#but the story that remains (and the revisions) is fascinating to me

[xcherryerim]

Strange Fascination

Part One: A Mocha With A side Of Your Sight

pt.two

Stalker!Mike x gn!reader

“Every morning, in front of you at last, I stand again, as if I'm enchanted. I'm still half-awake, the haziness guiding me towards you.” — Iced Coffee by Red velvet

This story will lead to smut (not this part but the second) If you’re not up for that, do not read this!

Warning: obsession/ stalking | mentions of over-usage (with sleeping pills but yk) | Breaking in readers house

Notes: This part is meant to describe Mike’s fascination on reader and how he ends up breaking into reader’s house so, this part mainly focuses on Mike along side Abby. Part two will focus mainly on reader. (also this was revised like 3 times so, yk not that perfect)

Summary: After not seeing you at school to pick up your brother, his mind is flooded with worry. In an excuse to hangout with his sister, Mike drove near your place, observing your every move through the cafe window.

Mike tends to obsess easily. Whether it's with re-living the events of his lost brother, collecting nostalgic artifacts, or reading a stack load of psychology books. It’s an innocent hobby and it’s not harming anyone, but lately, he started to be captivated by a new subject.

Four months have passed since Abby began attending middle school, but Mike can still vividly recall the very first moment he laid eyes on you. That fateful day remains etched in his memory, as though it happened just yesterday.

Despite the mounting stress surrounding his impending court case against his Aunt, Mike attempted to maintain a composed demeanor for Abby's sake. She was embarking on a significant transition, moving from her familiar surroundings to a larger and more complex educational environment.

As he patiently awaited Abby’s emergence from the classroom, his nerves were further tested when a stranger appeared and positioned themselves near him, close enough for the musky Vanilla scent to reach his nose.

Under normal circumstances, Mike would shy away from making eye contact with strangers, unless he had a specific reason to engage with them. However, on this particular day, he found himself inexplicably drawn to look up, and there you are, standing before him. In his eyes, you appeared as a divine being, an angel who had descended from the heavens, sent to watch over him and him alone.

Your presence sent a shiver down his spine, heightening his nervous energy while simultaneously eliciting a sense of comfort and security.

Though Mike remained silent, his eyes meticulously took in every detail of your visage, committing your likeness to memory. His behavior was not intended to be unsettling; rather, it stemmed from an innate need to capture your image in his mind.

Suddenly, you broke the silence with a timid "Hi," which caught him off guard. Taken aback, Mike responded with a soft, "Hello, you."

While seeing you for mere moments each weekday may seem like a fleeting encounter, Mike's keen observation skills allowed him to make the most of these brief instances. He meticulously studied your routine, scrutinizing the subtle variations in the timing of your arrival to collect your brother.

On Mondays and Thursdays, you could be found arriving precisely at 3:20, while Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays offered slightly longer windows, ranging from 3:30 to 3:46.

Through diligent study and careful attention, Mike managed to piece together a comprehensive understanding of your schedule, ensuring that he wouldn't miss a single opportunity to catch a glimpse of you.

In addition to monitoring your schedule, Mike began to decode the nuances of your moods based on your daily attire. Although you generally stuck to the same color scheme, he discerned subtle differences that hinted at your emotional state.

For instance, a particular long-sleeve shirt signaled haste, while an oversized graphic tee indicated fatigue. Even minor alterations to your hairstyle served as clues to your mental landscape. Over time, Mike committed countless details to memory, even going so far as to surreptitiously follow your vehicle to ascertain your home address.

However, despite these extensive efforts at understanding and learning about you, the interactions remained limited to brief greetings - a tantalizing taste of connection amidst the vast sea of unspoken longing.

On this particular Wednesday, chaos reigned as students spilled from the classroom, jostling one another in their rush to leave. Amidst the pandemonium, Abby found herself standing beside Mike, sensing the turmoil in his gaze.

Intrigued, she queried, "Why are we still here?" Her question snapped him back to the present, and he stammered, struggling to formulate a coherent thought.

Remembering the purpose of their wait, he asked, "Um, Abbs, did your classmate... was it Gregory? Did he come to school today?"

Abby couldn't help but furrow her brow, wondering if Mike's preoccupation was related to you. "No," she replied briefly before leading the way, prompting him to follow reluctantly.

Attempting to shift gears, he inquired about the solar system project Mike helped her with.

"So, how did your presentation go? Did you score a hundred?"

Abby sighed, clarifying, "The science teacher never gives hundreds, but I managed to snag a ninety-seven."

“That’s still pretty good, Abbs. Don’t worry.” He smiled.

Mike struggled to suppress his desire to visit your residence, the concern for your well-being clouding his judgment. His anxiety threatened to derail his focus on the road, nearly resulting in a collision and earning him seven irate honks from fellow drivers.

Abby wondered if her mental prayers on the road helped them get home safely. She was now standing in front of the kitchen table, as his brother, still with his anxious look served her spaghetti. As she polished off her meal, she observed Mike's restless hands continuously picking at his uneaten food.

Unsure whether to approach him about his obvious distress, she hesitated, suspecting that he might dismiss her concerns. Enveloped by the deafening silence, she contemplated retreating to her room or remaining to offer support. Ultimately, it was Mike who broke the quiet standoff, tentatively proposing, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

This unexpected invitation perplexed her; sibling bonds between the two had predominantly revolved around shared chores, academic assistance from Mike, and marathon sessions of cheesy films.

However, the unfamiliarity of a walk piqued Abby’s interest. Sensing hidden intentions, she inquired, "Why?"

Mike attempted to deflect his sister's probing gaze, replying casually, "Just feel like getting some fresh air."

With that, he grabbed his keys and confidently declared, "I know a great spot."

Mike navigated his vehicle to a parking spot near the park, consciously avoiding your location to not seem suspicious. As they walked, Mike maintained a brisk pace, pushing Abby to her limits as she struggled to keep up.

After a few exhausting minutes, the excuse he needed to invite Abby to the coffee shop on your street appeared.

"Oh, you're tired?" he feigned innocence, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. "I think I recall seeing a coffee shop nearby."

Upon reaching the coffee shop, the once-unfamiliar street suddenly held an uncanny familiarity for Abby. Though she couldn't comprehend the reasoning behind this sensation, she was relieved to see a genuine grin spread across Mike's face. While appreciative of his newfound composure, the peculiar nature of his smile continued to nag at her subconscious. Little did she know, her apprehension foreshadowed the depth of his new fixation.

Mike's gaze roamed the coffee shop, absorbing the ambiance - the warm lighting, the rich scent of coffee beans, and the soothing fragrance of lavender. His imagination ran wild, conjuring visions of an intimate date with you in this very locale.

He envisioned himself sitting across from you at a cozy café. As you brought the mug to your lips, he reached out gently, wiping away a stray dollop from your mouth. Your eyes met his, filled with warmth and understanding.

In this fantasy, he leaned in, lips meeting softly in a tender kiss. His fingers traced the softness of your cheek, feeling the warmth beneath his touch. The taste of espresso mingled with the sweetness of your lips, a unique blend that only you could create. In this dream reality, there was no fear, no anxiety, just two people finding comfort in each other's presence.

“What would you like to order?” The Barista on the register repeated.

Startled from his reverie, Mike hastily blurted out his order, "A latte and a mocha, both small!"

Aware of his volume, he flushed with embarrassment, but his impassioned state rendered him indifferent to etiquette. Paying for the drinks without delay, he claimed a seat by the window facing your house, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Despite the glaring sunlight and the parade of cars obscuring his view, Mike strained his eyes to catch sight of you through the window. Your shadowy outline offered solace, indicating that you were safe and sound. In contrast, your brother Gregory appeared increasingly agitated, doodling with shaky hands.

Concerned, you checked on him intermittently, hoping to ease his discomfort.

Your house consumed Mike's attention, leaving him oblivious to the arrival of the drinks. Abby stepped in to retrieve their coffees, presenting Mike with a gentle nudge back to reality.

"How's yours?" she inquired, attempting to break his trance. Snapped out of his daydream, Mike took a sip and confirmed, "Yeah, it's good." Almost immediately, his gaze returned to the reflection of your house in the mirror.

Fixated on your home, Mike caught a glimpse of you speaking on the phone, setting off a barrage of questions in his mind. Who were you speaking to? Was there someone else in your life? Dismissing the thought of a secret partner, he rationalized that he would have detected indicators of such-jewelry, perhaps a ring. Unless…

"You seem to like that house," Abby observed, taking a sip of her latte.

“I like the design. You know I wanted to be a—“

"Contractor," Abby concluded, and Mike nodded vigorously. His fascination with architecture was well-known, but the true extent of his infatuation remained shrouded in mystery.

"Hopefully, you'll get to live in a beautiful home someday, Abby," Mike responded earnestly, his stare fixed on the distant house. While not prone to overt displays of emotion, his wishes for her happiness emanated sincerely. He genuinely cherishes his sister.

"I hope you do too," Abby whispered, her tone laced with warmth. Pondering whether this excursion sprang from simple brotherly camaraderie rather than anything sinister, she allowed herself a flicker of optimism.

Though his gaze remained trained on your place, the tenderness in Abby's voice elicited a faint smile from Mike.

"Let's get a better look," she proposed, rising from her seat.

Inside, Mike wrestled with uncertainty, questioning the wisdom of their actions. Nonetheless, the need to observe you closely trumped his reservations, justifying this intrusion into your privacy.

“I like how you think.” He replied, following his sister out of the coffee shop.

Fortuitously, the absence of traffic allowed Mike to traverse the street without incident, his impulsive stride mirroring a moth drawn to a flickering flame. Unaware of the potential danger, he followed you with unwavering determination, guided by an insatiable curiosity.

While Abby visualized herself residing in such a picturesque abode, lost in dreams of interior decor, Mike scrutinized the property, seeking vulnerabilities. Numerous avenues of entry loomed ominously, igniting a protective instinct within him. The last thing Mike wanted was for a total stranger to be near your house.

Fixated on identifying threats, Mike scanned the landscape from left to right. His focus alighted upon a window, likely your room, taunting him with easy access. Steeling himself against temptation, he decided to not to cross that line- at least, for now.

The sudden noise of crunchy leaves being stomped upon immediately made Mike walk away from the property as he forced Abby out of there, yet his eyes analyzed the new stranger, walking cluelessly at your house with a box of Pizza at hand.

Relief washed over Mike as his insecurities dissolved, only to be supplanted by irritation at the presumed flirtatiousness of the pizza delivery boy. Perhaps he was overreacting, yet his protective instincts screamed for confrontation, longing to rain down retribution upon the perceived transgressor.

Yet, Mike resisted allowing his fury to dictate his actions. With a renewed sense of purpose, he hastily departed from the scene. Your safety brought him solace, but your home's vulnerability haunted him.

As the clock struck 10:30 pm, Mike found himself unable to sleep, despite having ingested more than the recommended dose of his sleeping pills. Typically, these medications ensured a swift descent into slumber, but tonight, they failed to deliver their usual sedative effect.

Despite the meticulously arranged bedding, the soft hum of nature sounds, and the impeccably positioned Nebraska poster, Mike's restlessness persisted. Could it be that thoughts of you encroached upon his subconscious? Unsure of how to quell his turbulent emotions, he lay awake, grappling with his feelings.

At 11:16 am, the silence of the night echoed through. In this deserted hour, as others slumbered, Mike contemplated a surreptitious visit. Perhaps, under the cloak of darkness, he could safeguard your sanctuary from unseen threats.

Wrapping himself in a mantle of darkness, Mike donned a black cap, hoodie, and athletic bottoms - attire atypical for him. Mike did this to devise an alibi. if someone sees him making sure you're safe (which he knows in the sight of strangers it might look weird) he can just say he was exercising. Perfect solution.

Mike walked on his tippy toes, making sure to make no noise, as he grabbed his keys and made sure the house was locked tightly. Locks secure, keys in hand, he commenced the engine.

Despite the pill-induced haze clouding his senses, his concentration sharpened as he navigated deserted streets, only semi-trailers punctuating his journey. Finally arriving at your residence, he prepared to watch over you from the shadows.

The closer Mike got to you, the more his heart raced, pumping blood like a freight train against his ribcage. Every step he took brought forth a flurry of emotions - excitement mingled with anxiety, fear intertwined with anticipation. The fine line between obsession and love blurred in his mind, and it fueled him further into the unknown.

He stopped mere feet away from the window of your room. Peering through the glass pane, he could see the faint silhouette of you under the covers, sleeping peacefully. A wave of relief washed over him, replacing the earlier dread with a strange sense of satisfaction.

He watched you breathe rhythmically, your chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Despite the late hour, there was something comforting about seeing you safe and sound.

His fingers traced the cold surface of the glass, feeling its smooth texture against his palm. A mix of longing and protectiveness swelled within him, making his chest tighten. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed next to you, hold you close, and keep you safe from all harm. Yet, he knew better than to disturb your slumber. This was as close as he dared get.

Mike's heart pounded in his chest as the lights flickered on inside the house. His instincts kicked in, propelling him into the nearest hiding spot - a cluster of dense bushes. He pressed himself against the cool ground, hoping to remain unseen.

What could have caused you to switch on the lights so suddenly? Were you disturbed by something? Or did you have a nightmare?

In the glow of the moonlight, he could see you standing by the window, looking out into the night. Your posture seemed tense and your hoodie confirmed it.

There was an unmistakable air of distress around you, which resonated deeply with Mike's own experiences. Could it be possible that you were going through something similar?

A wave of empathy surged through Mike. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you, to offer you a shoulder to lean on, a warm embrace to banish your fears away. But he knew better than to intrude on your privacy. Instead, he stayed hidden, watching over you from the darkness, praying silently for your well-being.

As you emerged from the room, Mike hesitated briefly. His instincts screamed at him to hide, to disappear into the shadows before being discovered. But something within him rebelled, urging him forward. Before he could think twice, he was lifting the window sash, the squeaky hinge echoing in the silence of the night.

Once inside, he hurriedly shut the window, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He knew this was reckless, yet it felt necessary. As he scanned the slightly messy room, his eyes fell upon the forgotten spot beneath the bed - a haven of security amidst uncertainty. Without giving it a second thought, he squeezed himself underneath, his body brushing against discarded clothes and half-filled notebooks.

In this cramped space, he listened closely for any signs of detection. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the grit and dust from the floor. He felt exposed yet strangely protected, like a child playing hide and seek.

"Sorry," he whispered under his breath, hoping you would understand his intentions.

Mike was already anxious, the adrenaline of being in your room and the effects of the dosage made him a panicked mess.

The sound of you entering the room sent a ripple of dread through Mike. His heart pounded against his ribcage, beating out an erratic rhythm that threatened to give him away. Sweat dripped from his brow, pooling in the dimly lit corner where he lay concealed. His breath hitched in his throat, each gasp amplified in the quiet space.

When you moved closer to the bed, Mike held his breath, bracing for impact. But instead of anger or fear, a scream echoed through the room. Startled, he scrambled back, knocking into a pile of books that had somehow ended up under the bed. Papers rustled and pages fluttered, creating a symphony of noise that seemed deafening in the silent bedroom.

"I'm fucked," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

To be continued…

Thank you so much for reading. Hope you will support this mini series! xoxo (if you want to be tagged on the next part let me know!)

[mihrsuri]

For this to make sense read this gorgeous fic by @nocompromise-noregrets and also have knowledge of my OT3 verse. This is an in universe fandom post (on a tumblr that it is like, Good Website But Also Still Hell Site)

So I went to the panel discussion at Welles Hall (with a friend which was life changing levels of great) and I wanted to write a book report for the tumblr.

Natalie is actually Aphrodite. Like, I was speechless. I do not know how us mere mortals can gaze at such beauty and anyway, I was the most useless of lesbians.

I’m not personally into men romantically or sexually but like, aesthetically James and Jon and Rupert are very appealing. Like a sunset or a piece of art. Also very charming, A+

Ahmed is a sweetheart and very funny.

The questions/answers were all great but uh, some highlights:

Ahmed really talked about how much he admired the work Rupert did in particular - that he really sat down with the primary sources and asked great insightful questions (quote “I think in some ways actors have a similar drive to historians - to understand people, even repellant ones”)

“People ask me if I have any sympathy for him [Norwich] and the answer is no! I loathe him - the historical study is fascinating and important but I have never liked him”

Rupert said it was hard to be in [Norwich’s] head - that he ended up developing a ritual for getting in and out of character to separate himself - he really gave credit to the shows intimacy coordinator for the workshopping before anyone was on set.

(Aside we learned that Rupert was cast really early on - apparently they didn’t want anyone else because he’s quote ‘handsome and charming and a brilliant performer and that’s what we needed’)

Maya said there were times she had to stop herself from quote ‘making excited squeaking noises’ on set (world renowned historians - they are in fact just like us) and that her favourite set was the Arthurian Masque plus “one I can’t talk about yet” *eyes emoji*

Maya “I went into the process of revising it (The Tudor Triad: New Edition) with delight and sadness” she talked about how she loved being back with these three but also the heaviness of it - how she wrestled with how much to include.

Ahmed interjected and said that it was one thing he really struggled with as well - that only having Norwich’s voice, Noriwch’s details on the abuse was something particularly sickening and that’s in large part why it was so incredible to see James’ performance.

(“I think, I hope that somewhere in the afterlife Thomas Cromwell is glad to see that he is given his story back to him”)

Both James and Rupert really talked about how the townhouse visit was the most confronting part - that Norwich’s journals are awful and chilling but somehow being in the space where it happened, that made it all the more real, especially because by this point they’d both been in their characters heads for a while.

“It was horrible - i actually don’t like to talk about it in detail honestly”

They both talked about how great Ellie at Welles Hall was - that she and Ahmed and Maya really talked them through the diary/papers and the decoding. (“All props to Rupert and James - not only is the content not an easy read, reading/interpreting Tudor handwriting is a process and reading Tudor handwriting in a mix of languages is even worse”)

Natalie “my guiding sense was that Anne would rip him [Norwich] apart with her bare hands and dance on the remains - I just found that through playing her, reading her own words even if it’s never referred to directly”

Jon was very sure he wanted to have what Henry says to Norwich remain a mystery (though Rupert knows!) and he didn’t want the audience to see Henry’s face when it was sad - Rupert said that it was ‘incredibly bloody satisfying’ to play the moment when Norwich realises that he has ‘fucked around and found out’

Rupert said he thought that Norwich absolutely believed in his own mythology - that essentially, might makes right, that he was a great Roman General etc. (Which apparently Ahmed is currently working on an academic article about Norwich and Ancient Rome)

I’ll be back for part II: the Lionel Discussion Panel later.

-semperlyqueerly

[a-model-of-propriety]

I find it fascinating to trace the development of Jekyll and Lisa's relationship through the various versions of the musical. On the surface, not much changes; Lisa (or Emma, depending on the version) Carew, fiancée of Henry Jekyll, watches helplessly as he dives deeper into his obsession with his experiments, only discovering the true reason for his isolation when it is too late. Whether we look at the Lisa of the early demo recordings, the Emma of the Broadway productions, or any version in between, her role and her fate remains largely unchanged.

Even so, her relationship with Jekyll, specifically its portrayal in their song(s), underwent arguably the most rewrites of the entire show. While (very early drafts of) some songs, such as "Alive" and "Murder, Murder", appear as early as the very first demo recording in 1986 (and by 1987 Lucy's main songs make their appearances as well), Jekyll and Lisa's main duet of "Take Me As I Am" does not appear until 1994's "Gothic Musical Thriller" album, after which the song does not undergo any significant changes.

In TMAIA's place, the pair sing several different songs, including "Love Has Come of Age", a duet version of "Someone Like You", "The First Time", and several more. In the 1986 demo, half of the songs are duets between Lisa and Jekyll!

Out of all the rewrites and cut songs, why did "Take Me As I Am" manage to stick? And why was it the only true Jekyll/Lisa duet to survive revisions?

Though earlier drafts of Jekyll & Hyde devoted more attention to Lisa and Jekyll's relationship (which I, as resident Lisa fan, thoroughly enjoyed), the extra songs did very little, if anything, to progress the plot or develop the show's major motifs. Most early Jekyll/Lisa duets were generic love duets, serving no other purpose but to tell the audience that Jekyll and Lisa were, in fact, in love with each other. Most of these early duets exist mainly to serve this purpose, bogging down the story because they did nothing to address any other aspect of the story than their love and longing. The songs were, in the grand scheme of the show, redundant.

This is where "Take Me As I Am" stands out from the cut songs. While it still serves the important function of Duet To Show How Much They Love Each Other, TMAIA also speaks to the underlying motif of "known vs. unknown". The reason Lisa and Jekyll love each other, at least when we first meet them, is that they truly know, understand, and accept each other. Only when Jekyll starts hiding (pun intended) things from her does their relationship start to show cracks.

From the very beginning of the show, Jekyll's "need to know" the secrets of humanity is set forth as a driving factor of his character. It is in the pursuit of knowledge that he starts down the destructive road of the plot. His desire to know is central to who he is (and, through him, central to the show). Because "knowing" is central to Jekyll's character, Wildhorn centered his and Lisa's relationship on knowing each other. For Jekyll, Lisa is security. She is the only person that knows him, and he knows that he can depend on her to remain a constant in his life. She won't abandon him, no matter how far he dives into his experiments.

Where Lisa represents knowledge and stability, Lucy represents the unknown that Jekyll dives into as the show progresses. Lucy says herself that "no one knows who [she is]", framing her as the opposite of Lisa. Her life is foreign to Jekyll, and she is the person that inspires Jekyll to experiment on himself. Lisa is the known, but Lucy is the unknown that Jekyll desperately needs to understand.

Without "Take Me As I Am", Lisa loses the "known vs. unknown" significance that makes both her and Lucy more compelling characters. None of the earlier songs (with the possible exception of "If You Only Knew", which I desperately want more productions to include) provide that symbolism, which is why, in the end, TMAIA was the only one that could survive revisions.

[classicschronicles]

Hi lovelies,

So I’ve been taking a break from revision and I decided to read Jennifer Saint’s ‘Elektra’, which you you should all read because the writing style is just so beautiful. Anyways, the story being told focuses on Elektra, Clytemnestra, and Cassandra and features heavily on the Curse of the Atreides. Said curse is mentioned in a lot of different mythological texts, like Aeschylus’ ‘Aegisthus’ and I think it’s a really fascinating story. So today, let’s talk about the curse of the Atreides.

Also side note, the name ‘Atreides’ is technically singular for one son of Atreus, but when translated people largely accepted it to be the plural form, instead of ‘Atreidai’, but autocorrect wont let me use the latter so for the purpose of this entry, I am going to use ‘Atreides’ as the plural.

The curse on the house of Atreus, interestingly enough, did not start with Atreus, it started with his grandfather Tantalus, king of Lydia. King Tantalus was most beloved by the gods, so much so that he was often welcome at their table. One day they came down to earth to dine with him in his home, but Tantalus harboured a secret hatred for the Gods. Wanting to test their omnipotence, Tantalus murdered his son (Pelops) and offered his cooked flesh as a meal to the gods. The gods were not fooled and did not take a bite of the food. However, Demeter (still possessed with grief for her daughter in Hades), did not see through Tantalus’ trick and took a bite of the boys shoulder. Enraged at the actions of Tantalus, the Gods restored the boy back to life and carved him a new shoulder out of ivory. They placed Tantalus in Tartarus, cursing him with eternal thirst and hunger. At his feet lay a pool of water that evaporated every time he tried to take a sip, and above his head a branch of fruits that would forever remain just out of reach. Fun little bit of etymology, the name ‘Tantalus’ is the root word for the English word ‘tantalise’.

Tainted by his fathers impiety, Pelops only made things worse. Pelops ascended to the throne of Arcadia, and he sought a bride and plotted murder to win her from a suitor. He bribed the suitor’s servant to replace his chariot pins with wax and so the chariot crashed and the suitor died. Rather than reward the servant like he had promised, Pelops threw him from a cliff and as he fell, the servant prayed to the gods that they would punish the sons of Pelops forevermore. Pelops and his bride had three sons, Chrysippus, Atreus and Thyestes. The younger brothers grew to hate Chrysippus, favourite of their father, and fuelled by the same faithlessness that plagued their father, and his father before that, they plotted to kill Chrysippus. When they did so, they fled and arrived in Mycenae, where is was agreed that Atreus would rule.

Thyestes later betrayed Atreus by seducing his wife and Atreus sought bitter retaliation. He murdered Thyestes’ children and invited his brother to a feast. Thyestes was arrogant enough to see this as a peace between the two, and nothing more. When Thyestes had finished his meal, Atreus ordered that the lids be taken off the remaining plates, and on them sat the heads of Thyestes’ children. Thyestes was enraged and killed Atreus, taking the Mycenaean throne for himself.

The two sons of Atreus were not so quick to forget the apparent injustice that had begotten their father. The Atreides, more famously known as Agamemnon and Menelaus, wished to reclaim the throne that was their birthright and so they returned from exile to kill Thyestes, and as an act of mercy allowed his son (their cousin) Aegisthus to flee. Agamemnon became king of Mycenae, whilst Menelaus married Helen of Sparta, and inherited her throne.

When Helen was stolen by Paris and the Atreides summoned all the Greek armies to win her back, they thought their cause a just one, but when there were no winds to set a sail their ships, the blood curse re-emerged. Agamemnon summoned his daughter, Iphigenia, to Aulis under the pretence of a marriage to Achilles, and whilst she stood at the altar, slit her throat, leaving her blood on the sands, and sailing for Troy.

Upon his return from the war a decade later, Agamemnon greeted his wife, Clytemnestra, but much like his uncle Thyestes, he was arrogant and assumed that Clytemnestra had forgiven the murder of her oldest child. He did not know that whilst he fought in Troy, the cousin that he had spared returned to Mycenae and together, his angered wife and vengeful cousin plotted his demise. When he entered the palace after his rerun from war, he was killed in his bathtub, and his wife and her lover, Aegisthus, took the throne for themselves.

However, there was one in Mycenae who remained loyal to Agamemnon, and that was his daughter Elektra. She goaded her younger brother (Orestes), who had never met his father, into sharing her hatred for Clytemnestra. When he grew to be older and upon his return from hiding, he fulfilled what he saw as his filial duty to his father and killed his mother and her lover, the usurpers to his father throne.

Yet, another murder in Tantalus’ bloodline awoke the Furies, bringers of justice. They followed Orestes all the way to Athens where he stood trial for his sins, with Apollo and Athena presiding over the trail. Eventually, Orestes was acquitted for his crime, and the Curse of the Atreides finally died.

So there you have it, the Curse of the Atreides. Sorry that was so grim, but I thought it a rather fascinating bit of mythology, and hopefully you all agree to! I hope you have a lovely lovely rest of your weekend <3

~Z

[nedxnancy]

Barbie (2023) and Nancy Drew (1959)

I have to put this under a read-more because it's gonna talk about the way Barbie (2023) ends.

I went to see the movie today, and I couldn't help thinking about Ned and Ken.

There are a lot of similarities between Nancy Drew and Barbie (in fact, if somehow that ever actually happened, a Barbie modeled on Nancy Drew instead of just general Detective Barbie or Spy Barbie, I would lose it. Lose. It. A friend made me some vintage-inspired-Nancy-Drew Barbie outfits and I LOVE THEM.) - Barbie is allowed agency and high-profile careers and all the importance, although, as the film points out, Stereotypical Barbie exists only to be pretty and blank.

(I also didn't realize until drafting this post that the Nancy Drew revisions, removing racial stereotypes and streamlining/shortening the plots from the 1932-1958 books, which began in 1959, started the same year Barbie was introduced.)

My Barbies were always involved in crime plots. Evil Barbie was blackmailing people and trying to steal their boyfriends. It was like a reality show in my Barbie townhouse. My Kens (who were outnumbered by a significant ratio) were pretty much always just accessories, either literal or figurative.

Nancy Drew is on the cusp of adulthood and has no stated money-earning career, much like Stereotypical Barbie. She loves mysteries and is an amateur detective, but it's very clear that she is not professional, is not paid for her work, and would be unable to operate as an amateur detective were her father unable to bankroll her activities.

Ned, like Ken, exists without Nancy—but also has no job. Ken does "beach," but performs no function there. (The film aside that Ken's domestic sphere, the Mojo Dojo Casa House, sells like hotcakes, is fascinating: masculine-coded toys seem to have castles or Batcaves for "homes," and are heroes or rescuers or doers in some sense; Ken is allowed to just be a horse enthusiast who also loves full-length fur coats. Ken doesn't sit in the Pink [White] House being absolute ruler all day.) Ned is a college student who plays sports but also isn't employed beyond temporary summer jobs. To the viewer/reader, Ned does functionally disappear without the context of Nancy. Nancy defines Ned's life.

a yellowed-paper heart imagines Ned without Nancy, much like Ken, but in the story Ned recognizes that Nancy has been made to never return his affections; he has agency, where she is bound by the decisions of her creator. Ned seeks meaning in reality but it's to escape the pain of knowing his love won't and can't be requited. He gets to be his own main character for a while, but recognizes that the lack remains.

Ned can't return. But Ken does. Ken comes off as kind of incel in the last part of the film, but he also freely admits early on that even if he did "stay over" at Barbie's house, he's not sure what that would actually mean. He's hurt that his feelings aren't returned, not that Barbie is denying him (functionally impossible) sex.

I think it's very easy to read Nancy Drew, especially original Mystery Stories, 1932-1979, Nancy Drew, as asexual. She can't return Ned's feelings because she hasn't been given the capacity. She does feel warmly toward him, he is her favorite escort, but her priority is always her mysteries, and for the most part Ned has no interest in interfering with that, because the excitement of her mysteries is part of what he loves about her.

I think it's really interesting to read Barbie as asexual too, although the film makes the point that Barbie lacks functional genitalia (until the end, anyway). Becoming a "real woman" doesn't make Barbie attracted to Ken. Stereotypical Barbie can't be married Barbie because that isn't a universal goal.

You can argue that Nancy Drew is niche; she's not stereotypical Barbie. But Nancy Drew also breaks gender norms in a few different ways while reinforcing others, and just like Stereotypical Barbie, Nancy calls the shots in her relationship.

Ned doesn't exist only for Nancy's gaze, even though he very obviously hints that he wants to marry her eventually. Ken wants to make a home with Barbie partially because Kens just don't have homes in Barbieland. Ned, were he to change his mind and seek another partner, is presented as a very attractive guy.

In the movie, the ways the Kens perform a lot for and with each other was fascinating. The Barbies interact with each other; Kens are temporary distractions from the work. Nancy and her friends interact with each other; Ned and his friends are around to serve as muscle in dangerous situations, crew sailboats, and call the cops before returning to their summer jobs. In that way, Ned does have a role, where Ken is shut out.

(This is also ignoring the Kens who clearly DID have careers, or at least the wardrobe to imply them. Those Kens always seemed niche, though. Doctor Ken was a thing. Otherwise, Ken comes dressed appropriately to accompany the corresponding Barbie on an adventure.)

Nancy Drew can't end. Barbie can't end. They were written to survive and be and read ourselves into. Marriage/relationships aren't the goal we all have - and even if they were, we aren't all straight - so the characters can't have that, but that doesn't mean that they, that Barbie, can't be people, adults, complete.

It's just interesting to think about.

[kimeow7]

Eternal Shadows ch.3

ternal Shadows (m) Chapter 3. The Friend

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: Mature (18+) Please do not read if you are underage.

Word Count: 3449

This one is even longer! We are still a bit longer for more explanations and the main plot, but we are getting there. 

Warnings: Hospital. Talks about death. Mentions of blood, anxiety, guilt, and a sad attempt at humor. If you are uncomfortable reading this story please refrain from doing so.

Jimin Appears! ヘ( ^o^)ノ＼(^_^ )

Again this chapter hasn't been revised. The grammar might be off and certainly I am not a medical professional so the descriptions of the procedures and the hospital itself are simply based on watching way too much Grey's Anatomy. ¯\(°_o)/¯(Same speech) 

Enjoy, and thank you so much to anyone who has taken the time to read my little story

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are used as inspiration for the characters in this story. However, this is a work of fiction and should not be seen as a projection, representation, or judgment of the real-life individuals. The scenarios and representations depicted in this story are entirely fictional and do not aim to convey any aspects of real life.

Chapter 2. Masterlist

When your eyes open once again, you find yourself surrounded by a couple of nurses bustling around the brightly illuminated room. The fog in your mind returns, leaving you even more confused, scared, and overwhelmed. Your breathing quickens.

"She's awake," one of the nurses announces, prompting the other to rush out of the room.

"Doctor Kim!" she calls out urgently in the hallway.

What happened? Did you pass out again? What is going on?

Doctor Kim hurriedly enters the room, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Y/n! You're back," he exclaims.

"What happened?" you ask, your voice trembling.

Doctor Kim smiles tenderly, approaching you. "You're quite the enigma, Miss Y/n," he says. "You keep passing out on me for several hours at a time. I ran some tests, and your brain activity is remarkable." Doctor Kim furrows his brow and shakes his head. "It's as if the tumor does not exist, as if you were simply dreaming. It's truly fascinating."

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your heavy hand as it moves to brush against your face. "Doctor, I'm so confused. What's going on?"

"I'm trying to figure it out, Y/n. I'm doing my best," he reassures you. "I need to know what you're feeling. When you pass out, do you experience any pain, headaches... anything?"

You attempt to remember, but your mind remains foggy, making it difficult to recall. However, a glimmer of realization emerges.

"Hallucinations," you say, your voice filled with uncertainty. "Doctor, I have hallucinations, and then... I just sleep."

Doctor Kim's expression turns concerned. "What kind of hallucinations?" he inquires.

You take a deep breath, knowing that the hallucination is etched into your memory—the man's face, his touch, his voice.

"It's a man," you explain, noticing Doctor Kim's deepening frown. "He... he's the same man from the first time when I passed out in the hallway. I had this... dream? Hallucination? That I was trapped in an elevator with him, and this time he was right here, sitting in that chair," you point to the chair on the other side of the room. "He touched me, and it felt real. He kissed my forehead," you touch your skin, still able to sense the lingering sensation of his lips. "And then he ordered me to sleep, and I did."

You look at Doctor Kim, his frown now replaced with widened eyes, a clenched jaw, and a tense mouth, as if he's restraining himself from speaking or moving.

"Doctor?" you call out, seeking his response.

Doctor Kim shakes his head, turning his gaze back to you. His jaw relaxes, and he speaks, his words laced with unease. "I'm sorry. That's... that's quite something," he says, his voice betraying his own inner turmoil.

Doctor Kim lowers his arms, which had been tensely raised, and his gaze shifts around the room. His stance appears almost nervous. He reaches for your chart on the table next to your bed. "I... I need to check some of your test results. I'll... I'll be right back, okay?" he says, his words sounding slightly hurried.

You nod, but his anxious demeanor only heightens your own nervousness. Questions swirl in your mind. Are hallucinations a bad sign? What does his nervousness mean?

As you watch him leave the room, you notice him accidentally bumping his shoulder against the door frame in his haste.

And once again, you find yourself alone. How long have you been here? The weight of reality hits you suddenly. There are people out there who are probably worried sick about you. Your friends, your work... and you haven't even given them a second thought.

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself. Your eyes scan the room until they settle on your bag. Carefully, you remove the blanket from your legs and gingerly step down from the bed. Your legs feel weak, a testament to the unknown duration of your time spent lying down.

With cautious steps, you make your way towards your bag, your hand reaching inside to retrieve your phone. It's almost dead, but something catches your attention.

"50 missed calls?" you exclaim, your notifications flooding the screen as you scroll down. So many texts, so many calls. All from your friends. Just then, your phone rings once more.

"Jimin," you say aloud, recognizing the name of the person calling. You contemplate answering. You should. They are undoubtedly worried sick about you. You vanished without a trace. You have to answer.

Your finger moves across the screen, accepting the call. "Hello?" you say, bringing the phone to your ear.

"Oh my fucking god! Y/n! What the fuck? Where are you? Are you okay?" Jimin's voice is filled with concern and fear, and guilt washes over you. Now you regret your decision. Now you realize that it would have been better to let Doctor Kim inform your support system.

"I... I'm alive," you say softly.

"That's great! But... where the fuck are you? Last we heard, you were going for a health check," You lied to them, of course. It was much more than a simple health check. "And then nothing for two days!"

Two days? You've been here for two days?

"Oh, Jim... I'm sorry, I—" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"It's okay! I'm just glad you're okay! Please tell me what's going on, where are you?"

You take a deep breath, fighting against your instincts. Guilt washes over you. Not only for keeping your friends in the dark and causing them to worry but also because you're about to drop a bomb on Jimin. He has no idea, and you're about to become a major obstacle in his life. You feel guilty because they shouldn't have to be responsible for you, yet you know they will. They'll spend time with you in the hospital, adjusting their schedules to accommodate yours. And you don't want to be a burden to anyone. For 20 years, you were a burden to your own family, and you don't want to burden your friends now.

But they deserve to know.

"I'm in the hospital. There's something... wrong," you say, your voice trembling.

"What? What happened? Fuck! Which hospital? I'm on my way immediately!" Jimin's panicked response echoes through the phone.

"No, Jimin, it's not... It's okay! I'm being taken care of, don't worry," you try to assure him, still attempting to lighten his burden.

"Fuck that! What hospital?" he insists.

With a deep breath, you tell him the name of the place.

"I'm on my way," he declares, and the call abruptly ends.

You find yourself sinking into the edge of the bed, your eyes fixated on the window ahead. The day outside is alluring, a captivating blend of sunshine and a scattering of clouds. As you contemplate the scene, a sense of longing fills your mind. The sun's rays cast a brilliant glow, hinting at the warmth it brings, while the clouds dance gracefully, clearly carrying a cool breeze that whispers promises of peace.

You can almost feel the soft touch of the wind on your skin as you daydream about being out there. The thought lingers in your mind, teasing your senses. What would you be doing on such a day?

A chuckle escapes your lips, painting a playful smile on your face. Perhaps you would find yourself in the park, surrounded by the laughter of Jimin and RinRin, your best friends. A picnic blanket spread out, loaded with tasty treats, or simply taking a stroll, basking in the beauty of nature. The possibilities seem endless as you imagine the scenario unfolding. Maybe, just maybe, you would indulge in a couple of drinks, the clinking of glasses filling the air with a symphony of joy. It's incredible how a mere two days can feel like an eternity, boosting your yearning for those cherished moments of connection and bliss.

As you sit there, lost in your thoughts, the charm of the outside world becomes even more irresistible. But you can't be in it, and that mere thought erases the smile on your face.

You find yourself lost in a trance, your gaze fixed on the window, contemplating all the possibilities and experiences that you may be missing out on, both in the present and the uncertain future. The weight of the unknown future hangs heavy on your heart, and a single tear escapes, silently tracing a path down your cheek.

Suddenly, a knock on the door jolts you back to reality, and you hastily wipe away the tear, hoping to conceal your vulnerability. "Come in," you call out, your voice betraying a hint of fragility.

A lively nurse, Nurse Gyu, enters the room, her presence injecting a touch of warmth into the sterile environment. She greets you with a kind smile, introducing herself as the one who will be caring for you this afternoon. You return her smile and offer a small nod, a gesture of gratitude for her presence.

Concerned for your well-being, Nurse Gyu inquires about your appetite, asking if you feel hungry and if you think you could eat something. The question catches you off guard, as you realize that you haven't even considered nourishing your body amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions

"I.... I don't know," you respond timidly, unsure of your own needs in this moment of uncertainty.

Nurse Gyu reassures you with her gentle demeanor, assuring you that it's okay not to have the answers right away. She kindly offers to fetch something for you to eat, suggesting that you give it a try. You nod in agreement, grateful for her understanding and willingness to support you. As she steps out of the room, you release a sigh, sinking back onto the bed, allowing your mind to settle.

Everything feels surreal as if you're caught in a hazy dream. Your current situation, the vivid imagination that has taken hold of your thoughts—it's all intertwined, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

And then there's him. The mysterious man who has captured your thoughts and emotions, leaving you questioning his existence. Who is he? What is he? If he is merely a creation of your mind, why does he feel so undeniably real? The memory of his touch, even if it was just his finger grazing your skin, lingers with a warmth that defies logic. And his lips, pressing gently against your forehead, radiated a tenderness that felt tangible.

The questions swirl in your mind, unanswered and shrouded in uncertainty. Who is this mysterious figure that has emerged from the depths of your imagination? And what does he want...

***

"A brain tumor?" Jimin's voice fills the room, laced with deep concern. He had arrived just minutes ago, catching you in the midst of trying to force down the food that Nurse Gyu had brought for you. Without hesitation, your friend envelops you in a tender embrace, his arms providing a comforting shield. He urges you to share what's going on with you, and you find yourself pouring out the details of your diagnosis and the surreal hallucinations that have consumed your thoughts.

"Yeah... I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away, but-" you begin, interrupted by Jimin's gentle reassurance.

"Hey hey... It's okay. I understand. It's a lot for you to process, but I'm here now, okay? And I'll be here with you," Jimin says, gripping your hand a bit too tightly, causing you to wince as he unknowingly grabs the one with the IV. "Shit, sorry," he apologizes, his concern etched across his face.

"It's okay," you chuckle, finding solace in his presence.

Jimin sighs, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "So... these hallucinations," he prompts, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of humor.

"I don't know, Jim. It's so bizarre, but it feels so damn real. I swear I could feel his touch. I... I just don't know," you confess, your voice tinged with confusion.

"Is he hot?" Jimin blurts out, causing you to look at him in surprise before bursting into laughter. In that moment, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders. Jimin is doing his best to be supportive, trying to inject a bit of levity into the situation, and for that, you are grateful.

"What kind of question is that?" you playfully retort.

Jimin shrugs, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "What? If it were me hallucinating, I'd make the person hot as fuck."

Your laughter fills the room, a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of the past few days. Shaking your head, you reply with a smile, "Honestly... he looks dangerous, but really hot."

"That my girl" Jimin exclaims, joining in your laughter.

A sense of serenity washes over you, easing the turmoil in your heart. You needed Jimin, your friend, more than ever. And now, you realize how foolish it was to keep him in the dark.

"Thank you, Jim," you express, meeting his gaze.

"No need to thank me. You're my friend, and I love you. I wouldn't be anywhere else," Jimin responds.

For a while, Jimin reassures you, taking charge of everything. He has already contacted your workplace, informing your boss about your condition, and he has also reached out to the rest of your group of friends. You can't help but feel foolish for thinking you could handle it all on your own.

"And when will the doctor be back?" Jimin paces around the room, voicing his concern. It has been a couple of hours since you last saw Doctor Kim and his worried expression and hasty departure still linger in your mind. You can't blame Jimin for his restlessness; you would probably be doing the same if you weren't hooked up to all these machines.

"Should I call a nurse and ask?" he suggests, his worry evident.

"Maybe we should wait," you respond, and Jimin nods, though still looking uneasy. "Are you okay?" you ask, concerned for your friend amidst your own struggles.

"No," he huffs. "I feel like I should be doing more. Do you need water or food? Anything...!" he offers, his desperation palpable.

"Jim, you're doing more than enough just by being here," you assure him.

"I... I don't know. I feel useless right now," he admits, shaking his head. "What about blood? Do you need my blood?" he asks, and you can't help but laugh.

"What am I, a vampire?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Jimin shrugs and chuckles along. "I don't know! I just want to help somehow."

You pat the side of your bed, suggesting, "What about cuddling with me?"

"That's something I can do," Jimin rushes to your side, cuddling you. His head rests next to yours on the pillow. "I'm so worried, y/n," he confesses.

"I know," you reply softly, understanding his feelings.

"And I should be able to stay calm and be strong for you, but..." Jimin trails off, his voice filled with frustration.

"I know," you reassure him, taking his hand in yours.

No further words are exchanged. Jimin's presence alone brings a sense of calm to your nerves. As you close your eyes, enveloped in the tranquility he provides, the door suddenly opens abruptly.

"What the—" Jimin begins, and you widen your eyes in surprise.

"I'm so sorry," Doctor Kim enters the room, apologizing for the intrusion. "I should have knocked."

"It's okay. Doctor Kim, this is my best friend Jimin. Jim, this is my doctor," you introduce them, and Jimin stands up, reaching out to shake the doctor's hand.

"Doctor Kim Namjoon," he introduces himself, shaking your friend's hand.

Jimin steps aside, allowing your doctor to approach you.

"Y/n, I have thoroughly reviewed all of your test results, and based on the findings I have formulated a treatment plan for you" he takes a deep breath before continuing "While I still believe that surgery is the most suitable option, we have encountered an issue. Your blood sample has shown a low platelet count, which poses a risk if we proceed with the operation. Before we can move forward, we need to address this by increasing your platelet count," the doctor explains, aware of your confusion due to the medical terminology.

Jimin, concerned, asks, "What should we do? What can be done?"

The doctor responds, "In this case, we have several options. We can administer medications that help stimulate platelet production in your body. Additionally, a platelet transfusion may be necessary to quickly raise your platelet levels. However, it's important to note that receiving a blood transfusion poses a risk for you due to your specific circumstances."

Jimin raises his hand, offering a potential solution. "We have the same blood type, I could donate platelets to help right?."

The doctor appreciates the offer but clarifies, "Your willingness to donate is commendable, and we will consider it. However, what Y/n requires is a platelet transfusion that is specifically enriched with platelets. Don't worry, we have access to such transfusions, which will be most effective in raising Y/n's platelet count."

Jimin looks at you with a comforting smile, instantly easing your nerves.

"I trust your judgment, Doctor Kim," you express, appreciating his expertise. He returns your trust with a reassuring smile. However, a sudden thought strikes you, and you remember the nervousness he displayed when you mentioned your hallucinations. "And what about... my... dreams?" you inquire, stumbling over your own words.

You notice his nervousness resurfacing as the doctor starts fidgeting with his fingers. "That is... umm... I attribute that to your stress. It's, umm... well, I can prescribe relaxers to help you calm down, but umm... I don't have a medical solution for your dreams at the moment," he stammers.

His words confuse you, and you realize that you haven't seen Doctor Kim speak this way before, even though you haven't been under his care for long. He appears nervous, almost afraid.

"Doctor... what is going on?" you ask again, seeking clarity.

Doctor Kim glances over his shoulder, visibly gulps, and then turns back to you. "It's just dreams, Y/n. Currently, there is no medical intervention available for them," he responds, his demeanor shifting to a calmer tone. "For now, I will prepare the medication and closely monitor your platelet production. Afterward, we will assess whether a transfusion is necessary or not." He nods, and you do the same. "I'll be right back," the doctor says, exiting the room.

"Is he the one in charge? I think we should seek a second opinion," Jimin suggests, voicing his concern as he looks at you. "He seems nervous."

"Yeah," you agree, unable to deny the unease you feel. It's strange how Doctor Kim appears composed when discussing your medical issues and the upcoming procedure, but your hallucinations seem to unsettle him. You are filled with questions.

"Alright, Y/n, visiting hours are over. I have to go," Jimin informs you, reluctantly preparing to leave.

"Yeah, of course, Jim. Don't worry, I'll be fine," you assure him, noticing his hesitance. "Seriously, go!"

"Fine, fine! I'll leave... I'll be back first thing tomorrow, okay? Let the nurses know to contact me if anything goes wrong or if you need anything, alright?" Jimin insists, seeking your promise.

"I promise," you confirm.

"Good! I'll be back tomorrow, and Rin will probably join me, so be prepared for the chaos," he remarks, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Of course," you reply with a smile.

"I love you," Jimin says as he grabs his bag. "Text me, okay?" he adds before stepping out the door.

"Yes, I love you too," you respond, watching as he disappears from sight.

The feeling of solitude consumed your entire being, causing worry to gnaw at your insides. Memories of the previous times you had dreamt about that man flooded your mind, and now, once again, you found yourself in the confines of solitude. Your eyes darted around, scanning every corner of the room, as fear began to take hold. In an attempt to shield yourself, you instinctively pulled the thin sheet over your body, clutching it tightly as if it could offer protection from the nightmares that plagued you.

Outside the room, the sounds of movement echoed through the hospital corridors, reminding you that you were not entirely alone. This realization brought a slight semblance of peace, a glimmer of reassurance amidst the encroaching fear. Heavy eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, you succumbed to the lure of sleep, hoping desperately that this time would be different.

You're fine, you're safe. You won't dream, you won't experience hallucinations. You won't--

Clap. Clap.

The sound reverberated in your ears, chilling you to the core.

"Wake up, little doll."

No.

[starseneyes]

i love your spapel metas and analyses so much! keep them coming please!

can i ask you if you are a film or media studies graduate? because your posts are so well thought of and formulated.

Hello, Anon! Thank you so very much, and I'll do my best to keep 'em coming.

My background is incredibly varied, but it definitely all feeds into how I write these.

It all started with Little Rachel growing up on sets. Not only was I a background/bit actor/commercial actress from a young age, but my mother was a hair and makeup artist.

Whenever I was bullied in school, my mom took me on set. And folks there were welcoming. Directors almost always invited me to sit over their shoulders so I could see the monitors. I'd help out at Crafty. I got to run lines with Michael Rooker, once, as he prepped for a scene.

When mom worked on this one 90's show in Wilmington, she was too tired to collate her scripts by the time she got home. I volunteered to stay up and do it, which gave me the opportunity to see how revisions worked.

Sometimes we got advanced copies of episodes, and I'd sit down with my mother to see how they translated from script to screen, and then how the editors changed the advanced copies to the final versions that aired. It was all fascinating to me.

By age 13, I wrote my first screenplay for fun for Star Trek: Voyager. And I was constantly on editing teams and video teams in high school.

At 16, I joined AFTRA as a Voice Over Artist, and made a decent chunk of change doing it until 2008 when things went sideways in the industry. Also, the Studio where I was a contract player changed hands, and the new owner cared more about shareholders than us peons.

In college, I chose to go after Communications, and both my degrees are in it (Bachelors in Communications - Mass Media, Masters in Strategic Communication). But my minor was Film. I directed, edited, story-boarded, wrote, acted, and lit so many projects. Nothing ground-breaking, of course, but I learned a lot in the practicality of it and used my knowledge of growing up on sets to help our work really shine.

I went into Journalism between Freshman and Sophomore year and did that for many years, working in Broadcast and online journalism as a producer and researcher. My first job at 19 in the newsroom was to watch Iraq War and 9/11 footage and mark which parts were airable and which were not.

I transitioned into theater for a decade, there, and my film side took a step back. I've worked so many different jobs and for so many different clients.

Written articles, a cook book, website content, helped with front-end app development, emails, print pieces, etc. Professionally, these days, I'm a Digital Marketer. Been working freelance for 6 years, now.

I dream of writing TV (and I was a finalist with a Pilot of mine in a contest last year), but the reality is that living in Virginia makes my options and opportunities small. Having a Special Needs child makes moving to California without a job lined up pretty impossible.

But, I'm not disheartened. Chances still exist. Someday, perhaps, I'll sell a script. Perhaps, I'll get to act, again, when the time is right.

And in the meantime... I write scripts. I participate in online table reads with friends. I write these Metas and have so much fun using that portion of my brain, again.

Because while I'm so stoked these Metas have been well-received, I'd write them even if nobody read them. I write because I must. Because I love it. And because no matter where my life takes me... these bits and pieces remain a core part of me.

Anyway, that's a long-winded response, but hopefully I didn't offend you since you've made it through the Metas! Again, thank you for reading and asking the question! I wish you well in all you do.

[syrpyrpai]

Recently, while drawing that girl with the daylily, I realized: oh, her story is about to be 10 years old… So I decided to compare the very first and one of the most recent drawings of some of the characters to see what time has done to them.

The protagonist probably had the biggest design change of all. The character, inspired by the color palette of forget-me-nots and blue hydrangea, eventually shifted to greenish hues. On the one hand, it's sad that the girl lost this zest, on the other hand, this color scheme, as I think, better emphasizes her character. But nothing is as eye-catching as the new hairstyle. The hair now has a specific shape (yay!), the second layer with longer strands is gone. A short haircut is much more practical in her case, and the cowlicks make it feel more spontaneous. As far as I remember, the character was originally intended to be much calmer, more skeptical, and smarter. But over the years she has become a silly, but very sincere, self-sacrificing girl who can find the best in the worst. One thing remains the same: she is still frighteningly naive, thanks to her hyper-patronizing father. In pictures, of course, it's funny to joke about storks and a complete lack of understanding of the concept of romantic relationships, but in reality it's dangerous. Poor kid.

Speaking of father. After years of searching without success, I finally found the very first sketch of him. I've never been good at stereotypical grown men, which is especially evident in this kid of fifteen. :"D I've gotten better at it with years of practice, but that brightly colored, disheveled hair still causes dissonance. I often think about redesigning it, but then I realize I'm too used to seeing this guy like this. I want to tug on his ahoge… This character used to seem like a bit of a scatterbrained relaxed slob. And then he gradually transformed into a sensitive melancholic who adores anguished literature, who loses and forgets things not just because that's his archetype. He's not just a good dad anymore. He's too good a dad, in a bad way. In short, he's a funny character. It's hard to draw him because of his masculine features, but it's fascinating to dig into his head.

This character hasn't changed much in appearance. Except that the ahoge on the right became a key element of the hairstyle and ombré appeared. The evolution of her character is a literal embodiment of the proverb "beware of a silent dog and still water". And that's description enough.

The concept remained, but the details changed so much that the character became very different. They are now in khokhloma, which I congratulate them on. Aside from the jokes, the character is now shorter in stature and has a more muted color palette. I rarely draw them lately (which I regret), but I still try to gracefully cover their groin with any object I can find. Because despite the lack of genitalia, it makes me uncomfortable.

I didn't really know what I wanted when I drew this character the first time, which is summed up in the first picture by the weird hair. But then I decided to use the good old cliché of appearance clashing with temperament, so I got a kid with stereotypically angelic golden curls and a manipulative, cunning nature with a pinch of cynicism. You know, those anime kids who act like they're at least 40. Due to the lore revision, he's also lost his collar. Now the dog is free, woof.

Not much of interest here either, other than the fact that I learned how to draw curls better. All the meaningful changes happened on the inside of the character, because I was able to find a heart among the ice that I originally associated the character with. And it fascinated me. This is one of my favorite characters, if not the most.

Tom and Jerry, Scooby-Doo and Shaggy, Woopsie and Poopsie…. In short, guys who complement each other's characters. Both pictures are primitive in their poses, so the differences are easier to see. The male character's long cloak has become a decorative cape, and the leaf pattern has disappeared (it's all the lore's fault). The female character is almost unchanged. Well, maybe she looks older now because of my experiments with style. Their story is pretty simple, so I didn't think much about them. I think they've only grown more attached to each other over the years. Woopsie and Poopsie, yeah.

[the-girl-who-didnt-smile]

In the past I have described how ‘Haitian’ elements were incorporated into New Orleans Voodoo… not exactly an accurate statement. 

The lwa - indeed, Haitian Vodou as a whole – was born out of the Haitian Revolution. Bwa Kayiman. The birth of the nation Haiti. 

The spirits worshiped by the likes of Marie Laveau are not properly described as Haitian in origin; rather, they are probably American derivatives of the Arada (Aja-Fon) Vodou that was practiced on the “Saint-Domingue” of old. Certain elements could be described as Afro-Caribbean, but not Afro-Haitian, in origin; these were incorporated into the traditions already present in New Orleans, becoming African American.

This is why I lean toward thinking that Papa Lébat was both portier divin and maître des carrefours. The split of Maitre Carrefour from Papa Legba is unique to Haitian tradition. Papa Lébat is better understood as a derivative of the Fon vodun, who presides over gateways and crossroads. This would explain why “Papa La Bas” was the Devil; no mention of Maitre Carrefour. 

Of course, the alternate theory is that Maitre Carrefour had already split off from Papa Legba, and he is the identity of the Spirit at the Crossroads. Bwa Kayiman really is the birth of the Petwo lwa as a category, who don’t truly have African counterparts. It is not inconceivable that the Haitians who were forced to remain in slavery would bring with them Maitre Carrefour - the super-powerful Petwo lwa. But the other obvious candidate is just Esu. A big clue here would lie in studying the demographics of the American South… 

What intrigues me is the possibility that certain hot spirits were brought from “Saint-Domingue” by the Don Pedros, who were slaves.

Now we’re gettin into some real-world fanfiction… But there are two types of people who left Haiti for New Orleans: slave owners, and slaves. The slave owners cannot be properly described as Haitian whatsoever, but what about the slaves? The people who were dragged from Haiti - first to Cuba, then to America - by their cowardly masters, where they were forced to live under slavery for another 60 years; some of them, reenslaved under a system “worse than slavery” after the Emancipation Proclamation… It’s something to consider.

These are the people who were followers of the maroon leader Don Pedro. They may or may not have brought “Joe Feraille” and “great Zombi” - not grand Zombi, but the spirit from “San Domingo” ”who had followed them in anger from his chosen island to wreak vengeance upon them and their masters wherever they dwelt”. 

…Of course, this could turn out to be bullshit. We could find out that “Joe Feraille” has no connection to Ogou Feraille, and that “great Zombi” is just a complete fabrication that has no basis in reality. 

But if it turns out that Joe Feraille really is Ogou Feraille, and great Zombi is Captain Zombi (or even, Bawon Sanmdi!) - maybe, that “The Man at the Crossroads” is actually Maitre Carrefour! - could those be properly described as Haitian elements? It’s a question I don’t have the answer to, but it fascinates me to no end.

At the end of the day, there is only tenuous evidence these hot spirits were brought to America. If they were, the Don Pedros would have merged them into Hoodoo - a tradition that has fascinating parallels with the Petwo rite! But there is only weak evidence of that… There is no (strong) evidence that these hot spirits were part of the pantheon that Marie Laveau worshiped, where we only find American elements merged with Arada Vodou in the historical record. 

New Orleans has quite the negative reputation among Haitians, for a number of reasons. For this reason, I should be criticized for incorporating elements of Haitian Vodou into a story that is supposed to be about New Orleans Voodoo (a weird, fictionalized version of it, but New Orleans Voodoo nonetheless…) The way I have implemented it is downright offensive; it is something I plan to revise at a later time.

[picxsheet]

Create Free Profiles

Your Life Revealed: Unmasking the Enigma of Profiles

In the age of hyper-connectivity, where information floods our screens like an endless digital tide, it's easy to forget the most fascinating subject of all - ourselves. We navigate the world armed with curated online personas, snippets of our lives carefully distilled into digestible profiles. But beneath the surface of likes and followers lies a hidden ocean of stories, experiences, and aspirations. It's within these depths that the true enigma of profiles resides.

A profile isn't just a digital dossier; it's a window into the soul. It's a canvas where we paint our passions, showcase our vulnerabilities, and etch the milestones that define our journey. From the casual flick through a dating app bio to the meticulous crafting of a professional LinkedIn profile, every click and keystroke reveals a facet of who we are.

Profiles act as bridges, connecting us to like-minded individuals and fostering communities around shared interests. They allow us to explore the human tapestry, weaving threads of connection with strangers based on mutual passions for obscure music genres or vintage video games. In these virtual spaces, we shed the masks of everyday life and embrace the raw authenticity that comes with putting ourselves out there.

But like any double-edged sword, profiles come with inherent risks. The line between sharing and oversharing can be easily blurred, leaving us vulnerable to the prying eyes of the digital world. Privacy concerns loom large, prompting us to navigate a delicate balance between self-expression and safeguarding our personal narratives.

Yet, despite the challenges, the allure of profiles remains undeniable. They offer a platform for self-discovery, a chance to confront the reflections staring back from the screen and ask, "Who am I, really?" As we curate our online identities, we grapple with complex questions about authenticity, privacy, and the very nature of human connection.

Ultimately, profiles are more than just digital footprints; they're testaments to the constant evolution of the human experience. They capture the fleeting moments of our lives, the triumphs and heartbreaks, the dreams chased and the lessons learned. In their ever-shifting landscape, we glimpse not just the who, but the why. Why do we choose to share these fragments of ourselves? Why do we seek connection in the virtual realm?

The answers, like the profiles themselves, are as diverse as the human race. But it's in this exploration, in the act of crafting and consuming these digital tapestries, that we unlock a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us. So, the next time you find yourself lost in the labyrinthine world of profiles, remember - you're not just navigating lines of code; you're uncovering the stories that make us human.

Picxsheet.com: Unveiling the Hidden Layers

Ready to delve deeper into the captivating world of profiles? Picxsheet.com offers a platform where you can cultivate your own unique digital narrative. Create a profile that reflects your authentic self, connect with like-minded individuals, and embark on a journey of self-discovery. With Picxsheet, you hold the brush, the canvas, and the power to paint your story in vibrant hues.

Join the Picxsheet community today and start weaving your own chapter in the ever-evolving tapestry of human connection!

Remember:

Be your authentic self, but be mindful of your privacy.

Use profiles as a tool for connection and self-discovery.

Explore Picxsheet.com and unleash your unique story!

I hope this revised article captures the essence of your request. Feel free to let me know if you have any other suggestions!

[otere06]

The Chinchilla Kingdom

*DISCLAIMER* Basically what I did was tell humanity's newest friend, ChatGPT, to write about "The Chinchilla Kingdom in West Texas from 800 C.C - 1500 C.E." with some other details like their clay castles. Then I gave it a piece of my Cahokia post and told it to replicate that writing style, then accompanied it with AI generated pictures from Dall-E 2. It obviously didn't replicate my style of writing at all, but I am now a strong supporter of chinchilla sovereignty.

Take it away ChatGPT!

While perusing my historical archives, I came across an intriguing tale of a kingdom that reigned supreme in the West Texas region from 800 C.E to 1500 C.E. This remarkable civilization was known as the Kingdom of the Chinchillas, and their customs and traditions are truly a sight to behold.

What's most striking about the chinchilla people is their fashion sense, which is quite unique. They donned cowboy hats and bandanas, fashioned from natural materials found in the surrounding terrain. These accessories served as both functional and decorative components, protecting the people from the blazing sun and whipping wind, while simultaneously adding a touch of stylish flair to their garments.

Additionally, the chinchilla people's architectural style was equally distinctive, as they constructed their homes and castles entirely from clay. These sturdy structures have stood the test of time, offering a fascinating glimpse into the lifestyle of these people and their building techniques.

Despite their impressive fashion and architecture, the chinchilla people were not impervious to external factors. In the early 16th century, the Spanish encountered the chinchillas and were so captivated by their cute and cuddly appearance that they began to capture and keep them as pets. This action marked the end of the kingdom's long reign, and its legacy has since faded into obscurity.

Nonetheless, the Kingdom of the Chinchillas remains a vital chapter in the history of West Texas, and the surviving artifacts, such as the clay castles, serve as a tangible reminder of the region's diverse and captivating past.

Interesting piece of history! But I thought it was still too formal and well typed, so I asked ChatGPT to make it a bit more relaxed and informal, and I got this:

Hey, check this out, I stumbled upon a pretty rad story about a kingdom that used to be the boss of West Texas from 800 C.E. to 1500 C.E. The kingdom was called the Kingdom of the Chinchillas and they had some seriously wild style!

Like, they were all about wearing cowboy hats and bandanas made from stuff they found around them. They looked cool and practical at the same time. And get this, their castles were made entirely out of clay! Can you imagine? That stuff lasts forever too, so some of these old castles are still standing today.

But, you know what sucks? The Spanish rolled up on the chinchillas in the 16th century and thought they were so darn cute and cuddly that they started snatching them up as pets. And, that pretty much sealed the fate of the Kingdom of the Chinchillas - their reign was over, man.

Still, it's pretty cool to think about a whole kingdom of chinchillas running around in cowboy hats and bandanas, living in clay castles. It's like something out of a wild west cartoon! Anyways, this story reminds us that there's always something unexpected to discover in history, even in our own backyard.

Some seriously wild style! If there's one lesson to get from this, it's something I think scared people are gonna learn about AI very soon.

It still needs human input. Trust me, ChatGPT is most effective when you input your prompt and THEN go back and revise and edit it so your vision is fully realized. The first article about the Chinchilla Kingdom is okay, but not great. The second speaks for itself. (It's bad)

I truly believe ChatGPT and other future AI programs will not replace us. It's a tool that can help get the hard part out of the way. Imagine a future where AI can automatically animate cartoons from storyboards. The AI can't read the director's mind, there will still be a need for animators to just go back and tweak minor details and fully bring the whole thing to life. Writers can input a prompt of their vision of a story and an AI can shoot out a really rough draft. Then, the writer can go back and revise and edit the story to bring out its true potential.

What makes art important is the human's vision of what could be. AI could help with the rough stuff, while humans go back and polish things and fully realize what's going on in the artists mind, because at the end of the day art is based off people's views of the world. Their whole lives, experiences, hopes, fears, viewpoints, etc all melt together into something. AI can't replace that. But it can help with the process of realizing it.

Sure, people will lose jobs. But they'll probably be the type of creative people who worked on that GrubHub ad. (Because let's be honest, an AI could create that.)

Humans will be fine.

[charlotterhea]

3,5,29 for the AO3 Wrapped Asks Please! 😘

Hey dear, thank you for your ask! 🥰 But I need you to turn a blind eye to my response because I've been (and am still) so wrapped up with a long project that I have only posted one actually new story this year and included my translations of older stories. 😆

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Of posted works this year, that would be 'Tempus Gratiae'. It is an old one that I revised and translated but it was a challenge to write even back then. I'm not good with history and at this point, I'm not good with getting characters to fall for each other without at least 20 chapters to work towards it. ^^ This story has both and I'm proud that it only grew from two chapters to four while revising and not 40. 🤪

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Without a doubt 'A Ridiculous Decision'. That was one of these stories that you just have to get out of your mind and I wrote it just for fun. That's why I - totally self-indulgent - chose to write it in second person pov without it being an x reader story. I know that that's not exactly a reader's favourite (at least with German readers it isn't) but it's one of my favourites and it made me really happy that it was well-received. 😊

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? That has to be a passage of the huge project I'm working on. I translated it quickly and I hope it isn't too bad. XD Oh, and it's a bit angsty so ... ;)

On his white shirt was blood. And on his face sweat. And on his hands the remains of a potion he'd once known, in the corners of his eyes tears and in his throat a scream he didn't know what to do with. So he did nothing. Just stared at the ground. Felt the rush of wind from people passing by, heard the rustle of cloaks, voices, a ticking, and guessed that time was passing. Over his head, down his spine like a shiver and the goosebumps, along his leg, around his ankle, and just disappeared. He closed his eyes. Felt air flow through his nose. And into his lungs. Found it fascinating, because he did nothing, that this was happening. Because he did nothing. Did nothing. Nothing. A child was screaming in the waiting area. He flinched as if it hurt. And again when a hand touched his. Jerked his eyes open and his head around, but it was just Poppy. Just Poppy, sitting next to him on an uncomfortable chair in the bare corridor of St Mungo's Hospital. Who was saying a thing, crying a little, breaking a bit. He, on the other hand, could hardly think. There was not enough space in his entire brain for one thought, for six words, for: She doesn't want to be here. That's why he thought it again and again and again. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to be here. She - doesn't - want - to - be - here. And neither did he.

This is one nerve-racking project but if I am able to pull it off as I imagine it will be worth all of it. 😆

From this ask game.

[atlantic-riona]

a personal favorite retelling of mine is Merugud Uilix maicc Leirtis (The Wandering of Ulixes Son of Laertes), simply because of the sheer delight it inspires

[kestrel-of-herran]

2521: a curious update on the relationship summary

in may of 2021, soompi released their first article revealing the cast considering to star in "twenty five, twenty one". translating from two korean articles, here is how the news source presented the relationship summary between hee do and yi jin:

In 1998, in a world that seems on the brink of disaster, two people aged 22 and 18 meet for the first time, but end up hurting each other at age 23 and 19. At 24 and 20, they learn to trust each other, and at age 25 and 21, they start to fall in love.

what i find fascinating here is the potential outdatedness of this description. in the same article, yi jin was described as someone who "works as a makeup salesman and a bodyguard in order to stake out a story", something that sounds suspiciously like a narrative that was scrapped in favour of something better, as we haven't seen anything of the sort happen in the series so far. furthermore, the entire drama description in this article sounds like a draft: yi jin is still a UBS sports reporter and hee do is still a gold medalist in the making, but they're presented as meeting at the asian games (episode 7, like in yi jin's fantasy!), and there is neither a mention of the financial crisis ruining their lives, nor of the fencing rivalry which is so central to the story.

while the omission of these details can be interpreted as the showmakers disclosing less information to the media, the change of significant aspects like yi jin's disguises makes me think that these descriptions were based on a script draft. as the drama didn't start filming until september of 2021, and scripts are frequently revised and improved before and during shooting, i think it's safe to conclude that the above description of the romantic relationship is as outdated as the plot presented there.

and here comes the most interesting discovery i want to present: there is a newer description of the relationship. it's on tvn's website along with the series description, and this is what google translates it to (paraphrased by me in a coherent text):

1998: it's as if the whole world shakes in a year of anxiety. Two people aged 22 and 18 met, and called each other by name for the first time. At the ages of 23 and 19, the two depended on each other. At 24 and 20, both of them were wounded. When they were 25 and 21, the two fell in love.

at first glance, the description doesn't appear much different, but the change to the narrative sequence is key: there is a difference in the age where the rift happens.

in the soompi summary, the "hurt" happens at 23 and 19, around the asian games plotline. but in the more recent tvn summary, 23 and 19 is the age when the characters "depend on each other". the hurt comes later, and this time around there is no agent: they are "wounded", but it's unclear if they were the ones doing the wounding.

the change in event sequence is vital: in the first instance, there is a rift at a younger, more fragile place in their relationship, followed by reconcilation. in the new version, they develop a deeper bond before a falling out that might hit much harder because of the longer build up before it -- or this very build up might be what saves a relationship that's been growing and transforming for so long.

whatever this rift turns out to be, it's good to keep in mind that our expectations of a mutually caused hurt might be based on an obsolete source. and one thing remains the same: whatever happens won't be so bad that they don't fall in love a year later.

[theboarsbride]

“Mrs. Maturin” WIP intro.

Title: “Mrs. Maturin”

Genre: Historical fiction. Drama. Novella/short story (literary??????????? probs not lmao)

Status: Second Draft - Major revisions and rewrites

Themes: Grief, inherit selfishness of humans, inner vs. external beauty, empathy, compassion, kindness, ugliness and cruelty of humanity, darker history of Victorian London.

Synopsis: Synopsis Under Construction. (aka I cannot write a good synopsis to save my life) This is a short historical fiction novella that’s a semi-fictionalized story based on the very real encounter between Joseph Merrick, AKA The Elephant Man, and young widow Leila Maturin, the first woman to have supposedly smiled at him and shook his hand, inspiring him to change his life for the better. 

NOTE: True dates surrounding this encounter vary, so for the sake of the story, it is set in October of 1886.

~~~

Essentially this story is something I wrote for a historical fiction writing assignment sophomore year of high school that I wanna make into an actual piece of literature sjdljdsldsjldsjldsjdsljdl 😭

Joseph Merrick has always been one of my favorite historical figures, even with the tragedy surrounding his story--in fact, it’s the tragedy he’d endured and how he still found it within himself to remain a kind, gentle soul despite it all is what makes him all the more fascinating to me. And ever since I’ve been serious about my writing, I’ve been dying to write something about him, whether it be nuanced fiction or nonfiction. I hope to touch on both of these genres with “Mrs. Maturin”--and Leila Maturin is a woman worth reading about as well.

[castexpectopatronum]

Liquid Amber - Part II [Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine]

Summary: You had been crushing on Remus Lupin for an eternity when you finally decided to ask him out. However, things do not go as planned and you remain wondering just what exactly is going on with this boy.

word count: 1.6k

trigger warnings: none

notes: apparently this got deleted, so i’m reuploading it

Masterlist

“... and I really don’t know if I should have continued with Divination because on the one hand, sure it’s a fascinating subject but on the other hand, Professor Hartshorn is so incredibly ridiculous, you should’ve heard her yesterday- (Y/N), are you listening to me?”

At once, you snapped out of the daze you had been in and looked at your friend who was eying you with a bemused expression.

“Still thinking about him,  are you?”

Sighing deeply, you hunched forwards and rubbed your eyes, utterly exasperated – from both, your work and mind. “Sorry, I just... I can’t get him out of my head, no matter what I do.” She smiled. “No worries, (y/n). We’ve all been through that phase. Probably everbody has that one crush they will never forget. It’s normal.”

“Normal or not, it bloody sucks,” you grumbled, leaning back in the armchair. The two of you were currently sitting in your common room, occuping an entire table with your school work. Quills, parchment and half-empty ink bottles littered the entire surface and the books you didn’t necessarily need had already been banished onto the floor where they were stacked into a dangerously lose pile. But as long as they didn’t fall into the fireplace, it didn’t bother either of you.

A huge yawn escaped your mouth and in a rather half-hearted attempt to be productive, you threw a glance at the essay you were currently working on. Once again, it was for your potions class. Like the time you had gathered all of your courage to ask out Remus Lupin but had been turned down and had felt absolutely humiliated for the remainder of the week. Even now, you still had problems looking him in the eye but as Remus was apparenly determined never to speak with you again, it did not cause you a lot of trouble.

Picking up your quill again only to twirl it in between your fingers, you wondered wether Remus was purposely avoiding you. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were he case; he had looked quite constipated when you had asked him if he wanted to go out with you.

Your stomach tightened unpleasently. If you had known of Remus’ profound aversion to go out on a date with you, you wouldn’t have approached him in the first place. You hadn’t planned for him to get into that kind of rotten situation. Maybe you should go and apologise to him. Was that something you had to do?

It had started to rain; heavy drops were whipping against the window and together with the occasional scratching of your friend’s quill made you fall into a hypnotised        state while you stared into the depths of the crackling fire.

”You’re not going to finish that this evening, are you?”

You simply shook your head, not bothering to raise your eyes.

Your friend sighed deeply and rolled up her parchment. “Shall we head to bed, then? I’m finished, anyways.” She groaned loudly as she stretched in her armchair, finally educing a small smile from you.

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s go to sleep.”

One day, you would be able to look back at this and laugh about it. Your first heartbreak was a good story to tell your grandchildren. And that, my dear, is how the first bloke I ever fell in love with rejected me, which is great, though, because if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have married your grandfather and you would never have been born.

Sadly, however, you were far from getting grey hair and wrinkles and telling bed time stories to your children’s children, so you had to endure sitting in class behind Remus and starring at his stupid brown hair which looked so wonderfully soft that you felt the strong urge to run your fingers through it every time your gaze fell upon it.

And thus, you came to the terribly depressing conclusion that you hated your life. But – of course – you found yourself, once again, unable to despise the person that made your life such a horrible mess. Which made it an even more horrible, messier mess.

The ringing bell, which marked the end of the school day, interrupted your flow of thoughts and you quickly gathered your things together, glad for the opportunity to escape.

While walking back to your common room – you avoided the library as much as you could – you again considered approaching Remus to talk things out. You were still unsure wether or not you owed him an apology, and anyway, you didn’t want things to be awkward between the two of you.

Not that you had had many opportunities to become aware of said awkwardness – Remus was definitely avoiding you.

A sigh escaped you, one in a line of many others since that faithful day in the library, and you tried to focus on all the homework and revision you had to do for today. Going over all of your plans in your head, you turned around the corner-

-and collided straight with another person, causing all of the books in both of your hands to fall and spread onto the ground.

The clash’s force made you stumble several steps backwards, thankfully though you managed to keep your balance, arms waving around.

“Shit, sorry, mate, are you okay?” Once you’ve managed to get a stable footing, you lifted your gaze from the stone floor and looked directly into the face of Remus Lupin.

All colour drained from your cheeks.

“Oh. Hi, Remus. Didn’t see ya there.” You laughed forcefully.

Remus looked at you with a startled expression that quickly turned into one of clear uncomfort.

“Hello, (y/n),” he muttered quietly.

In a desperate attempt to chase away the heavy silence lying between the both of you, you hurriedly gathered up the school books that were scattered around on the stone floor.  The two of you stood there in awkward silence, clutching your books to your chests. He was expertedly avoiding your eyes while you were desperately trying to find the right words to say.

Surprisingly though, it was Remus who first raised his voice,

“Listen, (y/n), I need to go, so...”

“Remus-”

“I forgot something in the library-” He tried to quickly walk past you but you seized his arm to hold him back. The look he gave you, however, was one of slight surprise and discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” you said, unable to hide the sorrow in your eyes. “Listen, I never...” You interrupted yourself, an uneasy feeling spreading throughout your stomach. “When I asked you out, I never intended on making you feel uncomfortable. I just ... I just wanted to know if I stood a chance. You really don’t have to feel guilty for anything – and I’m sorry for having put you in this situation.” You licked your lips nervously and let go of his sleeve. “That’s it. I just wanted to apologise. Sorry for bothering you.”

Remus did not say anything in your defense. Nor did he say anything to blame you. He did, in fact, not say anything at all. He simply stared at you, his brown eyes almost burning a hole into your skull. As you looked into his piercing eyes, finding yourself unable to turn you gaze away from them, your heart forgot how to beat.

“Remus?” It was no more than a breath, barely even a whisper, but it was enough to snap him out of his daze. He blinked a few times, then took a hasty step back and cleared his throat. You took a shaky breath – you hadn’t even realised you were holding it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you,” he said hoarsely, looking at the stone floor instead of meeting your eyes. “Believe me, that wasn’t my intention.”

Your face softened. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me, Remus,” you whispered. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He lifted his head slightly but then changed his mind and continued to stare at the ground. “Me turning you down... That had nothing to do with you.”

You took a step back and furrowed your eyebrows. “What do you mean? Of course it had something to do with me.”

Remus pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “No, (y/n), it didn’t. Please believe me.”

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out of it. Remus sighed.

“(Y/N), I would have rejected any girl that had been in your place.”

Frowning, you attempted to speak – then you understood. “Oh! Merlin, I am so sorry – I didn’t know you fancy boys. Nobody told me.”

Abruptly, Remus lifted his head and gave you a startled look. “Wha- No, (y/n), I’m not gay.”

“Remus, that really isn’t something you have to be ashamed of, no matter what anybody says-”

“I am not gay!”

You paused. “Alright... Then what is the problem?”

Remus attempted to say something but then changed his mind and pressed his lips together. He looked like he regretted ever bumping into you.

As you examined his face and the tense expression upon it, you sighed in defeat. “You know what, forget it. I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for what happened back in the library.” A forced smile appeared on your face as you turned to leave. You felt Remus’ burning eyes on you until you had reached the end of the corridor, leaving you more confused than ever before.