#always forget that old english exists to be used rather than humored

[yarrowhark]

went into the game thinking it was “✨SLAY✨ the princess 👑💅🏼” not.. y’know, “slay the princess.”

[ldouble]

Helluva Party | Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: As a former employee of S.H.I.E.L.D (on the very front lines), you're somehow pulled into attending a notorious Tony Stark party. That’s where you meet Steve Rogers, officially, and the two of you weirdly click. Two people - trying to make a new life, who keep getting sucked into their old ways.

characters: steve rogers x reader

The elevator effortlessly glides up, but your stomach feels like you’re on the twistiest and turniest roller coaster. You have to put a hand to your torso, repeat the words you tell patients when they feel sick for no reason, remind yourself it’s nothing.

Therapy is one thing to talk someone down from. When you’re calming someone down, its because they’re about to do some major self discovery, scientifically aided, and healed if not completely cured.

They have no reason to worry.

And neither do you.

But Stark Tower is intimidating. Especially when it hosts everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You got a fresh start last year. S.H.I.E.L.D fell. Your work dried up. There was no where else you were needed. Enough had been accidentally cut on your watch with your knife throwing skills. So you did what you always wanted, before your deathly hobby turned into a career. You were now working as a psychiatrist. You got out of your own head to get into others.

Now, you were suddenly crawling back into the brains that you had almost become.

The stop of the elevator had you poised to hit the close door button, ready to make your way back down to the lobby to grab a cab home to your apartment. But your psychologist mind took over, the practice what you preach mentality overtaking, and your finger fell.

By the time the doors opened with a ding, your chin was up and head held somewhat high. It was the quickest reset you had ever performed. If only you had your notorious notebook to jot down how it had worked so well.

You had just remembered the old receipt in your clutch (dated with the last time you dressed up which was ages ago) that you could write on when someone yelled your name. At the sight of Natasha Romanoff, the idea of writing down your findings flew out the window.

“Nat!” You smile, accepting the Russian’s hug.

She reciprocates the action, asking more questions than you usually got out in an hour session with a routine client.

By the time you had make it to the bar you are filled in on all she had been up to, the details of the latest mission in retrieving of Loki’s scepter and all things Bruce.

Natasha gulps at you look once she finished retelling the doctor’s recent findings with the tesseract. She was already shaking her head at your silent implications when you placed a gentle hand over hers.

“As a doctor myself,” Natasha rolls her eyes at the mention of your new job. “No one talks that much about me unless they like me way more than a doctor.”

Natasha bites her lip, mumbling something about how you outfit was too nice to kick me. You laughed, a hearty laugh you hadn’t felt in ages. Upon seeing her recognize the newfound happiness you shooed her behind the bar in ask for a drink. 

She waltzes away giving you just enough time to collect yourself once again. You hate to admit it (acceptance was always the hardest step of grief) but you missed her. You missed the days of fighting, working, living and saving.

It was harder to see the goals you met in your new line of work. It took years to build a client base, see your patients make progress, feel like you’re helping people when all you can do is listen.

It never felt good to kill someone. The sound of a blade whipping through the air was satisfying but nothing felt better than knowing there was less person doing the opposite of helping. Hurting. Hunting. Killing.

So why did you feel like you were doing something similar not being in the field?

You blink the thoughts away, turning to wave Nat down for something a little stronger than a beer when you saw her chatting it up with none other than Dr. Banner. You shake your head, your eyes moving back down the bar.

Your focus is caught by a brooding blonde. A literal God, named Thor. But its his neighbor that makes you freeze. Tony Stark never really had that effect on women (it was his money that enticed them not his looks) but the mere sight of him makes you gasp.

Your last conversation hadn’t been the most pleasant. You had refused a job at Stark Industries, believing you needed a clean break. He had pressed you to the point of pure anguish. The last thing you remember saying to him was something along the lines of, “You can’t ask me to stay to help you sort out whatever that is.” With a point at his head.

You quickly turn around, not wanting a repeat when he already had a glass of champagne in his hand. Sober Tony was obnoxious. Intoxicated Tony was a whole other level of big headedness.

You make your way through the party, ignoring the likes of anyone who looks remotely familiar. The few who had stayed loyal to the real S.H.I.E.L.D rather than turn in favor for HYDRA had come over, just like Tony asked you to. It was unclear who was worse to be trapped into a conversation with - someone who knew why you were no longer involved or those who didn’t.

You find your way up to a second floor hallway, one side looking out onto the party while the other faced the skyline. Uninterested in people watching (a reason that sounded much more mature than not wanting to be recognized) you face the large windows out onto the city.

You spin on your heel, your eyes traveling from the lights outside to inside when your eyes glaze over the very face of the Avengers.

But it isn’t Captain America’s face that caught your attention, rather the conversation his friend was spitting.

“Avenging is your world.” Sam Wilson, The Falcon, shakes his head into space, before turning to face the party just across the aisle. “Your world is crazy.”

It was your turn to shake your head, biting your lip in a weird resonation of his words. His next words, be it ever so humble, about the entire situation.

He was right. You know it, too. This world of fighting was hectic. Chaos. It really shouldn’t exist. But then you’d look out over some fancy party and it’s be easy to grasp. It wasn’t the alcohol or glamour, it was the aura that it had.

“You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”

The Super Soldier held back his own chuckle. “I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.”

It was hard to believe but easy to understand. It was an expensive burrow. Still, you found yourself laughing under your breathe.

Sam said something about home being home, which you also understood, but only between a laugh. Your breathy sound ends just as Tony’s favorite team member looked back at you.

The next thing out of your mouth was a gasp for air, followed quickly by a cough you tried to cover up. You face the window, trying your best to play it off. The sudden eye contact scares you. First it was the fear of being recognized. That outrageous thought was quickly thrown out.

The thing is, you hadn’t exactly...met him. It felt wrong to even think of him as Steve Rogers when you’d never been introduced. Anytime Nat mentioned him you couldn’t believe the first name basis they had. You weren’t starstruck - not by a lot. You’d spent time in labs with Iron Man and the Hulk. You grabbed coffee with Black Widow. Thor had given you a freaking birthday gift.

No super soldier named Captain America scared you.

Except the one sidling up next to you now.

“Hi, there.” He says, bending down to grab your attention.

And right then, after feeling immense anxiety and worry of coming face to face with anyone who worked for the thing you had left behind, you felt perfectly comfortable in front of their very leader.

You’d been listening to Tony too much, through Nat. Captain America was the elected leader. Tony just made everybody look good.

“Hi.” You say, bringing yourself out of your head.

His blue sparkled, a lopsided smile reaching his lips as his hand reaches out to you. “Have we met?”

“Almost.” You say automatically, the word being more of a thought you wanted to keep than share. You shake your head, correcting yourself. “No.”

“Steve.” He says after learning your name. You can tell the way he locks it away, his eyes slightly closed as if grabbing the word from your mouth and putting it in storage. “I’m sorry, were you almost put in ice too or did you see me through a subway door closing?”

You can’t help the smile on your face, his humor and charm exactly what you expected. “No.” A hand find your hair and you watches the way his eye tracked the small scar on your finger. It was from when you were five. You cut yourself with a knife, a knife you weren’t supposed to be holding. From that point on your swore you’d never hold a knife again if you didn’t know how to use it. You thought that meant culinary school. Not becoming a dagger throwing agent.

Your other hand traces the mark, that runs from the tip of your left pointer finger to the center of your knuckles.

“I used to be in a similar business.”

You watch Steve accept the answer, silently deciphering your words. To relieve him you continued, now having a better thought to go off of. “I save people. From themselves.”

“I’m a psychiatrist.” You conclude, wanting to put him out of his misery. You crack a smile, earning one from him. He bobs his head, looking out into the city, thinking. You could tell, again, facial cues. You did a lot of listening and watching now. A few years ago you would’ve thrown a blade to trap his shirt against a wall while another went to his throat to demand a response.

You sort of like watching him form his words.

A question, expertly designed, was on the tip of his tongue when a booming voice yells his name. Thor waved from below enthusiastically. You quickly turn, not wanting to start a conversation with the God of Thunder. He always seemed to get you into existential conversation. In the old English, and it being so late, you couldn’t handle it.

“Don’t leave him waiting or else he’ll send Mjollnir up here.” You say, already backing away.

Steve looks up at you, a playful smile hinted at his lips. But it didn’t reach the surface, curiosity and confusion at your sudden departure the priority.

You want to stay. But the thought of explaining...of answering...even the oh so amazing Captain America, has you wanting to run back to the elevator.

The only reason you exit the conversation rather than the entire building...is the slight beat of your heart and reddening of your cheeks at the idea of talking with him again. Unlike Thor, you could even get into all the existential stuff with him.

Exactly what the super soldier would deem too out of the box is on your mind when you run into the one person you don’t want to see. The host himself.

Tony takes you under his wing, literally, walking you around the party. Surprisingly enough, not once does he convince you to come back to work. He asks questions and wants to know all about you.

You oblige, enlightening him with tiny details. Your lack of confidence in the authenticity isn’t from lack of trust, but because you spend more time inquiring about him. Wordlessly, that is your psych perception takes over as you study him. You conclusion: he’s only asking about lowly you because he’s sitting high and dry. Which isn’t a new thing for Tony Stark, tech mogul and THE Iron Man. But something tells you his latest win isn’t one just shared with the public yet. Too good to be true, even to the optimist that is Tony.

He leaves you, letting you walk around for the rest of the party. Hours pass, partygoers dwindling both from the penthouse and your data set to people watch. Numbers low on who to analyze, you turn around in a circle, sure you couldn’t have taken in every person in attendance. A full 180 and you come face to face with the man with a target on your back.

He makes sure of your hunch, that he’s had it out for you, with the sly comment, “You ditch a Brooklyn boy for some Staten Islander?”

You look over your shoulder, playing along. “I was actually waiting for this guy from Manhattan to fetch me a drink.” You look back at him, his head titled in focus. You stumble for a moment, not used to the attention being on you. To the floor you say, “I don’t think city guys are good at service.”

“it’s a damn good thing you’re with a soldier.” He smiles, offering his arm as he steps beside you.

You hesitate, your knowledge on attraction and how one simple touch can lead to a million mistakes and miscommunications. You let your head take over your heart this time, walking ahead of him. “Last I checked, Captains don’t fetch anything for someone else.”

Accepting the (slight) rejection, Steve joins into step with you, his hands stuffing into his pockets. “You make me sound like Stark.”

“We all sound a little like him after too much time together.” You shrug. Catching Steve’s curious eye, clearly wondering how and when you worked with Tony, you saddle up behind the bar to distract yourself. “It’s called mirroring behavior. Say, I grab a beer you have a higher chance of doing the same just because of me.”

Steve smiles at you over the counter, watching as you open the bottle and take a swig. “But what if I just like beer?”

You roll your eyes, bringing the cider to your lips. “Or so you say.”

“You’re good at your job. Tony help you with that?”

You nearly choke on your drink. Why? It’s a toss up for the unexpected question or the tone of jealousy you think you detect in his voice. Upon looking at him you can’t see if your suspicion is correct. He’s casual, leaning an elbow on the table and gazing around the room without a care.

When his eyes find yours again you can’t help but trust him. You deem it the authority he has within his role, rather than something like the way he looks at you or how cute he is, before answering. “He wishes my career took me here. But after the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D,” It’s Steve’s turn to look at you to ensure trust, your words an unspoken truth among so many secret keepers. “I found my way into a new line of work.”

You turn to your left, finding a spec on the marble to transfix on. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even chastise you for so openly talking about the failure of his former employer, you look up at him. Only for your eyes to track his, to none other than your hand.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the can opener. it was a wine/bottle mix and you had the corkscrew raised and the entire contraption being spun in your hand like....like a knife.

Mirroring. In a room of superheroes and fighters, you resort back to your own ways. You remind yourself this is exactly why you weren’t supposed to come when Steve speaks.

“Reading people?” He asks, genuine interest in his voice. You see his eyes barely flit back to your hand, forcing you to set the church key down, but ignore it, just like he is choosing to do. You nod. “Can you read them?”

You follow his finger, stifling a laugh when it lands on Nat and Bruce, clearly flirting just down the bar.

“Reading, not pointing.” You reprimand with sarcasm, quickly covering his hand. Heat travels up your elbow, your hand flying back to the cold corkscrew for comfort as you clear your throat. Steve’s eyes wanders away and for a second you think he felt it too when you shake your head. There are patients. No time to dilly dally.

After a moment you say,“From a psychiatric point of view, I’d say the male is exerting immense amount of dopamine, just getting by the stressors and paraysmpathic nervous system. Whereas the female’s self esteem is battling her body’s immediate release of cortisol.”

Steve looks up at you, his mouth hung open. As dryly as you can, you say, “He likes her and she likes him.”

It sparks a laugh from both of you, a long one that doesn’t end till he puts his hand over yours in an effort to stop. You let it rest, liking the feeling of the cold marble and his warm hand more than any old corkscrew.

“So how you going to diagnose them?” He asks, clearing his throat and suddenly removing his hand.

You tilt your head toward the pair - an assassin and a man who can’t control his killing - and take a second to think. That second is when Nat decides to leave, gliding past you effortlessly. As she walks by you say to Steve, more so to yourself, “It’s hard for people to hear the truth.”

Steve is looking over to Bruce when you tip your head back to him. You can see the question on the tip of his tongue and you want to stop him but he’s too quick.

Don’t play cupid, is the second most common thing you say to clients. Right after the ‘truth is hard to hear’ piece.

You can’t help but put your head in your hands when he outrightly says Bruce and Romanoff “is nice”. It’s a psychologists worst nightmare. Not the one you thought you’d see play out but it’s happening, so you can’t help but listen.

It’s the way Bruce stumbles in reply that sends you walking down the bar. You throw Steve nothing but a “watch yourself’ look before listening from your new spot.

You clink your nearly empty beer bottle on the counter when Bruce comes up with an excuse. It does more than you plan it too, as it grabs Steve’s attention and has him going for another one and making his way over to you. You can’t help but notice the way he smiles sincerely at his friend when announcing himself a leading authority in waiting too long. The statement makes you pause, but not long enough to miss Bruce asking about exactly how close Steve was to Nat’s flirting..

“Pointing works.” He says when he arrives in front of you, the unopened bottle extended (if not pointed) directly at you.

You accept, clinking off the cap with the opener still in your hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

He watches you take a sip, his eyes once again telling more than he thinks they do.

Your hand, once again holding the opener in the knife-life way is his next question. For once, you want to keep the conversation about work.

“My job is to listen. What you just did was talk.”

Steve mulls it over, taking the beer form your hand and tipping it back. He holds it out you, in offering. “OK. You talk. I’ll listen.”

You bite your lip. Knowing this could be bad. There’s a reason you listen. Talking...it’s like any pointy object for you. Someone always ends up stabbed.

Then again, how seriously injured could Captain America get? You already have one scar. A “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” shaped wound could be your next story.

A new blemish never arises. You don’t even feel so much as a pinch of pain. Talking to Steve, for hours, makes you feel about as painless as you been ever since you left the line of work.

Then again, your old career never makes an appearance in conversation. He did ask about your current career so that’s what you talk about. Psychology. Which leads to music. TV. His favorite food and how its Apple Pie. He doesn’t listen when you insist Pumpkin is better.

Your love of Chinese food is perfectly timed to the late night order, scoring you a seat and a plate at the after-party, so to speak.

That’s where you find yourself, on the couch with a small cluster of people. Most of which are the ones you had planned to ignore. Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Maria Hill, and Nat don’t as much as eye you suspiciously, thankfully. Besides, you mostly people watch, only talking when Steve wants some insight on whether or not Thor is really spiking his drink or giving him something watered down.

You share a look with Thor, encouraging the addition of it into Steve’s next beer, when Clint questions the God’s almighty hammer. You laugh when Clint looks at the thing bewildered at his inability in to lift it.

Steve joins you in softened laughter at Stark’s attempts. His head finds your shoulder when Rhodey and him quarrel about representing in their effort to pull the hammer off the table. But he refuses to make so much as a peep when Banner tries to “Hulk” it up, saying he doesn’t want to hurt the guy’s chances with Nat.

Before you can tell him Bruce could do no wrong in the red head’s eyes, it’s Steve’s turn. The way he rolls up his sleeves, making it clear he’s taking it seriously, has you silent. You can tell a lot by a person in the way they go about a challenge. it doesn’t surprise you at all, despite the short time you two have talked, that Steve goes for it.

It’s no shock at all that your attention switches to Thor. The look of panic, which you’re sure only you are watching, astounds you. Never once had the God been this nervous. But here he was, holding his tongue as Steve nudged the alien club up.

Steve comes back to you in defeat. You offer him a supportive pat on the back, having his eyes for all but a moment until everyone’s eyes land on you. Recognizing Nat just turned down the offer you shake your head. “Lift with your brain, not your weak bones.”

Steve gives you an impressed look, opening his mouth to call you out when Hill remarks the use of bad language.

“I had a feeling you’d be a stickler for that.” You theorize aloud.

Steve looks at you over his shoulder, raising a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” You reiterate.

Thor proves you all wrong, effortlessly lifting his weapon of choice, declaring no one worthy.

The group laughter is cheerful and it warms your heart. Something about comfort between all of these people who live so dangerously, intrigues you. Your mouth opens to ask Steve how he’s come to trust them when a high pitched noise floods the space and has you covering your ears.

Your breath catches at the sight of a botched bot, standing in the shadows. Its robotic voice, oddly human, has you biting on your lip. It’s been a while since you’ve been faced with anything worse than a crying client.

Something tells you this won’t end in tissues and a hug.

Steve, who stood upon the unaccounted for noise, says Tony’s name with more frustration that you could ever imagine coming out of the man. You look up to him in surprise, only to look back at the way his hand is flexed in front of you. It’s a poor job at guarding you but something tells you that if he had his shield within reach he’d have grabbed it already.

The bot piques yours interest, his mumbled statements about his own sleep like unscnoius state making you nervous. The way he’s so...real...takes forefront over Tony’s own whispering. But even without your focus directly on him, something tells you he’s unsure. It’s never a good sign when the host is surpised.

You slowly stand as the intruder fumbles with himself. You’re studying him so discreetly you actually wave away Steve’s warning hand.

“You killed someone?”

“No he didn’t.” You murmur, only loud enough for Steve to hear. He gazes back at you for a moment and you shake your head, confirming your suspicion. The...thing in front of you is no real killer. Not yet.

When Tony’s voice rings out from the bot the tension rises in the room. You couldn’t cut it with a knife it’s so thick...which takes a lot for someone with the throwing capabilities of yourself.

You don’t mind it, knowing the pressing threat stands in front of you rather than beside. The wise words erupting from the in flesh Ultron has you racking your brain...about nothing less than the brain in front of you. Computers have never outsmarted you. Then again, it’s been a while since you’ve been around Tony.

His building - in tone and message- signals something much more violent is about to begin. No sane person builds a mountain of words not to stand on it later. Maria Hill cocks her gun as you take in your surroundings. You believe a chopstick to be your best option for a weapon, at least one you can throw, when the crash of walls begins the battle you were really hoping not to get into tonight.

It’s like Steve senses your lack of protection, taking it upon himself to upchuck the table for cover. Instinctively, you crowd down in front of the couch, just missing the hit that Steve takes with the attempted cover.

A big part of you wants to make sure he’s OK, scream his name and chase after him, but it’s not the time. People come to you to recover with your help. Steve isn’t one of those people.

So, you go into survival mode.

You army crawl across the room, watching every disappear from the main level. They’re smart enough to find cover and/or a weapon. You, out of practice and way out shape, head across the room...you know, to the empty space ensuring no safety.

Catching sight of Nat, now armed, you duck down knowing there has to be a gun stashed somewhere. It’s not your first weapon of choice, having never trusted a bullet as much as a blade but something is better than nothing.

And nothing is what you find.

You graze every table you can, certain it hasn’t been long enough for you to forget what a gun feels like, when spot Nat and Bruce flying up the stairs.

Sure Nat has already pleaded with the doctor not to turn green you avert your eyes to Stark, flailing on the back of a bot with what appears to be a fondue fork. You’d kill for a fondue fork right now.

What catches your eye instead is something much less picking. It’s perfect timing too as you spot Dr. Cho crowding behind the piano, face to face with a waist up robot, hand glimmering and all.

In a split second your hand grasps around the candlestick and you toss it through the air. Despite the noise you hear its whistle and while it’s really not the time, you relish the sound that you missed so much.

It hits the neck, chopping off its head just as Steve clambers on top of it, chucking git to Thor to smash, to ensure it’s no chicken working with its head cut off.

A shield wizzes past your head, slicing another member of Ultron’s army seconds later.

Its lonely leader speaks next, chilling the charged air.

Before you know it you’re flinging the other candlestick (it is a set) at Ultron, stabbing his arm. It earns the tines looks of him before a dry chuckle. You don’t take your eyes off of him despite the stare you know you’re getting.

His next words are directed at you. “You just didn’t think it through.” His knowledge of what feels like the entire world makes you believe that while his idenity is still a mystery, yours is not to him.

Your presumption is all but proved when his crumbled form sings the infamous Pinocchio song. Not once was it sung at the party. Everything his at his finger tips. Yourself included.

The blue of his eyes fade but he surely doesn’t leave the room. Tony sighs, clutching himself on the stairs. Thor breathes heavily hwile Nat looks worridely at Bruce, who appears on the edge of vomitting up all the food he didn’t eat a the party. Cho looks terrfiied. Hill and Rhodey on the lower level.

That leaves Steve. Watching you.

In four steps he’s at your side, his hands on your arms as he checks you out. Not like that. You remind, tell, yourself its not like that as you meet his eyes.

“Im’ fine.”

"That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Guess you’re better at reading people then.” Humor has always been your go-to. There’s not anything much heavier than blood and blades. The least you could do is quip something light.

Steve steps forward, his voice dropping just for you to hear. “I was going to say you’re a damn good throw.”

The End

[stupendousbookworm]

"I speak fluent English, French, German and bullshit"

"Do you think cinnamon rolls have a separate life before we eat them?"

"Rowan, can books fly?"

"What if every star in the sky represents a soul that departed from the world? I wouldn't mind ending up there"

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Name: Ara Annora Rose Black

Nicknames: Ara Bear, annoying bitch, black, cursed kid

Gender: Female

Age: 16

Sexuality: bisexual

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Blood status: Pureblood

Date of Birth: 18th February 1973

Ethnicity: French/British

Nationality: British

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In front of the students of Hogwarts, she's the infamous curse breaker; a person not to be messed with. But in the eyes of her friends, she's the silliest and idiotic Ravenclaw known to kind. A girl with a dark past but huge ambitions, a sharp mind and a knack for attracting trouble, she's a chaotic person. But will she be able to find her brother and save Hogwarts?

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Personality:

Brilliant: although she can be a tad bit daft at times, she's rather smart, and can solve problems quite efficiently. If she understands the concept, nothing can stop her.

Stubborn: she's pretty adamant when she wants to achieve something. She doesn't stop until she reaches her goal. It comes as both a blessing and a curse

Sarcastic: she can hurt you when she wants to. Her sarcasm is rather brutal, and she always regrets saying anything rude. She really doesn't filter what she says before saying it.

Musically talented: she can sing, and play many instruments, including the guitar, piano, saxophone, flute and drums

Short tempered: she really can't control her anger. She gets pissed off rather easily and it gets on everyone's nerves. It's all a part of her defense mechanism

Kind: she's the person who acts like a bitch but actually cares for you, and looks out for you. Don't worry, she's got your best interests at heart

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What are her likes?

chocolate, cinnamon rolls, her Ravenclaw jumper, astronomy, her friends, coffee, old books, reading Shakespeare, singing, playing music, dueling, messing around with Tonks, Tulip and Jae, and sleeping

What are her dislikes?

being woken up, strawberries, Tonks eating her special banana ketchup sandwich, dungbombs, Mrs. Norris the dumb cat, when someone tears a page out of a book, and History of Magic

Where does she live?

Tonks Cottage, London, with Nymphadora, Andromeda and Ted

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Appearance:

Hair colour: Black

Eye colour: grey

Skin Tone: pale

Height: 6'0

Weight: 118 lbs

Build: thin and lanky with a slight slouch. She eats a lot of junk food but it doesn't show because of her "good metabolism"

Aesthetic: astronomical, academia and grunge (?)

Inventory: her wand, a half eaten bag of chocolate chips, a old family heirloom time turner (that's rather faulty), black finger-less gloves and Moonshine the baby kneazle

Face Claim: Steffy Argelich

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Magic

1st wand: Ash wood, 12 1/2 inches, phoenix feather core, great for transfiguration, nice and swishy

The ash wand cleaves to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner, because it will lose power and skill. This tendency is extreme if the core is of unicorn. Old superstitions regarding wands rarely bear close examination, but I find that the old rhyme regarding rowan, chestnut, ash and hazel wands (rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, hazel moans) contains a small nugget of truth. Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands are not, in my experience, lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insists on trying wands of this prestigious wood, will be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner may be stubborn, and will certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant.

2nd wand: Ebony wood, 13 inches, dragon heartstring core, brilliant for dueling, very flexible

This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider, ebony wand owners have been found both among the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix and among the Death Eaters. In my experience the ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose.

Boggart: herself, but as a death eater

Riddikulus form: being surrounded by friends, who have her back

Patronus: Black Raven

As a patronus a black raven represents knowledge, they carry intelligence and quick wit, matching perfectly with Ravenclaw. You find extreme comfort in those with intelligence and knowledge of past events, and how to handle new things calmly and with poise. You tend to have some moments of a delicate, sensitive side that comes out of them in times of fear or sadness.  You tend not to always a leader, but a follower because they know that others may have more experience or wisdom than them, but if you know you are the most intelligent, knowledgeable or wise, you take the reigns and lead the way. In the same way the owner of this patronus will give up leadership, to a wiser leader, they will do the same in a multitude of different situations. Despite this, you are very brave and cunning, but in other areas, when you do take leadership, you are a strong-minded and focused leader, you never let you guard down, even if you are scared or confused. You carry an extreme amount of knowledge with you at all times, waiting to find a use in the correct situation. This patronus matched with Ravenclaw, means that you are able to think of creative and innovative ideas for the better of the team, even when you are not the leader.

Patronus memory: When Andromeda and Ted accepted her as their own daughter. She realised that she did have a family who loved her and cared for her.

Animagus: a small Black Raven

Amortentia (what they smell like): old books, chocolate, a tad bit of cinnamon, coffee and lavender

Amortentia (what they smell): a library, petrichor, grass, cinnamon, and a very strong woody cologne

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Magical Abilities:

Legilimency and Occlumency:

Legilimency is the act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings. A person who practices this art is known as a Legilimens. Muggles might call this "mind-reading," but practitioners disdain the term as naïve. The opposite of Legilimency is Occlumency, which is used to shield one's mind from the invasion and influence of a Legilimens.

Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency. It is ancient, and has existed since medieval times.[1] It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or influencing them. A person who practices this art is known as an Occlumens.

Favourite spells: Bombarda, Legilimens, Expecto Patronum, Reducto

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School:

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Organizations joined: Hogwarts, Circle of Khanna, The Order of The Phoenix

Apprenticeships: worked as an intern at the Ministry of Magic for a while, and helped Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing with Chiara

Professions: Auror for a while, took a break after a bad injury and ended up teaching at Hogwarts for a year, and then became an Alchemist.

Best Subjects: Transfiguration, Potions, Flying, Charms, Astronomy and DADA

Worst Subjects: Herbology, History of Magic, Divination.

Extra curricular activities: Keeper of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, sometimes tutors first years

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Relationships:

Fuck her blood family, she's a part of the Tonks family now

Edward "Ted" Tonks

He might not be her father, but he sure is her dad. Muggle born Ted taught Ammie how to mess around with muggle tools, and introduced her to muggle movies and other random trinkets. He thinks of Ammie as his own daughter, and was the one who taught her how to ride a bicycle

Andromeda "Meda" Tonks (née Black)

Andromeda took in her niece when she had nowhere to go, treated her like family, and protected her from all sorts of danger. Provided love, care and support to Ammie during her traumatizing times. She was considered as a blood traitor, but that didn't stop her from saving her little niece

Nymphadora "Dora" Tonks

Ammie's sister, and best friend. Stood by her side for everything and supported her all the way. Provided comic relief and loves Ammie to death. With a stupid sense of humor, and a knack for creating mischief, she's Ammie's most beloved person

Jacob Black

The one who started it all. The idiot who got himself stuck in a portrait. All of this garbage began with him, and Ammie never lets him forget it. Very protective of his little sister and hates everyone for some reason

Misc family members: Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Walburga Black, Orion Black.

Friends: Rowan Khanna, Ben Copper, Bill Weasley, Penny Haywood, Nymphadora Tonks, Talbott Winger, Badeea Ali, Tulip Karasu, Jae Kim, Chiara Lobosca, Charlie Weasley, Barnaby Lee, and Liz Tuttle

Closest Canon Friends: Rowan Khanna, Nymphadora Tonks, Talbott Winger, Tulip Karasu, Jae Kim and Badeea Ali

Closest MC friends:

Alvina Arcane-Zheng ( @oneirataxia-girl)

Celeste Wheterstead ( @bananascrackersnuts)

Tessa Reed ( @hphm4ever)

Adel Young (@adellovesrowan)

Matthew Luther (@hphmmatthewluther)

Cato Reese (@catohphm)

Niky Dona, Sabina Ivylash and Persephone Palerosine (@nikyiscreepy)

Night Nur Rhea (@night-rhea)

(I don’t have much friends... Just lmk if your MC wants to be friends with mine)

Love Interest: Talbott Winger

Dorm Mates: Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu, Badeea Ali and Skye Parkin

Rival/ bestie: Merula Snyde

Enemies: Patricia Rakepick, R, The Wizard in White Robes

Pets: a female black kitten kneazle named Moonshine

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Trivia:

- Has a stuffed bear named Sir Boo Boo

- Really likes Indie Rock/Pop

- Ended up being in a band with Jae and Tonks by accident

- Pretty much hates the world in the morning

- Gets good marks in Divination by making up really tragic stories

- Can’t stand tea

- Fluent in French

- McGonagall claims to hate her, but she really thinks Ara’s rather daring

- Sings in the shower

- Annoys the heck out of Andre with her questionable fashion choices

- Stupid sense of humor

- Laughs like a witch

- Quotes Shakespeare when drunk

- Can skateboard like a pro

- Weird handwriting

- Messy yet organized

[jaimehqs]

Did you see the moving van outside? It looks like there is a new resident moving in. There’s a new name on the resident directory and it’s JAMES ‘JAIME’ CARMICHAEL. They are a 34 year old PEDIATRIC NEUROSURGEON (CURRENTLY IN FELLOWSHIP) and they seem quite cool. Well, they come across as someone who is COMPASSIONATE, RECLUSIVE & DEMURE but they can also be VERBOSE, WORKAHOLIC & STUBBORN.

TRIGGERS

as a disclaimer, below you will find triggering content, chief among them is CHILD NEGLECT and MENTIONS OF WORKING IN A HOSPITAL. my overall trigger warning tag to blacklist which will be used on ALL of my tw posts will be: hey don't look at this, but i will be tagging specific tags too.

                 PSA: if you’re interested, please check out my CONNECTIONS page !

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: james alexander malcolm carmichael

NICKNAME(S): doesn’t particularly mind his birth name, but at times people have often called him jaime.

BIRTH DATE: september 25, 1986

AGE: thirty-four

ZODIAC: libra

GENDER: cismale

PRONOUNS: he/him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual (  it isn’t so much so that cris is completely disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling )

NATIONALITY: british

ETHNICITY: english, dutch-german jewish

OCCUPATION: pediatric neurosurgeon ( currently in his fellowship program )

POSTIVE TRAITS: independent, versatile, adaptable, curious, inquisitive, intelligent, divergent thinker, anti-authoritarian, self-actualizer, flexible, original, ambitious, charismatic, creative, loyal, thoughtful, warm-hearted, respectable, compassionate

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, unconventional, uncooperative, assertive, cynical, temperamental, withdrawn, restless, insecure, jealous, intolerant, naïve, impatient

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: england, united kingdom

HOMETOWN: oxford, england

EDUCATION LEVEL: went to university of oxford and majored in human physiology, went to medical school at ucl for 4 years, did residency for 7 years, and now is currently in last few months of pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program

FATHER: william carmichael

MOTHER: diana carmichael

SIBLING(S): two older brothers and one older sister: nathaniel, matthew, and sarah

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): female ragdoll call named ginsberg ( yes, she’s named after allen ginsberg )

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cecelia and grant ( grandparents on mom’s side )

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: 2 serious romantic relationships in the past

BACKSTORY

— TRIGGER WARNING BEGINS —

- when someone hears the name carmichael, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. and who wouldn’t? with the father being a lawyer and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. in the public eye the carmichael family was flawless. everyone wanted what they had. jaime carmichael, was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. the carmichael family is one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and jaime’s parents were no exception. he grew up learning how to be charming and how to be well behaved. jaime’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restlessly at various fancy parties and dinners, while his mother kept him from all the fancy treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. jaime’s parents were always cold and emotionally isolated from him, only after a perfect son to show off to the world. 

- as a young, restless little child, jaime sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. his friend taught him that there was such a thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of greek mythology, and he learned that his parents had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. however, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. since then, jaime kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself except from his grandparents on his mom's side who loved him unconditionally and were his best friends.

— TRIGGER WARNING ENDS —

 - jaime is the youngest child of the 4 carmichael children & although there are age gaps between him and his siblings he doesn’t feel as though he’s the stereotypical ‘forgotten child’. this reason is solely base off the fact he typically makes himself scarce anyway to go off to do his own thing lmfao. 

- for most of his adolescents up until adulthood, jaime always has had a rather tranquil personality. he never was one to act on emotion or impulsiveness, which meant most of his time he was seen in the his father's den reading about art history, helping his mother around, etc instead of learning the family business like his other siblings. it never personally interested him, so he never thought to pay much attention.

 - because of his serene behavior, also came the fact that he’s mostly reclusive and demure, too. one would think being of carmichael blood would mean one would act diplomatic in all situations, but not for jaime. when given the chance, he will most likely be in the back listening rather than participating unless addressed, making him a great observer of his surroundings because of this skill. he prides himself on being a great listener in important situations even if people may believe he’s not particularly interested. 

- a lot of people have come to believe over the years that because of his reclusive personality, he must be unapproachable.

 - which he would clearly tell anyone that rumor is further from the truth. it’s not that he’s unapproachable, per se, it’s more of the fact he doesn’t typically go up to people to spark conversation unless it’s for work or art related means. otherwise, his conversational skills are subpar at best and he doesn’t mind much.

 - as unfortunate as people’s misconceptions are when people do have the courage to approach him, they’re always surprised he’s rather civil, zen, and all around friendly and not at all like the rumors make him out to be. he always has to laugh at those kinds of things, of course. 

- but besides that, he’s also witty and sarcastic. he likes to crack jokes and puns ever so often, even though he can have pretty dry humor at times. his sarcastic remarks are never meant to be harsh, but because of his dry humor undertones, he can sometimes come off rather offensive.

 - although jaime has patience, he’s still a carmichael through and through, which he will not let anyone forget. he is unafraid to stand up for himself when he feels he’s in the right–or at least, attempt to do so. and although he strives to contain his zen aura, he can fall into fits of frustration and annoyance quite often when his family are involved ( which happens to be quite often ). 

- jaime doesn’t care to raise his voice or scream his head off when he’s upset, because frankly, he doesn’t see that as a reason to make his point come across effectively. but when he does become upset, his silence speaks louder than any person’s words could muster. it’s actually quite scary how the atmosphere around him drastically changes when he becomes angry. in simple terms, he’s somewhat like a praying mantis in the ways he becomes very still & silent. one look can be a 1,000 words unsaid. if he’s upset at you, his silence will cut deeper than anything. 

- importantly, jaime’s romantic sexuality is panromantic, meaning he would pursue both sexes and beyond romantically. when it comes to developing a far more intimate relationship, however, jaime is demisexual. meaning it is not so much so that he is completely disinterested in sex ( he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much ), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling.

 - although he often makes himself scarce when it comes to familial ties, jaime is fiercely protective and loyal to his family. no one will ever come between him and his family. 

- he was born and raised in oxford, england. 

- when he graduated from secondary school, he pursued a higher education by going to university of oxford. in the beginning, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to major in. the possibilities were endless, of course, but he wanted to pursue something he loved and also make a decent living on his own two feet when he graduated. at first, he thought he would be interested in something to do with the arts, but that dream died rather quickly when he rationalized how he didn’t want to make his passion for art into a full-time job that he would come to quickly hate in a few years. so, after some thought, he weighed his options and fell into step with human physiology. he always believed he had an eye for helping people and it was also a perfect career to fall into when it came to making a really great income. from there he studied his ass off by finishing university in 4 years, went to med school at ucl medical school, did his residency in 7 years, and is currently in his last few months of his pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program. 

- to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw the things he had taken pictures of as well. 

- he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs to stop him soon. 

- he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. 

- his appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of cute hipster shit. he’s clothes are v flow-y but don’t let that fool you. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper-middle class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you ( he’s a fashion ho too ). his hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

5 RANDOM FACTS

1. to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw of all the things he had taken pictures of as well.

2. he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo.

3. has a female ragroll cat named ginsberg. he named her after allen ginsberg because he’s obsessed with the dead poets society and sometimes deems himself as a member.

4. sometimes when he’s nervous, he will tap his leg pretty quickly.

5. jaime is never one to get drunk ever. he’s usually the one to always babysit the drunk ones ( he’s the honorary dad friend ), but he thought one day he would have a little solo party in his apartment on the one saturday night he had off and watch the lizzie mcguire movie for nostalgia purposes. long story short, he eventually ended up drunk on wine and recorded a whole music video of myself dancing to the ‘what dreams are made of’ song. let’s just say that video recording will never see the light of day.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: being a pediatric neurosurgeon.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: when he has the time, he’ll usually do photography and/or art commissions. but it’s mostly only as a hobby and when he feels like it.

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: it’s a tiring job, but well worth it.

PAST JOB(S): during high school, he used to help his mom with her real estate business by handing out flyers and during med school, he would work as a tutor.

SPENDING HABITS: mostly he spends money on his hobbies such as photography and art supplies. he also spends spoiling his cat, too. if he’s really feeling like a ‘treat yo self’ moment, he’ll splurge on a designer outfit or a shit ton of food.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: when he was about 10 years old, his grandmother gifted him a book on the history of art because she knew he had a passion for it. it’s a bit tattered and dog-eared but it’s well loved when it comes to looking for inspiration.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: painting, being ambidextrous, somehow waking up at the ass crack of dawn every morning.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, french, and a bit of korean.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: ben barnes

EYE COLOR: deep brown. his eyes are as hickory as rich as the earth’s soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold winter night that wraps around you like a blanket; engulfs you in its warmth and makes you feel at home.

HAIR COLOR: warm brown. his hair is a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: thick, full, and silky to the touch. shaved and shortened on the sides. primarily put into a curly contemporary quiff. sometimes grows out his hair to shoulder length and then puts it into a bun.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: wears contacts and glasses.

DOMINANT HAND: technically both, but uses the right more.

HEIGHT: between 5′10-5′11.

EXERCISE HABITS: goes for a 2 hour run/jog every saturday morning, but let’s be real, he doesn’t exercise much lmao.

TATTOOS: currently doesn’t have any, but wants to get one someday.

PEIRCINGS: as a rebellious teenager, he once got his tongue pierced on a dare ( long story ), but ended up liking the look of it anyway ( he doesn’t wear it any longer but will sport it out once in while just for shock value ). he also has industrial piercing on his right ear and both lobes pierced.

MARKS/SCARS: probably? but nothing too big or noticeable.

NOTABLE FEATURES: has particularly long eyelashes.

USUAL EXPRESSION: neutral??? 

CLOTHING STYLE: light and flowy high fashion displayed throughout an extensive wardrobe, mixed with dark and elegant taste. commonly paired with rings of all sorts and simple necklaces.

JEWELRY: varies rings and necklaces.

ALLERGIES: none

DIET: predominately pescatarian.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral and occasionally teetering on chaotic good.

TEMPERAMENT: delicate and unfaltering, never without a sense of poise. posture tall, a prominent feline sway in his walk – every move is calculated. appears very energetic and optimistic when first meeting, but has a very apollonian vibe once you get to know him well. very much of a flower child, as you will. he expresses his tranquility in his persona and actions.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: generalized anxiety disorder.

OBSESSION(S): his cat, food, binge watching soap operas and sci-fi shows, baby yoda aka grogu, sleeping when he can.

COMPULSION(S): buying too much art supplies and home décor.

PHOBIA(S): coulrophobia ( fear of clowns ).

ADDICTION(S): none that he’s aware of.

DRUG USE: smoked weed once and thought he was gonna die. moral of the story, he never touched a drug again.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: can range from intimate, formal, to casual.

ACCENT: british

QUIRKS: refuses to hurt any animal, including insects, fights for human rights, belongs to a fan club, enjoys jokes with puns, has an obsession with a particular TV show, series, film, or franchise, gardens, is always reading, paints, takes pictures of everything, practices calligraphy, must drink coffee or tea to “wake up”, is “organized chaos”, loves to hug, taps foot when bored or nervous, sleeps during the day, always answers a question with a question, always answers a question with a question, goes off on tangents, is extremely sarcastic, 

HOBBIES: photography, painting, anything art related.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: like a motherfucking sailor.

FAVOURITES

ACTIVITY: anything art related.

ANIMAL: cats, red pandas, ferrets.

BEVERAGE: tea or coffee.

BOOK: and then there was none by agatha christie

COLOR: blacks, greys, purples, mustard yellow.

DESIGNER: balenciaga and dior

FOOD: salmon or tilapia

FLOWER: sunflowers

HOLIDAY: halloween

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: train or car

SCENT: vanilla or lavender

WEATHER: fall type atmosphere

[lideria]

Don’t You Cry for Me. | Jaehyun

Request: Nah. This is pure head-arsery.

Author’s Note/Summary: Basically loves, this is not an x reader piece. This is a piece of fiction that uses Jaehyun as the main character, based on Cobi’s song Don’t You Cry for Me- and I’m a sucker for philosophy ever since I took philosophy of religion last semester. So it’s also based on one of my favorite arguments and objections of Mackie. This concept kept coming to my mind with Jaehyun but I seriously think I did not do a good job at writing this, because it’s based on such serious things and I honestly stopped trying to make sense in philosophy after my single spaced 4 pages long final paper! Hope you still like it though!

Warnings: Deals with very existential topics. Much emphasis on evil things. Dialogue heavy, and I’m not pushing any views on anyone! There’s no right or wrong in philosophy. Plus, English is my second language so there might be errors.

Word Count: 1.288 bite-sized existential crisis

Genre: Fantasy, Angst? Who knows? Weird AU I don’t know how to name.

Hope you all enjoy loves!

Hope got my hands tied 'round my back And time put a rope around my head

Jaehyun was on his knees— wherever he was. He had not the slightest of ideas why or how he was where he was, or why there was a force so powerful he could feel even though it is incredibly dark around him. Darker than he had ever seen darkness be. Yet somehow he felt like he could touch it if he could move his fingers, not even his hand.

But he could not. He was held back with a sleep paralysis-type feeling, where his whole body seemed to be locked in place.

“Jaehyun, how nice of you to be here,” The voice calls out to him soon enough. Unfortunately for him, Jaehyun knows the voice. Knows who it belongs to— what it belongs to. “Again.”

The force shifts to stand in front of him. The very same force that is the owner of the voice Jaehyun would never, ever want to hear. He would not wish it on his worst enemy. “Excuse the darkness. It’s how I work with space.” Jaehyun knew.

“Why am I here?” Because if he knows one thing about his whole existence, he would rather not be here ever again. Never be brought here to this unforgiving courtyard just to be sent back forgetting everything that had ever left his mouth, before coming back here— without his own will— to go through a wormhole of a recollection of everything he has said and done.

And hung from the rafters of my fear Dark in the eyes

“I think you know why.” Time tells him, and immediately Jaehyun’s blood starts running cold in his body. He is seeing everything in this unexplainable darkness; he is being shown everything and there is nothing for him to do except for see it. See it because nobody else ever has the chance to, he did not think at least.

Try and face the world I can't bear to My knees hit the ground and my hands start shakin’

He hated this responsibility, especially since he does not have a single idea if anything he says and does has any affect on anything.

Old feelings from new faces A rope on the floor and a poor man hangin'

Jaehyun saw pain. He saw pain, and unhappiness— different levels of them in different people. That always messes him up. To be fair, it would mess anybody up to see such burdening feelings in every single soul, from the ones that will soon rejoice with space to the ones that have just embraced the surface of the world. They all breathe the same air as him, one of the most basic necessities to survive on.

Though there is happiness and pleasure, too. Feelings that are, much like pain and unhappiness, present in everyone. One way or another. The types of feelings that give Jaehyun momentary peace before the other wave hits him.

And the other wave is always stronger. Selfishness, cowardice, ugliness, regress, hatred. These feelings that not everyone has in them, therefore mathematically lesser feelings, but yet the ones that are fueled with a different type of fire. Like Greek fire, strengthened by a thing that is supposed to put it out. Love. Love that holds acceptance, compassion, heroism, bravery, loyalty, beauty, progress. Yet when it is added to the mix it feels like it only backfires and is belittled by the bearers of the ugly bunch. And Jaehyun cannot understand why. Even though he is sure he has asked several times before.

“If I ask you the question again, will you give the same answer?” Time is slow yet still somehow carefree, because it continues flowing much like water. “I don’t remember the question, so you’d have to ask.”

It is funny to him, how he can talk to Time as if they were friends. The biggest human construct there ever was, and him, in a heart-to-what conversation. “But you remember your answers.”

“Does it matter if I don’t know what I’m answering?” There was an annoyed strain to his voice that Time seemed to enjoy.

“If you could eliminate anything from the universe, what would it be?”

Please help me chop this tree down Hold me from underneath

“Hatred.” His answer is immediate, short and sharp.

And it seems to humor Time. “Why?”

“Because I keep seeing it everywhere and there’s nothing good that comes from it.” Utter silence upon his heated words.

But Time always speaks before too long. “You think so? Don’t you hate hatred, and doesn’t that push you to put your best effort into fighting everything evil yourself?”

If there is anything Jaehyun hates other than hatred, it is Time. Time always finds a way to defeat him, break him, and humiliate him. So it is only natural for him to feel like he is on the verge of tears because he knows he has given these answers before and nothing is of surprise to the construct before him, but he feels incredibly cornered because Jaehyun does not know the questions that await him. “Yeah, but how good of a thing is that when people are dying and suffering because of it? I’m not enough by myself. Everything would be resolved if hatred wasn’t what it was.”

“So you want to eliminate hatred because it brings evil, but do tell me Jaehyun, what will ‘good’ be if there isn’t an evil to cause it, or compare it to?”

That presses something in Jaehyun. “I want to eliminate hatred because it brings unnecessary evil. Why do you have to press us against each other? Isn’t the universe dependent on cooperation and coexistence?”

“And for that matter, why do you need an evil for there to be good?” The anger Jaehyun feels is through the roof, because he sees it still— the evil that is presented to him. The evil in all the universe cramped into one small dust particle of a world. “Why can’t there be good and better? Why can’t our base value just be pure good?”

“I’m not the universe, Jaehyun.” Time reminds him. “My job is to run the universe. I don’t need evil or good, because I have always been, and always will be.”

For the first time ever, Time goes gentle on him. “But I am old. I have seen everything, and everything started as pure good. Until something went wrong and brought evil. And that evil brought a new type of good, and that new type of good brought an evil when something went wrong; this is the way things have always been.”

“Then you must understand when I say I want to eliminate hatred,” Jaehyun pleads, partly because he wants this to be over and forget about everything again. “Hatred only brings more of itself. This is the order of evil where goods stop coming in. And unlike the first evils, the unhappiness and pain you can fight off with charity or progress or the like— when you try to fight off hate with its counterpart it only gets worse. For whatever reason the good, love, either gets sucked into it or it pisses the evil part off even more.”

“Does it occur to you that maybe you should fight off hatred with itself?” Time asks. “It should be obvious for someone like you that hates hatred, why not hate on hatred to the point the evil is evil on itself and nothing or no one else?”

And, for the first time, Jaehyun does not have a recollection of answers in his mind.

This is purely new.

Words never once cut me down Oh, don't you cry for me

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 3 of 26

Title: Shriek: An Afterword (Ambergris #2) (2006)

Author: Jeff VanderMeer

Genre/Tags: Weird, Memoir, Historical (like... in a fictional world lol), Horror, Fantasy, War, Mushroompunk (yeah), Postmodern, Female Protagonist, Disabled Protagonist, First Person, Unreliable Narrator.

Rating: 7/10

Date Began: 1/19/2020

Date Finished: 1/29/2020

Shriek: An Afterword is a pseudo-memoir by a woman named Janice Shriek about the troubled lives and relationships of her and her brother Duncan Shriek in the strange, fungus-riddled city of Ambergris. While Janice believes Duncan is dead, he's apparently found her manuscript and makes extensive edits and commentary throughout the story. (This is indicated in parenthetical sentences, like this one.) 

The closer I get to the end, the closer I get to the beginning. Memories waft up out of the ether, out of nothing. They attach themselves to me like the green light, like the fungi that continue to colonize my typewriter. I had to stop for a while -- my fingers ached and, even after all that I have seen, the fungi unnerved me. I spent the time flexing and unflexing my fingers, pacing back and forth. I also spent it going through a box of my father’s old papers -- nothing I haven’t read through a hundred times before... On top, Duncan had placed the dried-up starfish, its skeleton brittle with age. (I kept it there as a reminder to myself. After your letter to me -- which, while reading this account, I sometimes think was written by an entirely different side of your personality -- I wanted to remember that no matter how isolated I might feel, separated from others by secret knowledge, I was still connected. It didn’t help much, though -- it reminded me of how different I had become.) 

To qualify my rating, I have to be honest. This book is officially separated into two parts, and I found Part I -- which makes up about 60% of the novel -- pretty boring. On the other hand, Part II is brilliant, and everything coalesces beautifully in this second act. Is it worth it? I thought it was, but I understand anyone who tries and gives up. 

Even though Shriek is technically a standalone, I would strongly recommend you read City of Saints and Madmen (#1) first. Both Duncan and Janice are key characters in two of those stories (The Hoegbotton Guide to the Early History of Ambergris and The Transformation of Martin Lake, respectively), and there are references and connections all over the place. I’m not sure if Shriek does a great job introducing Ambergris to new readers, so people starting here will be pretty lost without reading the first book.

Just to clear the air, I really liked this book... overall. As I said, the first half-or-so of the book was pretty rough, but the second half redeems it in a lot of ways, even justifying certain writing/plot decisions that didn’t gel with me at first. However “it gets good eventually” is not really an excuse for the rough first half. Hence the mediocre rating. I was close to giving this book a 6/10, but I found that I appreciated the first half much more by the time I got to the ending, so that bumped it up a little. Maybe I’ll enjoy this book more on a reread when I can see the patterns and know where they’re leading ahead of time. 

Before I dive into my issues with it, I’d like to discuss the strong points of this novel. 

At a base level, VanderMeer is a great writer. He has a mastery of the English language that always delights me when I read his stuff. So even when I struggled to like this story in the first half, his wordplay and prose were entertaining and thought-provoking. 

I loved the format. The story basically has two protagonists, since you see things from Janice’s point of view and then Duncan’s interpretations-- but it’s in a very postmodern way, not just a perspective switch like most novels do. Duncan’s commentary often brings much needed humor or heartbreak, depending on the situation. 

In particular, any scene in which Janice and Duncan interact directly is brilliant. Janice recalls a scene, but her memory is faulty (like anyone’s), so sometimes she forgets what they talked about, or interpreted an interaction in a certain way. Then Duncan dives in with his own commentary, supplying information Janice didn’t include or forgot, or correcting something she said, or offering an alternate interpretation... these scenes were fascinating to read and some of my favorite parts of the novel. 

There’s a lot of fun revelations and Easter eggs for people who read City of Saints and Madmen. In particular: 

My favorite story in the first book was The Cage, which is a work of fiction  within the universe of Ambergris by a man named Sirin. In particular there is a very creepy and distinct monster that plays a pivotal role in the story. However, since it’s technically fiction within fiction, that monster and the events didn’t really happen in canon... right? Imagine my surprise in this book when Janice encounters and describes a very similar monster. This struck me as odd, until I got to epilogue/afterword at the end... written by Sirin, and everything clicked. He got the idea for his “fictional” monster from Janice’s account in this story. He doesn’t state this outright, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. I loved that. It was like putting a puzzle together and it would have been so easy to miss. And there’s the extra horror that something like that really exists in this world. There was other stuff like this but this one stood out to me, and I’m sure there’s other things I missed. 

This mostly concerns the second half, but the war sequences and memories are horrific and brilliant. It's very World War II-esque with a unique twist to it (the awful fungal bio weapons one of the sides uses). In particular, the war is introduced with a chapter about a ceasefire opera staged in the broken city... without spoiling it, it’s an excellent and intriguing self-contained story. 

And the horror chapter about the Festival, which is conspicuously absent in the rest of the story? Just so goddamn good. VanderMeer strikes just the right chord with me when it comes to horror. It’s always fresh and intensely creepy. 

If you told me this during the first half, I wouldn’t believe you -- but I ended up loving the characters and finding most of their relationships fascinating. This is a heartbreaking story and it really hit home by the end. 

With that lofty praise, what’s my issue with Part I? The simplest way I can put it is that the struggles Duncan and Janice face are so mundane. They would maybe be interesting in a generic work of fiction, but here they felt out of place. For example, Janice’s arc concerns her rise to fame, which leads to success, which leads to lavish parties and orgies, which leads to excesses and a drug addiction, which leads to a suicide attempt, which leads to rehab, which leads to a diminished life of poverty. Yes, these can be interesting and harrowing problems in the right context, but the strongest point of these books is the setting, and there was nothing that tied these events to Ambergris. You could easily go through and change the character/place names and it wouldn’t seem off. 

Duncan is a little more interesting in this regard, because his is a story of obsession. In particular, he’s obsessed with the gray caps (strange humanoid mushroom creatures that haunt the pages of these books), and it takes over his life until he becomes totally discredited as a historian. But even he falls into this trap when he becomes a college professor and has an affair with one of his much younger students (Yikes! Though it is treated as creepy within the story, at least). That takes over most of his character’s emotional core from that point. 

Said student -- Mary Sabon -- is a core antagonist in the story. Janice in particular obsesses over her and her personal vendetta against her, and honestly even with the second part I was never really sold on this or cared about it all that much, so I was disappointed it took up so much of the story. 

All of this would be one thing, but there’s all sorts of tantalizing hints about more interesting things. The gray caps probably have some ulterior motive that no one knows! There’s this crazy eldritch Machine hidden underground! Duncan is sort of turning into a mushroom! But these are only teased before the story pivots back to something comparatively uninteresting. Rather than encouraging me with the cool foreshadowing, it just got grating because it meant there were more interesting events and stories going on that I didn’t get to see for some arbitrary reason. Janice also rambles and goes back and forth quite a bit. This is clearly intentional (after all, you learn in the end this is a mostly unedited draft -- at least in the fiction of the story), but even so, it can be hard to follow at times. 

Part II justifies a lot of this because these hints do pay off. You DO get to see a lot of the interesting stuff in detail at this later point of the story, and it’s not always what you expect. There’s overt and subtle dramatic irony and contrast between what characters go through in the first half versus the stranger, more profound traumas of the second half. You learn Janice is suffering from some severe PTSD and it explains a lot of the manic style in the first half. But again, is it worth 245-ish mediocre (to me) pages? I think that probably depends on the reader. I had a problem with it-- but clearly a lot of people don’t, based on reviews I’ve skimmed. Many put the book down and don’t finish it, but that’s true for any book. Hell, lots of people preferred the first half, so who knows. 

Ultimately, I’m glad I read this book. For me it really does come together in an amazing way toward the end, and I found myself really caring about Janice and Duncan. If you read City of Saints and Madmen and want more of the characters and the world, then definitely give this a try. But it is a pretty niche book as these things go, so I can’t recommend it to everyone. 

Anyway, I’ve come this far -- so I’m going to read Finch, the final (for now?) installment in this universe. 

[lisatelramor]

Vampire Saguru - Spilled Beans

So a reviewer reminded me that this fic universe existed and I opened up my old wip doc to find a few snippets I thought I'd posted but apparently never got around to doing. So hey, ficlets.

As for any more to the main plot (is there really a plot here??) I have some bits and pieces written and not the slightest idea where I was going to take it. I know I stopped writing it because it was getting too long and I was working on another long-fic at the time and couldn't juggle two long things at the same time. (I'm still writing at least one longer thing right now so...past me and present me will never learn apparently. -_- ) I'll try poking at it a bit, but no promises. ^_^;; Thanks Luna Babe for the reminder this universe exists.

****

The obnoxious dinging of his cell phone woke Saguru from a deep sleep—the first truly decent sleep he’d had in ages. It was Edogawa’s number on the line and he had a moment of fear. “Hello?” he answered hastily, forgetting himself for a moment and speaking first and in English.

“Hakuba you bastard!” shrieked the person on the other end.

Saguru swore, pulling the phone away from his ear. Even with an arm’s length between him and the phone, Saguru could hear Hattori Heiji’s voice continue.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You have no control so you went and just—ow, fuck! Kudo!”

Kudo? On the other end Edogawa snapped something. The phone went muffled, and then beeped a few times as buttons were bumped. “Trying…not like…idiot!” Edogawa said in between the phone getting covered. Saguru assumed they were fighting over it.

Hattori swore—Saguru bet Edogawa had kicked him in the shins—and Edogawa said, “Sorry, Hakuba-san. There was a case where a tanuki was involved… I think the actual death was an accident rather than actively malicious but there were somethings that couldn’t be explained and I had to talk to Hattori.”

“He looks like he’s seven right now!” Hattori said in the background, still pissed.

“I am aware,” Saguru muttered. “I am very aware, and have had this conversation with someone already.”

“Hattori, it was consensual,” Edogawa sighed.

“You traded sex for information!” There was another string of cusses that ended in a yelp. Saguru wondered cruelly how big Hattori’s bruises were getting.

“That’s not how it was at all!” The phone was muffled again, this time by Edogawa. Saguru slumped back against his pillows, catching snippets of words. “Curi…and had to…but…anted to…nice so…ay?” Edogawa removed his hand. Both he and Hattori were breathing harshly, likely from yelling at each other. “Sorry. He grabbed my phone earlier.”

“I understand entirely, Edogawa-kun. I didn��t expect anything different if anyone were to find out.”

“So did Kid read you the riot act after I left?” Edogawa sounded far too amused.

Saguru snorted. “You were there for some of it. He is very protective of you.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Ya lookin’ too young is probably part of it,” Hattori muttered, clearly closer to the phone again. “There’s winter-spring relationships, but fuck, this is kinda messed up, Hakuba. You’re old enough to know better.”

“It’s not a relationship!” Edogawa groused. “It was one time!”

“Like that’s any better!”

Saguru hissed through his teeth. “Hattori-san, if you’re so jealous of me touching Edogawa, you’re going to have to solve that problem yourself.” He took a stab in the dark with that one, just a vague hunch. The indignant sputtering from the other end said it had hit its mark.

“I don’t—! I’m not—! Fuck you!”

“I really would rather not.” His lip curled. He could all but smell Hattori’s scent layered with purification and protection spells. There was a soft sound of Edogawa speaking and more sputtering. Saguru decided he’d humored their ill-timed phone call enough. “If you must confront me about this, do it at a reasonable hour and in person. Good luck talking this through and good night.”

He hung up without waiting for a response. Really, he hadn’t needed that. There was some lingering guilt, and still more than enough lingering attraction and interest to require Kuroba continue to buffer any meetings, but it wasn’t Hattori’s place to jump in. This was between Edogawa and Saguru and they had mutually agreed that it probably would never happen again. Saguru was actually surprised that it hadn’t been a hard never again, but the likelihood was low that Edogawa would ever want to or that Saguru would trust himself to give in to temptation again.

And now he was having moral debates in his head when he was supposed to be sleeping. God damn it. Saguru pressed his face firmly back into his pillow.

Ten seconds later his eyes went wide. “Dammit. Edogawa Conan is Kudo Shinichi.” And more irritatingly, Hattori Heiji realized it before Saguru did.

…Saguru was never going to admit that to his face. Ever.

***

BONUS

Tea? Tea was lovely. Not as lovely as it used to be, granted, but a warm cup was always appreciated. Well. Depending on the tea quality. It was a bit embarrassing that somewhere down the line Saguru had ended up a tea snob.

One nice thing about Japan; people had a basic appreciation of tea that Saguru could value in others. An appreciation for green tea more so than black tea unlike his preferences, but tea nonetheless.

And then there were the tea-haters who chose coffee or—god forbid—carbonated beverages over tea.

Three meetings in with Edogawa with Kuroba as a buffer and Saguru was starting to suspect Edogawa was one of those people who would choose coffee over tea and then drink it black. On the other hand, Edogawa seemed to enjoy the black tea Saguru served on his second visit more than the green tea he had served before, so the relationship was probably salvageable.

There was no accounting for taste.

And he wasn’t as bad as Kuroba.

No one should add that much sugar to a cup of tea. No one.

Saguru resolved to brew the pot extra strong next time they met up. It would be a twofold victory of appeasing to Edogawa’s preference for bitter beverages and causing Kuroba to wrinkle his nose with disgust. Small victories.

[lovemesomesurveys]

If you were given three things to make you happy, what would these be? Good health (mentally and physically) is really what I would need, but money and a beach home would be nice, too. How would you rank the following in importance: family, career, love life? Family is first and foremost. I’m struggling to rank the other 2. I’m unable to work right now, plus I have no idea what I’d want or could do. It’s not something I’m thinking about right now or actively seeking. Same with my love life, which is currently completely non-existent. I’m not actively seeking that either right now. It’s best for me right now to be single and I’m pretty fine with that at this time. Which would you prefer: having a baby without a partner or a partner without a baby? Partner without a baby. What was your experience about being “mansplained,” and what did you do about it? I’ve dealt with know-it-alls and condescending people, both men and women.   Who was your favorite cartoon character when you were a kid? Hm. Not sure about cartoon character, but I was obsessed with Barney.

Do you think God is real, and why? Yes. Do you believe in giving people second chances, and why? Yeah, generally. In some cases I’ve probably given too many. How would you describe your first crush? I was 9 years old, I really don’t remember much. Do you ever keep a journal? I used to keep physical journals in middle school and early high school, but now this is my journal. Do you think people fall in love because the right person has arrived, or because the time is right (regardless of whom the person is that they fall in love with)? I believe the person themselves is the main thing, but timing does play a role. How do you feel about the #MeToo movement? I think it’s extremely important to speak up and out about sexual harassment and assault. What do you look for in a relationship? Someone who is patient, understanding, caring, and kind is very important. A good sense of humor, too. What is your idea of a perfect date? Just being with the person somewhere where we’re able to talk and enjoy each other’s company. Food and coffee at some point, too. ha. What legacy do you want people to remember about you after you’re gone? I don’t know. I haven’t done anything memorable thus far.

”When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. And don’t resent me. And when you’re feeling empty, keep me in your memories, leave out all the rest.” Have you ever asked a guy out on a date? No. What was the most important lesson you’ve learned from your past relationship? Don’t allow someone to play or use you. What book influenced you the most? The Bible. What life-changing event have you experienced? There’s been a few, starting with the one that made me a paraplegic at just 7 months old.  What’s a deal-breaker for you in a relationship? I’d like to think abuse would be. Are you a morning or a night person? I’m barely a person, my guy. How important is trust in a relationship? Extremely. I don’t see how you could have one with someone you don’t even trust. How do you feel about infidelity? I don’t feel great about it. Do you believe that the day will arrive when humans will be replaced by machines in almost all aspects of life? In some ways that’s happened. For example, at the lab office I go to to get blood work done, there aren’t any receptionists at the desk. There’s like an iPad to sign or check in and that’s it. Then of course an actual person calls you back to do the blood work, but yeah. Some fast food places you can order on a machine. Oh, and aren’t there those Amazon grocery stores or something that doesn’t have any registers, checkouts, or cashiers? What do you think is humankind’s greatest invention? There’s been far too many to think of what the greatest one of all would be. Do you think that humans are doing more harm than good to the planet? Definitely. What is your take on telepathy? I don’t believe in it. I think some people can communicate with people they’re really close to with a look or something, or know someone so well that they have a good idea what they might be thinking or feeling, but that’s all it is. What is your favorite workout routine? I don’t workout. Would you rather be called vain or insecure? I mean I am insecure, so.  What important lesson did a close relative teach you? It’s too late to get that deep.

What part of your body do you find attractive? None of it. Which would you choose to be: law-abiding citizen or rule breaker, and why? I consider myself to be more of a law-abiding citizen, but I’m not perfect. What is your ideal vacation? Somewhere with a beach. What superpowers did you wish you had when you were a kid? Teleportation.  Are you a mountain or a beach person? I enjoy both, but the beach is my absolute favorite. What mythical animal do you resonate with, and why? I don’t resonate with any of them. Which member of your family do you feel closest to, and why? My mom and younger brother. Who do you consider your best friend in your workplace? I don’t have a job. What three adjectives would describe you? Blah, blah, and blah. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose? Somewhere where it doesn’t have long, miserable summers like where I live now. What are you passionate about in life? :/ What quality in a person do you fall in love with? There’s a few things. Have you had your heart broken before? Yes. What is your take on astrology? I don’t believe in it. What is your life’s soundtrack? Uhhh. When was the last time you spoke with a classmate from high school? It’s been years. Well, apart from “liking” someone’s status on Facebook, maybe a comment now and then, but that’s the extent of it. Are you left- or right-handed, and would you want to switch? Right handed.  What subject were you good at in high school? English and Spanish. What was the most memorable experience you had in elementary school? Some of the teachers and friends I had, field trips, book buddies, field days (the last of school where we did various activities), square dancing in 4th grade (I don’t understand why that was a thing...) the Oregon Trail game... Do you find it difficult to admit that you are wrong, and why? I’m first to admit I’m wrong and always take blame for everything. Do you get excited or scared when meeting new people? I’m very shy and awkward.  What is your secret hobby that others would consider weird? Maybe listening to ASMR. *shrug* How do you cope with stressful situations? Not well. Is there anything that you would like to change about yourself? A lot of things. What musical instrument do you know how to play? None anymore. Who or what inspires you? I haven’t felt inspired in a long time. Which would you prefer in a romantic partner: a dreamer or an achiever? An achiever. What is your favorite part of a house, and why? My bedroom, it’s where I spend majority of my time. Who is the fictional character who closely resembles you in terms of attitude? Hmm. When you were a kid, what did you say you wanted to be when you grew up? A teacher. What was the title of the first movie you watched in a movie theater? I don’t recall what the first movie was, but the first one that always comes to mind is Stuart Little for some reason. And the Rugrats movie. I know those aren’t the first ever, though. When was the last time you slept outdoors? I never have unless you count napping a bit at the beach. What is something that you are proud of about yourself? I don’t feel proud of anything about myself right now. What song do you often sing in the shower? >> Whatever’s playing on my Spotify. <<< Same. I have a whole shower playlist, actually. What do you feel is the right age for people to get married? When they feel it’s right, I guess, as long as they’re both consenting adults. Personally; though, I think 18 is way too young even though they’re legal adults, but that’s just me. What would be your super villain name and your powers? I don’t know. What three non-electric or non-automatic items would you take on a deserted island? Water, a book, and my medicine. That would really, really suck not to have a phone, though... of course being on a deserted island at all would really, really suck, ha. If “hello” were to be replaced by another word as a greeting, what word would that be? ”Hey.” lol. What is the weirdest thing that your family does together? I don’t know? What was the most embarrassing thing that you’ve done for a friend? Nothing comes to mind at the moment. What task would you really fail at doing? A lot of things. What is your definition of a “perfect life”? No such thing in this life, but good health would be pretty great. What would be the title of the movie showing your life from birth up to present? Yikes. Ha, that could work as a title. What fashion piece would you invent for women? I have no idea. What is the single most important thing people should do for the planet? Not trash and destroy it. How do you define evil, and do you believe that a person can be evil? I believe serial killers, rapists, and abusers are pretty evil. What do you think are the two things that prevent people from realizing their dreams? I don’t know. Would you lay down your life for someone? Yes. What word or term do you wish to know the meaning of? >> I mean, if such a word existed, I’d just type it into google and bam! knowledge. <<< lol true. What makes you nostalgic? A lot of things. Do you believe that each of us has a soul mate? I don’t know. How would you live your remaining days if you found out you had only a week to live? Blah. Do you listen to other people’s advice, or do you prefer figuring things out yourself? Really depends. What is your favorite motivational quote? I don’t have one. Imagine that you are tasked to re-design society - what changes would you make? I absolutely would not want to be assigned that task. What’s the perfect day for you? A day at the beach. Would you wait for the sun to rise or for it to set, and why? Set. I can’t stay up late enough to see it rise anymore. If you were born in another era, when would that period in history be and why? I like that I grew up in the 90s. Have you made someone cry? Not intentionally or to be mean, but yes. What is the most astonishing act that a person can do for you? Uhh. What is more important: being true to yourself regardless of who gets hurt or considering the consequences of your actions on other people’s lives? >> I think one can consider the consequences of one’s actions on others without turning into some kind of self-less yes-man. Being true to oneself doesn’t at all mean “fuck everyone else”, and I really don’t know why those two concepts get conflated so much. <<< Well put. I agree. If you die tonight, would you pass away fulfilled or unsatisfied with life? I guess it wouldn’t matter. Thanks for ending with this, though.... 

[forljh]

[Article] From survival show rookies to K-Pop stars

Talking to the seven-member group, who rose from participants on survival show NO.MERCY to become rising stars in South Korea’s music scene

Paris. Summer, 2017.

It should be a gorgeous mid-August day but the rain is apocalyptic, drenching the hundreds upon hundreds of people queuing outside one of the city’s most celebrated music halls. They’re here for the first ever European shows by Monsta X, the seven-member South Korean group whose mix of pop, hip hop, and heavy EDM combined with dark, tough, and sometimes cabalistic concepts has seen them gain a fiercely dedicated global following.

When the lights do go down, the screams are piercing and reverential. Monsta X’s show is broken into group and unit performances (where members do something special, from a spin on the decks to covering popular Western songs) and every gesture, word, and ad-lib will wind the audience higher until the room virtually pulses.

Backstage, however, things are much calmer. Vocalists Wonho, Kihyun, Hyungwon, Shownu, and Minhyuk, and rappers Jooheon and I.M, emit a serene, friendly professionalism. They’re wearing their stage costumes: Kihyun, the main vocalist, sports a sizable and sparkling Chanel logo brooch, while Monsta X’s leader, Shownu, has a thick band of sequins around a sleeve that throws light right into your eyes. Their entire effect is dazzling and distracting – all seven in tight trousers and jackets laden with diamante chains and epaulettes, beautiful faces smooth with makeup – and it will send their fandom, known as Monbebe, wild over the next two hours.

While fans will commit their favourite moments of the night to forums or YouTube, Kihyun can’t pick just one standout memory from the tour, which began in June. “Rather than just one particular moment, it’s just whole moments of time,” he explains. “Even when we perform in front of people who speak different languages, that all members enjoy the concert together gives me goosebumps.” Shownu, however, pinpoints his as “at the end of the songs like ‘넌 어때’ (‘I’ll Be There’), Monbebes prepare something special, like placards, so we’re always surprised.”

“We’re having fun every day,” says Minhyuk, as I.M adds, “We spend most of our free time sightseeing and eating. We’re always walking around, taking pictures.” Jooheon nods in agreement: “It gives us inspiration.”

Monsta X, who debuted in May 2015, were born from NO.MERCY, a survival show created by their label Starship Entertainment. In the show, existing male trainees vied against each other to debut in a new boy group. NO.MERCY initially shocked its audience when I.M, a total newcomer, was added to the mix late and ended up controversially being chosen for the group, knocking out fan favourite #GUN. It was a contentious start to idol life, but the competitive tension fast become an enviable camaraderie, complete with family-esque banter and bickering which, alongside Monsta X’s underrated, slow burn success, helped earn the unwavering loyalty of the Monbebes.

Like most artists, both Monsta X’s music and their members contain notable contradictions. Their singles frame them as one of K-Pop’s more intimidating groups – the cinematic strings on “Fighter”, the graceful choruses and tight raps on “All In” and “Beautiful”, and “Hero”s crunching EDM and its sibling, the passionate, infatuated “Stuck” – but, as Kihyun says, “even if we look a certain way on the outside, it’s just an image. For example, Jooheon might look chill and tough, but inside he’s quite sensitive.”

This contrast was recently presented to the casual listener with the fizzy “Newton”, their first aegyo-heavy (cute behavior) official MV (music video), but a recent interview points to grittier songs as their personal favorites, creating a lot of guesswork as to their next concept. Wonho, who habitually scratches at his palms idly while other members speak, snaps to attention and smiles. “Actually we’re working towards the next album, but we haven’t fixed a particular concept just yet. So when we know we’ll call you directly... if you want.”

“Even if we look a certain way on the outside, it’s just an image” – Kihyun, Monsta X

Their sensitive side has never been concealed, but you need to delve into their albums for it, seen on likes of the mid-tempo soul of “Amen” and “Need U” or the extraordinary, piano-lead “Broken Heart”. Or invest in their reality shows Deokspatch X, Right Now!, and newer series X-Ray (“You saw that?” Kihyun asks in English, surprised – and you can just catch his slight lisp), where their off-stage personalities veer like go-karts through sassy, embarrassing, risible, protective and tender.

Of course, far more lies beyond those facets. “I’m actually writing songs most days, particularly at the hotel between concerts,” Wonho divulges. Notorious for removing his shirt on every stage, he’s the incorrigible flirt, the sweet, muscular show-off – but has, alongside Jooheon and I.M, become far more involved with the group’s output and devoted himself to honing his craft. One of his compositions, the bittersweet lyrics and upbeat trop-house of “From Zero” is a fixture on the set-list, a duet he performs with Hyungwon. Despite calls from fans to commit “From Zero” to tape, it’s still only for the stage, though Wonho isn’t entirely discounting the idea. “That’s something we need to discuss further as the song was originally developed without a plan for release,” he muses. “So we’ll think about it.”

One of the most compelling inter-band unit performances on this tour is 2Chain (Kihyun and Jooheon), who, after releasing a striking cover of R&B singer Crush’s “You & I” earlier this year, cover Lil Wayne’s “Mirror”. Jooheon has written his own verses for it, brutally self-judgmental yet ultimately empowering words he uses in a volatile performance that emotionally knocks you from your seat. “It was Kihyun who suggested ‘Mirror’, and I liked the song as well,” he explains candidly, sat beside the singer who reassuringly taps on Jooheon’s knee throughout.

“People don’t always say complimentary stuff to themselves, and I thought about what I was missing, where I wasn’t good enough – like, trying to see the whole picture,” Jooheon adds in Korean. “I realised it was my fans who were most important in my life, so I tried to match myself with them, seeing the fans from my perspective and seeing myself from the fans’ perspective. I guess I tried to put a lot of things into those lyrics…” He trails into silence – although known as one of Monsta X’s big on-stage personalities, today he’s quiet and watchful, and Wonho breaks the sudden lull. “Wow, that’s going to be really hard to translate,” he blurts, making the others laugh.

“I don’t particularly think about if we’ve had to work at becoming friends, which I guess means it hasn’t been difficult” – Minhyuk, Monsta X

Besides Monsta X, the members have their own projects – mixtapes (Jooheon, I.M), photography (Kihyun) and illustration (Minhyuk). I.M’s introspective 2016 track “Who Am I” was the pertinent musings of a young idol, asking “am I born for me or born for success?” Despite a year speckled in career milestones, answers remain unfound. “I think I’m still looking,” he replies in English, which he undoubtedly picked up from a childhood spent in Israel and the US. He’s the maknae (youngest) at 21 years old but possesses a disconcerting directness and a wry intensity. “Asking myself questions like that makes me grow up and be stronger,” he says, leaning in, elbows resting on his knees.

The group’s meme king, Hyungwon, isn’t a big talker in interviews but a joy for fans with his droll humor and expressions, which consistently go viral. Under the moniker DJ H.One, he’s been DJing on the tour and appearing at dance festivals like Ultra Korea “to show new things about myself. I’ve been practicing for about eight months in my own time.” His preference is for crowd-pleasing EDM; he throws a sliced and diced version of Monsta X’s single “Beautiful” into his sets, and as Hyungwon adds, “there’s a song called ‘Bang Bang Bang’, it has Jooheon rapping over it. I think the reaction (from the crowd) is so much better when we’re together.”

Unexpectedly, it’s Shownu who has impressed the public through the dance show Hit The Stage and beauty show Lipstick Prince, where male idols are taught the art of makeup. Formerly awkward enough around people to have earned the nickname ‘Robot Shownu’, he’s blossoming. “Lipstick Prince really helped me a lot to become confident around other singers and be able to get to know them, and Hit The Stage helped the way I perform,” he admits. “It’s definitely good for us to be working solo, but we never forget it’s Monsta X that makes solo activities possible. Also we have more fun together than alone.”

Together they’ve certainly achieved impressive goals – from winning last year’s Male Dance Performance at the Seoul Awards to topping the Billboard World Chart with their recent album, The Clan Pt. 2.5 Guilty. “We haven’t really thought about awards,” Minhyuk says of potential future wins. He’s interrupted. “A Grammy!” demands I.M, laughing, then apologising. “But rather than awards, we want to be a group the next generation can look to, like ‘I want to be like Monsta X’,” Minhyuk continues.

“We’re a family... We shine brighter when we’re together” – Shownu, Monsta X

Monsta X might well inspire others. After all, their dynamic – even in the unnatural confines of an interview – is one of warmth, acceptance, and familiarity. It’s in the little looks they shoot each other, the nudges of support, and Minhyuk, with his sunny smile and a speaking voice that cracks a little on the edges, embodies all that, creating an easy atmosphere that relaxes his bandmates.

“I don’t particularly think about if we’ve had to work at becoming friends, which I guess means it hasn’t been difficult,” Minhyuk muses. K-Pop fans often question if the appearance of closeness in idol groups is strictly for business or if they’ve truly bonded. “Well, y’know, I am a businessman,” he says slyly, making Wonho snort with laughter. “Just kidding! I think it’s been just a naturally flowing relationship.”

That there might be a member who remains hard to read sparks a debate. Kihyun tilts his head, squinting at the ceiling. “Even difficult members are so easy to read. I don’t know…” he says, half to himself.

“No, no!” says Minhyuk, with glint in his eye. “I have one. I.M. He’s our youngest so he seems to easy to read, but sometimes he’s really not. It’s like he has his own world.”

“I think he just has no thoughts during those times,” Shownu offers.

I.M’s world would be..? “Maybe Mars?” he replies, straight-faced. “But anyway, we don’t get angry, we’re always happy,” he quips, to explosions of disbelief around him.

There’s just enough time to look back at their career thus far and define, beyond the music, what’s set them apart to succeed. In a rather endearing way to end things, what Shownu says is mistranslated into “I think the difference is we have quite great bodies…” Kihyun laughs so hard he rolls into Jooheon’s lap as Minhyuk protests loudly – “Great bodies? Great shapes, great shapes!” he re-translates as Hyungwon and Shownu look startled, and I.M, Jooheon and Wonho wear the smiles of those who can no longer be embarrassed by much at all.

Shownu patiently starts again. “Firstly, all of us have great shapes, and we’re very dynamic…” He pauses. “I’ve never used the word ‘dynamic’ (‘역동적인’) before,” he says hesitantly, a leader who tends to let his group do most of the talking, “...and we’re powerful on stage. We’re a family. We’ve known each other for a long time and we shine brighter when we’re together.”

Article by Dazed

[elsewhereuniversity]

Threes

A short story about encounters with the Gentry. I left a bit of an open end, in case I want to continue this as a series, but that is yet to be confirmed. Hope you enjoy!

—

As a child, you adored tales about faeries. Anything that had to do with the fair folk, you consumed. All of it was fiction, of course. The only “fairies” you’d ever seen were the Tinkerbell figurines your best friend gave you as a gift, the art your mom drew for you, and the reading lights your grandmother had given you for your birthday. You decorated your room with posters, you had stories lining your shelves, and the figurines took up every flat space you could find.

You could never know that this knowledge would save your life.

You had taken a year off to get your bearings, earn a little money, find your place in life. When you found the website for Elsewhere University, it was an accident. You had been browsing a college webpage when it glitched, landing you on their website. It was almost like magic. The college had an incredible arts program, all the languages you were looking to study, and even relatively cheap housing. You had never seriously considered anything except the college your mother went to before you, but this place was just too good to be true. You showed the website to your parents, and you began enrollment.

The day you moved out, you and your mother drove into the countryside. You had lived here your whole life, driving these woods so much that you knew them like the back of your hand. You frowned at the GPS when it told you to turn right onto a road you knew didn’t exist, but to your surprised there was, in fact, a road there. You followed the directions, uneasiness settling in for the first time since you had discovered this incredible place.

The trip, which you had estimated would take half a day at least, took a mere hour, crossing through towns you had never heard of in places you had been a hundred times. You found your way to the dorms, ordinary looking brick buildings with extraordinarily normal paths leading to them. You and your mom began to unpack, carrying your things to the dorm. When everything had been moved up, your mother gave you a long hug and a quick kiss on the cheek before waving to you from the car as she drove away. You watched her go apprehensively, looking at your map and going to the main building for orientation along with a pack of other freshman.

When the RA began tell you the rules, you recognized them. The others laughed, college superstitions novel to them. But you knew. You knew what iron and salt were, you knew why you never say “Please” or “Thank You” or “I’m Sorry”. You knew the danger of walking into circles, of wandering into places where time crawls. You knew.

You went to your room, your roommate chattering excitedly. She laughed about the superstitions, saying that it was so ridiculous. You quickly cut her off, telling her that it was no joke. She seemed surprised by your seriousness, by the fear in your voice. You took off the iron ring your aunt gave you, handing it to her. You told her not to take it off, not even in the shower, and she nodded, seeming more scared of you than anything the RA said.

You were never one to wear jewelry, but you pull out all the stops here. You wore everything iron you’ve ever had. Your charm bracelet, mostly empty, was always on your wrist. You always kept your bag full of snacks, and always grabbed salt packets from the dining hall, even when your pockets were full. You also kept rings and bracelets and charms made of plastic, things you never really had a use for, just in case.

You remember being young. You remember your friends, all believers in faeries, making a resting place out of a butterfly cage. You remember waking up to the food being gone, the water depleted. You had poured it in your left eye, hoping to gain the Sight. You still occasionally saw figures out of the corner of that eye, but you always chalked it up to your eyes playing tricks on you. You grew up, you thought that maybe your parents had taken the food, hoping to make you happy. That it was all an indulgent game for a child.

Walking across campus was frightening. There were always Things. You wouldn’t look directly at them, terrified they’d see you. You knew better than to attract their attention. You knew better. When people took out their mood rings, you always told them to put it away. You didn’t glance, but you knew they were there. They saw you, and you saw them. You prayed they didn’t know.

You winced when you heard people ask their friends for favors. Polite phrases pierced your ears like arrows, pleases and thank yous being tossed around without care. You made friends with some of the more cautious people, although most of them were as unaware as the rest. You told them in quiet whispers what will happen to the people who don’t follow the rules, the people who don’t respect The Good Neighbors. The Fair Folk.

You never said faerie out loud. They don’t like it. Seeing them for who they are angers them. The smart ones never mention them, if they don’t have to. One idiot in your dorm proclaimed loudly that all this superstition is idiotic, that magic isn’t real. You steered clear of him, never looking at the things that followed him for a week. You weren’t surprised when he disappeared.

The crows that hung around the university were overtly friendly. You fed them whenever you got the chance, leaving shiny things on your windowsill for them. Most of them were actually crows, although when you’re so close to the border animals are never just animals. Some of them, though, were Them in disguise. You were always careful to feed them the same as the rest of the crows, although you never got too close. Sometimes you heard scratching on your window at night, as if something had come knocking for you. You always looked. Sometimes it was a tree branch, sometimes a crow. Sometimes it was something else. You always made sure to leave something for it, no matter what.

Your roommate headed your advice, at least when you saw her. You were sure she didn’t believe you, though, and you sometimes overheard her talk on the phone about her “crazy roommate” and how “weird” you were. One day, you found your ring on her nightstand. You knew she wasn’t taken, but it’s clear that she was done humoring you. You took it back.

Your classes were mostly normal, although your English classes always had one or two… extra students. On some days, you would walk by a classroom where all the desks have been put in a circle. You always walked quickly by, turning away those you could.

Your first mistake was singing. You had always been quite a fan of anything to do with music, and you had a lovely voice. You couldn’t help listening to music when you showered, and one day you began to sing along. You only stopped when you heard the other voice harmonizing with you. When you emerged, towel wrapped protectively around you, you had seen only a single shimmering scale lying on the ground. You kept it, fearfully watching from that day on.

You wore the scale in your hair, as a reminder. Of course, that didn’t stop you from making your second mistake. Every day you put on your jewelry, and you almost always took it off before going to bed. However, that day you had been working so hard, and you had been up so long… rather than place it all carefully on the front of your dresser like you normally did, you had tossed it onto your nightstand. It must have fallen down during the night, because when you looked the next day, you couldn’t find any of it.

As most things were with the fae, your mistakes came in a group of three. You knew that the one thing the fae valued above all else was Hospitality. That, of course, meant that an invitation to a party was a binding contract on both parts. This meant that, when you found your bowl of cream replaced with a letter, you had been genuinely delighted to find an invitation. This would be your first party on campus, as you hadn’t had an honest-to-god invitation before. You were absolutely delighted. You wore your most beautiful black ensemble, even wearing some of the new jewelry you had bought to replace the old things. Nothing iron, of course. Shops on campus didn’t sell iron.

You arrived at the party, excitement overwhelming you and making you forget your sense at the door. You saw many people there, all throwing themselves wildly into the party… no, the revel, and the night had only just begun. You went onto the dance floor, throwing yourself into the music in a wild, primal joy that hadn’t been able to grip you, not careful you with your iron and diplomatic words and fearful glances. You didn’t realize how exhilarating Their ways could be, but of course that was the danger of it all.

She was on your right when you saw her, dancing next to you with a shining dress and moss colored hair, her smile dazzling and sharp. You laughed, spinning closer to her and opening your eyes. You almost gasped, almost gave yourself away when you saw that her hair really was moss, dress no dress at all but rather scales that covered her head to toe and shone under the light. You stared in awe at her teeth, barracuda sharp and lovely all the same. Despite your Sight… she was still beautiful, and all the more dangerous for it. You felt yourself moving towards her, awe drowning out the screams from the sensible side of you saying to run as far and as fast as you could.

“I see you found me,” she bubbled, voice like a babbling brook as she reached out and brushed the scale in your hair. You blinked hand reaching up to her hair.

“You were the one singing with me… in the showers.”

Her laugh crashed on you like a wave against the cliff and she nodded.

“I’ve been watching you since then. I’m glad you got my invitation. You’re a slippery one, you know. It was hard to get you here. I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting…” you trail off, keeping your voice form quirking the end into a question. Too many questions would lead to a favor, so it was best to make statements.

“I wanted to hear you sing again. You have such a beautiful voice… why don’t you share it?”

“I’m saving it for someone special,” you replied flirtily, internally cursing yourself. You were never good at being reserved around pretty girls.

She simply giggled like a bubbling hot spring at that, holding out a hand. “Well, if you won’t sing, may I at least have a dance?”

You knew it was probably a trap, but saying no would be an insult. You didn’t want to insult her… fae or not, she was a lady. You never insulted a lady. You took her hand, and she put her other on your shoulder as you put yours on her waist. As if by magic… most likely by magic, the song ended, and a new one began for the two of you to dance to. She lead, being the more experienced of the two. You were entranced, though not by magic. You could tell it wasn’t by magic. You blamed your genetics for making you so damn susceptible to a pretty face and a beautiful voice.

When it happened, you weren’t sure, but when you looked up again you weren’t in the frat house. Rather, you were in a grand hall, full of dancers both Fair and human. Your simple black ensemble had transformed into a black tie affair, and your partner’s a silver gown of a fairly… revealing cut. You looked around, your double vision telling to you that, wherever you were, it wasn’t simply a Glamour. You were Underhill, definitely, as the room was what it seemed to be even if the Things in it weren’t. You saw quite a few creatures wearing skins to trick their guests… and with your Sight you also saw that all of the humans had some sort of aura around them, one you hadn’t seen before. When you looked to your own gloved hands, you saw it there too.

“Isn’t it lovely?” your partner asked.

“Astounding,” you said. You turned back to her, and after a moment realized she had dropped the Glamour that made her into a student.

“You are very clever, you know. It’s just too bad that you’ve got that pesky eyeball, or you’d be just another of the pretty ones.”

Your blood had turned cold at that, your footsteps almost faltering. “S-so… so you know.”

“Oh yes. We all do. They wanted to take it from you, but I think it adds to your charm. You didn’t even try to scream when you saw me. I like that.”

You swallowed, fear creeping back into you. She liked you… and probably wanted to keep you. You gave your best smile before replying, thankful that you were at least a good actor. “Since you know so much about me, you must know that dancing isn’t my talent and it would be such a waste to keep me like that.”

Her smile sharpened at that. “What a darling thing you are! I won’t keep you dancing forever, just for one song.”

You knew that was no guarantee. Just because she said it wasn’t forever didn’t mean it wouldn’t last for decades, or centuries or millennia. You thought quickly, going back and counting. “In that case, I’ll take my three questions in return during this song.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not many would notice that, let alone have the knowledge to ask. You’re more well-read than I thought. Very well, you may ask.”

You thought carefully for a long time before asking, trying to think your way out of any linguistic loopholes that might arise. “Will I return the same night I left?”

“You will be back before next sunrise,” she replied enigmatically. For all you knew, a thousand sunrises had already passed since you got here, but you would take that. It was as clear as they got.

You had a trick you could use, but you would rather not. Having one of Them like you was rare, and doing this would sour that. As dangerous as it was to be favored, it was more so to anger them. Instead, you asked the second question you were curious about. “Are you interested in claiming me?”

“You are a fascinating creature. A human with the Sight who’s rather discreet about it? That’s rare, at least among those who aren’t outright against us.”

Again, it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. The Good Neighbors were slippery things, never one to answer a question directly. There was a lot said in her reply, nevertheless, and it definitely didn’t seem as though she was completely shying from answering in anything but a riddle as most of them would.

“Enigma is certainly your forte. You haven’t answered any of my questions, so far.”

Her smile stretched unnaturally wide. “As if you expected any less. You’re much to intelligent to believe in straight answers from one of us.”

You nodded assent. “You’re fascinating yourself. Speaking to me rather than outright taking my eye is a bold strategy.”

“Ah, but your people have a saying. ‘An eye for an eye’. I’d rather keep both of mine. Though, it seems I’ve underestimated you. Many of the others have already gotten what they came for, yet we are still speaking.”

At her mention, your eyes darted around the room. It had grown emptier as you’d spoken, more couples disappearing to whence they came. You glanced to yourself once more, that aura still around you. As you looked to some of the other humans left, you notice that only a handful have it, the rest still dancing without. Those who had lost it seemed to be smiling to wide, dancing too quickly, eyes glazed over. Their partners were leading them around, some even leaving the halls through grand doorways further into the Underhill.

Your skin grew cold, realization dawning on you. “…You want my eye as much as the other f- uh… Fair Folk.”

Her smile seemed to grow sharper, more hostile, although maybe that was your bias draining away. “The Sight is a useful thing. The more powerful you are, the better your Glamours, and the harder it is for others to see through them. True Sight, Ungifted Sight…. Stolen Sight is a gift any could use.”

Your palms grew sweaty, her grip on you seeming more sinister by the second. Panic gripped your heart, making you struggle to find your next question. For a moment, your fear kept you from thinking before your mouth opened…

But then your rational side came to you once again, and asked… why would she tell you this, if she had no guarantee of you being hers? Unless she wanted you to panic. Unless she wanted you to slip up, to say something you would regret. You searched her eyes, finally seeing the hunger behind them, revealed by her plan coming to fruition.

You closed your mouth, a smile playing on your lips. At that, hers wavered.

“What should I call you, my lady?”

Her smile dropped… but a laugh escaped from her through, bubbling up and out of her chest like the dying breaths of a drowning man, popping at the surface and releasing back into the air.

“I am known as the Silver River, to those who I take an interest in. You’ve surprised me today, certainly. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

You smiled at her. “Perhaps.”

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself back in the dark living room, slow dancing to a song entirely unsuited to it. You looked around, surprised to find yourself in the same moment as when she took you. You felt the brush of cold lips against your cheek, but when you turned back to her she was gone. You put your hand to that cheek, pulling away to find a tube of silver lipstick in your hand. You tucked it into your pocket, fear and exhilaration coursing through you.

When you left that night, you still had the sight in your left eye. You were still yourself, wholly your own. It was your first brush with the Gentry.

But as with all things with them, encounters came in Threes.

x

[hellfire-bright]

( JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER || 25 || GENDERFLUID || THEY/THEM ) NICOLAE TROUILLEFOU the (ADOPTED) child of CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU and (BIOLOGICAL) child of CLAUDE FROLLO. they’re currently a FRESHMAN & a PHILOSOPHY major at auradon royal university, where they’re described by friends as +OPEN MINDED. however, others sometimes complain that they’re -SECRETIVE. maybe that’s why they’re called the WILD CARD around campus.

//History//

Nico was born in the shadows of the Notre Dame, to a man who only found fleeting interest in their mother and turned away from her the instant she disappeared. Months later Frollo was horrified to see her return with an infant in hand and pleading for refuge for the two of them. She was a Traveler, a Roma of Irish descent rather than those in Paris, so she had no family to go to. He wanted nothing to do with the problem but fear of damnation was enough to force his hand, taking in both and claiming the woman and child were lost souls. 

While Frollo wanted the child, named Jean by his own insistence, to be gone he quickly saw an opportunity to gain more favor in the eyes of the church by saying that he would raise and teach them, guide them on the path of righteousness. The man’s anger was still resounding though, time and again taken out on both the child and mother, until she finally decided to flee rather than take the risk of that anger turning deadly. Nowhere to go and with the Church willing to condemn her for the theft of an innocent child, she was forced to take up her plight with Clopin. 

At first it was more to humor himself, even with Frollo shortly after banished to the isle it was still a wonderful joke to drag his child around the streets knowing whose blood was in his veins and what a mockery to the Church his bold choice was. Clopin treated them well enough, but it wasn’t until after Nadiya perished in an accident that he was left with the choice of turning them out to the streets or taking responsibility for them. 

Clopin choose the latter, gave them a proper Roma name, Nicolae, and took them under his wing. Without children of his own at that point a bond grew between the two and it wasn’t long before Nico was every bit their adopted father’s pride. They were a brilliant child, sharp of wit and tongue, and time and again proved their worth to the Court. While everyone else was hesitant to accept at first it didn’t take very long before they came to see them as what they were; the Prince of the Court. 

Nico continued to grow and learn, aware of where he began in life but it no longer matter; he was Roma and would accept nothing else. As the walls between the isle began to break much of the Court turned a blind eye to it; life was hard enough without concerning themselves with outsiders. But Nico was different, they wanted to see what lay beyond the streets. When they stepped forward to ask their father for a favor the Court King was hesitant to allow it. The Court had always looked after its’ own, the thought of one of them venturing out into the world was a strange one. 

Eventually Clopn relented and set about finding a way to see it happen, it came down to a delightful game of manipulation when he approached Frollo with the promise of exposing his secret if he would not use his hand to aid Nico. So the Prince of the Court left home behind, for a time, to test the idea of what lay be waiting ahead.

//Personal//

Attempting to get an honest answer out of Nico is damn near impossible at times; they enjoy running circles around people in conversations and love to play those games. Charming, true, and a bit of flirt, also very tactile by nature so isn’t shy about contact, but nothing gives them more amusement than out-talking another person. Someone who can match wit and sarcasm is a worthy playmate, so to speak, and all the better a friend for it. 

They are pansexual by nature, hardly something unheard of in their home. They also assume sooner or later someone in the Court will also try to arrange a marriage for them. Tradition dictates most couples end up together that way, but time has begun to wear down some of those rules. They doesn’t really give that much weight though since their own father has had many companions but has never married.

Much like their father Nico uses hand gestures when speaking, paces and moves around a great deal, very animated. Also sometimes when frustrated rambles off in one language or another and forgets that people cannot understand what they might be saying. 

Nico has a bit of a habit of stealing random things. Often useless little trinkets that catch their eye, it’s almost a compulsion of sorts. It’s for that reason their personal space is bound to be cluttered with objects that seemed important at the time but are all but forgotten just as swiftly. .

Another thing to contend with is Xari, the rather large rat that Nico is so very fond of. The creature’s name literally means ‘one who eats a lot’ and it’s very fitting to the rodent who likes to perch on their shoulder or hide in a pocket to reach and snatch food from anyone who happens to get close enough.

He’s a solid black rodent of the common sort seen in the streets and sewers of the city, Nico took him away from a rangy old cat who had already eaten the rest of the litter and raised him.

Unlike some in the Court of Miracles, father included, Nico has embraced the modern changes that outsiders have begun bringing into the city. Used to make a game of slinking about and listening to the stories tourists recounted of other places, feeding that longing to see more of the world. Phones and other devices they swiftly took to stealing, curious, and quickly learning how to use them. They have tried to encourage others of the Court to do the same but many of the older Roma dislike the idea.

That was in part one of the reason Nico left, knowing that seeing the larger part of the kingdom would allow some insight on how best to help their own people adjust to changes ahead.  

Nico has a handful of skills that served him well back home, but not so certain they will in new places. Sword-swallowing, fire-breathing, a rather good singing voice and of course, their cousin Esmeralda taught them how to dance. Not as strong as some people but fast, both on their feet and with those sly hands that do so well at picking pockets.

Surprisingly well educated, always curious and cousin Esmeralda urged them to learn as much as possible. They has a stockpile of books lifted from strangers on all sort of subjects. Fluent in French, of course, but also in English and the native tongue of their Roma clan. 

Some in the Court whisper that they might just be a demon, it’s no secret that they are the child of Frollo, even if Clopin has threatened exile from the Court to any who speak that secret outside of their family.

//Court of Miracles//

While raised mostly traditionalist there are areas of their family's Romanipen that Nico doesn’t strictly follow. It gives Clopin some grief that the they shrug aside most views of religion but Nico has a tendency to be as stubborn as their father at times so there’s little arguing it. They stay respectful of most of the traditions, it’s just a few they feels are painfully outdated.

To that point, they are cautious of outsiders but perhaps a bit more accepting of them due to their own background. After all, they was adopted, so who’s to say that they can’t find people to act as a family outside the Court? It’s not likely to be an easy title to gain; loyalty is absolute so not given easily and to earn the bond of someone like Nico it’s bound to take a real connection, and someone who can look past their..less than lawful outlook on life.

Rules, of course, belong to the lands, and those laws Nico feels little need to follow. They knows they must out of necessity with some of them but like most any Roma lives by their own code. The first rule of that being look after your own above all else, the next being do not suffer the actions of a fool to ruin your plans.

Names are something sacred, they shares their full name with none outside family; there is power in names that most people no longer believe. A name, much like one’s word, is something with meaning and gives neither away easily. 

While holding the title of Prince of the Court those there do recognize that Nico identifies as genderfluid, just as they will one day be King of the Court once Clopin steps down. The title is not really considered a gendered one to the Roma of the Court and more one of respect, a rule can be male, female or anything else and may choose to be called what they wish, Nico has decided to keep the title of Prince and later take King as a nod of respect for their father’s current title.

Isn’t exactly moral by nature, nor believes that anyone is strictly good or bad; both exist in all people. So it’s easy enough for to shrug off the idea that someone might have had a parent who was considered a villain of sorts, assuming they do nothing to cross them. Or worse, harm those under their care. Not exactly forgiving either if lines are crossed; by nature friendly enough but make an enemy of them and Nico will torment the poor soul to the point of madness and make a game of it. Has a temper, it’s true, get them riled up too much and they won’t easily back down. 

Since they were brought up in a community of sorts rather than a single home, most everyone had a hand in helping to raise them, Nico is surprisingly good with children. Enjoys looking after them, playing games, and does one day know they’ll likely have their own to look after. For all those rough edges there is a softness to how they deals with kids and is very protective of them.

When Nico went to his father with the intention of traveling to enroll in school Clopin was somewhat at a loss at first. It was less a matter of being unwilling to turn loose them loose for a few years and more that poverty was still the undertone of the life they all lived. But, true to his serpent-sharp wit, Clopin came up with a solution in the form of going to Frollo and threatening to expose the truth to his church if he didn’t agree to tend to the matter.

It’s for that reason that some of the generous donations the church receives no longer pads the pockets of those in power there but is slipped into a trust fund that Frollo waves off as a fund for the poor. He detests being blackmailed in such a way but with so many people already suspicious about the matter he can’t afford to take the risk of refusing.

Nico does still live on as little of the money as possible though, often coning or lifting money for their little vices, the rest they sends back to the Court every month in the care of Clopin for everyone.  

Nico has only tried to approach Frollo once when the man was released from the isle, out of the need to know if Frolo had any regret in abandoning them. When greeted with cold words and called a monster for a sinful life Nico never looked back; Clopin raised them and they views the man as a real father. The two share a deep bond, no matter if it wasn’t one of blood.  

[mcrololo]

A thank you letter I can never give

Sometimes I think back of the good old days and am reminded of you. I remember I miss those and I remember I miss you more than I think I do.

I remember the time you (accidentally) spat in my text book. I didn’t see how or why, but there was a lot of saliva on one of the pages and when I turned to you to ask what happened, you hilariously kept denying you had anything to do with it. The trail went to you and you had trouble keeping a straight face so I couldn’t help but laugh either.

To this day I still don’t know what happened. You never caved in and confessed. I still believe it was you, but I also believe it was an accident so I would have forgiven you. It was just a textbook and, despite the pages sticking to each other for the rest of the year, I got away without having to pay for them. I might not remember everything clearly, but I will never forget that day. It’s actually one of my favorite memories that I can remember from the top of my head – if not one of my all-time favorite memories in general.

My favorite memory, especially involving you, was during one of our breaks. I don’t remember what led up to it, but I know we had a hearty chat about something and you suddenly told me something that would help me through my dark days from then on. It was so out of the blue I didn’t know how to respond, but please know that it meant the world to me, even if I didn’t realize it back then.

You told me you were glad my dad only found out about his sexuality later on. I don’t know what triggered it. We weren’t talking about my dad or sexuality at all. We were just having a few laughs and a good time. Maybe that was it – I don’t know. Maybe you realized that in that moment you were laughing with a friend who might not even have existed if things hadn’t lined up. I asked you why with an awkward chuckle, because no one had ever told me that and especially not the way you did. I felt weird, but in a good way. In an ‘I’m not used to being so bluntly appreciated, but I appreciate it’ kinda way. Your eyes went wide. I would find out later that you were flabbergasted that I would even ask you such a question.

You replied, without hesitation, that if my dad had already known beforehand, I maybe would have never existed.

And in that moment I didn’t know how to feel, because no friend had ever expressed the way they felt about me like that. I probably handled it very dumb but you didn’t judge me for it. You were, at the very worst, worried about my mental wellbeing.

I never got to thank you for what you said back then. In the years that came, having that said to me made a huge difference. I sometimes think about it when I’m feeling down or need a little boost, and then I smile because it makes me feel like you still have my back. You really still have my back.

To think that we came this far when I remember the first day we met makes me realize how fast things can change. We couldn’t get along at first, both of us having different friend groups and such. But when we came together and talked more often, we learned that we actually had a lot in common and quite the same sense of humor. Somewhere along the line we decided ‘this one is a keeper’ and we only grew from that. I’m thankful for you showing me your other side. I’m usually not one that’s easy to budge and when I’ve formed an opinion I stick to it, but you managed to break that opinion with a flick of your wrist. It’s thanks to you that we became friends.

Most of the time I remember the good memories, like our sleepovers and our shenanigans at school. I felt so relieved that our friendship remained as strong as it did in high school when we moved on with our lives. We graduated and went to different schools, but we still kept in touch and visiting you every so often became a comfortable routine for me.

But sometimes I can’t help but remember the bad memories as well. I had a fight with our mutual best friend once and I secluded myself from everyone around me. You stayed at her side and didn’t come to mine. It hurt, but luckily it only took a day for our friend to come to me and talk it out. I don’t know if this was because you talked to her or not. Even so I don’t like to remember it.

Fortunately the bad memories aren’t as strong and didn’t happen as often as the good ones. I only remember two very clearly. You had this weird impact on other’s lives that I can’t really describe. Your story was amazing to hear and I couldn’t help but listen to it every time you told someone else about your life, even if I had heard it countless times before. You inspired people. I know you probably don’t want to hear it. You once told me you hated it when people honored someone who’d died. You couldn’t understand why someone was called brave for dying, why someone was called inspirational for being gone. But that’s exactly what you did. You inspired people, and you were brave for deciding not to let your illness and issues rule your life. I’m envious of that.

A part of me is truly convinced that you had always known that I was also fighting a terrible fight I might not win. Maybe not at first, and I didn’t realize up until you passed away how bad I was losing either, but you always tried to help me see the brighter side of life. Your words and presence helped me move on from things that were probably very hard to move on from otherwise. It’s not like you made my world revolve around me or make yours revolve around me whenever I was near, but you did help me take a step towards the first one. I could be myself around you, and you could be yourself around me. I don’t know if you truly was. I have never seen you deal with negative emotions, because you always brushed things off and remained a happy version of yourself, but nobody can’t not feel sadness or anger through their life. Maybe you chose not to show me so I would be able to concentrate on my own battle rather than yours. I wish I could have been there for you the same way you were there for me.

I tried to do that when you heard you had to undergo a very serious surgery. You’d have to spent a long time in bed to recover and you weren’t looking forward to the complicated lifestyle you’d be having. When you voiced your concerns, I tried my very best to be there for you, and eventually I made you a promise. I promised you we would get through 2014 together. It was mid December 2013 when I vowed that. You passed away at the start of February in 2014. You were only 17.

A week before it happened the typical day of visiting you rolled around, but I hadn’t heard from you for a few days and I was feeling extremely out of it, so I decided not to come. My mother asked me about it and I simply said I didn’t feel like it. We skyped that week. I don’t remember if it was before or after I didn’t come over, but you were worried about an English presentation that you had to make for the same week. I told you not to worry about it so much and that I would come over to help you with it. You were happy, because we both knew your English sucked and I had the best grades for English at that time.

Unfortunately I never saw you in person again. Not alive.

You know how they say you never know how much you love something until its gone? I never said I love you to you. We weren’t the type to be so incredibly affectionate to each other, so we never said such things. We rarely had body contact too. But now that I think back on it, I actually regret it. You deserved to hear those words more often. You deserved to be loved as much as you loved everyone else and you deserved to know it. You were so fucking young and finally started to feel really alive. It still hurts me to my core to think that you almost got a taste of romantic love with someone and you never got to experience it. It’s so goddamn good and you deserved it more than I did.

I never talked to you about my crushes. I didn’t exactly have many. But in contrast, you were my first friend I came out to face to face, and actually the only one that mattered to me, now that I think about it. The rest were online friends, and that was pretty easy, but despite everything it was still hard to come out to you. I think you’d known for years already. You kept joking about it to me and as much as I hated it, you were right. You were right and so open to it that I feel stupid for being nervous. You were so happy for me when I told you that it’s just silly I had to take a few moments before I finally blurted it out. I don’t know if it was your joy or that you noticed just how nervous I was, but you offered to tell our other friends and you actually waited for my permission. That was very sweet. I told you about my first crush and you teased me about it. But that was the only crush I told you about, because things got complicated and I didn’t want to bother you.

I regret that. Maybe you would’ve met my girlfriend and she could’ve seen how wonderful you are. Now she only knows you through stories that don’t really justify your personality.  

My girlfriend and I played Just Dance 4 on the wii recently. We used to play it at your place when we were feeling giddy and wanted a few more laughs. I’m usually not a dancer, so it took you years before I finally caved in and played it with you, but I was so good at the game I got addicted. I probably suck at copying the moves, I only ever get the timing right. You got a gift from your little brother when you had to stay in the hospital a few days. He gifted you some money for the Just Dance store and you bought Gangnam Style with it. The song was still hot despite being ‘old’ and we had a good time dancing on it. I remember there was one time you didn’t really feel like dancing much because of your back, so I picked the dude that moved around the most and we still did the song. At some point you had to spread your legs for me to lie on the ground in between them, so I jokingly screamed ‘open your legs’ and you laughed so hard we missed most of the song.

Most of the time I realize how much I miss your laugh. Not in a ‘that was music to my ears’ kind of way, but in the ‘oh wow, she’s laughing heartily, that means I’m funny and that makes me feel good about myself’. You laughed at most of my jokes and it always was contagious. You laughed at your own jokes, too. You laughed at pretty much everything, and I laughed with you. Our friendship went from ‘mildly judging each other’ to ‘judging others together’. And I loved every single second of it.

You asked for my help a lot when it came to artsy projects at school. I don’t know how I gave you the impression that I actually know my shit, but I liked it when you asked for my help. It was some sort of sign that you trusted me and that made me feel good about myself. I felt worthy. One time you asked me if I could help you sort some of your stuff and you had to reach up very high. You were way smaller than I was, so you decided to take advantage of me being there. It was a shelf with very old drawings and artsy stuff you made when you were a kid. I found some Sinterklaas candy on there and we couldn’t stop laughing about it. It was so old and wrinkly, and we dared each other to eat it, but decided against it. You threw it back up there and I was a bit disgusted, but the entire situation was so funny to me that I still find myself laughing about it.

One of the last movies we watched together was during a sleepover at your place. Your mom wasn’t home so we had to babysit your little brother. I played games with him at first and then we switched to watching movies together. We watched Frozen, Kickass 2 and This is the end. There was another movie I don’t really remember, but I will never forget how we laughed at how bad Kickass 2 and This is the end were. You briefly wondered if my taste in movies was trustworthy.

We also had a sleepover birthday party once. We slept downstairs because there were 4 of us and there was alcohol involved. I hadn’t eaten all day so I got tipsy after just two bottles and you were so surprised, but you kept laughing at me about it. I don’t mind. I had a great time. By the time we fell asleep, I woke up in the middle of the night because one of your stupid cats had found my feet and caused me to overheat. I was so sweaty I stuck to the couch, but thinking back on it never fails to make me laugh.

I don’t remember if it was the same birthday party or not – I think it was – but you took us to the movie once. We shared a bucket of popcorn between the two of us while or other two friends shared one as well. We couldn’t finish it and took notice of how the others almost had, so when they went to the bathroom during the break, we switched our popcorn with theirs. They noticed immediately, but one of them stared us dead in the eye as she continued eating popcorn. Remembering this makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. I will forever cherish these moments, but at the same time I know that I will never get to experience this again. We won’t be able to create more moments like these.

After your death you still stuck around. I know this, because sometime in May 2014 your mom took me to see a medium. You probably met her when she took care of your body in the mort, but you know her better now. I do believe you’ve talked more often since then. Your mom paid for me. She said it was an early birthday present and it was one of the best I have ever gotten. People typically don’t believe in mediums thanks to the tv and science, but the way she talked about you… She sounded just like you. So alive, so full of energy and dreams. She told us you saw yourself as a butterfly and that we should be on the lookout for them. The butterfly season hadn’t started yet, but that same evening a colorful butterfly flew right in my face. It was a magical experience.

The medium also knew about my depression. Offline I don’t talk about it as much as online, especially not back then. I hadn’t even told my family and close friends how depressed I felt. I had just started seeing a therapist for the first time in my life. The medium gave me tips on natural medication and she told me that you’d always be there for me if I needed you. That gave me comfort and the courage to move on. I started fighting back again. I stopped thinking it should’ve been me instead of you because of that day.

I wanted to visit your grave more often and at first I did. I tried to bring your favorite flowers every time. I usually didn’t go alone, but coming to your grave was something I started to dread more than actually wanting to come. Every time I went I remembered something meaningful and happy, but at the same time it made me think that we wouldn’t have that any longer. That it was just the past and not the future. I don’t like going to your grave because of that. I like talking to you wherever better. I still talk to you, but you know that, because sometimes you give me answers to questions I’m dying to solve – and sometimes you just have my back when I need support.

Sometime during the fall 2016 I experienced another magical moment thanks to you. It was a chilly night the night before so my girlfriend and I closed all the windows and went to sleep. But when I woke up, finding an empty bed besides me, I noticed I wasn’t alone. There was a butterfly on the windowsill at my side of the bed. I wanted to take pictures but decided against it, because I didn’t want it to die. I opened up the window but the butterfly didn’t move. I then put my hand next to it in the hopes of catching the butterfly so I could bring it outside myself. The butterfly crawled on top of my hand without me having to do anything else and when I put my hand outside the window, it didn’t fly away. The butterfly just sat on top of my hand. Chilling.

You were that butterfly. I don’t know why you were there that morning, but I know you were. I tried to put you outside several times, but you didn’t move. I will never forget that morning.

Butterflies started to mean something entirely different to me. The idea of getting a tattoo always spoke to me, but I never got one, because I didn’t know what I wanted to get. Now I’m thinking about getting a butterfly tattoo somewhere so I can carry you around anywhere I want.

We went to the same medium a few months after our first visit. She told me back then that we had friendship bracelets together. I told her we didn’t, but I couldn’t shake the news, so I looked everywhere to find them. I searched through my mom’s house, my dad’s, my grandparents’… I couldn’t find the bracelet and I couldn’t remember me ever getting one from you. During our second visit I asked about the bracelets again. It was a group session in your house, and the medium told me that I would eventually find it if the timing is right. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Your brother went up to your room and took out your jewelry box. The medium searched through it and pulled out two self-made pink bracelets, of which one was still unfinished. She told me those were the bracelets you talked about, and that you were meaning to give one to me once they were done.

I hardly ever cry in front of people, especially that big of a group. There were at least eight people present and I bawled like a little baby.

I wore the bracelet nonstop. I once lost it and was so shaken that I cried for a very long time. You helped me find it again. I felt so lost and heartbroken at the idea of losing that bracelet… It didn’t survive us moving out to our own place. It’s broken and I still feel sad and guilty about it. I want to fix it, but it won’t feel the same and I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I didn’t mean to break it. That bracelet means so much to me and I hope you know that.

Before we moved out I went through some hard times. I had a lot of suicidal thoughts and I couldn’t handle the burden of being alive. But sometimes, when I felt extremely down and unwanted, I could hear a voice in my head telling me I wasn’t a bad person. That I was wonderful and that people wanted me around. I’m convinced that was you telling me I shouldn’t listen to myself.

I survived 2014 because of you, because I told you we’d get through it together, and I didn’t want to break my promise. I felt like if I took my own life, I wouldn’t be able to face you. I’m still around in 2017 because of you. Even when my loved ones couldn’t get through to me and help me fight my battle, you were there at the front lines fighting with my crippling thoughts.

You helped me in so many possible and impossible ways that I feel really blessed we met back then, and I wouldn’t change any of it even if I knew what I know now. It hurts like a bitch to lose someone so close to you, but you changed and keep changing me for the better and I wish I could tell you in person how thankful I am to have had you around. You changed my life. Thanks to you I still am alive. I miss you every single day, but I am also quite often reminded that you’re still with me.

So, my dearest friend, I have only one more thing left to say to you. Thank you, and I love you. Always have and I always will. 

[barbecuedphoenix]

200 Followers: 11 Things About Me

So I was re-tagged a week ago by @eldarya-scenarios. (I had no idea I tagged you twice, dear. ^_^ Having two aliases is awfully sneaky.) 

If you’re a little curious on who your friendly fan blogger is behind the Leiftan icon and the barrage of text-winks, feel free to read on. Watch out though: it’s a long post like everything else I write... 

And if not, please continue to enjoy this blog’s smart-assery and the text-winks. ;)

1) Why did you name your blog the way you did? ...Because that’s the screen-name I use for my main Eldarya account. I’m not very creative with names. :( Not to mention that it’s probably very politically-incorrect to say ‘Barbecued Phoenix’ in the faery realm. Huang Hua would not be amused. And my blog is guaranteed to be politically-incorrect as far as folklore and faeries are concerned. ;) My screen-name is actually homage to a Neil Gaiman short-story called ‘Sunbird’, which is still one of my favorites from its double serving of dark humor and culinary catastrophes. And it sounds really funny when you say it out-loud (at least that’s my opinion).

2) What was your last meal? *checks bowl next to laptop* Eh… a fruit salad I scraped together from some Rainier cherries and leftover cantaloupe slices. It’s summer here, and I enjoy my fruits. :)

3) Jeans or skirts? …I must have at least nine different pairs of jeans in my closet, half of which I don’t even wear most days. And just one pencil skirt. Because at least once in my life, I’ll need to go to a court room. So there’s your answer. :)  

4) What’s your favourite letter of the alphabet? In the English alphabet, ‘L’ is my favorite. It just rollllls off the tongue so nicely. :) 

5) Favourite fandom/shipping? I’m a mercenary crack-ship writer. Anything goes so long as characters are in-character. ;) *cough* Truthfully, I haven’t shipped anything in a fandom since I was eleven or twelve, and that was waaaay back when the cartoon series Avatar the Last Airbender premiered. I think that experience has inoculated me to serious shipping. So now, while I enjoy seeing a well-developed, well-paced canon romance (because it means the creators have really thought the story through), it’s never a huge concern for me who’s paired up with whom. Romance isn’t actually the selling point for me for a lot of stories; it’s individual character development and plot direction that counts.   And anyway… fan shipping is really a fabrication. With a bit of imagination, effort, and tactical writing, functional relationships can be spun between anything and anyone, and unraveled in the same way. Even when keeping all parties in character. So why blow a gasket over shipping? To each their own dirty little fancies. ;)

As for my fandoms… they’re a patchwork quilt of games, books, movies, TV shows, anime from a lot of different sources, and it changes every year. For the sake of time, I’ll give a rundown of just the fantasy/supernatural genres I’ve been following for a while (translating some of the titles to English when possible):  

Games: the Dragon Age series, Folklore (also called FolksSoul), Uncharted, the Persona series 

Books: Discworld, His Dark Materials, the Dr. Siri Paiboun series, the Temeraire series, The Tiger’s Wife, Brisingamen, pretty much anything done by Neil Gaiman… the list goes on. With a few rare exceptions, I’ve shifted from being a high fantasy lover (those tropes get old after a while) to an acolyte of more low-key genres like magical-realism, fantasy-historical-fiction, and satirical-fantasy.  

TV Shows: Supernatural  

Anime & Cartoons: the Fate series (even though my fanfiction ends up making fun of it 95% of the time, it’s still a really intricate universe), the Avatar series  

Movies: Practically anything done by Studio Ghibli and Tomm Moore, ‘Coraline’, ‘Corpse Bride’, ‘Therapy for a Vampire’, ‘Let the Right One In’, ‘Groundhog Day’, the very first installation of ‘The Hobbit’   

6) What’s your favourite sport? (You don’t necessarily have to play it) Favorite sport I can’t do, but love to watch: Surfing. Forget berserk football matches; give me a crazy Australian riding a tunnel wave any day. :D  Favorite sport I can do: Bicycling. I’m no Tour de France candidate, but my bike regularly takes its share of unreasonable hills and descents in the city where I live. Personally, It’s a great way to get around. ^_^

7) What’s your idea of a perfect day? Getting everything on my list done with minimal coffee and hair-pulling.  -_- Sorry… I’m still listening to the robot half of my brain. Switching over.  Start the day by making a difference and sharing a good time with both the students I see where I work, and the odd friends and colleagues I do have. Attend a really good lecture. Then take a quiet bus ride to the beach or an aquarium, where I can watch all the wildlife shenanigans I want. Tourists included. Cook something awesome for lunch or dinner, and eat it to discover that it’s still more awesome. End the day with a good book, an avalanche of blankets, and a conveniently-rainy night. And maybe a quick Skype/phone call with my dad.  ;( Oh there I go, listening to the sappy half of my brain. Switching over.  

8) What animal do you hate with all your soul? The logical part of my brain tells me I have no cause to loathe any animal for existing. But the cave-woman part of my brain still gets creeped out by a few of them…. Geckos especially. Because the house where I grew up was infested with them (like a typical equatorial house, actually). The geckos could be found on absolutely any flat surface, even the underside of the table and on the ceiling, so we always had to check right before sitting down that something cold, bug-eyed, and squirmy wasn’t going to drop on us in the middle of dinner. And they also liked to appear in other surprising places: like in your shoes (as my father found out one day while rushing to work), inside drawers, inside trash cans, crushed between door hinges, trapped in the kitchen sink, and inside the refrigerator a couple of times (worst idea ever, for a lizard).      One of the best things that happened to me on moving to this corner of the United States: no geckos anywhere. I can clean my apartment with an easy heart. \o/    

9) Can you dance? Besides some lingering muscle memory from my early days doing classical ballet... no. :(  I’d really like to take up Spanish Flamenco though. Generally, I do better with choreographed dances rather than impromptu club-dancing. As all my friends have told me. I’ve given them so many priceless memories on the dance-floor… 

10) What’s the name and age of your favourite character? (OC or otherwise) I can’t decide on a ‘favorite’ character in media; there’s too many of them. So how about a favorite OC instead? ^_^   Right now among the Eldarya OC cast, my favorite would have to be Zephania ‘Zee’ Tantiango because she’s a magnet for trouble as a protagonist very dynamic heroine to work with. (She’s 23, in case you’re interested.) Zee is actually the latest incarnation of the ‘funny-but-unlucky action heroine’ archetype I’ve spent years working on, and I’m happy with how she’s turning out so far. On one hand, she’s the typical small-town heroine who’s sharp, plucky, energetic, and more than a little kooky herself; the story never stops moving once she starts improvising in a tight situation. :) But there’s a strong undercurrent of tragedy in the way she continues to isolate herself through her pride and her decisions, especially because she’s allergic to either admitting that she’s in real trouble, or cutting herself some slack for her mistakes. There’s a lot of sadness behind that finger-snap smile. I’m still debating on whether to give her a good ending, or a bitter one. :(  No, that was not a spoiler for the fan-fiction that’ll one day hit this blog.

11) What got you into your favourite activity?(i.e how did you start?) Favorite activity? Like… a hobby?  Well the longest-running hobby I’ve ever had is writing (no guesses there). And it was more-or-less self-taught. As a kid, nobody could take me anywhere without a book in my hand, or some other adventure happening inside my own head (which made it awfully inconvenient to get my attention in a mall… but hey, I never wandered off). And writing short stories was always the most entertaining school assignment for me.  But it wasn’t until I started home-schooling at thirteen that I found the time and need to write something for myself, putting to paper those increasingly-complex sagas and fan-fictions that lived in my head (because my short-term recall just couldn’t keep track of all the dialogue and plot twists anymore; I needed to start recording my stories to make sense of them.)   And I haven’t stopped since. :)

Uh-oh. Here come… my questions. For @mentacomchocolate, @areyntheheartseeker, and @the-irish-hoor​. 

Why did you name your blogs the way you did? ;)

What would your honest personal reaction be if you accidentally stepped into a fairy ring, landed in a strange place, and got threatened by a fox-lady wielding fireballs?  

What’s your dream job in this life?  

Is there anyone you have a crush on that you’re still really embarrassed to admit? Would you like to mention them anyway? ;)  

If there’s only one book genre you could spend the rest of your life reading, what will it be?  

What are the top 5 things you geek out over? (Today, at least. ;) )

If you’ve been given a 24-hour advance warning that the world is definitely going to end (i.e. via Death Star), what will you do?

And if you’ve been given an exclusive two-person escape pod during above scenario, what/who would you bring with you to escape the planet? Would you want to?

If your friends can agree on one thing about you, what would it be? Do you agree with them? 

What’s the most embarrassing thing that happened to you this past week?  

What do you remember as your most incredible feat of endurance to date? Physical, mental, and/or social?

*looks up* ...All right, those are some weird questions. I won’t blame you at all if you ignore them. 

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

On a post about how Mom felt uncomfortable about seeming smart, and mentioned in passing my family’s “place” in the community...

aconitum-napellus said I was made to feel ashamed constantly for being clever, at school. And they celebrate physical prowess with sports days. There’s nothing public like that for intellectual prowess.

But just to dial back - your family were shot at and threatened? What? Why? WTF?!!!

On another note, I found this post both interesting and profound.

Oh, I always used to grumble about sports being the focus of everything. In fact the cheerleaders were held in higher regard, and here they didn’t even do any acrobatics, just shake their pompoms and ass at intervals. I’m not being nasty but accurate for my school. In fact as far as I can tell the “elite” team of cheerleaders, the “Silver Bullets”, walked around in what looked like silver swimsuits and boots but didn’t even have to do that much. Athletes and cheer leaders were the stars. But good at anything academic? HA! 

As one teacher said when asked why the struggling  students got stickers as rewards and the ones doing well got nothing... “Good grades are their own reward. You don’t need any praise!” Maybe not, but it might have been nice to feel like it was valued. I mean, theoretically the purpose of the school was to teach those “boring” subjects and not just have football and baseball teams!

You wonder about the dangers my family faced...

(I hope you don’t mind me making a new post about this, but it might be a bit long for a re-blog.)

(Ok, it is VERY long!)

I started to say it has to do with the 1960s, but it dates back farther. While my family has had this land since the area was first stolen...sorry ...”settled” by the English, my great grandmother was orphaned as a baby and raised by an older cousin. I don’t know when great grandma and cousin Annie moved back to the farm, but it was after my grandmother grew up in Norfolk, Virginia. Now while the locals didn’t think a couple of old ladies were outsiders, that would NOT be the case when my father’s parents came back to the farm too.

My grandfather was from around Boston, the wild child son of a wealthy dentist. When he he married grandma (they would be married over 50 years BTW) they moved near where he grew up. That would cause problems with certain members of his family for marrying a southerner, and in fact one of his sisters would never consider us “real” family and try to demand back all his belongings when he died. Still, generally, there time living in Massachusetts would always be remembered fondly. “Home” Pop called it.

Unfortunately a childhood illness had damaged gradaddy’s heart and he had become a pack a day smoker. He was told he had months to live, so he quit cold turkey and became a passionate anti-smoker, so much I was shocked to be told he’d ever smoked. Still, his health was fragile and they told him he needed to move south for the climate (really? This crazy place where temps  in January this year  ranged from 9 to over 80 F? Ok...) And so they came to live here on the farm.

Actually, they toyed with moving near Highlands in the mountains, which would have been right down from Mom’s family home in Franklin. Instead they moved here a year or two before Mom and her mother came to live with an aunt after her parents divorced. If I believed in destiny I would think it wanted my parents together! LOL

Anyway, my father and his parents moving here was not welcomed by the community in the 1950s. They were “Yankees”, which around here seems to mean anyone from north of Virginia. Yankee was an insult. They would chase my father home from school throwing bricks at him and there was a general shunning going on. One teacher his senior year burned their gradebook telling the witnesses “Thay will keep that yankee from going to college!” And this was after my father had won some national science prize (sorry, I forget the name...I think the one for the laser came later). In fact my grandfather (who while ultra charming and with an amazing sense of humor was super tough having been a first mate in the Merchant Marines) ended up going out to the school and pinning the principal to the wall, informing him that this was going to be corrected in no uncertain terms. There was a reason my father had no nostalgia for the era. As a child I defiantly self identified as “half yankee” because even that much later it was looked down on.

Even more appalling than where they were from were their attitudes. See, my family believed in the shocking notion that people were people. They had friends of all sorts of backgrounds, including black ones. The current head of the NAACP’s father was friends with my father, and even in the 1980s I remember the shock of bystanders as they greeted each other as “cousin”. They did that, in case you are wondering, because they might very well be since some of our ancestors had owned some of his ancestors. My family did little things like donate turkeys to the local black school (remember segregation) at Christmas. I really don’t know all the small gestures they were involved in) While not super activists they simply refused to treat people the way the local culture demanded. 

There were apparently rumors my family were jewish, and that made them hated too. Now actually they weren’t. On my Mom’s hillbilly side I DO actually have jewish ancestry, but not on the “Wolfe” side that the locals suspected. My family never corrected them because there nothing wrong with being jewish and why even seem to agree that it’s something you shouldn’t want to be? To this day folks still assume we are jewish.

Now between the outsider status and the views on equality, things were going to inevitably get worse as society took a darker turn. As the 1950s became the 1960s both the civil rights movement AND the KKK were active. In fact, not just this region but this state were hotbeds of the KKK. The tensions were high, making my grandfather’s heart problem worse, so my parents (now married) left college before getting their PhDs (Mom always regretted that to come back here to help.

This area in the 1960s was an ugly place, but it had been an ugly place for a long time. Lynchings did happen, in fact my high school English teacher told how her favorite cousin was lynched when she was growing up. Black friends of my parents were beaten up by cops for walking on the “wrong” side of the road. The first time my grandfather visited the area with grandma they saw the aftermath of a mob castration of a jewish man back in the 1920s, but the tensions had gone in waves. The 1960s were one hell of a spike in hate. 

I have no idea if there was an initial trigger to the death threats, but my family started getting them. And I don’t mean veiled threats or anonymous voices on the phone. These were face to face “We are going to kill you!” threats laces with profanity and slurs I won’t use here.   

You must be wondering why they didn’t go to the police. Well they did, but they say the local sheriff was a nice guy but a coward. There was no way in hell he was going to arrest anyone. Instead he told my family that when they come for you shoot, and shoot to kill. Then bury the body in the swamp and never tell anyone what happened. Especially not him. You will notice it was “when” not “if” they come for you, since the reality was very bleak. I don’t know what percentage of the white male population were KKK, but certainly the majority.

My family were effectively on their own to deal with it.  This meant they ended up with three German Shepherds (one a rather scary ex prison guard dog)  and a bunch of guns. They would make a big show of their target practice, especially the fact that Mom turned out to be a crack shot. It runs in her family, with cousins that were top shots in the military, and here is was very handy so they didn’t assume the women folk were easy targets. Guns were kept at the ready, for instance tucked under the table where the fiberglassed in the business they had started or under the seat of the motorboat. These would be sensible precautions. 

Since I wasn’t alive then I can’t really tell you how many times they were shot at. There were many incidents of pot shots meant to frighten them, clearly underestimating my family. Some incidents were more serious.

Take the one where my father and grandfather were out on the river. Someone up the bank made a serious attempt to shoot them. Since they missed either my father or grandfather pulled out the automatic they had (sorry, I forget gun names), one of those military type serious firepower. They returned fire, aiming roughly towards the area they had been fired at from. They got to see their attacker running for his life!

Actually, returning fire but in a sort of “won’t shoot you if you back off” way was something they did a few times.

You know that big boat of ours I’ve posted photos of? Well, they had a big barn they built to construct it in. Naturally the ones that hated them for existing intended to burn it down. Goons were caught crossing our  fields carrying buckets of gasoline to set it ablaze. They were spotted. At gunpoint Pop told them to put the buckets down and get the hell out. He’d chuckle telling it saying  he got a couple buckets of gas out of it. 

And there was the incident where they got word the KKK would be marching through on the highway and intended to burn a cross of out front yard. Pop and Grandaddy parked out in the front yard in chairs with guns on their laps and the dogs at their side, waiting. And along came the KKK. The KKK mob stopped in front of the house, grandaddy made a show of getting his gun ready, and there was a very long pause as the two sides faced each other. Nobody on either side said anything...and then the KKK turned and went on walking.

Anyway, that’s a selection of the stories I was told. My family was scared of course, despite their determination not to be chased off or intimidated. My parents married in 1959 but didn’t dare have kids until the 1970s because it simply wasn’t safe. While things had cooled down by the time I was growing up I was very aware that some folks mysteriously hated my family. I also knew Pop bristled at certain people, like never setting foot in what was then the only store in town. When I asked why he said “A man seriously threatens to kill you to your face you don’t just forget.” 

Generally though, the community did seem to forget.  I expect now the grandchildren of KKK members don’t even know about their beloved family member’s history. I’d like to think some were ashamed, I know for some it was just realizing the tide of society had changed. In their hearts they might hate, but they didn’t want to get into trouble. In public they whispered their slurs, but what they said at home was probably not so quiet. Classmates would whisper to me things, not unlike what their grandparents had said and then be shocked when I loudly disagreed. They didn’t realize my family’s stance. Funny isn’t it they could forget the past but not the underlying hateful attitudes.

 I suppose it’s nice their dislike of me was based on my own merits! LOL

Anyway, sorry to have written so much but a short “They were liberals in the US rural south, which was nothing like 1960′s hippie nostalgia Beatlemania montages.” seemed a bit too short. 

[renegaderoots]

BASIC INFORMATION

♚┋FULL NAME: Theodor De Vries ♚┋PRONUNCIATION: Theo-dor (German pronunciation) ♚┋NICKNAME(S): Teddy, Theo ♚┋TITLE: The Gargoyle  ♚┋OCCUPATION: shop owner / contract killer  ♚┋~AGE: 36 ♚┋DATE OF BIRTH: 15 August ♚┋GENDER: Cisgender ♚┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/his ♚┋ORIENTATION: Homoromantic Demisexual  ♚┋NATIONALITY: German  ♚┋RELIGION: the best to describe it would be...a religious atheist?  ♚┋SPECIES: Human ♚┋AFFILIATION: technically, his son. Realistically, the Morrison family. ♚┋GENERATION: third  ♚┋THREAT LEVEL: for somebody born to be a vicious killer willing to fight dirty, Espen’s threat level is low. He isn’t aggressive or malicious, nor does he take any pleasure in violence. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

♚┋FACE CLAIM: André Hamann / Chris Hemsworth  ♚┋EYE COLOUR: Green ♚┋HAIR COLOUR: dark blonde  ♚┋DOMINANT HAND: ambidextrous  ♚┋HEIGHT: 184 centimeters or 6′0 ♚┋WEIGHT: 158 lbs ♚┋TATTOOS: Just...too many to possibly list. Think up every imaginable gothic cliché in existence and you’ll probably find it somewhere on his body - along with a cupcake on his left butt cheek because he’s an idiot.  ♚┋SCARS: predominantly burn scars. ♚┋PIERCINGS: snakebites  ♚┋GLASSES: in theory, yes, but the lazy bastard doesn’t even know how to put on two matching socks so, like, what do you expect here?

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

♚┋JUNG TYPE: ISTP ♚┋SUBTYPE: Logical ♚┋ENNEATYPE: 7w8 ♚┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral ♚┋TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine/Choleric ♚┋SCHEMA: VH, SI, NP ♚┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Visual-Spatial, Bodily-Kinesthetic, Logical-mathematical  ♚┋~IQ: 132 ♚┋NEUROTYPE:  Unsure as of yet.  ♚┋AT RISK? Well, I mean, solely based on environmental factors, there’d be ample reason to believe he may be at risk. 

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

♚┋HOMETOWN: Cologne, Germany ♚┋CURRENT: Dublin, Ireland ♚┋LANGUAGE(S): German (mother tongue), Dutch (native speaker level), Irish (lower-intermediate level) ♚┋SOCIAL CLASS: upper middle class ♚┋DEGREE: Master’s degree ♚┋SUBJECT(S): Forensic nursing  ♚┋PARENT #1: Gerrit De Vries, deceased ♚┋PARENT #2: Beatrice De Vries neé Hoffmann, deceased ♚┋SIBLING(S): Lena De Vries, deceased, Alexander De Vries, deceased ♚┋MAIN SHIP: Espen/Sam (bromance) ♚┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single ♚┋CHILDREN: Oliver De Vries, alive, three years  ♚┋PET(S): none ♚┋ADOPTED? Yes. After his parents’ death, Espen was adopted by his paternal grandfather.  ♚┋RAP SHEET? Nothing yet. ♚┋PRISON TIME? Not yet. 

VICES / HABITS

♚┋SMOKES? like a chimney.  ♚┋DRINKS?  Yes. ♚┋DOES DRUGS?  Used to, yes. Stimulants (i.e. ecstasy) and hallucinogens like LSD ♚┋IS VIOLENT? Not at all, ironically enough. This is so hard to believe because Espen’s family consisted primarily of criminals, including former intelligence agents, one might be quick to falsely assume that their natures - violent, predominantly - are irrevocably ingrained in his being; but this couldn’t be further from the truth. If at all necessary, Espen will only react defensively, thus defending himself physically, when there’s no other way.  ♚┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Not anymore.  ♚┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? Yes. ♚┋HABITS: perpetually confused about what clothes are - likes to walk around his flat completely nude. Unsurprisingly, he also sleeps without any clothes on. Cannot sit on chairs like normal people. Hello bad blood circulation.  ♚┋HOBBIES: sewing, alternative fashion, taxidermy, reading (mostly Gothic literature because he’s extra like that), taking care of baby bats, vblogging, weaponry, medieval history, travelling around the world to visit castles, tarot card reading, make up (both theater and alternative), book reviews on youtube, gaming ♚┋TICS: grunting (especially when stressed or extremely anxious. It’s happened before that that’s all he does while he completely shuts down normal communication.)  ♚┋OBSESSION(S): none ♚┋COMPULSION(S): has to arrange food a certain way on his plate lest he won’t eat it 

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

♚┋HOUSE: Gryffindor  ♚┋VICE: Wrath ♚┋VIRTUE: Temperance ♚┋ELEMENT: Fire ♚┋ANGEL: Uriel  ♚┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Vampire ♚┋ANIMAL: black cat  ♚┋MUTATION: time manipulation  ♚┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? No. Sadly, he has morals. 

STATUS INFORMATION

♚┋DEVELOPMENT: Semi-developed ♚┋SHIPPING: Shiplocked. Not to a particular ship, mind you, but because of Espen’s background and personality, it would be ooc for him to commit to multiple ships (even if they’re regarded separately).  ♚┋VERSE: Multiverse ♚┋VERSE TYPE: crime, slice of life ♚┋CANON: crime ♚┋PLOTTING: open  ♚┋CREATION DATE: August 2017

CHARACTER SUMMARY

After five minutes, you’ll have no better descriptor for Espen other than fucking weird – and rightfully so. Everything from his demeanor down to his most perfunctory mannerisms, the man defies social conventions without even trying all that hard. Raised to patch up his mother’s career as a discharged intelligence agent, Espen grew up isolated from his peers, trained and groomed mostly and certainly not treated like a son. Eventually, their renegade ways caught up with them; the result being murder in the first degree. Following these events, he was adopted by his paternal grandfather and Theo became Espen. All tragedies aside, his golden heart and warm eyes give away his personality at first glance. There’s compassion in his actions that shouldn’t be feasible given that his body count is heavy. Now that there’s another life in the picture, namely his kid, Espen is determined to find the exeunt to his tragedy. Good morals and good character, unfortunately, don’t mean shit when you’re indebted to a crime cartel.

APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Physically, the guy is average and contrary to what one might believe, he doesn’t really stick out from the crowd save for his colorful sleeve tattoos. Standing 6’0 tall, Espen isn’t exactly a frightening, towering figure either. How he manages to stay fit with the serious sweet tooth that he has is a mystery, but his build is, without doubt, rather muscular. His accent is quite a minuscular detail yet, still, a faint German accent can be heard. What will certainly turn some heads, however, is his clothing. True to his decade-old fondness for the Goth subculture, you won’t ever see him wearing anything that isn’t various shades of black. When he can be bothered to dress up, Espen likes to wear a combination of Edwardian and Trad Goth attire, though the classic ’90 aesthetic of the vampire is also something he wears daily. Due to his appearance, his demeanor is key and he knows this. You can’t just be withdrawn or aloof looking like him, so he goes out of his way to be kind and courteous – especially towards elder people.  Since his wardrobe is black and then black, his light brown hair and green eyes are accentuated even moreso, his look always attentive. And when you’re close enough to him, you will smell a few drops of a vintage perfume for women, namely Guerlain Shalimar; a coveted assortment of vanilla, tonka beans and castoreum musk.  

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

Espen is the pinnacle of wasted brilliance and proof, as he says, that one’s IQ is relative if there’s not a grain of ambition in your body. That’s pretty much his lot in life; a double-edged sword, if you will, with which he has accidentally stabbed himself more than once. His intelligence is only outmatched by how much of a fucking sloth he is. He’s Snorlax personified, essentially, and if nobody actively pestered him to be productive, the guy would probably just suffocate in his own filth. As the common genius stereotype would suggest, Espen is emotionally inhibited and socially inept, unable to function in social settings. This, while somewhat true, isn’t entirely accurate either. Sure, his tact is less than ready to tango and he often comes across as remorselessly crude because he has only a rudimentary grasp on what is socially acceptable. Simultaneously, however, he is not content to just build a wall of silence around him. No, Espen tries his best to tune in to what others are partial towards, reacting accordingly. There’s also always a kernel of humor in his interactions, one that might imply he doesn’t take anything seriously. Because if he does, it matters. Be that as it may, a cold, malicious asshole he is not. He could be; would have enough reason to be – yet he is not if his numerous flaws can be reined in. Even his humoristic take on pessimism is charming. He’s the type of person who knows his odds, yet still does the thing to crack others up. In contrast to this, though, Espen isn’t idealistic – he knows the world is a shithole. Often a devil’s advocate and a complete shut-in when stress hits him, emotions still make him feel insecure and incompetent – every emotional response might be the wrong one, after all.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

Espen doesn’t really care for languages, yet can communicate on native speaker level in three languages – English, Dutch, German. Where he really shines is his creativity and fashion sense. He loves giving baby bats fashion advice, quickly one to offer help when things are tough at home, too. Of course, he shouldn’t be underestimated either. Though not proud of this skillset, per se, he is nonetheless adept at social engineering, sociology, basic psychology, martial arts, vehicle and foot surveillance, marksmanship, and, naturally, hand-to-hand combat. As mentioned above, giving in to his benevolent and amiable side, Espen pursued a master’s degree in forensic nursing. Beyond that, he is also excellent at forgetting important dates, being late, being tired and eating everyone’s food. Oh, yes, and an obscure knowledge of medieval and Celtic history to boot, he’s really into medieval markets/costumes.

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

In a word, odd. Just plain fucking odd. Here he is not even able to survive without somebody constantly kicking his ass to get his shit together; here he is with barely an idea what decorum is and he still tries to be kind, even though it’s technically not in his nature to be any of that. Although Espen may come across as secretive, private and somewhat shy at first, any worries are forgotten as soon as mischief, fun, or sweets are involved. Now, ever since his family died, Espen has been somewhat clingy with the few people he has in his life, much like a cat demanding instant and constant attention. He doesn’t take well to being ignored, and won’t stop until he has your undivided attention. As for romance, Espen isn’t really made for that; not in the conventional sense. A very solitary creature by default, it is very hard for even him to tell whether what he feels are genuinely deep emotions or just what he feels compelled to feel. Either way, if you express interest, Espen will go to great lengths to ensure you feel nothing but wanted and validated.

INSPIRED BY: the guy on Lie to Me, Edmund (King Lear), Deadpool tbh