#i'm happy my country has become her refuge now

[red-eft]

Vowels for Cordelia and Ivy if you want!!

hell yeah! always happy to talk about my two favorite mage ocs <3

i accidentally wrote a lot about them, so i’m chucking it under a readmore ^^;;

ivy first-

A. what nicknames do they get called?

ivy ! tbh i keep forgetting that her actual name is ivanna

E. what is their love language?

physical touch! ivy stays close to those she cares about. she often follows them around without realizing it. she loves holding hands with cordelia and giving her little kisses on the forehead.

I. what makes them feel safe?

lorne makes her feel safe. he’s like a big brother (despite being younger lmao) that she knows would protect her to his last breath. once she gets closer to cordelia, that’s another person that makes her feel safe. ivy finds refuge in people more than anything else!

O. what motivates them?

she wants to get rid of the fear/superstition that always surrounds dark magic. it's banned throughout the country the story takes place in, and dark magic practitioners are feared and shunned by most.

about a third of the way through the story she’s in, ivy also gains the motivation to rescue her mentor, fiensal, when ydrenth captures him. 

U. what do they like to do in their spare time?

ivy loves exploring old ruins and observing wild creatures! ever since cordelia started teaching her how to fight unarmed, ivy has also started to practice for fun in her spare time.

Y. what physical object do they value most?

she really values fiensal’s grimoire. he gave it to her shortly before ydrenth captured him. it’s a well of knowledge and a deeply personal item. she tries not to read it. it feels like an invasion of his privacy even though he outright told her to study it. 

—-------

now for ydrenth! this one’s a little difficult because i just decided earlier today that she’s not getting a redemption arc.. here's Mean Ydrenth for u

A. what nicknames do they get called?

i’m not sure if it counts, but “the necromancer” is something she gets called pretty often lol

E. what is their love language?

ydrenth’s love language is words of affirmation. she likes to make the object of her affection feel like the most important person in the world. however, she has a mean streak and can quickly become very manipulative. ydrenth is 100% aware of her behavior and doesn’t care to fix it. she is not a good person.

I. what makes them feel safe?

her home/research facility is the only place she feels truly safe. only she knows where it is and how to get in it.

O. what motivates them?

ydrenth wants to rebuild the old world and shape it to her liking. she keeps herself alive by sapping the life from other creatures, but as time goes on, she needs more and more energy.. she's starting to fall apart. ydrenth's current goal is to obtain a dragon heart, which is rumored to grant immortality.

U. what do they like to do in their spare time?

ydrenth likes to read, conduct experiments (usually focused on dark magic), and observe the world to learn about how it's changed over the centuries. she also likes cooking wjdslfk, you get good at it when you live alone for a couple hundred years

Y. what physical object do they value most?

her most treasured possession is an old-world pistol that she found in some ruins. she carries it with her everywhere she goes. the new world has recovered and developed to the point of being able to make basic pistols, but they’re too weak and unreliable for her liking.

—-------

since this ask is about my ocs that use the most magic, i'm gonna throw in a bonus and add some context for how magic works in my story setting :-)

dark magic basically = radiation

in my story, magic came to earth (idk how yet lol). humans combined magic and science to study both. unfortunately, they went too far and caused a nuclear/magic catastrophe that wiped out most of civilization. the earth and everything on it was fundamentally changed. radiation warped to gain "magical" traits and dark magic was born :0 i know it isn’t realistic, but the idea was too fun for me to pass up !! plus nothing that has magic in it is going to be realistic anyways wsdfjlk

there are four races in my story- humans, elves, drakonians, and orcs. i could write actual essays about them.. anyways they were all created/influenced by magic & genetic engineering. humans and drakonians are resistant to dark magic, orcs are immune, and elves are very weak to it. however, even an elf is more resistant to radiation than an actual human on earth irl

dark magic can be used to cast incantations with “unnatural” effects: seeing through walls, healing injuries, creating undead, etc... there are a lot of creative uses for it that cause harm, but there's also a lot of potential to help others.

accepted types of magic include divine magic (very rare) and common elemental magic (fire/water/earth/wind/etc- used for mundane tasks like purifying water or generating electricity)

[calumxkisses]

Yellow | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: prince!calum au - you're his yellow and he's yours.

a/n: hi! 'm not really good with au imagines but i hope you'll like it. let me know what you think of this imagine. love you!

this imagine its inspired by the song: yellow

✰ ✰ ✰

“Yellow.” A sudden voice makes you jump. You close the book you’re reading as you place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating quickly.

The library is huge, the storm lights barely illuminate the room, making it almost impossible to find your way around and read without the help of candles. The smell of old books is strong, there is a lot of dust on the shelves and feeling small near these high shelves make the perfect atmosphere to be able to take refuge from the outside world, from a world made of rules and confined to the land surrounding the property. Your little refuge, however, is interrupted by the presence of this man and you turn around quickly, trying to hide the smile that forms on your face at the sight of the stranger.

Despite the size of the room, the prince appears to be in full control of everything around him. He is standing in front of the door, several meters separate your figure from his, yet you can see the smile he gives you, his hands hidden behind his back and the fine lines near his eyes that underline his amused expression.

“What?” You ask before placing your hand in front of your mouth and widening your eyes. In your mind, a vivid image of your mother scolds you for your language and reminds you that you are no longer a child and that you must be careful when addressing a prince or any other high-ranking social figure.

“I'm sorry for talking to you like that, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what your 'yellow' refers to.”

Prince Calum laughs briefly before slowly approaching you.

"We've known each other since we were children, we don't need certain formalities."

“My mother says-” you try to justify yourself, but he cuts you off right away.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispers before standing in front of you, keeping some distance to avoid misunderstanding in case someone enters. If it were up to him, there would be no such distance between you, but rules are rules and he would never want to compromise your image.

You look around to make sure no one is spying on you and, sure you are alone with him, you relax your shoulders and jaw, releasing the sigh you were holding back.

“So, yellow?” You ask, smiling, placing the book on the table to your left while you look at the boy, waiting for an answer.

His curly hair is carefully pulled back and the dark circles under his eyes lead you to imagine him sitting at his desk, with a lighted candle next to him and his gaze on the window in front of him, instead of the pages he is holding with his hand, pages he should study in order to become the man his father wants him to be, but that he will never be.

“It was a difficult choice, I will not lie to you. There are so many colors that remind me of you, the red of the dress you wore at your first dance when you entered society, the purple of the vase you broke when you discovered that you have been promised in marriage to an old man or the blue of water of the stream next to the tree where we always go to sit under it. And there are a thousand other colors that I associate to you.”

You smile proudly to hear that he paid attention to every detail and remember how as a child he couldn't even memorize the poems the teachers taught him and the thousand fights you had when you tried in vain to help him learn each verse.

“When I think of you, however, I think back to when you collected Ranunculus repens and put them in your hair, to embellish your hair and feel like the princesses who came to visit us. You always did it and you always took a few more so, when it rained and we couldn't go out, you had your little escort and you could wear them even inside these walls. You always have and if I'm not wrong-”

Calum slowly reaches out his arm towards you, his hand brushes your neck causing you to shiver all over your body, before moving a strand of hair and grabbing something from behind your ear.

“You still wear them.” He whispers, bringing his hand in front of your eyes and showing the small yellow flower you were wearing until a few seconds before.

“They still make me feel like a princess from one of those fairy worlds I read books about.” You whisper, you look down as a sense of shame takes hold in your body. Your heart seems to feel pain as you think back to how you still feel as a child, how you still dream of those fairy tales you hoped you could live one day.

“You're a princess with or without those flowers on, you know it too, you just hope that others see you as you do, too special for a life you don't want to be part of.” He says bringing his fingers under your chin and lifting your face up. His gaze no longer conveys joy and his tone is harsh, an angry expression has taken place on his face.

“Calum..” You try to stop him from speaking that truth you don't want to hear, but his words have broken through your heart and the pain you seemed to feel, now you are definitely feeling. You take a step back, trying to get away from a situation you can't escape from.

“You don't have to do it, you don't have to stay and spend the rest of your life between false smiles and sleepless nights. Your sister will be queen and my father thinks I'm a failure since I was born. Let's run away, me and you. My cottage already has everything we need and I'm sure they will never come looking for us. We will live that fairy tale we imagined for us and we will have the life we ​​always wanted.”

His hand grabs yours and his gaze is on you. You know he's not lying, he told you the love he feels towards you in the dungeons of this same castle and you haven't thought twice before confessing your love to him.

But this castle, these people, is all you have always known.

It’s a world that doesn't belong to you but you can't just leave. There are rules, responsibilities, tasks that you cannot escape.

“It's not that easy, Calum.”

“No, it's not, it's not easy and it won't be. We'll probably end up arguing and you'll regret running away with me. But then you'll think back to all these tight corsets you had to wear, all the formalities you had to comply with and the man you would hold if you have stayed and you will understand that country life is so much better than a life spent in sadness and that that terrible man who made you cry actually loves you madly and just wants what he knows it’s better for you.”

He also grabs the other hand and continues.

“And if you really want to go back, I will be ready to be looked at with scandal by everyone and to take you back to the castle, to face your father and see you held by arms that are not mine.”

You know that it will be hard, but you have never wanted to be a queen. It’s a big responsibility for a girl that just wants to live a fairy tale, that wants to be free in her own terms. You never wanted a kingdom, you never wanted to be property of some old man and certainly you never wanted to spend your existence submitted to someone else’s orders.

You just wanted to be happy, to live your life to the fullest, to love a man who respected you, your dreams, your independence and your passion for flowers and books.

And maybe house cleaning, mud and small rooms will never be like having silk sheets, breakfast prepared by someone else and the floor always clean, but they certainly convey a sense of greater happiness and a life spent in misery and in sadness it’s the dream of those who do not want to fight for what they dream of and are satisfied with mediocrity.

And you don't deserve mediocrity and the guy in front of you knows it well, he sees it in the way you feel uncomfortable during the dances, when your father talks to you about matters you can never take care of because you’re a woman and in the look that you give to your mother when she talks about her marriage, that is only political and not based on love.

You turn to your right, a huge gold mirror near the window reflects the library, the place where you grew up and where you have taken refuge millions of times. You look in the mirror, the diamond earrings reflect the gray of the sky and are too heavy for your ears. Your dress is gorgeous, hand-sewn by the best tailors, yet you don't feel as beautiful as when you wear old, unfashionable clothes and run free for the castle hills, without the fear of getting dirty or ruining expensive dresses.

Your eyes, pupils who love to look at the horizon, are sad, aware that by staying they will not be able to see any wonder. You touch your face, slowly run your hands over your cheeks, over your lips and run your finger over the bridge of your nose, remembering when you were just a little girl and were treated like a normal girl, a girl that loved when her father played with her and touched her nose while making funny noises with his mouth.

Then you look outside. The sky is full of dark clouds, the rain falls incessantly and a few lightning illuminate the afternoon sky. You look at that garden you have walked a thousand times, at all the flowers you have collected and at all the plants you have destroyed while playing with Calum.

You close your eyes thinking about all the places you haven't visited, all the trees you haven't leaned on to read and all the rivers you haven't seen flowing. There is a world out there, you think, that has yet to be discovered. And who are you, if not a woman ready for life's adventures?

“You didn't ask me.” You whisper.

“What?” Calum asks, confused.

“You didn't ask me which color reminds me of you.” You repeat as you slowly turn around to look at him.

A huge smile forms on his face.

“What color do you think when you think of me?”

“When I was ten, one night, I decided to explore the dungeons alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to do anything. I almost made it, I almost managed to face the monster we thought lived in the cells, but then it was all too dark and I ended up going back to my room crying.” You slowly approach him.

“The next night, you showed up in my room with a jar full of fireflies, you gave it to me and whispered "You can do it." I ended up walking through the dungeons with this jar in my hand, you were a few meters behind me to make sure nothing happened to me, but I always knew you were there, even if you tried to hide.”

“I was able to face one of my biggest fears that night. Whatever other problem happened, you were always ready to help me if I needed it, you always supported me, with advice or simply by being close to me, a few steps back to let me free. You were essential in making me grow, while remaining away. Like the stars, who guide the sailors from the sky, they let the sailors do what they believe is right, but they are there to help and guide them if they need it.”

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper: “At midnight, in our place. Don't be late and take the blue carriage, it makes less noise on the street.” You turn around and walk to your room to pack a small bag with all the essentials.

“Wait, you didn't answer my question!” He says turning towards the direction you went.

“You are my yellow, Calum.” You say, you are far away but you know he’s smiling and you smile too.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter two - “bucky”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.4k

summary: after arriving in wakanda, (Y/N) figures out who and what she’s there for (with the help of our fav young genius)

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: not my photo

"Christ, you're astonishingly intelligent. How could you possibly need my help?" (Y/N) asked. "I'm kind of a joke compared to your big brain."

As the young Wakandan princess showed (Y/N) around her extremely impressive laboratory, she thought back to her conversation with Sharon.

***

"I'm needed? In Wakanda?" she said, dumbfounded. "What am I gonna do? Help them hunt for food?"

"Well, that's the thing," Sharon began. "Wakanda isn't what you think it is. The third world country we all thought we knew is just a facade to protect the true nature of Wakanda."

(Y/N) stared, not following. Sharon continued.

"It's actually a highly advanced, technologically progressive metropolis. They have some of the smartest people and most exceptional innovations in the world. It was all a cover up."

She nodded, finally understanding, "Well, I can't say that I blame them for hiding from the world. I can only imagine what would happen, especially from the hands of America."

Sharon chuckled. "Steve settled things with T'Challa, the former prince, and the royal family are allowing him and Barnes to take refuge there until further notice. Evidently, they have the tech and the minds to undo whatever damage Hydra did to Barnes."

***

"Well, I could do this by myself, but my focus is predominantly on electromagnetism, quantum mechanics, and high-energy particle physics," the young princess explained, gesturing to various pieces of state-of-the-art tech around her lab. "I'm not really an expert in social sciences just yet; that would be you. I was told you were exceptional. Oh, and Captain Rogers needed someone he could trust on short notice. So, here you are, on account of a Sharon Carter, right?"

"Absolutely correct... your highness?" (Y/N) replied, though it was more of a question than anything else.

The princess laughed a genuine laugh, "Oh, no need for formalities! We're colleagues now and we're going to be working collaboratively. Please, call me Shuri."

"Got it," she nodded, smiling and slightly embarrassed. "...so, not to sound like more of an idiot than I probably already seem, but what exactly is this project we're working on? No one really thought it would be a good idea to tell me before I took the plane ride to another continent- which is lovely by the way."

"Well," Shuri started, gesturing her to follow along as they walked through the rest of the lab, "you know that man who allegedly bombed the UN conference in Vienna, consequently killing my father and forcing my brother to assume his place as king?"

(Y/N) gulped. "Yes."

"Yeah, he's here. He's the project. But don't worry! He didn't actually set off the bomb; he was framed."

Oh. Okay. What was she supposed to say to that? (Y/N) couldn't figure out an answer so she continued to nod and try not to look too idiotic.

"As you already know, he has suffered greatly. He's not in control of his own mind. Our job is to dismantle whatever programming Hydra drilled into his poor brain through years of abuse and torture."

(Y/N) remembered the horrible things she read in his file. The trauma, the cruelty, the destruction of humanity. Suddenly, she was no longer at a loss of words... or thoughts. She was going to help an innocent man. Well, the truly innocent man who was locked inside Hydra's homemade killer.

What was done to him was a monstrosity; it was, up to date, the worst thing she had ever seen done to a human being. And, if she can do anything to help take away or relieve some of that pain, she was happy to play her part. A good way to do that was probably to zone back in to what Shuri was saying.

"...and there's two main components to this. Number one is his physical pain. Meaning the biochemicals and neurons in his brain in addition to his arm and the nerve endings and anything else of his that they broke: the stuff I will take care of. Number two is his mental pain. Meaning his psyche, trauma, behavior, emotions, and all that other fun psychology stuff that you will take care of."

"So, I'm basically operating as a therapist?"

"Basically. Among other things."

(Y/N) stared at the floor in front of her, letting it all sink in. She was going to therapize the Winter Soldier. Whatever that was going to entail was a mystery to her. He was nothing she'd ever heard of. Of course she was extraordinary at her job, but this was new territory for her.

Unaware of what else to say, (Y/N) blurted out, "So... you said he's here..."

"Yes. Follow me, you can come meet him."

Maybe that wasn't the best thing to blurt. He is innocent, but that doesn't stop him from scaring her a bit... even though she's never actually met him in the person.

She followed behind as Shuri led her out of the lab and through a multitude of different rooms and hallways. She was nervous, indeed. She was in a place she'd never been with people she'd never met about to see a person with a caliber she'd of never imagined.

(Y/N) wondered what he'd be like. Would she be meeting who he was before Hydra sunk their claws into him? Or would she be meeting some hybrid of the man he used to be and the pain he's been forced to endure? She wasn't sure what to expect. But she didn't have time to imagine another scenario when Shuri opened a door and they were greeted by a freezing cold breeze.

"Don't mind the cold. It's supposed to be like that," Shuri said as she held the door open and walked inside.

(Y/N) wrapped her arms around her midsection before her mouth dropped. In the middle of the room stood a giant glass chamber holding no other than James Barnes inside. It looked so strange to her, surreal even. He was frozen? Suspended animation. She didn't think humans were supposed to look like that. He almost looked dead. The slightest shiver ran down her spine.

"He's in a state of cryogenic sleep," Shuri explained. "Completely alive, but the chamber reduces his metabolism to its lowest possible level, allowing his body to be preserved for long periods of time."

"That's... slightly horrifying. I've heard of cryogenics, but I've never seen it first hand. How does it even work?" (Y/N) inquired as she ran her hand lightly across the glass.

It's so cold. She couldn't imagine being in there.

"In cryogenic sleep, an antifreeze agent is added, replacing the water in his cells. Then, the tissue is cooled to -220 degrees Fahrenheit, but instead of crystallizing into ice, the chemicals clump together and become solid. They're actually molecularly similar to glass. This new glass form prevents the cells from bursting and, theoretically, this could hold him in stasis forever."*

"Wow," she mused, still awestruck, staring at the chamber.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I'm good," (Y/N) chuckled, "it's just that advanced science is just shocking sometimes. And when you said I was going to meet him, I didn't think you meant like this."

Shuri smiled. "Oh, I didn't."

And with that, all it took was the push of a button and the chamber came out of dormancy. It was whirring and hissing, and (Y/N) could feel the temperature slowly start to rise. She glanced up and witnessed what looked like a miracle as color began to bloom onto his previously blanched features. He too was coming out of dormancy; he was coming alive.

(Y/N) almost startled when his eyes opened, but remained completely still when the chamber door opened. James blinked a couple times, taking in his surroundings. He looked anxious; she could understand why. She tried not to meet his eyes.

I'll let Shuri take the lead on this one, she thought.

As if on queue, Shuri gave him a polite smile and started to undo his restraints.

"Hello Sergeant Barnes. Welcome back! My name is Shuri, T'Challa's younger and much smarter sister. This," she gestured to (Y/N), "is Dr. (Y/L/N). Together, we'll be conducting your treatment plan."

He stepped out of the chamber, shaking Shuri's hand. He had almost a foot over her but towered over both of them regardless. Then, he turned to (Y/N). She wasn't sure what to think.

"It's nice to meet you, Sergeant Barnes," she said with a curt smile, as she shook his hand. Cold. She pretended not to notice.

He looked down at her and for a moment she thought he looked docile. Benevolent and soft.

His eyes are very blue.

"Please," he said, a kindhearted gentleness coating his voice, "call me Bucky."

- - -

* = info on cryogenics from inverse.com

[lezliefaithwade]

A Breath of Fresh Air

The summer after my first year of theatre school, I was sleeping on the living room floor of my cousin's apartment in Toronto, trying to figure out what to do with my life. My cousin had been an actor before he became a quadriplegic in a car accident, and as I unadvisedly bemoaned my unemployment status, he said something like, "Seriously? You're complaining about your life? Don't make me burst a colostomy bag." He was right, of course. I wasn't in a wheelchair, though I did have a stepmother who had rendered me homeless because of her dislike for me. She was always saying things like, "Your hair can't be as ugly as that hat you're wearing." Or simply refusing to invite me to things like Christmas dinner. I always admired people with families. My boyfriend at the time was one of five kids who were always doing things together. Their house was always full of noise and activities. Even as a shiksa, I felt more at home there than with my stepbrothers and sisters, who never lost an opportunity to point out that I was weird. I wanted to stand up to them, but not wanting to cause my father any grief, I held my tongue and sought refuge elsewhere. It occurred to me that perhaps I was using the theatre as an opportunity to say things through characters that I couldn't find the courage to express myself.

The Toronto Star was still open on the kitchen table, and I rummage through the Want Ads, that dirty part of the newspaper near the back where complete strangers will soon become complete assholes in your life by forcing you to work menial jobs in humiliating uniforms for minimum wage.

"Find anything?" my cousin called from the bedroom, where two attendants helped wash and dress him.

"Social services are advertising for camp councilors to work with emotionally challenged kids."

"Oh yeah," He said. "That might suit you."

I'm not sure I knew what he meant but, I was beginning to think I'd outgrown my welcome. My cousin probably would have encouraged me to join the circus if the option had been available. Knowing my living room days were numbered, I thought it best to make an effort and apply.

I had no experience teaching drama—no experience working with kids and no experience going to or working at a camp. Despite all that, I was hired. It's worth noting that it's probably not a good sign if you get a job with no qualifications whatsoever.

My official position was Drama Councillor, and I prided myself that with only a year and half of theatre training behind me, I was well equipped to help others benefit from the wealth of my experience. I imagined myself, Maria Von Trapp, teaching children how to sing while they looked at me adoringly. Somehow, I conveniently blocked out the rebellious early stages she experienced and skipped straight to the good parts. Also, I might add, forgetting about the Nazis and having to climb over a mountain. Still, visions of me biking around camp with a group of happy campers behind me filled me with a sense of self-satisfaction.

As I packed my knapsack with deet and a secret stash of Twinkies, I thought of how only three weeks earlier I'd been in New York walking through Central Park and savoring Cappuccinos at outdoor cafés on Columbus. Now, here I was, ready for something different. The wilderness, I imagined, would be a welcome change—fresh air and loons instead of smog and sirens. I thought smugly about my classmates sweating behind visors at take-out windows shoveling fries into cardboard cups or wrapping sandwiches in tinfoil. Thumbs up to adventure, I told myself. The fact that I'd never once in my life enjoyed the great outdoors didn't factor into my mind. All of this changed with each accumulated minute of the 391 Kilometer drive north.

It was late afternoon when I arrived at the compound. Overcast, sullen, it was a place so secluded you'd need flares to find it. It had that distinct aura of someplace time forgot. A place left behind and neglected. In the brochure, the sun was shining, flowers filled the meadow, and you could practically hear laughter floating off the page. What I was looking at bore more of a resemblance to a situation in a Stephen King novel where camp councilors discover a pack of hungry teenage zombies have lured them to a seemingly idyllic retreat. Situated right in the heart of black fly country, I spent most of my days swatting insects so big they seem Jurassic.

During our orientation, child care workers warned us that children with mental health needs tend to run away - a lot and to keep strict attendance records and all eyes on them at all times. "These kids are resourceful and clever," they cautioned. I couldn't imagine being so determined you'd risk your life by escaping through the woods that surrounded us, but then again, I'd never been around children who weren't allowed cutlery before either

I shared my cabin with three other women with who I had absolutely nothing in common. Delia, a humorless 27-year-old cooking instructor who answered every question with a monosyllabic grunt, Jennifer, a 26-year old tennis instructor with massive blond ringlets who talked so quickly she sounded like a record on high speed, and an older aboriginal woman named Sunny who made us all dream catchers and offered advice about how to heal ourselves on days when we'd feel spent. "Remember, these kids need us," she said while purifying our cabin with sage. As I glanced around my assigned bunk, taking in the spider webs and loose floorboards, I had that sinking feeling that comes when you know you've made a terrible mistake. Before long, I was eating copious amounts of peanut butter on stale bagels amid a never-ending supply of starch. I'm not sure who thought it was a good idea to feed children with challenges like anxiety, depression, hyperactivity, and eating disorders copious amounts of sugar and carbs. It certainly did nothing to help them or me.

On the first day of class, I sat everyone in a circle. "Welcome to drama class," I said with a smile. "Let's begin by sharing with everyone a little bit about ourselves. Anything at all you'd like us to know?" A hand went up.

"I'm Tracy, and I hate my stupid ass brother. He can go straight to hell."

"Okay," I said, "That's a start. Who's next?"

Another hand. "I'm Jonathan, and this place sucks so much I wish it would burn to the ground!"

"Fair enough. Anyone else?"

"I'm Jo. I'm schizophrenic. So sometimes I'm Rachel and Julia. You'll know the difference because Rachel has a British dialect, and Julia talks slang."

"O-kay." I glanced at the social workers who sat on the edge of the room and looked at me with an expression that basically said, "We can't wait to see what you do next."

"Let's write a play," I suggested. "Write anything you want. Once you're happy with the work, I'll shape it into a cohesive piece that we'll rehearse and then present at the end of the season talent showcase."

The kids liked this idea. The showcase was a big deal. It was an opportunity for them to blow off some steam and express themselves to friends and family in a creative way. My only stipulation was not to use profanity. As the weeks passed, I was impressed with how well they all threw themselves into this project—all except Eric, the oldest boy in my 12 to 15-year-olds. Eric often wandered around the rehearsal space, unfocused and sullen.

"Any ideas for your piece?" I ask, checking in to see if I could help.

"I'm thinking," he'd say and then pace.

With three weeks left in the summer, I took my well-deserved week off to decompress. My boyfriend came up from Toronto and drove me to his parent's house at Post and Bayview, where caterers were preparing the tennis courts for an outdoor party. I walked into his mother's living room, and she gasped. "What happened to you?"

I didn't blame her. I hadn't spent much time looking at a mirror the past four weeks, but one glance at the large one in their bathroom told the full story. My hair was ratty; I had scabs on my knees, bruises on my arms and legs, and I was sunburnt. I was wearing a vintage skirt and blouse that was probably more Value Village than vintage and a pair of worn, scuffed purple moccasins; in essence, I was wearing slippers on my feet.

"Please take her to the mall and at least buy her a pair of shoes," his mother said, handing me her credit card and then rushing off to make sure the stuffed alligator would float in the pool. That week I ate my way through rugelach, hamantaschen, brisket, and bagels while his family watched me with awe and disgust.

Back at camp, the smell of burning insect repellent greeted me along with the news that the sailing and tennis instructors were sacked for disorderly conduct. Never mind, I had renewed energy and a sense of purpose. There were costumes and props to make. Sound and lighting effects to create. And we needed to rehearse. It was only a tiny stage somewhere on a remote camp in Northern Ontario, but the excitement was palpable. I was excited. This would be the best talent show ever, and my kids were going to blow the socks off everyone there!!!

"Eric," I said, "How's your piece coming along?"

"I finished it," he mentioned casually

"That's great. Can I see it?"

"I want to surprise you. You're going to love it, though. I promise."

I patted myself on the back. Eric had a breakthrough. All my encouragement and patience had paid off. Perhaps I'd helped him have a developmental breakthrough.

"Can you tell me what it's about?" I asked.

"The Beatles."

"Great. Okay," and left it at that.

Talent Night arrived along with parents and family friends. The lights dimmed, the kids performed, and the audience enthusiastically applauded as each "Mighty Mite" or "Spirit of Paradise" breezed across the stage, acting out skits about fairies and monsters and assorted escapades. Finally, it was Eric's turn. Out he came, looking serious and theatrical. He cleared his throat and addressed the audience.

"This is called, The Beatles Last Recording Session. By, Me."

Three of his closest camp friends filed out and took a space on the stage. The audience was silent.

There was a dramatic pause, then the piece began.

"Fuck you, Ringo,"

"Fuck you, Paul."

"Fuck you, George."

"Well fuck you, John."

Then they bowed and left the stage.

Personally, I thought it was kind of brilliant. Needless to say, I wasn't showered with accolades about my teaching methods or the effect I had on kids. I left there having no catharsis about mental health except that giving people the opportunity to express themselves without censor is probably a lot healthier than insisting they stay quiet. I admired the honesty displayed in the kid's work. If only, I thought to myself, I could be half as brave. Wasn't that what I was spending time and money learning how to do?

A week after being home, I found myself packing, once more, for school in New York. Our term letters had arrived with instructions on where to buy character shoes, leotards, copies of The Children's Hour, and Death of a Salesman. The camp already felt like it was 391 kilometers away - soon to be 659. My father drove me to the train station with my stepmother beside him; she was there, no doubt, to ensure I boarded.

"You going to be okay?" my father asked, giving me a hug and slipping a $50 bill into my pocket.

"She'll be fine." Elsie chimed in. "You don't have to worry about her. Let's go."

But I wanted my father to worry about me. Not all the time and to the exclusion of all else, but certainly the appropriate fatherly amount.

As I settled myself on the train, I watched my stepmother pull from father from the platform to the car and thought of Eric's brilliant play. Under my breath, I whispered the immortal words of the Beatles, "Fuck you."

#stepmother #mental health #children #young people #summer camp

[ofcloudyskies]

hiya! i really, really hope things get better for you soon. if you ever want to talk about it, just know that i'm here ♡ i know what you mean about tumblr being a safe haven. looking back, i think i came back here bc i was going through a really rough patch (existential crisis do that to you) and even after all this time, i still find comfort in the chaos that is this website. it's become some sort of refuge where i can be silly and speak into the void about the things that make me happy. (1/6)

hello marina! <3 thanks to tumblr for the reveal haha :D i'll post this to keep the whole thing in one place

apart from ouat, i used to be really into glee. i stopped watching ouat after s5 and the later seasons of glee were a real roller coaster. but i was so happy in both fandoms. i mostly kept to my tiny bubble but i did meet so many lovely people. and the fact that i'll probably never know what's become of most of them will always hurt a bit. but yeah, life goes on and one can only hope that they're happy, wherever they are. ah, this got sappy haha. what other fandoms were you in before? (2/6)

my mind keeps drifting these days, too, and the fact that summer makes me feel super drained isn't helping at all. but YES, YESSSSS, i'm definitely up for a buddy reading. that may help us beat our reading slump! we can read "if we were villains" or we can choose any other book you may be interested in, of course! speaking of naomi novik, i started reading "spinning silver" a while ago after hearing great things from a friend of mine. (3/6)

i don't think i picked it at the right time, but god, the writing was so atmospheric and raw. i'll definitely go back to it one day, i love retellings. also, i hadn't even thought about the colors of the covers, what a cool coincidence! black and gold will always be one of my favorite combos. there's something so magical and kingly about it, right? the collector's edition for crooked kingdom is black and gold, too, and i couldn't stop staring at it the day it came in the mail hahaha. (4/6)

see, i'm incredibly intrigued about nikolai. i need to know more about him. that's one of the main reasons why i want to read the shadow and bone trilogy, actually. if i manage to get out of this terrible slump, i think i'll jump back into the grishaverse and give the trilogy a go. in the meantime, could netflix please give us a trailer or some promo pics? i need something, anything! (5/6)  

ahh, tumblr won't allow me to send any more questions for at least an hour because i exceeded the ask limit. but i just needed to send one last message, so i'll just come off anon, i guess hahaha. anyway, feel free to write as much as you want!! as you can see, my messages just keep getting longer and longer. aaah, i'm so sorry. but what can i say, i love letters too! (6/6)

~~~~~

ah, thank you for good wishes <3 i don't want to burden you too much with my life problems and tbh it doesn't really get easier no matter how many times i talk about it, i will most certainly end up crying again if i start thinking about it too much again. i’ve been living with this terrible feeling of uncertainty about the future for a year now (because the thing will happen, the question is how soon) and it feels like i’m always at the verge tears, one word, one thought and i break. ugh, now i’m being weirdly vague akfdjhg sorry >< but i hope you managed to get through your rough patch! if you need to vent about anything, you know where to find me!

oh, i'm actually rewatching glee right now! i was so into it in high school but stopped watching at some point. last fall i needed a pick-me-up show to pass a few weeks of alone evenings so i randomly decided to rewatch glee and this time to watch the whole thing till the end. i think i'm at the start of s4 now. i mostly only listen to the episodes while cooking :D

other than ouat i think i only actively participated in doctor who fandom. for other things i was just a lurker/rebloger... then i got into animanga (mostly into this one baseball manga?? i literally didn't know the rules of baseball back then. don't ask why i like it so much, i don't understand it myself haha, i just accept it) and made a sideblog for that which i started using more than the main blog so i made a separate account and came here only from time to time

YAY we can agree on ‘if we were villains’!! i’ve been considering ‘the priory of the orange tree’ from samantha shannon recently but it’s definitely too long for a slump mood. ah, naomi novik has polish roots and i remember uprooted was based on polish folklore, it was nice to see elements of the tales from my country in the story. i wonder if her other books have that as well. and oh my, i envy you the collector's edition of crooked kingdom! i own the duology but in the basic covers, i love them lots anyway. what are your other fav covers on your bookshelf? and i hope i didn't oversell nikolai, would be bad now if you read the books now and were meh about him ahaha, fingers crossed!

if you like writing letters to strangers, there's this cool app called 'slowly'. you’re matched with a stranger from somewhere in the world and you can write each other letters. the letter takes time to arrive to the recipient according to the distance between the countries where both people live. i used it a bit when i was stuck at home and wanted to feel connected to the world c:

idk how we should keep this going :D does fanmail still exist on tumblr? if u have ideas let me know hah. have a good night x

[lizzybeth1986]

"In sandy soil, when deep you delve, you reach the springs below; The more you learn, the freer streams of wisdom flow." - Kural 396, Thirukkural, Thiruvalluvar.

Hana's first truly individual scene in Book 3 follows the pattern that a number of her diamond scenes have followed: learn from Hana, use her skills, get her insight to gain an advantage. These scenes are usually my favourite, because often Hana gets to give us an insight both into courtly life and into her inner mindscape.

The Cordonian Waltz scene gives us an insight into her broken engagement, the Moonflower Scene into her dilemma between staying true to herself and not being able to let go of her parents yet, and the Patisserie and Champagne scenes allow us to view her at different phases of her journey towards self actualization.

The Polo scene is, likewise, meant to improve the MC's skillset and provide her with an added edge in the next day's fundraising match. As is the case with dancing, baking, modelling, ice-skating and dressage, polo was one among the many skills Hana learned in order to bag a noble suitor. Skills whose uses she is beginning to question now.

Polo Moves

Playing polo for Portavira is not entirely about winning a match - it's about putting up a show worth watching for the crowd. This is a benefit match, meant to raise funds for the disaster-struck area, and it doesn't matter so much who wins or loses as it matters that people get their money's worth watching it.

Hana's gift does not lie simply in knowing how to impart skills, but in knowing which skills to impart. She understands the context of this match and what is truly important - she anticipates the needs of their audience and helps the MC deliver accordingly. Her polo lesson is as much about artistry and performance as it is about winning this match.

Hana imparts three important pieces of advice that will help us gain an advantage during the match: one focussed on the game aspect, and the other two on entertaining the crowd.

"Watch the line of the ball" helps the MC figure out how to ensure that she strikes a goal and wins. Her advice that "you can only cross [the ball's] path if there's no chance of someone running into you, or if no other players have the right of way" becomes effective in the match when the MC races Maxwell to the ball, understanding that if she distracts him adequately (either by mentioning a corgi or a dance party) she can earn sole right of way and score for her team. This allows the former Queen Regina, who is mostly silent the rest of the match, to compliment the MC on her skills ("what a play!").

The half-pass is primarily a well-known and often-judged dressage move, and a very challenging one. Unlike the easier leg yield - where the horse is bent only slightly away from the direction of travel - the half-pass is seen as more advanced, requiring greater balance, engagement, and collection from the horse. Denise Cummins, in her website The Thinking Equestrian, describes the half-pass thus: "The half-pass is not a trick. It is a skilled movement that requires the horse to have the proper muscle development and agility".

Essentially, Hana has managed to teach the MC an immensely difficult - and risky, were it a different horse (the MC's personal steed, if she has bought it, is a Derby champion and has proven to be skilled enough for dressage routines) - skill in the course of a single night.

Teaching this dressage move benefits the MC and her horse into two ways: it allows her horse to wow the crowd, and the "diagonal motion" ensures she reaches the ball before Neville does. The half-pass is more about the agility of the horse than it is about the grace or skills of the rider, so teaching her this move allows the crowd to "applaud [the horse's] elegant gait".

The other secret move that Hana passes on is one of her own invention: the windmill. She exhibits this skill when the MC asks her if there are moves she - and not just her horse - can exhibit to win over the crowd. Hana acknowledges that "riders don't usually do anything showy" but nevertheless has the perfect trick up her sleeve:

I think this tells us a lot more about Hana's intuition and perceptiveness than it does about her polo-playing skills. While yes, this move is largely a mark of her creativity and initiative, it also shows us her ability to go above and beyond the game itself to think of what could entertain the audience. For the windmill is a move that was clearly invented to be a crowd-pleaser, to draw attention to the player. This is a move that relies as much on dramatics and showmanship as on timing, allows the MC to look good, and is easy for the crowd to do as well.

If one opts for this diamond scene and gets the additional option of exhibiting this move, it results not only in the crowd enjoying it but also emulating it. Dozens of people are described "mimicking the 'windmill' with handheld flags and anything they can find at hand". Hana definitely knows what the people on the stands are looking for in a match, and is able to mould her skills to deliver just that - and in this lies her biggest gift. I will elaborate on this in a later section.

Skills and Passions

Before I go into the crux of this section - which is what Hana knows vs what interests her, I'd like to look back at a very interesting point Liam made about Hana in his Diplomacy diamond scene:

Hana's a tough one. She's clearly had the kind of lessons I'm giving you now, and then some. Her posture's almost always polite and attentive...but when she feels strongly about something, you can sense her real feelings even before she speaks up. Her eyes grow darker and more serious.

While the book does not explicitly mention her eyes, there is a clear change of tone when Hana is talking about skills she has picked up, versus things she is passionate about. Compare, for instance, the way she speaks about ice skating to piano:

(Screenshots from the Abhirio YouTube channel)

Throughout the books, we see Hana adopt a largely neutral stance about things she has learned but isn't entirely interested in (ice-skating, traditional dancing, baking, dressage, modelling, polo). In these scenes, the moments where she does show joy in the activity include her friends. Dancing becomes more appealing to her when she's competing with Maxwell, cooking and baking when she has someone to pamper with her food. She confesses to enjoying polo more after teaching the MC.

With the activities she loves doing, however, Hana is more involved, more expressive. She shows a range of emotions and is a lot more talkative on the subject of playing piano, or books, or flowers, or tasting good food.

None of these sequences mention her eyes much, but you can differentiate by her reactions what she loves and what she does not. She becomes emotional while talking about her connection to music (specifically piano), gazes in wonder with the MC as the moonflower unfurls, whispers excitedly and conspirationally about reading Wuthering Heights in secret, and does a 'happy dance' in her seat at the simple joy of tasting a french fry dipped in her milkshake. When Hana is excited about the things she is doing, she seems to be a different person altogether.

Where Do I Go From Here?

Prior to her journey in Cordonia, Hana had always assumed that the skills she was pushed into learning were all she would need. She had expectations to fulfill, she had a future mapped out for her, and her aim in life amounted to that future becoming a reality and her life as the wife of a nobleman being set. Because she grew up with the notion that her needs were deterrents to her aim, rather than an aim in and of itself, it never really occured to her to think any differently.

Which was why she was unable to properly answer Peter when he asked her if she loved him. Which was why she constantly assumed that no matter how many Pinstop boards she made, her wedding plans would happen the way her parents wanted it to happen. Because she spent long enough believing what she wanted didn't matter, it took her a while to even be able to discover what she wanted, much less articulate it.

Hana's background made her acquisition of skills that would appeal particularly to aristocrats essential. As a woman who has some Cordonian noble blood in her (through her mother) but may be at a disadvantage because she may not have a title of her own, her parents' expectations had always been focused on ensuring a marriage to a titled, reputed noble who could not just look after Hana but provide her the kind of status and stature in society that (I'm guessing here) her mother may have lost in marrying a foreign businessman. They were clear about the direction they wanted Hana's future to go in, and prepared her only for that kind of future.

In the old, hierarchical Cordonia, perhaps Hana would have been well prepared enough. A Cordonia where she was expected to be the perfect hostess and giving wife all rolled in one, where her skills would equip her for the occasional court activity and increased possibilities for hosting. But post the Homecoming Ball, there has been a phenomenal shift: she is in a position of power at court (even more so if she is marrying the MC), in a country torn apart by civil strife and filled with citizens who do not feel safe and are therefore wary of the monarchy's ability to protect them. The skills she learned were meant for activities suited to court and an aristocratic home, but what matters now is what she has to offer outside of court.

For the first time Hana has to now think of what she can give to the country that has given her refuge and a sense of freedom, and she is now confronted with how little her upbringing has actually prepared her for this. Cordonia's well-being is incredibly important to her, and now more than ever she needs to prove to herself - as much to everyone else - that she can be an asset.

Some of her skills do come into use: particularly her penchant for negotiation and now her proficiency with polo, but how long are her particular talents going to prove useful and at what point will Cordonia see how ill-equipped she feels, with regards to handling this situation?

I would argue that even within this, it's possible to see that she has gifts beyond just the things she has learned. As I have specified earlier, this scene not only highlights how talented a polo player she is, but also that she has an eye for what will appeal to people and encourage them to get involved. She has oftentimes managed to help the MC secure allies by paying attention to the other person's needs and passing that information on to the MC (funnily enough, in all of these instances it is Hana who does the research and coaches the MC, and it is largely the MC who reaps the benefits and gets the credit). While this may not seem like a skill in and of itself, it is a pretty strong foundation for other, newer skills that she can use to help Cordonia.

Hana is often seen measuring her usefulness, and her skills, by whatever goal she has set herself out to achieve. She considers herself a failure when - despite her talents - she is unable to get/sustain a match. Right now her goal is to be a useful citizen, to help Cordonia out of its crisis, and this doubt manifests itself in this question: "Are the skills I have enough to save Cordonia? Am I enough?"

Romance

(The first two screenshots are from @kennaxval s playthrough, and the third is from the Abhirio YouTube channel)

As with Liam's Diplomacy scene, most of the romance emerges from the MC's choices rather than as a part of the default narrative.

The romance options are interesting, particularly in terms of timing and placement. All three of them revolve around the MC's desire to be a little playful, to distract Hana and get her to relax when she overthinks. The MC balances her out: she is playful to Hana's serious, gut-instinct to Hana's strategy. She gets Hana to think beyond the logistics of the activity and to enjoy what she's doing.

However, there is one problem.

The above options present themselves at a crucial point in the conversation between Hana and the MC, where Hana is unsure about what she'd like to try out if she could choose to do something she loves. In both the LI and non-LI scenarios, the "full-time best friend" is given as a choice. This makes plenty sense in the non-LI playthrough, and very little in the LI one because "best friend" doesn't even begin to cover what Hana represents to her fiancèe now.

The major problem here lies more in what has been left out in this scene. So far, Hana's future in both playthroughs have remained largely the same. Like Drake, she may acquire a title when she marries the MC. Unlike Drake, she doesn't get the opportunity in the narrative to ask questions about her future position as duchess, which is strange considering that it is so extensively analyzed in the Drake LI playthrough.

In Drake's playthrough, they discuss his upcoming new position as a Duke, his discomfort in being part of the nobility that had shunned him for so long, his need to be taken seriously in court as the MC's future husband, what he wants to do with his title, his need to provide for and protect his future wife and children. There are a number of stumbling blocks in his way, the biggest being the class barrier and how the court sees him.

Hana's marriage to the MC has, in contrast, only been discussed in the first two chapters, where she worries that she is imposing her desires and dreams on the MC and not adequately listening to her partner. This would have been perfect, had the MC not become a duchess and was not such a prominent political figure in Cordonia.

Ideally, Hana's playthrough should involve discussions on what her marriage to the MC should entail. This would include the following:

1. In what ways has her training prepared - and not prepared - Hana for this role?

2. In their first conversation with Neville and Rashad, the MC has the option of promoting Hana's advantage as a suitor primarily by extolling her skills as a hostess and housewife. Very little mention at this point is made of Hana actually running an estate. This is an arrangement that I'm sure Hana and the MC will never adopt in their marriage, considering Hana wants to be more involved, and the MC sees her as an equal in their relationship. It is not entirely clear whether there is a distinction, given that the only aristocratic women we have seen are largely heirs to their estates - Adeleide, Madeleine (to her county Fydelia), Emmeline, Olivia.

3. Shouldn't we have a discussion, then, on how her skills will translate into running their estate? What can she do to make Valtoria better than what it was earlier? How will they manage to run things and revive this duchy? What are their plans?

4. In keeping with her potential future crisis point, why do we not see Hana giving us a clear idea of whether she can run the duchy or not? Like Drake, her future is uncertain if she does not marry the MC, so both their efforts are channeled towards helping Liam and/or Cordonia. If they are married to the MC, both Drake and Hana face differing conflicts with regards to becoming landed nobility. Both deserve to be discussed in depth.

5. With reference to the above option list given, why can there not be an option for "duchess"? Why is she still "professional best friend", when Hana's closest friend in their circle is the MC herself, and their relationship involves a bigger role once they get married?

6. What Hana can do for Cordonia as a Duchess is also a question that needs to be raised in the story. It would still fit in with her overall narrative arc, but it would also present different issues and avenues compared to what she can do as a member of the MC's court.

Overall, I feel that while Hana has an interesting character arc in this book overall, it isn't being explored as extensively as it deserves to be, and doesn't seem very different from a non-LI playthrough of her story.

Sources:

"How to Ride a Half-Pass", by Denise Cummins from The Thinking Equestrian website.

Special thanks to @kennaxval and the Abhirio YouTube channel (@abhirio) for screenshots from their Hana-centric playthroughs.