an apostrophe to that statement, the negative films now rolling. he is a motion in the portraits of two, wondering if the other half is alive on a nightly basis. the catalyst for this propels him forward. the crescent mounted on the skies beyond his full-length windows a reminder that they live in diminuendo, now. it does not sigh another song, another take. there’s no silhouette but his, again, tonight the tangerine against the tip of his tongue a blaze of white.

in tonight’s script, he is the haste. the typewriter that stops at the cursory glance. he washes his face, splashing, sloshing water regurgitates the fallacies of logic. there is never any room for non-contextual rationale. he is required to commit to the imperatives. so, he exits the bathroom, heading towards his bedroom. at the end of the day, crux is a name baptized, christened anew. he is to done the mantle again, night after night, the sobriquet’s post-mortem is rebranded with every death. tonight’s mission lingering in the finite chamber of his forefront. his hands stagger, for a moment, before reaching for his gears. putting them on, from limb to limb, his features slowly swallowed by the dark. he keeps the hood on to cover enough.

the night trembles. something about this is not right. he shrugs it off, for feeling this as a liability contributes more banes. a sharp inhale. two. he vacates the apartment building through the back door, sneaking past the alleyways. the target isn’t far, this self-assigned mission a distraction. the towering edifice now before him, he fixes his mask prior to entering. breaking in, the guards only need the splitting pain as the figure clad in black can walk past. a relative ease brandished, he slips past the walls. this is as effortless as licking his bloodied knuckles.

and in this, the enemy elimination is almost as smooth as always, bullets past the cranial structures disembodying him from the notions of being remotely humane. he likes his knives just fine as well, gutting the men standing too close to him. he reaches the target in a record’s time, seven minutes and thirty-two seconds to annihilate the entire building. he won’t attribute it to the animal he actually is. but feral he is, that he hisses under the fabric upon realising that the target has vacated the office. he detects the man on the rooftop through the mind, pinpointing the possible mind he can penetrate to impose the illusory pain. and heading to the rooftop, he isn’t met by the night’s objective.

instead, he’s met with a man in all-black, too. the exit door closes behind crux. he scans the impeding threat, now. he can infer that the man is with weapon, but he doesn’t bother concerning over that. he squints, his altered voice robotic as he speaks, “where’s  my target?” and when his inquiry is met with silence, he wills for the pain to manifest in the other’s mind, only to find that he loses track of his sight. fucking mutant, but crux is quick to grab at the glock, aiming at where the man is supposedly standing even when he’s deprived of his senses.

feat. @nouvelis: pak seojung.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Writing Advice (Part 1 of 3)

I recently stumbled across this writer ask meme about pieces of writing advice, and I was having so much fun thinking about it that I decided to just respond to them all!

1. Nothing is perfect

This is one of those truths that can be used for good or ill.

It’s easy to see the flaws in your own work, to hold your own writing to a higher standard than literally anyone else would. It’s good to say “nothing is perfect” to assure yourself that your work is good enough.

But if someone has called you out for using racist stereotypes in your writing, and your response is, “Well, nothing is perfect! So leave me alone and don’t tell me to fix it!” That’s bad!

Allow me to misquote the Talmud and tell you to keep two pieces of paper in your pocket, and take each out as you need it. The first says “nothing is perfect.” The second says “I can, and should, always do better.”

2. Don’t use adverbs

Adverbs are tools. Understand their purpose and use them wisely.

To prove my own point, I could not have written that second sentence without an adverb – “wisely.” The purpose of an adverb is to modify a verb or an adjective. It wouldn’t be enough for me to just say, “use them.” How should one use them? Wisely!

The best advice I ever got about adverbs is that they should be used when they are necessary for clarity.

If I write, “Sophie smiled happily,” that is not a necessary adverb. It is already obvious from the fact that I am smiling that I am happy. Using “happily” is redundant and uninteresting.

If I write, “Sophie smiled sadly,” on the other hand – that is necessary. The adverb changes the picture that you make in your head, and the sentence is more interesting as a result.

3. Write what you know

I get why people use this as advice. I’m much more a fan of saying “know what you write.”

Feel free to go beyond your own individual experience when you write – but for god’s sake, do your research. Expand what you know, so that you can write.

4. Avoid repetition

Like adverbs, repetition is a tool. Use it wisely.

What can repetition accomplish?

Emphasis – highlighting something as important.

Memorability – helping the audience remember.

Familiarity – we tend to like and believe what we hear over and over.

Musicians understand this. Listen to the Hadestown soundtrack and keep a tally of how many times Orpheus is referred to as “a poor boy” or Eurydice as “a hungry young girl.” Listen to the Hamilton soundtrack and count how many times Burr opens a song with “How does a –?” Think back on all the times you heard the new hit song of the year and you shrugged it off, but a couple weeks later, after you heard it on every radio station, on everyone’s Spotify playlist, in every YouTube ad – it “grew on you.”

The trick is using repetition just enough that it provides a useful structure, but not so much that it’s noticed to the point of instilling boredom.

5. Write every day

Sure, why not. If you write just ten words every day for a year, you’ll have nearly 4,000 words at the end of it – a short story. If you write a hundred words every day for a year, that’s almost 40,000 words – a decent novella. Writing every day is a good way to end up with something written.

But don’t beat yourself up if you don’t or can’t write every day. Writing takes effort. You have other things to devote energy to – work, school, groceries, cleaning, socializing, confronting your own mortality, finding out how season seven of Clone Wars ends.

I encourage you to notice all the things that you do every day which isn’t officially “writing” but is still a part of being a writer.

Now, this is something I struggle with. I go months without touching my novel, and it’s easy for me to dismiss that time as “not writing.”

But I send emails. And I write essays for school. And I jot down thoughts and dreams in my journal. And I read – you have to read in order to write. And I spend time on my walks and in the shower imagining dialogue and figuring out character paths and themes for my novel, all things that will help me when I do get back to writing it. And I have all the smaller projects I gave myself – this weekly blog post, my weekly poem or quote, my fanfiction.

If you’re a writer, then you’re a writer, whether or not you write every day.

6. Good writers borrow from other writers, great writers steal from them outright

I’m not sure what the distinction is here between “borrowing” and “stealing.”

Stealing is definitely a part of writing, though. I’ve written about this before – check out my old article on stealing bicycles as a writing metaphor.

7. Just write

Oh I am a BIG fan of this one. Even if you don’t know what to write, just write. So many pages of my journal open with the line “I have no idea what to write about.” Eventually, as you ramble, you start writing about what you wished you would be writing about. And then you find yourself actually writing.

8. There’s nothing new under the sun

Sure, but the art is in making something familiar feel new. I wrote about this a couple weeks ago in this Thursday Thoughts.

9. Read

Yes, yes, yes! Read to find out what’s out there. Read to learn the conventions of your genre. Read to ignite your love of the craft. Read to discover your people. Read to add tools to your toolbox (or pieces to your bicycle). Read to find agents and editors and publishing imprints. Read to learn what stories are not being told. Read to be a writer.

10. Don’t think!

Thinking is a tool. Use it wisely.

The best parts of my writing I’ve discovered not while writing, but while thinking about writing.

Just don’t think yourself out of writing altogether.

11. Write what you love

You’ll certainly be happier writing something you love than something you don’t love. You won’t love everything you write, though. It can still be good and valuable even if you don’t love it. But if you love it, or if you can remember why you loved it, you will come back and finish it.

12. Never use a long word where a short one will do

Forget the length of the word. Is it the right word?

To paraphrase Mark Twain and Josh Billings, the difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.

If you do find yourself needing to choose between two words with identical definitions, and the only difference between them is their length, then think about the effect of the word on your reader. Read the sentence aloud a few times with either option. Different words have different connotations; they evoke different moods. It may in the end just come down to which word feels right for this moment.

13. Less is more

No, it definitionally is not. See my above thoughts about adverbs, repetition, and long words vs short words.

All words are tools. All words have a purpose. Is it the right word for this moment?

14. Never use the passive when you can use the active voice

Again, active voice and passive voice are tools! They have purposes!

The simplest way to differentiate between the two is that active voice is “the girl threw the ball” and passive voice is “the ball was thrown by the girl.” Both make sense. Both describe the same action. But one places the emphasis on the girl – the subject – while the other places the emphasis on the ball – the object.

Are you trying to create a sense of immediacy, to immerse the reader in the moment? Use active voice. He did this! She did that! Bam! Pow! It’s happening right now, and we know exactly who did it!

Are you trying to create distance between the reader and something in the moment? Use passive voice. He was being followed – by who, we don’t know. Passive voice adds a touch of mystery or disassociation.

15. Show don’t tell

How do you show? How do you tell? There are engaging ways to do both, and boring ways to do both. Do what the moment needs.

In prose, I recommend setting up with showing and then hitting your reader with a tell. Say your protagonist is standing alone in a room. Then, a woman enters. Show the protagonist’s reaction to that woman – their heart pounds, they tear up, they grab a chair for support…

And then, in the narration: “Her mother had been dead for five years, and yet there she stood.” Bam! A well-placed tell which contextualizes the reaction.

Plays and screenplays come down on different sides of the “show vs tell” debate. Film usually does more “showing,” while a stage play usually has more “telling.”

This comes from writers leaning into the limitations of the mediums. The first few lines of any scene in a Shakespeare play lets you know the location and time of day, because they didn’t have the scenic or lighting elements available to show it.

While a film can cut to different places and times quickly and easily, many plays are set in just one or two locations to remove the need for frequent scene changes. A play will capitalize on the characters’ reactions to and conversations about unseen offstage events, while a film will show these offstage events.

These are not hard and fast rules, of course. Plenty of films stay in one location, and plenty of plays jump around from place to place. It’s worth noting that standard formatting for plays and screenplays highlight this typical difference. In a stage play script, the dialogue (what we’re told) is left-aligned while the action (what we’re shown) is indented. In a screenplay, the action is left-aligned and the dialogue is indented.

Neither showing nor telling is superior. They are both tools. Use them wisely.

To be continued...

[flamereign]

so i’ve always sorta wanted to make a short (ish) overview of lea’s mental/emotional state during & post kh3,  as the game in all it’s Disney Is For Kids!!! fashion glossed over a lot of the results, repercussions and consequences of going through the kind of trauma axelea went through. of course, this is based on my view of events ( i.e. lea did not relinquish his heart willingly and did not cope well at all to his heartless state as axel which does have repercussions on lea’s state of mind once he got his heart back ) and what i’d imagine that would do to a guy who spent about a decade in a really emotionally toxic environment basically suppressing his emotions / memories and even his past identity.  as i just want to give an overview, i tried keeping it as short and to the point as possible, but it did still get a tad long thanks to my tendency to ramble so sorry in advance ... 

in any case, thanks for reading!  here goes

during and early post kh3 lea gets easily overwhelmed by emotions. as i stated earlier, he did spent about a decade believing he couldn’t feel,  even resulting in him gaslighting himself whenever he did feel something. because he essentially lost his heart around age 15-16 you could say he’s basically still stuck in puberty, only with some added ptsd to the mix: lea literally has to relearn how to process and identify emotions within himself after a decade of suppressing them*. emotions, therefore, tend to hit him hard and fast, can take him utterly by surprise and he has difficult getting them back under control. this can lead to either an overreaction of a certain type of emotion ( for example laughter that turns to unstoppable giggles,  tears that turn to uncontrollable sobbing, mild anxiety that can flip to a panic attack at even the smallest triggers ),  contrary emotional reactions ( crying when happy, wanting to laugh when actually feeling angry or nervous, or even just a lack of emotional response when he's feeling sad ) loss of temper / anger due to embarrassment or even complete dissociation / a feeling of numbness. *see also point 3

this emotional overload leads to hypersensitivity especially if there are added outside stimuli; if it gets really bad even the touch of clothes against his skin feels like too much. in some cases, it can also result in a feeling of extreme depersonalization**, a feeling like he’s not part of his own body anymore,  like his consciousness is torn in every which direction and he’s about to splinter apart. his usual reaction is to isolate himself to a contained space with little to no outside stimuli ( so a dark, quiet and small space ) until he can come back to himself. if for any reason he can’t,  it will result in an anxiety attack or even him flipping to rage form and lashing out. **in this case, it actually helps him a lot of there is a weight placed on top of him to ground him back into the here and now: sometimes this means he’ll go sit in the shower under a really hard stream of water,  or he’ll go huddle into a really tight space or, if there is someone around he trusts, he’ll even calm down if they lay down on top of him as it also reassures him they’re real and they’re there.  anyone else touching him is a big no no in this situation, however. 

lea has a mild case of alexithymia as a result of the decade long suppression of his own emotions and feelings.  though this condition is defined as a personality trait,  in lea’s case it’s more of a result of that very specific trauma ( see also the point 1 ), and will get less impacting as time goes on and lea learns to readjust to life with heart and emotions once more. alexithymia is mainly characterized by: a) difficulty identifying feelings and distinguishing between feelings in the self and in others, b) difficulty describing feelings to others.  point a) also results in point 1 and 2 while point b) results more in point 4 below and actually makes talking about his experiences and his feelings quite taxing for him.

as a result of all of the above, he still shows a lot of avoidance behaviors:  deflecting ( mostly with humour or self depreciation ),  distracting himself w/ something else instead of letting himself process ( like, throwing himself immediately into training to become a keyblade wielder and saving his friends rather than, yanno, give himself some fucking time to breathe ),  becoming defensive or angry when people push ( exceptions here roxas / xion / isa / others, depending on plotted relationship, but even then it’s difficult for him to fully open up ) and he’ll rather avoid talking about the heavy stuff altogether for as long as possible, preferring to act like things are fine even if his body language and facial expressions clearly show things are, in fact, not fine. 

to add to the above:  unlike axel,  who had a kick ass poker face, lea has a really hard time hiding what he feels,  but that still doesn’t make it easier for him to express what he feels.  he may be an open book to others,  but it’s not as obvious to himself. of course contextually or depending on the situation he can infer whether his own state of mind is happy or sad or anxious and he does still have previous experience to draw on,  but if the context or situation can’t help him it could be that he cries but will not be able to say if they’re happy tears or sad tears,  if he feels unsettled he won’t be able to easily discern if it’s anger, if it’s frustration, anxiety or simply because there’s something physical going on ( lack of sleep / eating / oncoming illness etc etc ).  as you can imagine this is very frustrating to him and does not help the bullet points i already expanded on above. 

regardless of the motivations and traumas that guided axel’s behaviors and actions ( which i will make a separate post about ),  getting his heart back has been a quite eye-opening experience to lea to the extent he’s willing to go to survive,  to all of his worst qualities and sides and to the fact that he’s capable of doing the things he’s done:  his past as axel and the things he’s done are causing a tremendous amount of guilt, identity issues*** and even self-loathing culmulating in mild depression.  in short, the confidence he used to have as a kid and as a nobody have taken a big ass dent.  despite the fact that the keyblade has chosen him,  he often doubts and second guesses on whether he’s even worthy of it and had it not been for his determination to save his friends and fix past wrongs,  he might’ve even renounced that power all together thinking he doesn’t truly deserve to be a wielder.  this self-doubt and lack of confidence caused him a lot of issues in his training even getting the keyblade to appear and is, imo, one of the big reasons why he was overpowered so easily by xemnas in that final confrontation.  ***in my opinion, the traits of the nobodies can be seen as that actual person’s worst traits magnified -- in a way, axel can be seen as lea’s inner darkness: the selfishness, the impulsiveness, the temper, that manipulative side, the ruthlessness and the dishonesty are all traits that were already there, but were always balanced out and trumped by his positive traits. lea post kh3 has gotten to know a lot more about himself and essentially does not like the things he found out:  quite understandably he’s having a hard time accepting and reconciling axel with who he is as lea now and as a result he subconsciously tries to suppress the parts that are axel while consciously trying to accept them, which causes him to feel like he’s not sure anymore who he is and who he is supposed to be.  this only adds to the guilt and self-doubts he already experiences.  this is also why i thought that him letting other people use the name axel for him so easily was a really weird decision in the game. 

with his tendency to doubt his own worth also comes paranoia. one big example is the automatic suspicion he feels at nice / friendly gestures, actions or words -- a suspicion mainly borne from the thought that he doesn’t really deserve those,  or that it shouldn’t be as easy. especially during kh3 this will largely center around the other wielders of light or really anyone who’s known him as axel. 

a large part of the paranoia is also linked to his ptsd; he is very hyper-aware:  this can be hyper-awareness in specific situations -- for example he’ll feel uncomfortable in large crowds, or in spaces with low visibility, he’ll flinch at loud & sudden noises, will go from relaxed to ready to attack in the span of a second if someone or something startles him and he will shy away from touch from people he doesn’t know -- or even in a general sense meaning that in any given situation where things seem to be going well or he’s feeling happy he’s always in some part waiting for the other shoe to drop or for the situation to blow up in his face as some kind of karmic retribution. as a result, there’s part of him that has become very sensitive to change as any signs of abrupt and inexplicable change in his life will be interpreted as a sign of impending doom, to put it very dramatically. this in turn can feed into the emotional overload and bodily hypersensitivity i described further above. 

for that latter part, the same can be said about his relationships with other people. i don’t think it’ll come as a surprise to know that with everything he’s gone through and the losses he’s faced as axel, his part of the blame in that aside for a moment, lea has some major abandonment issues.   this also ties in with his low confidence, self-doubt and guilt complex: it’ll take a long time for him to trust that someone will actually want to stick around and part of him is also hypersensitive to signs of behavioral changes in others towards him -- in short, part of him is also always waiting for the people he cares about and who obviously also care about him to wise up about what a failure he is and consequentially leave him. if by any chance this does happen, even if it is through no fault of any party, he’ll always instinctively place the blame on himself, putting it down as something he’s said or done to make that person go.  as a result, if that person returns lea will be both clingy as well a avoidant as he a) wants for them to stick around and b) doesn’t trust them not to leave again, so it’d be better to simply keep his distance. 

the above also results in him not wanting to show his flaws, his doubts and weaknesses: he loathes failure, internalizes and bottles up a lot of his negative emotions towards himself and others and pushes himself beyond his boundaries often just to try and prove that he can ( despite not truly believing that he is ). he’s afraid that if the people he cares for and respect know about his doubts and fears, it’ll increase the risk of them leaving him behind. this is especially apparent in kh3 towards his fellow keyblade wielders: despite having his doubts about being worthy of the keyblade, it’s not something he would’ve ever said or shown, believing that if he showed any signs of not being able to handle the weight of the keyblade, they’d sideline him or boot him out completely. considering a big motivation for him joining the battle in the first place was to atone, to fix past mistakes by helping to save his friends, the idea of having that chance taken away caused a lot of fear and inner stress, resulting in frequent bouts of exhaustion and depression, more self-loathing, defensiveness and even anger if someone tried to critique his actions or question his motives. 

due to the above described symptoms of his ptsd, depression and emotional instability, he has issues with insomnia. whenever he does manage to get sleep, he also frequently experiences very vivid nightmares and night terrors. whereas as axel he’d turn to sleep to pass the time,  as lea he tends to avoid sleep altogether unless absolutely necessary.

obviously i realize that reading all of the above combined makes it sound as if lea’s struggling under huge emotional and mental strain every day ( and technically speaking he sorta is because this is not something that turns off from one day to the next ),  but i also want to add that lea himself doesn’t particularly think of himself as unhappy or depressed 24/7 ( or even at all ) so it’ll not always be super apparent in his attitude or the way i write him in threads. imo, lea’s strength has always come from his empathy, his mental fortitude and his ability to adapt --- and i don’t want to forget that on top of all the negative, he’s finally experiencing all the positive sides of having his heart back as well. this, plus the fact that, unlike axel, he actually has a support system to fall back on, friends that support him and who he can support in return, definitely help him a lot in his day to day activities. 

nevertheless the above are all factors i take into account to determine the way axelea thinks and chooses to react to certain situations and in his interpersonal relationships and are thus important to my portrayal of him. so to anyone who’s read this entire thing:  i love you from the bottom of my heart. 

[phytolacca-a]

Writeup: First Non-PGM Spell Performed- Third or Fourth Spell Ever. 11/27/19

At the time of writing this I’ve just done a nine-knot spell written in the latter half of the Call of the Horned Piper. It seemed like one I could try out. This will be a long post. This is written directly after working- this post will be edited and added onto once I feel that either it had effects, flopped, or somewhere in between. This will be marked with “EDIT:”

EDIT: didn’t work (which is fine.) I’ve tried to divine on why and what to do better, although I don’t fully understand the “why” I got. If anyone would like to give their input on the “why” or try help me out in understanding it, it’s welcomed. Readings will be at the end.

Nine-Knot Spell, Intended for Good Business and Finance Influx

I saw mentions of business for what to utilize under Mercury and figured, since it’s a Wednesday when I want to try this out (and was told via divination to go ahead and try “tonight”- I did this at like 3am and ended maybe just before 4am so it’s Wednesday.)

Prep: I showered beforehand (although it took me a little while after to begin this spell. The book said to use a deep blue thread on Wednesday, and when looking up colors corresponding to Mercury I saw white. Since the only thread I have is much too thin for my preference of this I combined 2 white threads and 2 blue threads to both thicken what I was working with and utilize a number I saw associated with Mercury (4.) I asked one of my object-spirits to help me with this and strengthen the spell. I lit a candle and tried to get in the “working headspace” to do the spell so I stared into the candle for a while (trying to kinda meditate, but as I’ve said before I’m horrible at it.) Maybe 10 minutes? I can’t tell. 

Procedure: I then began to knot the threads. The book tells you to try to focus intently on what you want out of the spell while making it so as I formed the knots slowly I tried to run through and focus on what I wanted (again, business related, and also to land a job) and I allotted time with mixes of “immediately, immediately, (immediately), as soon as possible, as soon as possible, (as soon as possible.)

Each knot was pulled/made as I said the corresponding phrases given in the book:

“One to start the spell upon, Two to pull the magic through, Three to rouse it mightily, Four for power strong and sure, Five to bring the spell alive, Six the magic might to fix, Seven for the secret leaven, Eight to turn the web of fate, Nine the hidden spell I bind!”

At the end of the tying I felt compelled to clap 9 times (in intervals of 3.) Don’t know if it did anything other than make me feel as if it concluded properly.

I wrapped the thread around my wrist (as it says to wear on person if the spell was intended for you.)

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

Immediate thoughts on what I could’ve done better: 

Although I tried to start out in a better headspace to do this, I was still very anxious and that nervousness and anxiety did persist through the working.

I’m not sure how much the object spirit I chose out of the two that felt like they wanted to help could actually help, since I have no idea what abilities they actually have and if they can directly help me. I did say that if he helped me I would refill my givings to them tomorrow so I will. 

Right when I began to pick up the thread and tie it the object (with the spirit)’s head fell from being propped up against the wall and startled me pretty hard. I think it might’ve grounded whatever I had done with the candle (not sure if good or bad?) Will divine on later.

The book calls for the knots to be... regularly spaced. I, unfortunately, didn’t realize how bad I am at tying knots with the same spacing until I did this. The thinness of the thread(s) did Not do me any favors... and neither did my super long nails. 4 knots ended up directly back to back (2 each) and the rest were unevenly spaced (albeit better than the first 4.) We’ll see how much affect this has.

I feel I could’ve done more... Coming to mind is to directly call on the planet Mercury (something Maybe like “Mercury, I call to you on your day to assist me in my endeavors under you.”) and maybe done something with the planet sign? I cannot burn incense in my current situation so unfortunately that isn’t an option right now.

Speaking of my room, I think I REALLY need to cleanse it properly. The last time I did so was 2 years ago almost exactly. I need to cleanse it and try to ward it from things I don’t want in here.

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

EDIT: Here I will attempt to write out my readings I got via cards. This deck is supposed to be mainly used via intuition & visual clues, though there is a list of interpreted meanings added on later. I try to mainly interpret Without the list, but when I’m really stumped I cave in and see if they make sense contextually. I think now that this is how I read, the cards seem to do a mixed bag of intuitive & listed.

“Tell me exactly why my nine-knot spell didn’t work”

Well, I’m having a really hard time trying to figure out what this means. An interesting thing I notice after writing down what I can interpret is that this is much more of a chaptered reading than I initially thought. The Omen through Divining seem to = Prepwork. Consciousness through Earth = Right as I started and throughout it. The Dragonfly = The tying of the knots. At least The Soul = the ending & after, and I think Visitation might have been a misdraw.

I asked if I am supposed to take the moon phases literally or not (i.e. when I should’ve done the spell vs. their spiritual meanings) and got Not.

Here is the closest I can get to interpreting this:

The Omen & The Spider- I had too little assistance didn’t have a clear plan on what all I should do. (Based on guide)

Duality- Well, if his was more based in the guide, maybe something about..... black and white thinking? If this was based upon the feeling of the imagery in context, this could be that I was too unfocused; too scattered.

Death- In the next reading, the Death card felt like a higher spirit. Not sure if its meaning is the same in this context, but if so, this could mean I had not called on a higher spirit.

The Heart, Waxing Gibbous, Magick, Waxing Crescent- I think this is about my anxiety and not feeling deeply enough or bringing up intense enough feelings about what I was saying and wanting it to do. I think the Magick card being encapsulated by both Waxing Gibbous and Waxing Crescent mean that^ and that there was not enough energy being raised and used while doing the spell.

The Crystal, Divining- The given suggested meanings correspond nicely together, though I’m not sure on the clear message it’s giving.. The Crystal says “hidden treasure, the core issue, synthesis.” Divining says “a search, finding a hidden source, latent information, need to dig beneath the surface.” These together might indicate I could’ve divined more either before or maybe during it but didn’t..? There might’ve been important information I wasn’t aware of.

Consciousness, The Obelisk, Earth- I think this might be talking about how I might’ve been too grounded during the whole thing. Again, pointing back to the lack of raised energy?

The Dragonfly- I think this is talking about me fucking up the spacing of the knots.

Visitation, The Soul- I... really don’t understand, at least not Visitation. The Soul might have to do with my immediate feeling afterwards that it wouldn’t work and my immediate theorizing on what I could’ve done better. (Something of note is that I think Visitation is the card I pulled and felt “maybe that shouldn’t have been added” but did anyway. It may be a misdraw.)

“How should I do better the next time I do a nine-knot spell?”

Honestly I think this one is much more understandable. This, I’m pretty sure says:

The Hive- Utilize and employ your spirits better. (The Hive seems to be signifier to the little uh... “community”? I have.) 

Death- Utilize/Ask/Call to a higher power/spirit. (Feelings based off of the imagery)

The Obelisk- Get some sort of (better) energy source. <- This one I used the “meanings” list and used the one that felt right.

Waxing Gibbous- Cleanse! Do more cleansing of your space/things/yourself.

Telepathy- I think this means to work on my psychic skills, focus, mindwork, etc.

Conclusion: It didn’t work, but it seemed to be a very good learning experience. I’ll have to read back on this the next time I try this. -I’m assuming I might’ve been right that I could’ve called on Mercury to assist me, or maybe a mercury-corresponded deity to assist me? This would then be coupled with some sort of offering that isn’t incense which I’ll have to think on. -I was right I need to cleanse my room. -I also am thinking that maybe I should somehow do this magic (and probably other spells) in front of where my spirits are (which is sort of problematic but I’m sure doable.)

[arotechno]

Intracommunity Thoughts

Okay, now that I’ve had a few days to reflect and move past my own visceral reactions, here are my Thoughts. This is mostly directed towards my fellow aroaces in response to this post by @arotaro, who very graciously took the time to clear things up regarding the latest alloaro/aroace discourse, but I think it can apply more generally toward intracommunity discourse in general. Please read her post first; I have no intentions of speaking over her, only of addressing my own complicity and hopefully helping to contextualize this discussion and push it forward. Under the cut, because I rambled.

I sometimes forget that I have a perhaps undeservedly loud voice on aro tumblr; I might feel like my voice is small, but I have a substantial amount of people watching what I say compared to other people I know, and that’s something I have failed to keep in mind from time to time when I open my mouth. So now I’m going to use that voice and say to my fellow aroaces: We’re allowed to have our own complicated feelings towards community issues without silencing the feelings of alloaros and non-SAM aros. Intracommunity issues are inherently emotionally charged, and it’s natural to have a gut reaction to things; however, as people we sometimes (likely unintentionally) let our gut emotions cloud our ability to perceive how someone else is feeling and get in the way of productive discussion. I think that’s what’s been happening here, and I am absolutely including myself in that. Any of my followers have seen me blow up over things that hit at some pressure point that other people coming at an issue from a different perspective could not have known about. I’ve decided I’m past that point right now.

This should be obvious, but everyone in the aro community is coming at every issue from a different angle; each of us occupies a different intersection of marginalization and past experiences that are going to shape our reactions to things. We can talk about those feelings without invalidating the feelings of others. We can process our own feelings of hurt and take a step back and ask ourselves why the other person is feeling hurt, and try to find some common ground.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion, but it’s the first time I’ve had a voice in it, so on a personal level my gut reactions as an aroace came from a place of fear, a feeling of “Oh god, not this again, this is going to be painful, I’m going to be forced to choose again” that I think others were feeling too. It’s a pretty common aroace experience to feel like you’re straddling a gap between two communities and the burden falls on you to be the mediator. But I don’t think that’s at the forefront of this discussion at all, and I don’t think that validating that experience should be mutually exclusive with acknowledging the very different pain of alloaros and non-SAM aros at all. As an aroace, you can say “I find the rift between the aro and ace communities particularly exhausting and hate feeling like I have to cut up my identity” and still listen when other aros say “The ace community, including many aroaces, erases me by calling my aro identity an ace identity and/or expecting me to either be alloaro or aroace and not treating my aro identity as whole.” Those statements aren’t even getting at the same issue, at least not explicitly. Our natural reactions to situations come from our own very specific experiences, and I think it’s important to contextualize those experiences instead of immediately going on the defensive.

I think it’s safe to say that the aro community, and the larger aspec community as a whole as well as probably a whole bunch of other communities that I’m not a part of, is very very good at being on the defensive, as that’s the position we’ve always been in. I think it’s also safe to say that nobody in this community has the intentions of ever hurting someone else; it’s just only natural that we’re bound to accidentally hurt each other, and we have to learn how to take a step back from our own feelings and discuss things without taking things personally that probably were never meant to be taken that way. It’s all about learning to step back, to ask for clarification, to provide context instead of only our visceral reactions. The bottom line is that even if we have other communities, for most of us the aro community is the only one where we can talk about being aro, and for that reason aro spaces mean a whole hell of a lot to us, which makes issues feel a lot more personal than they otherwise might. The fact of the matter is we only have each other, and if we want to move forward together then we need to learn to empathize with each other and strike a balance between letting ourselves feel and express our own hurt without making others feel prohibited from expressing their feelings too. It is easier said than done, but I think we’re better equipped now to do so than we were pre-discourse--I’m really hoping we are.

I’m rambling and this is starting to make no sense, so tl;dr I have been complicit in this from the start, and while my responses to the alloaro/aroace discourse stemmed from my own internalized emotions as an aroace, that in no way excuses my complicity in making alloaros and non-SAM aros feel unsafe expressing their feelings. The truth is that I was upset and frustrated and took things personally that I shouldn’t have, letting a miscommunication of intent spiral into a nightmare within my own head. Point is, I had a good shower-cry about it, took a step back, and decided to learn from this. To alloaros and non-SAM aros who I may have ever hurt or alienated, I am deeply sorry, and I want you to know that I have always loved you all and have never meant to hurt you or make you feel unwelcome or excluded, not when I know all too well how much erasure hurts. I’m willing to learn if you’re willing to let me.

[super-kristuff]

So, I’m kind of sick, and kind of bored, so I’m in the mood for a gigantic vent post about nothing in particular. Anyway, brace yourselves.

So like, I’m low key trying to chill and not exhaust any energy, so I was watching a lot of videos on the artistic merit of video games. I recently found this dude who is super pro small obscure games, and they are great at capturing a whole mood that matches the game they are reviewing.

Anyway, they made this video on Modern art and how video games factor into it all. I’ve always been kind of against modern art. Honestly, I’m kind of against photography. But, the video they did re-contextualized modern art in a really interesting way. Basically, modern art is about trying just weird things. It is about getting outside of what we call art. It is about having a thing that doesn’t fit. And like, what do we do with that? Obviously, a lot of people are against modern art because it doesn’t mean anything. It isn’t anything. But it’s still art? It means something to someone. And even if it is one secret thing to only one person, isn’t that still art? Doesn’t it deserve to exist?

Idk. Like, a lot of the themes they touched on really resonated with me for a lot of reasons. I guess, the reason I’m writing this, and the reason it is still bugging me instead of just being a huge revelation is because the video was a huge call to action. It demanded modern art be taken seriously, and it gave a ton of really good reasons that ultimately made me feel bad for not originally liking modern art in the first place. And like, idk. I don’t know how I feel about my own art? Like, I’ve mentioned it subtly in a few posts before now, but I don’t want the purpose of my art to be that it needs to be seen.

It was a huge step for me to realize that a few years ago when I started this all, and this video agreed with that mostly. Like, my art doesn’t need to have worth. It doesn’t need to have purpose. The way I view my art in a large part reflects the way I view myself.

Like, a few months ago, I realized someone might eventually see my sketchbooks. Like, once I die, surely someone will look inside? And I got worried. What if my sketchbook is the last remnant of who I am? Who will they think I am? And so, somewhere near the end of my current sketchbook, there is a page that just says, “Who are you? Fuck off.”

And like, I try not to cuss, but I realized when I wrote it that I kind of meant it. Like, I’m not worried about people reading my sketchbook. I think it would be kinda neat, but also, I can’t allow myself to think about that? To think about how others will perceive me after the fact. I need to live first. I want my actions, my art, to be mine.

Like, the reason I wanted to make this post is because I am really conflicted. (Or just, like, super sick? And I feel weird about this video because one of the teachers was like, “this should help”, and gave me something that I didn’t quite catch the name of. Idk. Like, I think it was a blood thinner, and now my headache is gone, but I’m still super weird feeling.) But like, also, I feel art should convey SOMETHING. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Like, I don’t know what the point of me is? Like, time is a lie. Like, I was super concerned about death for the longest time. Nothing I will ever do will last forever. Time is just too much. But like, also, it doesn’t matter because right now is very real. Time is a place. Time is right here. And so, it is possible to find purpose in the infinity that happens in front of you. And like, for the longest time, I accepted that I should try to find purpose through my connections with other people.

Like, people are real. People are here, and the way they feel matters. I can’t just focus on myself. I am made a better person by caring for the people around me. But like, also, I shouldn’t care what they think about me? Or like, I shouldn’t allow how they feel to shape who I am. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be me, right? Like, obviously, I need to learn from others and grow and not just solidify my own horrible ideals, but also, I need to find the things that define who I am.

And like. What is my art then? I always thought my art was the way I talk to others. I want to challenge the way people see the world, and so, I’ve always wanted my style to be this semi-comic realism. Like, it is something I think looks cool. It is something I can throw my weight behind and give purpose. And like, I guess, I also made a lot of things that weren’t that? I made a lot of things that were kinda just nothing. But like, they are still important to me because they helped me to become who I am today.

And like, is that modern art? Is modern art just the collective exercise of the unnecessary? But like, it is still important. Because it gets us all closer to how we want to communicate. Like, I think that is what I was upset about. Modern art isn’t a message. It is an open message on how messages could be sent. An example of the weird. The seemingly pointless.

Like, I also wanted to say a thing or two about depression. Like, I worry that having “Fuck off, I don’t need to explain myself” being a major theme of anyone’s art is kind of opening oneself to cutting them-self off from humanity?

Idk. This video was a lot. This post is a lot. I’ve been typing my thoughts for half an hour now? So, maybe I should go back to taking a nap? A shower at least.

Anyway. Goodnight void. Your perception of me will be forever tainted by the biased as fuck lens of reality.

[thetourguidebarbie]

hi! for the fanfiction trope MASH-UP, 48. fake dating, 97. time travel + klaroline

Again, some artistic license was taken. Also fulfills 21 (Dystopian AU) and 98 (curses). I AM VERY UPSET THIS GOT SO LONG. I’m *trying* to keep them mini. Prompt from this list.

Caroline hummed contentedly as she shifted on her bed, inhaling a familiar delicious scent that she couldn’t quite place. She’d almost drifted off again when the mattress moved. 

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled out of bed, looking at her surroundings and growing more confused by the second. Cream walls with framed paintings. A half-open closet door showing racks of clothes. A mahogany dresser with jewelry box and a framed photo settled on the surface. She approached the photo, reaching to pick it up, her mouth dropping open when she saw herself and Klaus.

“All right, sweetheart?”

She froze, barely managing to keep hold of the photo frame before turning around slowly. Klaus’s voice was low, thick from sleep, and she watched as he ran a hand through his hair in such a human gesture that she might have laughed if she weren’t so freaked out.

“Did you kidnap me?” she squeaked, and Klaus frowned.

“What?”

“You totally did,” she accused, trying her best to keep her eyes on his face rather than his tattoo, which she vividly remembered tracing with her tongue three months before. “You promised you’d stay away from me, and now you like, abducted me in my sleep and took me to your bedroom?”

He looked so confused that she briefly wondered whether it was possible that he wasn’t acting before firmly dismissing the idea. Klaus was basically a TV villain. Of course ‘kidnapping someone and then pretending to be innocent’ was on his shortlist of skills.

“Sweetheart—“ he began slowly, but she interrupted when she realized that the pajamas she was wearing consisted of Klaus’s shirt. And nothing else.

“What the hell is going on, Klaus?”

“I’m not sure, as last time we spoke you were perfectly content to be in our bedroom,” he said, the emphasis making her eyebrows fly up her forehead.

“What do you mean our bedroom?”

He stared at her for a moment, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head before he spoke. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“What kind of question is that? You literally met me on my birthday, remember? Are you so old you forgot how to tell time?”

“Seventeen, then,” he murmured, leaning back against the headboard, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Fuck.”

“What?” she demanded, and Klaus pushed the covers off and walked to the closet, ignoring her squeak as she realized how little he was wearing. He shot her an amused smile and grabbed a pair of flannel shorts from the shelf, handing them to her. She pulled them on, wondering whether it was creepy or cute that he knew her size and style and had clearly been stockpiling clothes for her.

“Time travel,” he said quietly, before pausing, his head tipped slightly to the side. “Well, not exactly. Close enough, I suppose.”

“Time travel?”

“It’s the year 2153. We’ve been together for the past 79. Eighty years in September.”

He said it with a small smile, threading his belt through the loops of his jeans and glancing at her. She was used to heated looks from him, a scorching drag up and down her body that made her heart pound in her chest, an ache throbbing between her thighs. This was different. It was softer, somehow. Warmer.

“Okay,” she said softly, dragging the word out as she glanced out the window, studying the lush green hills. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I suppose that in your current state it’s reasonable not to trust me,” he said softly, though he looked slightly pained. “However, I can assure you that I’d never lie to you, Caroline.”

“Right,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “So. Assuming you’re telling the truth, what exactly do you think happened? You said ‘time travel’ was close enough, but if that’s not it, what is?”

“Considering you didn’t pop up as another Caroline but instead inhabited your own body, I’m going to assume that you’ve been put under some sort of spell to remove or suppress your memory.”

Caroline swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit sick. “You didn’t...you didn’t compel me, right?

“No,” he said immediately, his tone firm. “I would never do that to you.”

She had no proof that he was being truthful, but something about his tone reassured her that he wasn’t lying.

“I suspect it was a spell of some sort,” he continued, pulling on a shirt. “I’ll make a few calls while you get ready.”

He leaned in as though about to kiss her but stopped himself when she twitched, pulling back and wincing. “Sorry, sweetheart. Habit,” he murmured. “Shower’s through that door. The robe on the right is yours.”

She’d always liked to pick out her clothes post-shower wrapped in something fluffy, and it was weirdly comforting to know that she’d retained her habits, and that Klaus knew them.

“Thanks.”

She was met with a cup of coffee when she emerged, the rich burgundy color indicating that it had been brewed with some blood.

“I’m not sure exactly when you stopped taking it with sugar, but we have some downstairs if—“

“This is fine. Thanks.”

He nodded, the motion jerky, and she took a sip, avoiding his eyes.

“I contacted a trustworthy witch, but she’ll take some time to fly over. Most likely a few days.”

“Days?” Caroline asked, eyebrows raised. “How much stuff does she have to pack?”

“She’s coming from Earth Four. With our private ship it’s a two day travel time both ways. We’d meet her halfway, but the party’s tonight.”

She had a lot of questions about that one. Were they in space? Earth Four? What Earth were they on now? However, another part seemed more pressing.

“Party?”

“Rebekah’s thousandth birthday,” he said, smirking slightly. “Well, not counting the daggered years.”

Caroline snorted.

“We’ve been planning it for half a decade. It would be the scandal of the century should you choose not to attend, I’m afraid.”

“And even more of a scandal for me to go and not be all over you, I’m guessing?”

“Indeed.”

They were quiet for a few seconds as Caroline processed. “We’re like...dating, right?” It seemed like such a juvenile word, but she didn’t know how else to put it. Klaus looked amused at her question, his lips tipping up at the corners.

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You suppose? I mean, what do you call me when you introduce me to people? Your girlfriend? Your partner?”

“I introduce you as Caroline,” he said, and she was a hundred percent sure he was making fun of her. “I’d forgotten how obsessed the youth were with labels.”

She glared at him over her coffee mug. “You’re still not funny and it’s been like....eighty bajillion years.”

“You’re Caroline,” he repeated quietly. “I don’t need to contextualize you for them to know you belong to me, love.”

“I belong to you? Gross.”

“And I to you,” he said easily, slipping his hands in his pockets. “As you point out to me often, not that I need the reminder.”

“Right,” Caroline muttered, fiddling the belt of her robe and staring into her now-empty mug. “Got it. I’m going to get dressed.”

“Klaus! Caroline!” a woman screeched, pulling her into an enthusiastic hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, dear. Such a treat.”

“And you as well, Melinda. I do hope everything’s going well with your real estate endeavors?” Klaus asked, smoothly giving Caroline her name and some sort of context.

“Oh, yes! Roger and I have just found the most perfect planet for summer homes. It’s lovely, really. The oxygen level is too low for humans, of course, so synthetic blood is the only option, but it has such a picturesque view—“

Caroline listened to Melinda go on about ‘summer location planets’ and a startup producing a line of luxury jets she and ‘dearest Roger’ were planning on investing in and it was....a lot.

“All right, sweetheart?” Klaus asked when he glanced at her face, his arm tightening around her waist. It still unnerved her that he knew her so well when she’d barely spent any time with him, that he could glance at her face and know exactly how she was feeling (and she’d thought her neutral face was pretty unreadable).

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. “Please, Melinda. Tell me more about the townhouses? Klaus and I have been looking for another summer place.”

Melinda’s eyes widened, and Caroline was pretty sure that the other woman was trying to calculate how much money she could get them to throw. “Well, the townhouses on Dionysus have been constructed by a large stretch of private magically-maintained vineyards--”

Caroline smiled and nodded, tuning Melinda out, highly aware of Klaus standing next to her with an expression of polite interest that she’d never seen him wear. Melinda must be some sort of ally, then. She seemed like she had a lot of money, and if Klaus wasn’t ready to throw her off the balcony she must be useful in some other way.

She waited for a natural lull in conversation before turning to Klaus. “I think I need some air.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Wary of the other partygoers watchful eyes, Caroline pressed a light kiss to his stubbled cheek, her lips lingering against his skin for a moment too long to be truly pretend before she pulled back, biting her lip at Klaus’s knowing smile. She knew there was a blush creeping up her cheeks, that her heart was pounding loud enough that the guests could hear it.

It wasn’t weird to kiss Klaus, right? They’d apparently been together for almost eighty years. Even if she wanted to think it was weird, and she totally did, she felt like she had to admit to herself that it was useless to ignore it anymore. She just couldn’t shake him. Their (amazing!) forest sex was supposed to get him out of her system, but it hadn’t. Had she ever really wanted it to? Or had she been too afraid of what would happen if she gave in?

And what was the point of holding off anymore, really? Her friends weren’t around to judge and it was a gajillion years in the future. She’d clearly already jumped this hurdle before she lost her memory. But still...

She tried to walk as fast as she could to the gardens without looking awkward.

She wasn’t sure she succeeded.

She’d taken Klaus up on the offer of the guest room down the hall from his (their?) bedroom, but when she woke she reached to the other side of the bed automatically, like it was muscle memory, looking for his body, craving his touch.

When she finally got up the nerve to poke her head in to see him, he was already up, a glass tablet in his lap with glowing letters scrolling across it. Neither of them spoke as she hopped into bed next to him, but she broke the silence after a few minutes.

“What’s that?”

“Tablet. Modern iPad, sort of,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring every season of your current favorite television show. I figured it would be entertaining enough while we wait for the witch.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, taking the remote from him and pressing the power button, her eyes widening when the painting on the wall melted away to show a television.

Once she’d gotten used to that, the next few hours were weirdly relaxing, and it took Caroline much too long to realize that it was because she felt safe. There weren’t any doppelgangers after her or witchy rituals she might get swept up in, and sitting next to Klaus as he scrolled through his tablet while she bingewatched her show was...nice.

Now that they were so close, sitting next to each other naturally as though they’d been doing it for years—well, Klaus had been, to be fair—everything felt right. He didn’t react oddly at all when she impulsively moved closer, slotting herself against him comfortably, simply looping an arm around her shoulders. He probably did it often, she thought. Older Caroline most likely hadn’t outgrown her love of cuddling.

“You and old me,” she began, breaking their hours of lazy comfortable silence.

“Yes, love?” Klaus asked, immediately setting the tablet on the side table and turning to look at her.

“You love each other.”

“Yes.”

“And how exactly did that happen?”

He didn’t look at all surprised by the question, and she wondered if he’d been expecting it. He seemed to know her well enough to have seen it coming.

“There was a war. Millions of people died. I kept tabs on you, of course, and when the city you’d been living in was completely destroyed I took a witch and set out to find you,” he said quietly, his finger absently tracing circles on her bare shoulder. “I was lucky. We managed to locate you before you’d been fully desiccated. Though you’ve never said so, I’d imagine you’d been hoping for a different rescue party.”

“Bonnie?” Caroline asked, her voice shaking.

“That was also your first question back then,” he said, smiling slightly. “Got to her in the nick of time as well. She wasn’t thrilled when she woke up a member of the undead, of course, but I think it’s grown on her over the years.”

“Right, so that’s how we met back up,” Caroline said slowly. “I meant the how did we get together bit.”

“It only took a few months, actually,” Klaus said, shooting her a smirk. “You packed to leave the compound at least once a week, but you always changed your mind at the last minute. Never because of me, of course. It was always something like wanting to help Bekah pick out another dress or the worry of missing the new episode of whatever you were watching.” His grin showed her that not only had she probably done it, but she’s been very transparent about it.

“Wow. I was not subtle.”

“You were not,” he agreed. “I let you think it through. Didn’t want to push you too much lest you change your mind. Coincidentally, the planet became nearly uninhabitable by then and you had to decide whether to leave with me or go off on your own.”

“And I chose you,” Caroline finished.

“You did.”

They were quiet for a few seconds before Caroline spoke again. “You’re going to give me so much shit for calling you gross when I’m me again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, though I have a feeling you’ll manage to distract me.”

“It’s one of my many talents, apparently.”

“Indeed. You have over a hundred and forty years of experience, after all.”

She grinned, looking down at her palms, which were face up on her lap, Klaus’s leg pressed against hers.

“I’m glad that we end up together,” Caroline said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I think I always hoped we would. Deep down.”

“As am I, Caroline.”

[greeksouvenirsbyaz]

replies

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your post “replies to replies”

"return rate" I know the struggle. 😊 I really love the pic of Andreas. So beautiful. At the first glance he looked like a different Person. Lovely!

declarations-of-drama replied to your post “replies to replies”

Totally agree with @tyrellsimsoficeandfire​ I didn't even recognise him! He looks lush!

Glasses seem to make a huge difference on a person’s image. I have explored that with Laurent D’Allegro, the protagonist of  The Last Canvas, and am now playing with it through Andreas and even Alvar (with his monocle on an off depending on his age).

As for the ‘return rate’, it sometimes hurts and disheartens me to have so few people reading my stories, and even less commenting -- but I do treasure each of those followers, and am writing and creating firstly because I love doing it!!

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your post “replies to replies”

@declarations-of-drama again, I see you are @andantezen 's biggest Fan

I am thankful to all my readers for their support and encouragement. Love and all the best to you all, always!

lifeasasim replied to your post “replies to replies”

Just look at him ahhhh 😍😍😍😍

lifeasasim replied to your post “replies to replies”

#teamandreas :DDDD

You coined that #, and brought to my attention that Andreas could actually be handsome... He doesn’t think of himself that way, though.

lollipop-rainbows replied to your post “replies to replies”

I love this pic :D

Thank you, dear, and for rebloggin it!! I’m trying to transport myself back to summer in Greece with this story, and the pics sometimes capture the feeling...

danjaley replied to your photo “The temperature seemed to decrease as, leaving the port behind, one...”

This problem with naming things "the new..." or "the modern..." actually shows most impressively how fleeting all things are!

Yes, impermanence. But people could have learned by now... Yet, I thought it was a neat detail to bring into the story and contextualize the island of Simnos.

lifeasasim replied to your photo “Yet, the only thing Andreas could feel was the sun hitting hard on...”

Always love your writing and I could feel what Andreas felt

Thank you, dear. This might have been a bit too graphic a description of him sweating, but we do get to feel it like him, right?

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “Andreas realized it would he hard, if not impossible, to extract any...”

The Old man really looks like a Greek. Reminds me of some guy in a German Feta Comercial. They always look like that 😊

Haha, that observation made me lol! I have never seen any of those commercials, but I guess Uncle Alcandros looks either typically Greek or stereotypically Greek, and both are good :)

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “Andreas realized it would he hard, if not impossible, to extract any...”

But would you mind telling me how you created a donkey? With sliders? I'll need one for upcoming posts

There is a donkey template at MTS. And yes, I have many animal sliders -- but it is the resizer that actually does the trick to make a horse look more like the size and height of a donkey!

tyrellsimsoficeandfire replied to your photo “Andreas considered pretending not to hear or even understand the...”

Has Andreas a Tattoo down there? A Butterfly? Just noticed sth colourful

It’s been there since the beginning, he even mentioned feeling the need to gently scratch it since it were itching HERE, though we actually see him scratching it HERE and HERE... It’s a default tattoo by EA, just wings, and we shall see more of it when he goes to the beach or takes a shower or goes to bed... whatever happens first!

lifeasasim replied to your photo “Is it?” Just then, as if underlining his doubts, Andreas thought he...”

Awww look at him smiling  😊

I had to edit that smile, though, since Sims do look positively mad or silly when smiling in game... It’s not so bad, is it?

simblu replied to your photo “Is it?” Just then, as if underlining his doubts, Andreas thought he...”

Strangely, I did not get comment bubble on any previous posts in this series. Damn Tumblr. But it was all so beautifully shown and marvelous writing... as usual

I know... It happens to me too. It could be because one follows Andante Zen but not Greek Souvenirs, and then they cannot comment on GS... But you follow both, so it must be another glitch from glitchy Tumblr...

Thank you for enjoying my writing, for the encouragement and support! There is a lot of effort in all this, and I’m happy someone sees it :) 

declarations-of-drama replied to your photo “Yet, the only thing Andreas could feel was the sun hitting hard on...”

I hate that hotness, hope he gets to have a shower soon

That’s the least should happen once he gets to the hotel, I think... Shall we watch it, too?

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

~(Oh wow look at that another untitled fic)~ [Pre-Road Trip Fic; 4500 Words]

[ISEB Author’s Note: Apologies for the delay on this one—I had hoped to have it out by this time last week, but WonderCon threw a wrench in my best-laid plans (as conventions often do). This story features the same redhead of my past Ignis fics, which means there’s some contextual references that might perplex you if you’re new to The Ignis Scientia Estrogen Brigade; I’d offer to link those fics here, but Tumblr has an annoying habit of omitting my posts from their proper tag searches when I do, so my suggestion would be to simply scroll back and locate the two other untitled Pre-Road Trip fics I’ve written in the last several weeks. (And no, the redhead doesn’t have a name; at this point it’s turned into somewhat of a running joke, so she likely never will.)

I fear my smutty writing chops might be getting a little stale, so another apology is in order if reading this feels a bit like déjà vu (I doubt anything will ever top that breakfast table fic I wrote a while back, sadly). I’d like to revisit the redhead at some point in the future, since this time frame is ripe for all sorts of headcanons, but my next planned story is an Ignis x Male Suitor fic; after that, it’s onto some NSFW Blind!Ignis goodness, in addition to catching up on what’s left of my inbox. As always, my eternal thanks goes out to everyone who has liked, followed, or reblogged my meager Specs offerings; while I can’t make any promises, I have a little special something in mind regarding everyone’s favorite strategist when I reach 500 followers!]

Ludicrously NSFW

She tries never to fall asleep after they’ve made love; four o’clock in the morning comes rather abruptly if the redhead lets herself nod off in the aftermath of their relations.

But he wore her out a bit more than usual this evening, so she lingered in his bed and set the alarm on her cellular for a quarter of to give herself enough time to brush her teeth before she needed to be out of his apartment when the next change of guard took place. And now that alarm was pealing in her ears, even though it felt like her head had just hit the pillow moments earlier.

She fumbles through the darkness to quiet the annoyance, and is relieved when it finally falls silent. She then reaches for the lamp on the nightstand and blinks away the sleep from her eyes as the room brightens; her hand moves absentmindedly to the space next to her, but she knows even before she clutches the empty sheets that he isn’t there. She has never witnessed the strategist in a state of unconsciousness before, not even at four o’clock in the morning, not even in the privacy of his own home, not even after they’d made love three times in as many hours and she can barely stand upright, much less resist the urge to immediately pass out afterward.

She heaves a sigh; she shouldn’t really care that he’s never shown the slightest bit of vulnerability around her—although the requisite of sleep is scarcely a sign of weakness—but she does just the same. Maybe it’s because Ignis Scientia looks at her differently when he’s not wearing his spectacles, and she wonders whether she is seeing a side of him few ever have. Or maybe it’s because that facet of him is just beyond her reach, and she’s carelessly allowed herself to grow too curious about him in the first place.

She casts aside her disappointment along with the comforter and searches for the clothes he liberated from her in the heat of the moment. She finds her blouse and trousers at the foot of the bed easily enough, but her panties have somehow made it all the way to the ceremonial daggers hanging on the far wall. As she disentangles the black lace from one of the gilded blades, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee swirls in her nostrils; she’s been over to his apartment so many times now that she’s beginning to think he’s intentionally conditioning her to associate him with the smell of Ebony.

She manages to dress herself in spite of her drowsy stupor, and wanders out into the kitchen; the lights are on, but he’s not there, either. Instead, she finds a pot of coffee percolating on the stove, and quickly pours herself a cup before the temptation of more sleep lures her back into his bedroom and under his warm blankets. It’s only when the hot liquid pools down her throat and stirs her senses that she notices the sound of water splashing from inside the bathroom.

So she follows her ears, and stops tentatively at the door. When she receives no response to her light rapping, she opens it gingerly a pokes her head inside. “Ignis?”

His lanky silhouette is visible behind the frosted glass of the walk-in shower. “Morning, Darling. Did you find the Ebony I left out for you?”

“I did, thank you.” She steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind her, then sets her steaming mug down on the sink. “I seem to remember asking you not to call me that.”

“My apologies. It’s just that I call all my lovers ‘Darling’—makes it easier not having to recall every one of their names when there are so many of them.”

She snorts as she reaches for the sole item she keeps at his residence—a spare toothbrush. “Just how many lovers do you have at any given moment? Or is that another one of your little mysteries?”

“Could be one, could be a hundred. Who knows?”

She then squeezes a dollop of paste onto the toothbrush, shoving it into her mouth as she turns on the tap. “It certainly isn’t that many,” she mumbles. “There isn’t enough room in your medicine cabinet for a hundred toothbrushes.”

“Is that jealousy I detect in your voice?”

“Hardly. I just think I would’ve sensed a slight drop in your raging libido by now if you were keeping a plethora of secret paramours from me.”

The sound of water splashing against the tiles drowns out whatever witty response he might’ve had, and she finishes up with the task of brushing her teeth before turning off the faucet and glancing back at the shower. After a moment, she tiptoes over to the sliding glass door and opens it a crack.

She’s somewhat surprised to find that the strategist doesn’t wear his ever-present glasses even while showering, half expecting him to peer over at her through two foggy lenses. But his face is sans spectacles, his back turned toward her, and he’s gliding a razor over one cheek without the help of a mirror. When he doesn’t appear to be aware of her surreptitious spying, she resigns herself to indulging in the sight of his sculpted and dripping backside.

“If you think I don’t notice your ogling,” he says after a time, “then you underestimate my hearing capabilities. I’m nearsighted, not deaf.”

Her face immediately flushes hot, and she moves to close the sliding door. But he has it barred from the other side with his foot, and he rinses his razor off under the stream of water before finally turning to face her. “It’s fine. Just thought you’d like to know you aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.”

He has never been particularly modest around her, and right now is no different; he props a hand on one hip, his nudity on full display for her viewing pleasure. “Noted,” she says, not quite averting her gaze.

He turns his attention back to the job of scraping away the stubble of his other cheek. “I presume you’ll be leaving shortly?”

“Soon, yes,” she murmurs, and then furrows her brow. “How in Eos are you able to shave without a mirror? I can’t imagine trying to reach the back of my knees with my eyes closed.”

“My vision’s already poor as it is, and it’s only worsened as I’ve gotten older.” He gives one last tug across his jawline and feels around for any rough patches he may have missed, then rinses his razor off again before replacing it on a caddy near the shower head. “Might as well get used to doing it by touch before I’ve gone completely blind.”

“Why are you even taking a shower at this Astral-forsaken hour? Didn’t you sleep at all while I was in bed?”

“No, but I like to get an early jump on the day. There’ll be plenty of time for me to catch a few winks later.”

She frowns. “When?”

“Oh, you know. During council meetings. When I’m waiting around for Noct to drag himself out to the Regalia.” He dunks his head under the stream of water and slicks back his tawny hair. “It’s easy to get some shuteye when I’m sparring against the likes of you.”

Her green orbs narrow at him when he tosses her a wry grin. “Awfully cheeky this morning, aren’t we? I ought to spank you for that.”

“Go on, then. See what happens.”

She briefly considers following through with her threat, until he leans over and plants a damp kiss on her cheek. He then turns back toward the shower head, and she moves to close the sliding glass door; at the last moment—and against her better judgement—she quickly reopens it and directs a outstretched palm aimed squarely for his left buttock.

If she thought she had a daemon’s chance in daylight at catching the strategist unaware, however, she is sorely mistaken; he intercepts her wrist mid-strike without hesitation, and she has only a heartbeat to register the malevolent smirk on his face before he is pulling her into the shower with him and directly under the flow of hot water.

“You wretch!” she yelps. “You know bloody well I don’t keep a spare wardrobe at your apartment!”

She dances away from the oncoming torrent, but it’s too late; her clothes are already drenched, her red hair plastered to her forehead like a drowned rat. “Curiosity killed the Coeurl,” he quips. “It’s not my fault you have the reflexes of a dying Flan.”

She clenches her fists and throws a halfhearted punch at him; he deflects her second assault as easily as the first, and draws her closer under the shower head. “Really, Ignis,” she growls. “You’re acting ridiculous.”

But his long arms are wrapping themselves around her shoulders, his bare chest pressing up against her shivering body, and she can feel the hackles on her neck lower when he touches his lips to her ear. “Come now, it’s only a bit of water.”

Any expectations she had of leaving before the four o’clock guard change evaporate with the steam of the shower when his fingers drift toward the closures of her tunic; his mouth is at her neck now, his warm breath mingling with the hot water trickling down her tresses. “How are you not utterly exhausted?” she asks. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

He releases the final button and peels her out of the wet garment. “Having trouble keeping up? You’re welcome to bow out of our arrangement at any time.”

It’s less of a demand and more of a challenge; she’s certainly never felt the least bit obligated to entertain his advances. “You didn’t even let me finish my Ebony.”

“I’ll brew a fresh pot later,” he murmurs, and reaches around her torso to tackle the clasp of her undergarment.

The rhythmic sound of water hitting the floor around their feet echoes the beat of her rising pulse; he guides her against the tiled wall as he discards the sheer article and drags his lips across her collarbone. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, relishing in the sensation of his strong hands massaging her breasts; at the back of her mind, she surmises there are worse ways to be woken up in the morning.

His fingers then move south and lower the zipper of her soaking trousers, just enough for him to slip a hand beneath the waistband of her underwear. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels him penetrate her folds, and he covers her parted mouth with his own to stifle her gasps. Her hands search for something to hold onto, but there isn’t much to grab; his smooth chest is still slick with soap, his fingers resolutely occupied with teasing her sex, so she settles for pressing a palm firmly against the growing rigidity between his legs.

There was something oddly tranquil about moments like this with him in the early morning twilight, with nothing but the sounds of running water and her soft moans to break the silence of the otherwise sleepy apartment complex. He drops to his knees and grips at the sides of her legs, stripping her of both her pants and underwear in one deft maneuver; relieved of the last of her sopping clothes—and feeling newly awakened—she reaches for his damp hair and sifts through the feathery strands of his temples.

But her fingers automatically tug back on his scalp when he nuzzles the sensitive spot between her legs. “Darling,” she says, entirely aware that she is breaking her own rule, “you don’t have to do that. There are other ways of making me happy that don’t involve the risk of drowning.”

His ears evidently don’t work as well as he claimed, and the water cascading down her hips and around his mouth appears to have no discernible effect on his breathing cycle, because he ignores her caution and continues his delightful probing with a rough tongue. Her knees buckle slightly when he presses a finger inside of her, and she clutches at his shoulders to steady herself.

Perhaps the palace rumors of him entertaining the company of the men were true, and that a handful of his hundred secret paramours were equipped with a sword rather than a sheath, but the redhead is wholly convinced that the strategist has a sixth sense when it comes to pleasuring the female form. Because he isn’t focused solely on just her sex; his hands are everywhere at once, and when his strong fingers aren’t buried within her warm flesh, they’re gliding over her belly, gripping her buttocks, lightly pinching her nipples and eliciting a cry from her lungs. It’s the kind of full-body attention that makes her nub ache and her head swim with delirium, and had the tiles not been slick with soap, she might’ve very well climbed the walls of the shower like a Wyvern out of hell.

The old familiar fire in her lower abdomen is roaring now, and at edge of her hazy thoughts she is reminded of all the times she’s sparred against him; he is as precise with his tongue as he is with a set of daggers, predicting just how her body will react to his touch as easily as he parries her lance, and no amount of writhing beneath his erotic torture can seemingly deflect his advances. For the redhead knows that when Ignis Scientia sets his sight on a goal, he is on a single-minded mission toward fulfilling the duties relegated to him; Woe to the Astrals should they ever get in his way, she thinks.

Her hoarse pants mingle with the echo of water hitting the tiles, but she can’t hear anything over the sound of her own pulse screaming in her ears. She has half a mind to leverage a knee directly across his jaw if he doesn’t conclude this delightful misery soon, because the gentle way he is raking his teeth back and forth over her tender hood is becoming borderline intolerable, and the hands he has clasped around her waist are thwarting her attempts at escape. As the pressure inside her nears its tipping point, she can almost imagine him uttering the phrase he uses when supervising his pupils in the Citadel’s fitness center—One last push should suffice—at the back of her mind.

It’s only when her orgasm crosses its threshold and her arms flail desperately for something tangible to grab hold of that she realizes there’s a reason mother nature intended for copulation to occur in a horizontal position with all four limbs in contact with a stable surface; were it not for his strong fingers gripping her hips and bracing against her violent bucks, she might’ve split the back of her head open on the wet floor by now. The hot water pouring down her neck and shoulders matches the warmth spreading throughout her abdomen, and she stands rigid against the tiled wall for several numb moments before he draws himself upright and silences the last of her whimpers with a kiss.

He then brushes a lock of wet hair away from her face and gazes down at her through earnest eyes; she knows it’s up to her whether they continue this twilight dalliance of theirs, because Ignis has rarely ever proven covetous in his desires. He’s a giver, always giving, always making sure the needs of others are met before his own, whether it’s to the crown prince and his comrades, or to his pupils, or especially to her. That was just the person he was, and although she doesn’t quite understand the motives behind his undying loyalty to the citizens of Lucis, she recognizes when he needs a gentle push to indulge in his own simple requests.

So she turns away from him and places her palms on the frosted glass doors, because returning his generous favor doesn’t mean she has to risk breaking her neck in a fit of passion, and keeping two feet firmly planted on the floor is likely the safest bet. Her eyes flutter shut when she feels his fingers trace the outline of her spine before he moves to cover her hands with his own; his lips graze her ear as he whispers her name—not Darling, but her real one—and gooseflesh ripples across her skin when he leans his taut chest against her back.

The hot water cascading down both their bodies is nothing compared to the searing heat she experiences when he presses himself inside of her. She tightens her fingers around his and lets out a gasp, but all evidence of her ardor is lost in the echoes of the shower. His response is more subdued; his lips are at her neck now, his teeth nipping gently at the soft flesh of her shoulder, and he pushes himself more fully inside of her when she tilts her hips up against his slender waist.

His nimble hands then drift down to encircle her torso and caress her breasts; she shudders as he begins to move his iron-clad hardness within her walls, and her hands slide down the shower doors, leaving behind a trail of streaky fingerprints on the foggy glass. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek with each of his methodical thrusts, forcing herself to be patient, forcing herself to allow him to take his time, willing the urge to scream out in ecstasy away, even when all she really wants right now is for him to prove he is prone to the weaknesses of ordinary men by ramming her hard up against the tiled walls.

She doesn’t have to be patient for very long, however; his human side is showing, because his movements are becoming less restrained, his gentle nips turning into more insistent love bites. He reaches down between her legs and massages his long fingers against her sex; the flesh there is still sensitive from his earlier ravaging, and she can’t quite stifle a cry of pain mingled with pleasure as he drives his hips against her backside. Her palms slip from the door when his thrusts meet the edge of her resistance, so she resolves to press her entire body against the frosted glass to stabilize herself.

Suddenly, his movements cease. He retrieves his hand from her thighs and withdraws from her, taking a step backward under the shower head. She glances over her shoulder at him, perplexed; he does this sometimes, halting abruptly near the apex of their mutual momentum, for reasons not quite apparent to her other than the strange expression of remorse on his face.

“Apologies,” he says, as the hot water trickles down his chiseled cheeks.

She turns to face him and frowns. “What ever for?”

He gestures to the marks of her nose and lips imprinted onto the foggy glass. “It seems I let myself get a bit carried away. I know you’re tired—we can finish this another time.”

Damn him for being so selfless, she thinks. “I’m fine, really.”

“It’s all right. It was impolite of me to get your clothes wet—if we stop now, there’s a chance you can still make it out of here before the next change of guard, although you’ll have to leave with a damp wardrobe.”

“Ignis,” she pleads, as she closes the distance between them, “I don’t want you to stop. Not ever.”

Ah, there it is—that look. The one he gives her when he’s not wearing his spectacles, reserved only for her and the few people who have managed to break through his aloof defenses long enough to witness the humanity behind his enduring stoicism. Something changes in his green eyes; the strategist may present a facade of calculating coldness to the world and everyone around him, but the redhead knows that Ignis Scientia’s blood runs as hot as Ifrit.

He traces tentative fingers across her left cheek, then leans over and kisses her fully on the mouth. She can feel his erection still hard as a rock pressed against her belly, and she snakes her arms around his neck as she chases after his tongue. His temperature is rising along with his fervor; the electricity running through her veins channels the heat of his wet skin, and in a deft maneuver that belied a remarkable amount of strength, he grasps at her thighs and lifts her up off the floor entirely.

Her back is planted firmly against the tiled wall of the shower, her ankles locked fiercely around his narrow waist, and when he buries his warmth inside of her, she is unable to contain the cry of rapture that escapes her lips. Had she been in a more coherent mental state, she might’ve had cause for concern; her build was more athletic than waif-like, and his wiry frame wasn’t the obscenity of muscles like Gladiolus Amicitia, either. One wrong move and they may both wind up with severed spinal cords, and death by drowning—in a half inch of water, no less—wasn’t precisely the way she had expected to meet the Draconian.

But at the edge of her mind, she knows she is safe in his arms; his grip over her legs is secure, his cadence steady, and when he covers her mouth hungrily with his own, her worries of tasting the floor tiles melt away with the water circling the drain around their feet. Her spine is braced against the wall, which leaves her arms free to wander—and wander they do, her hands clutching at his biceps and her fingernails digging into the soft tissue of his shoulders with each deliberate thrust.

For someone who was hefting the mass equivalent of a small Voretooth across his hips, Ignis’ face is surprisingly composed; he’s not afraid to look at her as he drives himself ever deeper into her warm body, and she longs to get lost in the depths of his eyes. But there is something there, something she can’t quite put her finger on, some particular wheel that is turning in his head and driving him slowly toward madness, because the way he has his jaw clenched is not so much a sign of his intense focus on the task at hand, but of a man who is precariously close to the point of no return.

She can feel his rigidity strengthening inside her, his heartbeat pounding furiously against his ribcage, and she can sense the quickening of his breath in his lungs. Her breaks her gaze and closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers as he resigns himself to the inevitable; his hips tremble through his final throes, and he climaxes quietly—just as he always does—while his fingers tighten and relax around the back of her knees in time with the pulsing of his spreading seed.

For a long moment, the only motion coming from within the shower is the water pouring out of the faucet; the redhead and the strategist are locked in a statuesque embrace, as if the two have succumbed to enemy petrification. Ignis eventually releases his vice grip over her thighs, and she slides carefully down the tiled wall until her feet have returned safely to this plane of existence. It’s only a small mercy that he touches his lips to hers one last time before his features recede back into passiveness; her heart aches when the look of longing in his eyes disappears, and he moves away from her to open the sliding glass door.

“I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer,” he says, wrapping a towel hanging on a nearby hook around his glistening waist. “They ought to be ready before the eight o’clock guard change, if you don’t mind waiting a few more hours.”

“Sure thing,” she replies, not quite concealing the melancholy in her voice.

He then plucks her cold cup of coffee from off the sink. “If you want to finish showering, I’ll brew a fresh pot of Ebony. It’ll be ready when you get out.”

“Thank you.”

And then he’s gone, stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him, and she’s left standing alone under the stream of hot water. She knows it’s pointless to begrudge his remoteness—it was all part of their agreement when she initially involved herself with the strategist—so she reaches for a bottle of shampoo instead and consoles her sudden despondency by replaying the events of the last several minutes in her head.

The aroma of coffee percolating on the stove greets her when she finally exits the bathroom wearing a plush bathrobe. His bathrobe, to be precise; he left it out for her when he opted for a towel, and she surmises that even in his heightened state of indifference that always seemed to follow in the afterglow of their lovemaking, his heart wasn’t entirely made of stone. She treads lightly toward the kitchen and sees his lanky form leaning against the countertop, fully dressed, bespectacled, and monitoring the color of the brewing Ebony.

“Would you consider inspecting the perimeter of the complex before I leave?” she asks, as she runs a towel through her damp hair. “I’d just as soon avoid an awkward conversation with the crown prince should he happen to wake up earlier than usual.”

Her brow furrows when she receives no response; it isn’t until she moves further into the kitchen that she notices the dark liquid heating on the stove is at nearly a full boil, and her eyes dart over to the motionless figure standing beside it.

It takes all the willpower she can muster not to burst into audible giggles; Ignis’ eyes are closed behind his glasses, and his chest rises and falls beneath his shirt in a peaceful rhythm. The man literally sleeps standing up, she thinks. Like an Astral-forsaken Spiracorn.

She supposes that lays the palace rumors of him having a magitek generator in place of a brain to rest once and for all, although what to do with him now was another question entirely. For a moment, she simply appreciates the sight of his uncharacteristic humanity; the requisite of sleep was scarcely a sign of weakness, after all, and the features that were so often lined with the weight of the burdens he carried were now blissfully serene. Eventually, she opts not to disturb him, and simply tiptoes over toward the stove to turn the range off.

She then glances at him one last time—his chin is resting against his chest, his glasses drooping slightly across the bridge of his nose—before moving back toward the bedroom. It would be another thirty minutes or more before her clothes were dry, and another few hours before she could leave his apartment besides. Above all else, she was bone tired; whether she truly could keep up with the strategist was still out for debate, so she sets the alarm on her cellular for a quarter of eight and silently prays she’s satiated his desire for intimate activities at least for one morning.

[remembermemorablememories]

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

post #225

main points:

- conversion interviews!!

- lunch with john out on patio

- functional test logic update and request review

- update experiment expiration date

- update layout and try to figure out icon resource issue (unfortunately with no luck)

- brief break bumping into harvy in hallway

- melee with ian, eric, mansfield, raghav, and john

- grab takeout dinner/more polish on layout pixel values

- uber back home, getting back around 8:30pm

- chill on youtube for a long while/do school’s mandatory training

- catch up on blog posts (wrote up friday, saturday 8/17 and 8/18)

(writing this on tuesday august 28, finally catching up)

today i:

- woke up a little earlier than usual, around 8am. wanted to prep myself for my interviews. i washed my hair a bit, put on a dress shirt + hoodie, then ubered to work

- my ETA to get to the office was 9:20. the express pool added like 2-3 people, maximizing the possible time that express pool does for its guarantee. like how it’s usually like “arrive at x location no later than y time”. it’s usually a high upper bound and you arrive at the destination much earlier. but this time, it was pushing it as far back as possible. sigh. thank god i left early

- went to the cafe, got some breakfast. bumped into vishal briefly but mentioned that i had my interviews soon (at 10am) so we ate separately/individually

- went up to my desk to drop off my stuff around 9:40am. then walked over to 900 to go to the meeting room where i’d have my two interviews 10am-11:30am

- i showed up to the room and was surprised that there was no white board... yikes. that’s not good. i forwarded the email with the link to where i’d be coding from my personal to my corporate email so i’d be ready. i waited in the meeting room. it turned 10am. then... 10:05am. then... 10:08am. i was a bit confused, wondering where my interviewer was. i pinged him and he replied that he was actually trying to call me because he thought it was a phone interview. he said he had tried to call me. i looked at my phone (which had been facing down/on silent) and saw several missed calls. whoops :P 

my interviewer took a few minutes to come over to the meeting room and then we got started around 10:15am. we pushed the other interview back a bit as well.

- the first interview went okay i think. i feel like the question he asked was practical and fair, and also really interesting (it was a contextual problem in relation to where we work). i felt like i could’ve communicated my thoughts much better though. i stumbled my way through the problem, eventually getting to a working solution. i forgot some stuff in python though, like how to get the key that has the max value. overall, i think i’d give myself a 5/10 on that interview... like the solution seemed to work, but my communication was terrible. i think if i had a white board, i would’ve been able to draw out the problem when i initially started to get a better intuition

- the second interview also went okay i think. i feel like i communicated a bit better in my thought process, but still kind of stumbled my way through. i also got to a working solution but i struggled a bit on the nitty gritty details. i also was unsure of the trie data structure since i hadn’t used it in a while. it was a pretty interesting problem, and there was a second followup part that used the function from the first part which was cool. i think i’d give myself a 6/10 on that interview :/

- left the building with my second interviewer and went back to my desk. it wrapped up around 11:45am. so overall it was from 10:15-11:45am due to the late start

i feel like overall, the interviews were okay... the questions were totally fair, i just wish i had communicated my thoughts better. 

- went out to the patio to get lunch with john. we chatted a bit about plans for the next semester. he might visit boston as part of a business recruiting trip :D

- went back up to my desk. updated the functional test with the existing generated response from the old implementation’s test and then everything seemed to work. i submitted it for review again. then submitted it. 

also submitted a very small PR for updating some expiration dates

- began to update the layout to mimic the old implementation as closely as possible. also tried to update the icon for one of the options but the problem seemed much more complex than i had thought because the icon was a custom resource that needed to be referenced some different way... i spent a while trying to resolve it but decided to call my losses and work on everything else in the meantime

- also took a brief break, bumping into harvy in the hallway. he wanted tos how me something that he had worked on (a quick hack)

- went to play melee with ian, eric, mansfield, raghav, and john. raghav stuck around only for a short while. mansfield and john too. eventually it was just me ian and eric. we played rotations and i got rekt by both of them. it was a chill time though

- went downstairs to get dinner around 7pm. got takeout and brought it back up to my desk. i was screenshotting my implementation with the old implementation and literally just alternating between the two to see where i could update the pixel values

- ubered back home, getting back around 8:30pm. i hung out on youtube for a bit, watching david dobrik’s vlogs from last friday and this monday. while i was watching all of this i completed my school’s mandatory sexual assault training on a website. idk why we’re forced to do this, especially as non-freshman, but oh well... time passed by pretty quickly with youtube playing in the background (where i was actually focusing my attention on)

- finally caught a break and tried to catch up on my blog posts from the weekend. i wrote up friday 8/16, saturday 8/17 and 8/18. whew

then i probably showered and slept.

the end