#which is GOOD!!!! it's good to write self-indulgent shit!!! its good for the soul!!! genuinely!!!!!

[thewhumperinwhite]

i genuinely love posting attd stuff to this blog in particular bc there's like. a *very* complicated (perhaps too complicated, working on the same project for 14 years will do that) story going on, with lots of Politics and Magic and Political Magic going on, but for the purposes of this blog i'm always just like "...anyway who wants to see this white boy get the shit kicked out of him again"

[stevebabey]

I'm the first anon, thank you so much for understanding. I have those feelings for months now and I'm going crazy lmao.

I wish I could get into character x character stuff, but unfortunately, my stupid brain loves to consume stuff through self insert, so x reader is my preferred outlet for everything :/ I just feel like I don't belong anywhere in this fandom rn in terms of content creation. I'm not into most x reader stuff and I like to explore more character things, but I also don't really belong in there because I'm not a shipper.

It's just so frustrating to see, and the other anon was right. The tiktokification of media and fandoms in general is insane to watch. Like I saw a tiktok that complained that the Poppy War by Rf Kuang was boring because it had no spice. M'am, this is a book about war? 😭 Or, like everything is described in tropes (that's a problem for books, not fanfic per se) for fast consumption, the plot doesn't matter if certain scenarios are not ticked off. Not to mention AI and things like characterAI where people just get quickly what they want without using really their imagination (plus them not caring that this is stealing from real people).

And yeah, the whole minor part. It's insane to tell 12 year olds, that virgins write the best stuff. I'm reading and writing fics since I was 14, and I'm "lucky" I wasn't really exposed to those things until I was 16. English isn't my first language, so fanfics were a bit limited, I guess (plus having a very nieche interest that didn't reach international fame and fandom). Also, I mostly consumed stuff from friends I know irl and we had a few spicy scenes because we were curious, but we never got exposed to hardcore smut. I'm not saying there should be no smut at all, everyone is free to express themselves. It's a problem if the fandom is only that because it creates a space not everyone has access to or gets messed up. Fandom is community and everyone should feel welcome. If I was a minor and all writer blogs tell me to fuck off because they only write mature things, idk if I would even wanna stay. Which is also another problem because fandoms die out so quickly as it is.

Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this exactly because you already said everything and I agree with you. <33

omg you say you don't know where you're going with this but brought up so many good POINTS

you're not crazy and you're definitely not the only one feeling that way!! i understand completely and it's infuriating that the topic of it is almost tongue in cheek in this fandom and lots of people feel they would be better off biting their tongue than expressing that frustration ://

character x character is something that takes a hot minute to get into i've found, i've honestly only just gotten into it within the last year or so (because i also struggle with like ocs and the like) but i am a long lover of the self insert i can't even lie <3

but there's like a difference between the way you describe this!! i think you're very much like me and it's like a genuine love for a character that drives your desire for writing self-insert- its like i love this dude so much and i want them to be happy and i want to be that source of happiness, i want to be that first kiss or gentle touch they need :D

andddd that's my problem with so much of the smut-leaning fics. where's the soul!?! where's the driving heart of the story? the best fics are the most self indulgent because you can see the best parts of someone in them !!!!

i'm really sorry that you feel like you don't have a place in this fandom but you do definitely belong here honey- fandom is supposed to be a community and there's no prerequisite to existing here at all and the fact there feels like there are certain amounts you have to succeed in to be a writer is so just bleh

tiktok is a goddam brainrotting place lmao and every day im not on it is a great one! the trope shit is SO true, like the idea that if you can check a few boxes (one of those things being smut) its the thing that makes a piece good instead of how it's written and the passion for the story like ugh and don't even get me started on ai 😭 that is a shitshow in itself and anyone who uses that to write fics or complete other peoples fics are absolute garbage people

the minor thing is yeah completely fucked and you raise SUCH a good point about how it limits the spaces that they can occupy which is so fucking stupid cos how many of us started in fandom at young ages??? everyone should feel welcome! and god the thought of someone trying to so hard to avoid nsfw content but just to have it shoved down their throat in every other post and also having so many writers telling them to fuck off ur so right, i wouldn't wanna stay either!

and it's just so so so sad because there are a thousand people who i WISH would write their ideas, write their fics, whether its bad or good first time around because THAT is the point of fandom. love for the source! new ideas! people's new takes on old tropes over and over :D

ah you opened the floodgate in me.... you didn't ask for advice but truly, write the most self indulgent stuff ever and it can't lead you wrong. i hope the culture of fandom changes and every time you ignore the urge to write for what u think people will like and just write what you want, we all get a little bit closer to that change :")

[motherwasapapafucker]

You've obviously spoke about the Ghost as a Superman figure within the larger context of Doctor Who but do you think the opposite is possible? A Doctor-like figure within a larger superhero setting?

There's been a couple of attempts, never quite as....jarring as the Ghost but that’s pretty much down to mad scientists and time travel being far more commonplace in superhero settings than overtly super-heroic figures are in Who. To the point the handful of times Who has played with that (Conundrum, Starfall, The Return of Doctor Mysterio) all draw at least some of their story out of the jarring presence of a superhero figure within the narrative. There’s a really nice sequence in Conundrum where the Doctor “explains” the presence of the superpowered figures in a way that reads like he’s as much kidding himself because he would like to think it’s possible as genuinely trying to explain how these people have gained their abilities. Which really feels like a deliberate building on “I wish...I wish I believed in wishing wells” given how Conundrum plays out. There’s obviously the conflation of Captain Britain’s Merlin and Who’s Merlin a couple of times, but that’s really overstated even if only in terms of Britain’s Merlin functionally different beast to the point any doctor connection is largely a minor detail as any attempt at creating a Doctor-like figure. I think then, when it comes to your Doctor-like figure the big thing that would distinguish them from other standard mad scientists and science heroes is the face changing, and basically none of your overtly doctor-influenced characters actually do anything with? Your big one in a standard setting is Professor Gamble in Power Man and Iron Fist #79, who really stands out in terms of being the only doctor-lite comic figure overtly building on Classic Who rather than Cultural Juggernaut David Tennant Doctor Who. Some overlap with Dr. Mysterio’s use of the Ghost in the conflation of the real and fictional but in very different directions; Gamble writing a fictitious account of his own life, dreadlox a fictitious account of the Incinerators. Gamble’s personal Dalek-stand in born of rogue temporal cleaning devices that have decided destroying space and time is the only way to clean everything. Where the overlap falls apart is the fact that Power Man and Iron Fist is arguably a far more flexible book at that point in its history than Who is by the point of Doctor Mysterio. So #79 is less of an out of genre moment so much as just more weird shit happening to Danny and Luke. As far as I know Gamble has popped up here and there since then, and is one of a fairly sizable amount of Who references across Marvel/Marvel UK (Yeah yeah we all know about Death’s Head, W.H.O. and aw that pish) The other big, very very direct and direct to Cultural Juggernaut David Teannant Doctor Who is...weirdly…Qubit in Irredeemable. Which is barely relevant to this question because it’s really not a standard superhero setting beyond the superficial, but bares some comment given it’s arguably the most prominent of recent takes and really hard to ignore how much he’s just David Tennant with a James from Twin Peaks forehead and LEGION hair. Also worth commenting on how fucking strange his entire role in the arse end of Irredeeamble is given the final 20 or so issues largely devolve into “The Tenth Doctor fights Evil Superman.” Given how little that aspect is remarked upon, and how incongruous it is with the broader attempt at presenting an Evil Superman story that gradually pairs back to show that the character’s never really been evil superman because for him to have that “turn” you basically have to have it be the tip of an iceberg that sketches back decades and ultimate reveals the character was never really Superman in any way beyond the iconographic. So the fact that happens while he’s fighting David Tennant is really strange, though I do like so much of that spilling out of the Plutonian forcing Quibit into one of those big, painful NuWho moral decisions, but I really struggle to care about Irredeemable beyond thinking Incorruptible was generally the stronger book towards the end. You’ve also got things like the Allred/Slott Silver Surfer that overtly drew influence from contemporary

Doctor Who, but it’s building on an already distinctive character so it can never really function as a direct one for one. I know, vaguely, that Ben 10 had a Doctor Who figure. But having never watched the show I’m not sure how he appears within the show and tbh I don’t care enough to look into it. I suppose the thing is that Doctor-lite easily slides into a superhero setting without losing too much and without drawing too much attention to the homage while someone like the Ghost is, by basic nature, designed to be at least somewhat strange within the larger normality of the show’s present day. The closest point of comparison I can think of is something like Silver Sentry in TMNT; There’s really nothing in TMNT or Doctor WHo that precludes the existence of “proper” superheroes, nether show is exactly the height of realism but the sudden introduction of basically superman presents a fundamental shift in their respective idiosyncrasies. I imagine people would be tempted to draw a comparison between the Milligan Shade the Changing Man revamp under Vertigo and Who, and given it’s MIlligan I’m sure there was some influence their even if only in terms of an English-coded otherworldly figure who undergoes startling changes across the run, but tbh it’s basically a passing resemblance and kinda overlooks the fact that Shade kinda hilariously preempts a lot of where Who as a franchise goes during the 90s and 2000s. It’s presentation of Shade’s changes as far-more psychologically damaging than classic who’s regeneration compared to some overlap with how NuWho treats the event particularly, but also in terms of the EDAs there’s a fairly notable arc where Shade gives up his heart to cope with a torrent of emotional loss and devastated worlds. Make of that what you will. I still haven’t answered the fucking question have I, right since you’ve asked me you’re going to get my shite, because here’s how I’d do it. There’s only one way really, one word Metalek Because the fucking rule don’t they? Morrison’s first, best Dalek-homage. The Xenoformers from Galaxy X, sentient construction vehicles serving masters that no longer exist. Terraforming the Galaxy one world at a time. Bow before Metalek. So yeah, those guys exist and they’re fucking great. I have...more thoughts than I’d like to admit about the “Metalek Empire” that’s really just self-indulgent pish. But that’s DC comics. So they exist, and they present what’s probably the best approach to a Doctor-alike in a superhero setting. In the same way the Ghost might as well be Superman in a setting where he isn’t the soul focus, you’re Doctor Who figure might as well just be Doctor Who in a setting where, building on the fact the key elements aren’t that notable, they really don’t stand out that much, so what then? Well he’s the mad scientist, but a good mad scientist. Counterpart to all the lunatics and madmen with their metal monsters, who is he? Who’s the grant morrison character fighting the dreaded metalek menace when they aren’t intruding on Superman’s narrative? Who spent decades trapped on earth, leading a reformed STAR Labs into a strange, wonderful new world? It’s Leo Quantum isn’t it. Basically, Leo’s one of those characters like Lan-Shin in Smashes the Klan or John Henry Irons who click perfectly into place with the larger idea of Superman’s social network. And given I’m an egotist, I’m going to do what I like with him building out of that admittedly bullshit old idea he’s future lex back to repent. If the Ghost is a version of Superman who’s world exists in the shadow of the Doctor, Leo would be a version of the Doctor that exists in the Shadow of Superman. He’s not literally Lex, he’s your Kristin Wells/Legion/DC One Million figure, possibly a future Luthor, possibly the first child of the Luthor/Kent families coming together in the far off 42nd century. A temporal adventurer who’s early experiments caused all his potential futures to crash down on top of him, transforming him into a hypertime singularity. His technicolor dreamcoat crafted from fifth world

wondertech, regulating his body to ensure each hypertime strand gets its time in sun while keeping the darker fringes in line….most of the time. Or at least, that’s what I’d do, feel free to discard this as mental bastard bullshit.

[certifiedceraunophile]

Hi! A fan of your writing here. I just love the way you write Caroline. An Avoidable Heart is my comfort fic and I am constantly in awe with the way you write and craft the dynamics in that story. Caroline's inner monologue is just priceless and God! I just love that intro scene where Caroline is walking into the Mikaelson compound with vampires and hybrids in the surrounding ready to pounce on her.

I would love to hear how you would have visualized Caroline crossing over into TO or not? Like in what season and why? How it would have likely gone?

Thank you!

First of all lovely anon gimme a moment to breathe, asdfghjkl why are people so lovely 😭😭🥺✨ It means sooo much to me that you’d take the time to jump into my inbox and send these kind words, like please I’m not worthyyyyy, But you make me smile and feel really freaking warm so *handcuffs your hand to mine* you aint leaving 💖✨💞🙃

But OK ALSO oh my god dude THAT CAROLINE WALTZS INTO THE COMPOUND AND TAKES ON A COUPLE HUNDRED VAMPIRES BY HERSELF SCENE???? Ughhhhh I’m sorry but I have SUCH a boner for Caroline in that, like my badass -I admit kinda op- QUEEN IS HERE and she’s fucking shit up, I’m sorry but I love that scene so much it’s so dear to me I was killing myself over how self-indulgent and grossly Over powered Caroline is but like idgaf man it’s such a hot scene and Caroline is practically invincible and we just love to see that, so seriously lovely anon, you telling me you LOVE that scene??? Puts the biggest smile on my face and reassures me a LOT bc I was whining and cribbing over how absolutely unbalanced that scene is to literally everyone BUT LIKE YOU JUMPING OUT OF NOWHERE and pointing that exact scene UGHH…...meant to fucking be the both of us 💖💞✨

And ALSO Caroline’s monologue is quite honestly the easiest inner monologue out of the three voices I wrote for that work, Klaus’s is the real pain in the ass tbvh like it is NOT easy writing pretentious besotted losers with a Kardashian complex especially when you need to make them sound cool when they’re the lamest OP dude bros to ever exist - and no I don’t hate Klaus although I seem to try my darndest to convince ppl I do- I just personally believe that a feral fucker like that with a thousand years of existence under his belt can grow a pair and graduate from his kindergarten level of emotional maturity to adult sometime soon, But then on the flipside he’s so grossly adorkably smitten and feral for Caroline plus hella horny for her all the time that its usually easy to write the trashed and devoted idiot he is into something pretentious and powerful and potent when relating to his unflappable arrogance and his narcissism, but sometimes I also need him to be *deep* and ffs profound for the sake of the plot and jfc my muse just wont work with me on that, she’s like I’m sorry I’m not about to bust my ass to make this mongrel intelligible like no sir all I wanna do is make him uncomfortably horny for Caroline and leave him like that.

So smh yeah the struggle is real….but lmao Caroline is just so precious and fiercely protective and just so achingly lonely in that story, so desperate for connection and trust and intimacy yet so guarded and impervious to everyone like it hurts me to write her like that but it really challenges me as an author to balance out her inherent light with the “void” I create in her and through her, so yeah it’s a very fulfilling task and I wouldnt change it one bit, and also I had to balance out her physical op-ness w half a millennium of the ugliest emotional trauma lol so I guess that figures, but the point being….once again I am overjoyed knowing that you liked a facet of the story that I tried so hard to make as authentically Caroline and achingly real and moving as I can and I cannot possibly feel more accomplished than rn for it so ty ty ty ty for reaching out to me and telling me *tackle hugs* It makes me GIDDY knowing that you enjoyed that particular part of the story like ugh stab me please you're too sweet.

And ok NOW, coming to The Originals part of the ask, (also please note that when I say TO headcanon; Hope does not exist, Hayley is a dead in a ditch and ofc Klaus will stop being that lil bitch they tried to pawn off as Klaus in TO) 

HEADCANON 1

Honestly my biggest headcanon when it comes to TO crossovers somehow always include non-humanity!Caroline like it’s just so perfect to me?? The opportunity to make shit BLOW UP b/w them like imagine the DEBAUCHERY, the heat, the SEXUAL TENSION, the repression of one Klaus Mikaelson, the EXPLORATIONS, and omg the role reversal when Klaus has to be the voice of moral reason between them and not bc he believes Caroline would not be able to stand herself if she does something heinous and monstrous but bc he wants her to be completely and utterly herself, and yk *aware*, when she DECIMATES ppl to the ground and is in full-on predator mode, like he wants her monster to come out and play with him when no part of Caroline is locked away or suppressed, so obviously when she is w/o her humanity KLAUS exercises restraint on her behalf, like can you imagine that, Klaus restraining himself and being the vague, extremely broken and just largely inaccurate moral compass between the two of them for ALL the wrong reasons- and the entirety of NOLA just standing there watching him herd this baby vampire who seems to be intent on riling him up and angering him when all she is doing is giving him a massive hybrid hard on, like IMAGINE THE GOODNESS of non-humanity Caroline wrecking NOLA and Klaus letting her wreck it bc he is helpless in the face of Caroline Forbes and also bc he is quite honestly *enjoying* the debauchery himself so why put a damper on the festivities.

-I might wanna add that I favour this headcanon a lot bc I genuinely do not even remotely *like* the idea of NOLA as Klaus's chosen place to set his roots so like I would love Caroline going to NOLA and destroying everything there just bc I detest NOLA and the storyline behind it in TO. (yes is it petty? Obvi, but like I am a petty soul and I make no apologies ma’am)

HEADCANON 2

So yeah that’s my main TO headcanon, but my other one being, one I talk about very frequently, scream about in tag rants to an obsessive level, and like this is a cracky one but still very valid, where Caroline rolls up to NOLA humanity intact and all, finds Hayley preggo and is just laughing her fucking ass off bc anybody ANYBODY, with half a brain and a two minute convo w klaus would know how UTTERLY stupid the entire baby shit is especially when it’s with an immemorable one night stand, and Caroline’s just losing her shit about how like an entire city is obssessed w this baby and she just straight up tells Klaus he’d SUCK as a dad (which he really does tho like he was a shitty fucking dad canonically too) and Klaus is just like *sigh* girl tell me about it. I mean basically he’s finally relieved that someone is on his side about the whole baby thing and how he definitely does not want his entire millennium of life to finally sum up to this one squalling leaking stinky infant/unicorn Hayley is apparently baking in her oven, and I say this headcanon is cracky bc klaus would never have put up w this mess long enough for Caroline to come in and sort it out, there’s this preferred method of disposal of his called heart ripping that would've been employed quite early on and honestly saved us all a lot of brain cells and minused years of life, bc let’s be real any Klaus who’s NOT a lil snivelling bitch wearing a Klaus skinsuit would’ve yeeted the baby and the mama first chance he got, and that’s just how I see it.

Lmao I really hope I didnt scare you away w my *strong* opinions Ik they can be a bit much but I enjoy having them so theyre not going anywhere, anyways this ask answer got WAYYYY too long but I’m hoping I answered your question well with this or atleast left you slightly confused and bemused over my feral screaming....either ways I’m really really really happy to have got your ask and the chance to rant so much bs, Twas cathartic and honestly I had nothing to do today so I was more than happy to dish this baby out for you. Thank you so much sweet anon for putting a smile on my face today I am absolutely HONOURED by your words you’sa cutie 💖💞✨🗣🗣

[spiltscribbles]

OKAY OKAY OKAY I REALLY JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I LOVE UR SYRIAN REMUS SO FUCKING MUCH IT KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT AS A SYRIAN ITS JUST REALLY FUCKING AMAZING AND AHHHH i still rem the first time i sa it i was just like :ooo :DDDDDDD and its really so fucking perfect and cute and woohoo arab pride :) ur so fuckin cool and nice and awesome and LIKE PERFECT BUT UM YEA HAVE A NICE DAY

Referring to THIS FIC and THIS HC POST

OMFG OMFG OMFG!!!!! BABY!!! ANGEL FACE!!!! HABIBTI!!!! I AM ABSOLUTELY SOBBING!!!! I LITERALLY CAN NOT STOP HYPERVENTILATING AND READING THIS AND CRYING AGAIN!!!! YOU ARE LITERALLY THE MOST HILUA, MOST CHAFEEF DEM, MOST SPLENDID SUGARPOLUM BLOSSOM!!!! AND I WANT TO SQUEEZE YOU WITH THE BIGGEST FUCKING HUG!!!

This means so SO much! Because it’s obviously so personal to me, considering I’m a Palestinian, and I’ve never EVER had Arab representation that wasn’t shit in the media that I loved, and I was nervous HCing his mum as Arab, becs obvi we don’t have even the fucking letter ‘p’ in our language flkasdjglkasdhfoiejaglksdgh but I simply do not care anymore! I do what I want and imma write it this way as many times as I like!!!

I’m so SO happy that it feels genuine habibti! Like I said in my Headcanons post, I know that there must be some small differences considering the ethnicities, but also I feel like we Arabs in that area (AKA Jordan/Syrian/Palestinian/Lebanese have a lot in common <3 <3

God, I want to write so many snippets with this HC! Like him teaching the gang Debka!! Or Mama Lupin putting Hinna on them when they come to visit, and I HC Lily having visited him without the others a few times, so her too<3<3

I can’t believe that anyone else likes this self indulgent HC of mine alkdjlka sdfoiaejglskadh 

I LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY!!!! And if you ever wanted anything written specifically about this ya umeri, I would cry to write it!!!!

I’m also going to include the first half of the first chapter I wrote for this To All The Boys I’e Loved Before au I’m working on, in which Remus is also half Arab, though I think I might edit it and make him Palestinian just because I’m conceded like that XS And I really, really want to want to write it again, but my brain is refusing to think words!!!

THANK YOU A THOUSAND MILLION TIMES FOR THIS YOU BEYOND BEAUTIFUL SOUL!!!!

-Send Me A Prompt/Chat With Me<3<3

-My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

A Fool For Loving, A Fool For Saying So

.-

“Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again." 

"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?" 

"Yes. I want to ruin you." 

"Good," I said. "That's what I want too.”

—Earnest Hemingway

.-

“It’s because he adored her little love.”

“But why?” Remus asked, looking up at his mother and admiring how her eyes had shone in the dying evening light, and how her dark tawny hair had bellowed in the sea breeze. Their little family had decided to have a picnic on the beach before the summer warmth gave way to the trickling autumnal chill, and Remus was so elated. He loved spending time with the other kids around their small Welsh village, (he did)—  But he liked this most of all. Loved it when his Mama would croon to him her favorite tales and when his Tad would teach him how to find the flattest peddles to skip. When he was  being enveloped in the love that rung out their home like the tolls of the most splendid bells.

Small, upturned nose wrinkled with humor, his mother had only laughed as she carded a hand through his fair curls. “I couldn’t tell you Remi, but he did. Was positively mad about her, that’s why they still call it the story of Majnun Layla.”

“Crazy for Layla,” Remus translated the Arabic  easily which made her smile like the setting sun— glowing but nostalgic. Remus wondered if he saw a bit of sorrow in his mother’s face too, which didn’t make sense until a few weeks  later, when  they had quietly sat Remus down in their small living room— sandwiched between both of them— and was  told of his mum’s diagnosis, her illness that would slowly chip away at her vivacity and vibrancy and even her vigilance too. It would be the first— but certainly not the last— time he would ever see his parents— his heroes— look so beaten down, so defeated— so vacant of any life.

“Yes precisely little love.”

“And you know Remi,” his Da had interjected.  “The poets say that love and insanity are a fine line.”

Remus’s face had scrunched up, displeased. “Sounds awful.”

“Only sometimes,” he retorted, a sly wink thrown his Mama’s way before kissing each of them, and finishing off his Guinness with a swig, wincing slightly when his Mama had elbow checked him for good measure.

“But love is worth it, wouldn’t you say Lyall?” Remus’s Mama asked in a gently withering way, her beautiful face set in a well and proper scowl.

his Da’s smile had absolutely transformed— turning as bright as the stars in the night sky and as strong as a heartbeat, but flecked with that same sadness Remus could just barely detect in his Mama’s own. He wish he knew how to ask about it. “Aye Vivian, my darling of course. Every bit of madness is worth it in the end, when you meet your other half, your soulmate.”

They leveled a tender glance over Remus’s head, but he didn’t care, became soon distracted by the French cheese that he especially liked and the fizzy cider his parents gave him when they drank their adult beverages.

Remus didn’t have to ask about soulmates, he already knew what they were, had been saturated by the sight of them every day in his short, four and a half year old life. Soulmates were folks who adored one another more than anything else, “Save for you of course my little love,” his mother would always interject when he said as much. His parents were soulmates, Remus was sure of it. Saw it in how his Tad would look at his Mama with softness in his gaze and how his mother smiled this strange, delighted way only at him. Knew it in how their words were almost always soaked in mirth and how they held Remus like he was a miracle to be marveled at. Remus with his father’s butterscotch eyes, and Remus with the shape and color  of his mother’s pale pink lips— plump on the bottom and thin on top. With his sandy hair that hovered between both their shades but sprung with curls all his own. Remus with his Mama’s mischief and Tad’s quiet. Remus who they loved and taught what it meant to love and be loved.

He knew that his parents were mad for one another— truly soulmates— and he was so prideful in the  fact of it.

“Tad are you crazy for Mama? Just like that Qays boy?” He asked just for fun, twisting out of her gentle embrace and leaping into his father’s strong arms. 

“Should hope so laddy,” he said, tossing Remus and all his giggling excitement up in the air before catching him again. “Soulmates will do that to you I reckon, ’s why I’ve got all these gray hairs before even hitting  forty.”

“Vein fool,” his Mama tooted with a smile.

“Easy for the beautiful ones to tease,” Lyall leered, narrowly dodging another cuff to the back of his head.

Remus had laughed even louder when they began to scuffle,  and he didn’t quite see it when his mother’s grin became thin, worn in ways that would become all the more prominent over the course of the next three years.

~*~

Remus reads the poem of Majnun Layla now as he sits on his bed— over a decade removed from that night, and years divorced from the last time he saw his mother’s hazel eyes gazing at him. The tattered book in his hands is small and faded, pages divided in their original Arabic and it’s English counterpart that Remus tries not to depend on. He remembers how excited his Mama— lying in the hospital bed— had been when he’d read out loud the rounded continents, and unfamiliar inflections to her, how she thought it was a way to pay respect to her Syrian parents who had died shortly after moving their family to Wales so that Vivian could attend university. And it might be some sort of poetic justice that he’s only become more fluent after her own, untimely passing.

But as much as Remus would like to continue on practicing, the shouts being flung between Lily and Petunia in the next room over is starting to get too distracting. Besides, it smells like his Tad has finally finished with dinner. So tentatively, Remus shuts the book of stories that had belonged to his Mama,a and places it in the ornate, wooden box that had been past down through her side of the  family for five generations. Once a proper prayer box, it had transformed into merely a beautiful heirloom as they became more and more secular. Now Remus keeps his most prized possessions within it, including the book, and photographs of his Mama, but also expanded to ones of him and his best friend turned step sister, Lily. The movie stub from his first date after coming out in junior high, and a few other things he’d rather keep away from his nosey family’s grasp. Including the stash of love letters Remus had written and never sent. Letters filled with passionate words and intense emotions, and a good amount of longing too.

It was a trick he picked up from his Tad, who told him that throwing fists at the bullies in the courtyard wasn’t appropriate, that he should write out his frustrations in a letter and then toss it out. It’s habit now he supposes. Whenever Remus finds himself turning absolutely barmy with feelings over some bloke, he sits on the windowsill of his room, and he jots it all down in one of these missives.

If he’s being at all honest,  they’re truly dreadful letters, sickeningly intense serenades of his feelings for these people that for the most part didn’t even know he existed. Sometimes, just for a laugh,  Remus pulls them out and cringes at himself for being so lovesick, but then reasons its not his fault. His parents had the sort of love story  and subsequent  relationship that was meant for blockbuster romantic comedies. adoring one another at first sight once meeting randomly at a coffee shop, and falling all the harder amidst their budding romance that turned to a marriage built with brimstone and vows of forever. They even had that sort of tragic ending that gilded the classics. 

It’s ridiculous to think Remus wouldn’t always secretly crave that sort of intimacy, that sort of partnership— even if he’s always been far too inhibited to actually make a move for it. After all, as much as he remembers how it looks to be in love with someone so thoroughly that it quite literally lights you from the inside out, he’s far more familiar with the aftermath. With the ruin and ravaging of someone’s heart once their other half leaves them.

He remembers the tears and the shattered eyes and the smothered sobs drown out by the drinks that almost got away from his Tad. 

So no.

Remus thinks that getting burned might not be worth the stint of short lived happiness. He thinks he prefers the quiet kisses and shy hands he’s known so far. Prefers feeling a warm sunlight when touching his partner, over the supernova that he can chase instead.

And if Remus is lying to himself…. Well that’s no one else’s business.

.-

Mornings in the Lupin/Evans household is nothing short of a circus.

It’s a delicate cohabitation he reckons, one painted with Petunia’s shouts over Lily leaving her trash in their shared room, and Lily’s prodding over Petunia trying to contour her too large nose, all the way to his Tad burning the toast downstairs and his step mother, Angela, begging Valery to wear something more sensible than her bathing suit to school. Which of course isn’t helped by Remus trying to drown them out by playing the Rap Caviar playlist from Spotify as loud as his speakers let him as he showers and tries to drown out their insanity.

A delicate cohabitation indeed.

.—

Dressed in the beige slacks and scarlet blazer uniform for his first day of classes, Remus hurriedly sprits on the cologne Angela had picked out for him while they spent their holiday in France over the summer, and ruffles a hand through his combed hair. Just because he’s got the prefect badge doesn’t mean he has to look like such a damn swot all the time.

Sadly, it doesn’t seem to have helped, because the moment he walks out with his satchel, he’s met by Valery— her strawberry blonde hair (the same as Lily’s) plaited down her back and her crooked nose that’s an exact replica of Lyall’s scrunched. “You look like a professor.”

Remus sighs, long suffering. “Thanks sprog.”

“I’m turning eight in three weeks Remus!” She cries, completely affronted and stomping her foot. “I’m not a baby.”

“Right, whatever you say,” he laughs and tugs affectionately at his younger sister’s braid while they stroll downstairs. “So you got any intel on what’s going on with Lil’s and Petunia?”

Valery leaps right then, brightening ten fold at the sudden change in conversation. “Oh yeah! Lily told Toonie that she can’t take that silver sequent top with her at university since she hasn’t even got any tits, and then Toonie started shrieking about Lily being insufferable and all that. And then she asked if she was just mad that Fabian isn’t coming over.”

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 5

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: Glimmer continues to learn about Adora— and the way she feels about Adora. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Mild Language (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: This part is pure indulgent fluff (Brought to you by Hozier) but I had so much fun writing it and I hope you guys like it too! Please tell me what you think! All likes and reblogs go straight to my cold, dead soul. Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

3 protons later, when Adora’s face had returned to it’s usual colour and was no longer wet with tears, Glimmer was still no less mystified about what was going on or what her situation with Adora was; were they friends, were they acquaintances- what even are acquaintances??- had she actually hugged Adora? Why would she do that? Well she knew why, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it. One of her brain cells had resumed its habit of calling her a loser. Once again, she felt that it was making a fair point.

Adora seemed oblivious as she continued to work away on the clay Glimmer had assigned her to, her back bent and stray pieces of hair creating a divide once more between her and the rest of the world, between her and Glimmer.

The silence had become awkward again, at least on Glimmer’s side. The oxygen in the room felt stuffy and hard to breathe like the air in a closed car in the summer that heats up and makes the whole car into a moving oven; it felt as if it were being thickened by the tension Glimmer felt. She could readily assume though that she was the only one feeling this awkwardness and, if it were real, she was probably the one creating it.

If only she could think of something to say, something to do, something to break up the space between them, something to place how causal she was supposed to act now, something-

“Hey, what are you painting?” Adora asked. Bright, friendly, opening up the room for conversation, casual but nothing too personal or anything that would just make matters more awkward. Damn how did she get so good at this whole ‘talking’ thing? Is there a class I should take?

Glimmer topped the rambling in her mind for a moment to answer, “I’m trying to make them look like a chunk of Bismuth.”

Glimmer held up one the finished pieces that was nearly dry at this point and hoped Adora wouldn’t make a big deal of it the way she had about all of her other art. Of course, things could never go the way Glimmer wanted them to and Adora’s jaw was dropping before she had the time to finish the thought.

“Glimmer!!”

“...yes?”

“That’s so cool- oh my god- how do you even? Holy shit!!”

Glimmer could feel her face going red; it was like she hated any type criticism but didn’t know how to handle compliments. She knew it was illogical but it didn’t stop her from doing it which is why her brain chose this moment to remind her what a loser she was. Yeah, yeah I know. Now shut up and help me talk to the pretty girl.

Did she just call Adora pretty? On the one hand that could be a very, very bad sign pointing to something that Glimmer was attempting to refuse as even a possibility but on the other hand, it was just the truthful reality. Glimmer had always known that Adora was pretty, far prettier than she ever considered herself- that’s for sure.

Glimmer shook herself out of self contemplation/pity party to see Adora leaning towards her and asking if she could see one closer. Nodding, Glimmer placing the one in her hand into Adora’s cupped and waiting palm. She gave a habitual warning of watching out for wet paint but wasn’t focusing on her own words. Instead, she was thinking about how this was the first time they had touched since the hug. That shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did.

Adora held the little round of clay between two fingers as if it were a fragile, ancient artifact. She looked at it with the same child-like awe that she had directed at the chopsticks earlier. Glimmer was slightly insulted by the fact that her work seemed to hold the same amount of amazing qualities as some mass produced wooden sticks. Mostly though, she was just watching the look of wonder that filled Adora’s face, the girl’s mouth slightly agape and her eyes absolutely locked on the small ball that she wouldn’t stop turning from side to side to see the light reflect off of it. Glimmer scolded herself for it, but couldn’t stop soaking in the admiration in Adora’s expression. Why should she care so much about what Adora’s opinion of her skills? She shouldn’t and that was the final word on that. Yeah but she’s popular and if she respects me, then maybe other people will too. Ha! So she could justify it! 

...And of course she hated how happy that made her.

Adora cleared her throat, apparently realizing how childish she looked; Glimmer tried not to look or feel so disappointed as she actually was, “How did you do that?”

“Hmm?” Glimmer raised her eyebrows hoping to express how little she understood what Adora was talking about.

“I mean the way it shines; it really looks like metal. It’s just,” she huffed like she was giving up on something, “amazing. I know I keep saying that, but it really is true!”

“Oh, uh, it’s just the paint,” Glimmer held up the bottle and waved it in the air, “Metallic paint: really handy when you want to paint something that looks like, um, metal.”

Adora smiled at that, making Glimmer glad that at least her stupidity wasn’t going to waste.

She handed back the ball of clay with slight reverence that made Glimmer squirm for reasons she couldn’t quite place.

Glimmer placed it back down among its completed siblings and Adora scooted back to her place of work. Well I guess this conversation is over.

It was several more minutes before Glimmer got up the courage to say something else. The silence seemed to roar in her ears at times like that, when she felt like she should say something but just didn’t know how. That was part of the reason she asked the question she did, “Hey do you mind if I turn on some music?”

Adora whipped head around to face Glimmer (and maybe to fling her messy bun- which was getting messier by the minute- out of her face), “Yeah, sure!”

Glimmer connected her phone back into her speaker- to where it had been before all of this had started with Adora’s text. Her hands were shaky again as she scrolled through her music to the H’s. What did she expect to get out of this? Adora’s approval, her friendship that she didn’t even know was real or if it would last? A part of her mind whispered You just want to hear her sing again.

And thus Hozier began ringing out in her room again. This time in a man’s voice, followed by music, and layered to create harmonies. It was heart wrenching because of the authenticity; that’s why Glimmer liked it. And somehow, despite the genuine emotion that filled the music, it didn’t seem as real as Adora had managed to be when she was alone in Glimmer’s room, singing merely because she felt the need or want to.

“My lover’s got humor

She’s the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody’s disapproval-”

Adora flung herself backwards with dramatic happiness, “Oh my god, I LOVE Hozier!”

“Yeah, I know,” Glimmer blurted our without thinking.

She winced at the confused glance she got in response, “I saw, er, heard you singing earlier.”

“Oh.”

The room was silent except for the music still pouring out of Glimmer’s speaker, neither knowing what to do.

“You’re really good,” Glimmer decided to speak from the heart; it was true after all. She recalled the hypnotizing quality of Adora’s voice, the jealousy she had felt. Part of that jealousy had simple roots: her mother was an amazing singer whose voice rang throughout the apartment equally sweet and heartbroken in a way that could bring the most calloused hearts to tears. It was no exaggeration to say that Glimmer, on the other hand, sounded like a pig with a sore throat. Ok maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration, but the difference in talent of undeniable; Glimmer had always felt that she had probably disappointed her mom. And there was Adora going above and beyond Glimmer’s level in yet another area. It made perfect sense for her to be jealous. But there was that little voice in her head that reminded her of that pull she had felt, that want for the words to be describing her, jealous of whoever they were describing. Chalk it up to Adora’s great signing.

Adora gave a somewhat wary smile, “Thanks.”

Glimmer squinted, “You don’t believe me, do you? I mean it, you’re great.”

Wow, that took a lot to force out; Glimmer was one of the last to compliment someone on something they were better at than her. It wasn’t that she conceited or anything; after all, she was the first to compare herself as lesser to others- internally, that is. She just feared that admitting other’s advantage over her would lead to other’s finding out just how bad she was. Just another thing Glimmer knew to be illogical, but wouldn’t stop. Hmm, maybe I should talk to a counselor.

Adora’s smile was still shy but far more genuine, “Really?”

Glimmer threw a spare bit of clay lying next to her leg out the other girl, “Yes, dork. Now come on, the songs almost over and we haven’t gotten anything done.”

Adora turned back to her work with a grin on her lips. It was cute, not overplayed and blindingly enthusiastic like Adora’s smiles often struck Glimmer. And, huh, Glimmer had made this one.

They worked quietly for a few minutes- for a whole song, in fact. The silence was far more comfortable now that the air between them wasn’t a wasteland of uncertainty, instead filled with not only sound, but common interest.

It was at the break between two songs that Adora decided to speak once more, “Do you sing?”

“Oh,” Hahaha. Glimmer sure did love how god liked to toy with her emotions and make her squirm. If she ever met whatever stupid being controlled her world, she might punch it, “Uh, no, I don’t really sing.”

“Oh, ok,” Adora seemed somewhat disappointed. Way to go, Glimmer, make everything awkward again.

Glimmer spent the next few minutes on her favorite hobby: worrying. She wondered if maybe she should have said something different, should have lied and said that she could. But what if Adora asked her about it sometime and she was forced to break it to her that she couldn’t sing to save her life? That of course brought up the idea that this relationship, this friendship, this whatever it was, was never going to last. Glimmer considered saying something now to fix the tension she had created but then balanced that with the fact she would probably just make things worse. Talking to people is way too much work and it hardly ever results in anything good.

That’s when Adora started singing again.

Quiet and sweet at first, like she was trying to gain the confidence to get louder or was trying to measure Glimmer’s reaction. It was like liquid sugar weaving through the air and although outside Glimmer showed no response- she hardly batted an eye- inside, her heart was fluttering. God, why isn’t this girl on America’s Got Talent or something like that?

Then the chorus started and Adora’s voice grew into a river, flowing through the room with the joy and strength of someone immersed in love. It was powerful and beautiful and made Glimmer feel like she was sitting next to some ancient deity. She had heard jokes on the internet about Hozier being some sort of immortal or Celtic god but she didn’t understand it until Adora was singing his words. Of course, as a matter of principle, Glimmer refused to acknowledge it in any way.

That is until Adora placed her clay down in front of her, her voice halting as she stood and stayed there unmoving for a few seconds. Glimmer glanced upward to see Adora jerking her head in her direction like Come on, get up!

Glimmer set her brush on her palette and shifted to stand slowly and with hesitation, frozen somewhere between incredulity and fear, “What are you doing?”

Adora took her hand, pulling her the rest of the way up, “We’ve been sitting too long, come on- dance with me!”

Glimmer choked, “Sorry, what?”

Adora had started singing again but paused long enough to answer Glimmer, “Dance with me!”

She grabbed Glimmer’s hands and began twisting herself gently back and forth to the beat of the music, Glimmer’s arms being moved along with Adora’s body. Glimmer prayed Adora couldn’t feel how sweaty how her palms were in the grasp.

She managed a giggle, all incredulous feelings replaced by pure uncertain fear, and tried to speak above Adora’s voice, “I can’t dance!”

Adora laughed and began moving her head goofily from side to side along with her body, “Well that’s good ‘cause neither can I!”

Glimmer let Adora lead her away from the art materials into the clear(er) part of the room and didn’t understand why until Adora began shuffling her feet from side to side, taking Glimmer along with her in a swaying, twisting sort of half-dance.

The chorus had started up again and Adora had her head thrown back, letting the words ring out of her mouth. The overhead light was reflecting off the posters on Glimmer’s walls, tinging Adora’s face with violets and hot pinks. She looked, she looked like, well, she looked like an idiot.

Glimmer laughed and it was real, carrying through her room as loud as Adora’s voice.

Adora looked up, grinning widely. She made eye contact with Glimmer, keeping her head up as she switched to dramatically mouthing the words. She still sang them but now looked comically like she was some rock star from the 80’s:

“I fall in love just a little, ol’ little bit

Everyday with someone new.”

Adora wouldn’t break the gaze she held with Glimmer, the blue of her eyes sparkling. It made Glimmer’s stomach flip strangely; she didn’t know what was happening, she didn’t know where they were going as they swayed through her room- content to be lead by Adora’s voice. Or maybe it was Adora’s smile she was following. She didn’t know; she didn’t care.

Her head was light and she couldn’t exactly feel her legs. She wondered vaguely if this what it was like to be high and if this floating-without-legs feeling was the reason they called it ’high.’ She momentarily stumbled across the idea that maybe she was high but abandoned it quickly to memorize the way Adora’s nose crinkled occasionally as she sang. It wasn’t like this was ever going to happen again so she might as well enjoy it, remember how it felt. Of course Bow and her messed around like this but... Bow just didn’t have eyes that sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, didn’t have a voice that rolled over you like molten gold, didn’t stop suddenly and ask you to dance and make you laugh with stupid footwork, didn’t make you feel like you could fly right out of your body.

Adora let go of one of Glimmer’s hands to twirl her around in an imperfect circle which mostly imperfect due to the fact that Glimmer had tripped half way through. She competed the turn unsteadily, giggling as she fell lightly on Adora who caught the hand she had dropped with just enough strength to keep Glimmer from toppling them both to the ground. Glimmer still dipped forward, stopping quite close to Adora’s face; close enough to notice the specks of light grey and darker blues that floated in her eyes. Glimmer was starting to get very interested in those eyes. God damnit.

When the song ended, Adora lead her back to where they had been sitting before by keeping one keeping one of Glimmer’s hands wrapped loosely in her soft fingers; Glimmer was grateful for the guidance as her feet and legs were still miles away from her head.

“See, told you that would be fun,” Adora smiled at Glimmer after they had sat down.

“You didn’t say that; you said ‘Come on get up’ and then you dragged me with you.”

Adora leaned towards her with a sing-songy tone on her voice, “Yeah, but it was fun, wasn’t it?”

Glimmer gave a grudging smile back, “Yeah, sure. Whatever if it’ll make you shut up.”

Adora grinned before turning back to her work. They worked for the rest of the album more or less in silence, only occasionally checking the other’s progress or asking how their work looked. Adora’s answers were always somewhere along the lines of “amazing” or “great” and it made Glimmer feel slightly guilty for her far more critical answers. Then again, Glimmer was not known as someone to soften the truth; maybe that’s she wasn’t popular- let alone, highly so. During that time period Adora refrained from singing anymore, only humming here and there but never actually letting her voice ring out the way it had. In some ways Glimmer was glad; she couldn’t afford that type of distraction.

The final song ended and Glimmer abandoned her paints for a second to scroll through her phone, “Ok what do you want to listen to next? I’ve got Twenty One Pilots, David Bowie, Black Pink, Mozart, basically anything; what sounds good?

“Oh, uh, whatever you want.” Adora hummed without interest.

Glimmer was hurt as she had hoped her wide selection would impress Adora or at least reveal another shared interest. That was until she dared a glance at Adora whose hunched shoulders had shifted from “I’m concentrated and working hard” to “Oh my god, when did my head get so heavy?” and whose hands were moving much slower now, rolling repetitively without doing much.

“Hey are you ok?” It was only around ten; she couldn’t be tired, could she?

“Oh yeah I’m just sleepy,” Her eyes weren’t quite half-closed yet but they had certainly lost almost all of their customary shine. She tried for a smile but it seemed to take quite some effort, “I guess I’m just not a night person. Also I’ve been up since five.”

Glimmer scowled; they still had a lot work to do and she hadn’t even considered sleep as she was the type of teenage goblin who just didn’t sleep. (Well maybe she did but it didn’t qualify as much more than passing for a couple hours with the light on before waking up and continuing life as she had been before she was rudely interrupted by exhaustion).

“It’s ok, though,” she yawned, “I can keep working.”

Glimmer doubted that but the time creeping forward was starting to make her anxious and she was hoping to be finished before passing out. On the other hand, forcing Adora to keep working in this hardly-awake state was unlikely to speed up the process. And it might make her hate you.

She chewed the bottom of her lip, trying to weigh the options Get this stupid project over with/Make Adora hate you. Hmmm, “How many do have left to make?”

It took Adora a few times to count the number, further pushing Glimmer’s decision, “24.”

Her voice was bright but Glimmer could see right through the fact that it was an attempt to seem more awake. Ha. Not only did Glimmer use this tactic herself everyday, she had spent the majority of her interactions with Adora trying to discern when Adora was being genuine and when she was wearing a mask so she knew the girl was faking, “Go ahead and sleep- you’ve made enough extras that I can work on painting them for a while before needing more.”

Adora’s lips twitched into a frown, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll wake up when I need you,” Maybe that’ll appease her inner workaholic. Glimmer thought about what Adora had said about wanting to prove her what: worth? use? validity? to her adoptive parents. It made her wonder how hard Adora pushed herself, “Go to sleep.”

“You promise you'll wake me up?”

“Yes, now sleep; you look you’re about to fall over,” Shit I sound like my mom. She hoped her voice held that same gentle but stern tone that seemed to work on nearly everybody that her mom used as well. If I’m gonna sound like my mom, it better work as well as it does for her.

Apparently she hadn’t gotten it down yet as Adora still looked unconvinced. Glimmer gave her a soft push and Adora gave in, flopping to the floor.

“M’kay, talk to ya in a few hours.”

“Uh, you don’t need to sleep there,” Glimmer hadn’t expected Adora to actually fall over with the push and she certainly hadn’t expected her to curl up and close her eyes right there on the carpet, “My bed’s right there if you wanna use it.”

Adora gave a small shrug, “Here’s ok.”

“Do you at least want a pillow?? A blanket, something-“

“Glimmer,” She waited for Glimmer to look over, “This is fine and I’m about to pass out so just let me sleep.”

“Ok...” Glimmer still felt like she should do something else but, sure enough, Adora was asleep within a few minutes.

The girl slept as perfectly as she lived- or at least looked like she lived- breathing in soft puffs, her hair falling over her cheeks in wisps. Her face was relaxed and free of the tension of life pressing down on her; without it, years seemed to be swept away.

Glimmer snorted to herself- years swept away; as if the two of us aren’t 16. But there was a quality of truth to it; without the tension of an over-strung smile or creases caused by concentration, she looked- well maybe “younger” wasn’t the right word, maybe “fitting” was better, finally looking like a 16 year old. Glimmer had never noticed how old she looked, how all her maturity and perfection came from the lines in her expression. But here Adora was just a girl; just a tired, overworking girl whose breathing matched Glimmer’s heartbeat.

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE 1975 - PEOPLE

[5.56]

The 1975 you know is gone! THEY'RE HARDCORE NOW!!!

Alex Clifton: As far as the lyrics & delivery go: a truly punk song, a well-needed wakeup call, and Healey's screaming is how I have felt literally every day for the last four years, which I deeply appreciate. As an actual single: I can listen to this maybe once a month because it's super dissonant and honestly does not help with my constant anxiety that the world will end shortly. [5]

Kylo Nocom: Rightfully devastated punk that would probably sound a lot better if it didn't just seem like yet another damned attempt by the 1975 at appeasing the indie crowd through art-y posturing. Really, throw shit at their debut all you want, they knew exactly what they wanted to do and did all of it with near-perfect pop sheen. Their obsession with their own legacy has led to their musical downfall, and now we have to listen to them condescend and uphold it as somehow significant, as if there aren't artists with significantly more to say than Matty Healy that don't have the resources to have their voices heard. Eclecticism does not equal talent; Healy's inanities will not save us. [3]

Alfred Soto: "Syndrums? What syndrums?" Blustering through a rawk number showing little sweat, The 1975 write a Marilyn Manson take on "Love It If We Made It." It likely portends nothing except increased facility. [5]

Ryo Miyauchi: "People" as just the music is something I can't resist. Matty strutting to the beat of loud ass rock riffs with the tones bleeding from the seams? The guy singing like a snot-nosed know-it-all jerk in love with the spotlight, audibly kissing the camera? He may not be good at screaming as much as he think he does, but him simply giving himself to the moment sounds good enough. But if he also hopes to say something, and for me to feel like he actually did, well, this isn't exactly it. I've long understood that Matty lives in the same fucked-up world as me -- that's what "Love It If We Made It" made sure to do after all -- but I'm honestly exhausted from songs that's reportage and not much else. I can see the world burn down from my own eyes too! If Matty, or whoever else in pop, wants to say something, I need them to expand upon that blank between "republic's a banana, ignore if you wanna" and "fuck it, I'm just gonna get food, girls, gear." Ignoring is easy, I know, but that self-care via self-indulgence can't do much to help anymore. What exists beyond it when it's no longer the go-to step? Matty doesn't have the answer for that here. [6]

Maxwell Cavaseno: The only man who apparently decided that The (International) Noise Conspiracy was just what the world needed, long after even the actual T(I)NC was dissolved, would naturally be Matty Healy. Plenty of 'people' have misattributed this song to sounding like Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People" which is an association I just simply don't hear at all. Instead I get a lot more of Manic Street Preachers, The Hives, The Blood Brothers, T(I)NC and even their frontman's prior band Refused's last moments. When the soon to be released 1975 album was discussed even in the build for last year's listless and dissatisfying A Brief Inquiry... constant invocations of the band's past as a journeyman post-hardcore act that probably would've died a death in the lower-tier nostalgia bin alongside earthtone9, Devil Sold His Soul, SikTH, Rinoa or The Ocean Fracture. The fodder of so many long gone myspace pages and collections of patches. Now it feels that era is being discussed with a genuine affectionate nostalgia again; and if there's anything this band loves to key in on, it's genre nostalgia. Do they land it? Maybeish. Straight Ahead Rock has admittedly felt less capable in The 1975's hands unless filtered into Glastonbury Festival Anthems a la "Robbers", so hearing them try to defiantly thrash while remaining groovy is either endearing or slight. Still, I admittedly can't think of a 1975 album yet where the key single was the leading one, so for now it feels just like a proposition of yet another shape-shifting going down. [6]

Oliver Maier: Post-hardcore with traces of 13-era Blur could have been the key to finally converting me to the church of the 1975, but this still isn't doing it for me. I don't doubt that Matty Healy is concerned about *vague hand gesture* the state of things, but for a band so aware that sincerity is indeed scary, I always feel as though their ventures into new sonic territory are the product of a desire to impress rather than earnestly communicate, that they might dip their toes into afrobeats or flirt with trap drums only because people don't expect them to. Which isn't a crime! But the punk signifiers here feel like just that: signifiers, gesturing at a genre that's all about urgency in an attempt to reverse-engineer that same quality, but capturing none of its essential recklessness. I prefer the unhinged vocal here to Healy's usual crooning, but paired with lyrics that modulate between the generic, the outright dreadful and the word "fuck" a whole bunch, it's just not enough to dispel the impression of a calculated facsimile of protest music. I could see myself softening on this if the rest of Notes on a Conditional Form sticks to the same sound, which might suggest some real commitment rather than the sense that the 1975 are still just trying on new masks and expecting an A for effort. But I'm not holding my breath. [4]

Rachel Bowles: I was lucky enough to hear this song for the first time live and witness the crowd erupt with infectious anger and joy- somehow knowing every single word of this days old song. There was something truly palpable, political and vital there, Healy has told the press he's never felt more like he's in a punk band and experiencing 'People' live, it's not hard to hear why. At the time I described it as "a Marilyn Manson meets Glassjaw-esque punk screed with enough F-bombs to satisfy even the most discerning teenage contrarian... an anthem that screams with the rage of billions of millennial and Gen Z 99 percenters, powerlessly watching the world burn (literally) as Donald Trump and Boris Johnson pat themselves on the back."Had I not clearly seen Healy & co in front of me, I would never have pegged 'People' as a 1975 song- this new venture into raw punk, however impressive, is just another string in the bow of band that is constantly reinventing themselves. [8]

Joshua Copperman: Let's unpack the worst line in "People"! Part 1: "My generation wanna fuck Barack Obama": A decade ago this might have been a reference to "Crush on Obama," but now any given Gen Z socialist will tell you that Obama wasn't progressive enough, that he was a neoliberal centrist, etc etc. So it's more like fuck Barack Obama. Double meanings! Part 2: "living in a sauna": Could be a climate change reference, but with the next line it's more likely to be a hotbox joke. More double meanings! Except the idea that Earth is itself a hotbox is both funnier and more evocative. Part 3: "Legal marijuana": Both a long-delayed Halsey comeback for that one line in "Colors" and a catalyst for even more double meanings! there's the aforementioned hotbox joke, or it's the ever-ubiquitous "using drugs to numb the pain" thing. Conclusion: This line both says a lot of things and says absolutely nothing, which is what anyone who hates this song will think it does. Oh right, there's a song attached. And it's fantastic. The mix of a gritty aesthetic with bright, clean guitar tones. The ability to make a tuneless song sound as catchy as "Chocolate" but inexplicably less anoying. This is everything I've wanted the 1975 to do, or anyone to do when everything in all genres sounds so listless and geared towards Playlists. Even Idles pandered with the whole 'ten points to Griffyndor' thing. The 1975 is virtually only pandering to emo kids with this one. And edgelords, hopefully putting them on a path to salvation instead of hatred. Or not. Whoever it's for, I'm glad it exists. [9]

Edward Okulicz: Honestly, I know that throwing reductionist comments at male pop stars stepping outside their apparent lane isn't a curative against how such things have been levelled at women over the years, but my initial, and second, and third, and fourth reaction to this song is "omg Matty Healy just shut up and be a pop star, you know, something you're really good at." I'll be over here in sensitivity training if you need me. [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Chloe you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sybill Trewlawney!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Your application was such a treat to find in our inbox, Chloe! From the expanded traits to the wonderful headcanons you gave, your Sybill is so wonderfully fleshed out. The love you have for her is amazing and we all loved just how well you captured her - ‘she’s always been unafraid to march to the beat of her own drum‘ completely sold us. It’s so clear to see from you application just how much you’ve thought about the role that Sybill has to play in the war and gone into so much detail about her involvement with Aversio it’s such a pleasure to see! We think that Sybill will fit in just wonderfully and we cannot wait to have you both in our roleplay!

Application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION  

Chloe, she/her, GMT, from England  

ACTIVITY  

Well it’s been a little while since I’ve actively roleplayed so I might start out a little rusty, but given the preference you have for longer threads and your lenient activity limit I’m sure I’ll be around fairly often, like three times a week at least. (to give you a number I’d say like 7/10 on the active scale)

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?  

I was looking through the hp rp tag, and to be honest I was looking specifically for a Sybill Trelawney to play that I felt was actually a good representation of her character and also sat within an rp that had a good plot aha

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Maybe a cliché but I really loved Ginny (in the books of course, don’t EVER get me started with the mess they made of her character in the movies dear god) she was spunky and confident (and ginger like myself, which tbqh has made me slightly bias in favour of the whole Weasley clan. Like you’re telling me not only do they deal w/ shit for being blood traitors but they redheads too??? Hard knock life, my man.) And of course my dear Sybill, who was just trying to be understood in a world that wasn’t quite ready for her.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER  

Sybill Trelawney  

FACE CLAIM

Alycia Debnam Carey isn’t an fc I’ve ever worked with before but after browsing her tag and doing a little research she seems an excellent choice for Sybill in my opinion, and since she’s your chosen fc too I’m sure you’d have no problem with me picking her. (I am also partial to Juno Temple as Sybill, but I kinda feel that’s getting a little overdone)

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER  

Uhhhh this is just a general comment but I really love that you’ve made Sybill a big of a fighter and actually self confident like all the time I see her portrayed as this scared little thing and I don’t think that’s accurate, like I’ve always felt that (at least in her younger years, before the world beat her down a bit) Sybill would have been a passionate and confident woman with faith in her gift and a desire to set the world to rights. Her words aren’t always tactful, sure, but I think everything Sybill says she says because she thinks it needs to be heard.

When I first read about this Aversio group you’d created I wasn’t sure that putting Sybill in with such people was the right choice but after a little thought the idea really grew on me. I think Sybill’s visions have forced her to witness so much death and destruction that she has been powerless to prevent, and who wouldn’t be made angry like that? Who wouldn’t grab the first chance that came along to take back some of that power, to try and defend the people she loved? Sybill is part of this group for all the right reasons. She’s fighting for freedom and safety, but she’s not naïve, she doesn’t think the order sitting around and just waiting to form counter attacks are doing enough. I also feel she was something of a loner in school and despite being quite clever was never really invited into or considered for the order and so perhaps this comes from the ever so slight niggling urge she has to prove herself, because despite being a hippy dippy seer she’s also capable of affecting change and taking part in things. (If anything her visions and prophecies have only made her more determined to change the world, for she will have seen how truly tits up everything could go.)

I just have a longstanding love for Sybill, she’s always been unafraid to march to the beat of her own drum. Like, refusing to take on the name ‘higglebottom’ and so causing the end of your own marriage?? That’s hardcore. That’s a woman who won’t take no shit. Yeah, I love Sybill and I am forever searching for an rp with what I feel is an accurate representation of her. This is getting long so I’ll wind it down now, but if you’d like to hear anything more about my love for Syb pls just do message me lmao.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Sybill has always been wary of romance and love. With her gift it is easy to see the multitude of ways things can fall apart. Not only that, but it is hard to find someone with complete faith in this gift of hers, someone who truly believes all her madcap ramblings and feels the power of nature and the universe as much as she does. (Of course, she would only ever settle down with someone who believed in this power as much as she did and yet like her was not afraid to question it.) Sex is different to romance, though, I think Sybill views sex as something much simpler and it’s very much a pleasure she indulges in without ever feeling guilty about it. Honestly I think she can be quite the flirt when she wants, not ashamed of her desire to lure a man or woman into her bed for the night, because why should we deny ourselves such a simple craving? We shouldn’t.

As far as ships go I’m very happy just to go with the flow, nothing prioritised. Sybill goes by she/her pronouns, did consider them/they for a while but after some contemplation in the forest realised her energy was decidedly feminine in its nurturing and care, even if it was a little wilder and more adventurous. (Sexuality I touched on a little above, i feel like she’d be very fluid about it and call herself bisexual if pushed on the subject)

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-EXPAND ON THE TRAITS

Self-assured- Sybill has gotten comfortable with her gift of sight, and by extension- since she’s long felt like that was the most drastic aspect of her personality- the rest of herself. She’s confident in who she is and the doubts of others can no longer throw her off her chosen course.

Free-spirited- spends a lot of time out in nature, but its much more than that. Sybill is very unassuming and so as long as what/who you are is not a cause of harm (for example, unless you are a death eater) she is quite happy to not only let you continue with your life and hobbies, but likely also interested in learning about it. She is happy for you to be in love, she is happy for you to mindlessly fuck, she is happy for you to abstain and spend all your time writing. As long as your soul is good and warm, you can be counted as a friend of Sybill’s.

Crafty- well, there’s the obvious definition of her being artistic which is true, Sybill likes to paint and tell fanciful stories and take one mans trash to make into her own treasure. But her crafty mind also  makes her quite statistical, she can wriggle her way out of almost any problem and really earns her keep as one of the strategic minds of Aversio.

Genuine- Another fairly obvious I feel. Some of the stuff Sybill says may be odd, but she means every word of it. This applies to her actions too. She has not one conniving or manipulative bone in her body, she never lies. Everything Sybill does is honest and true to the core of who she is.

Dreamer- constantly lost in her own world. Idealistic almost to a fault, often too optimistic about the future. Sometimes too optimistic about the present and so gets herself into dangerous situations just because she underestimated the circumstances.

Emotional- oh GOD if you criticise Sybill’s shoes she will CRY for a week. If you call her pretty in passing it will make her smile all year. Let me be clear here I don’t think Sybill holds grudges or has preferences, but I think she remembers everything that people do and everything impacts her as much as it did at the time it truly happened (does that make sense? Every time she remembers that Lily once complimented her hair it fills her with the same joy as the initial compliment did, for example.) I think this is why her gift takes such a toll on her, every bad thing that happens (whether it really ends up happening or not) affects her psyche terribly.

Dramatic- it’s very up and down with Sybill. I think being dramatic is good and bad, because every small show of kindness is an absolute joy but also every little negative moment or action is the worst betrayal imaginable. Nothing is done in halves by Sybill.

Weird- I mean self explanatory. She talks to plants, she’s constantly blabbering on about the energies of nature and the universe. She relies too heavily on her inner eye to guide her rather than just watching and responding. It’s a weirdness she’s comfortable with but that doesn’t mean everyone else is so ok with it, sometimes she makes people uncomfortable with her frank statements and odd habits.

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Sybill can play guitar. Yeah, she loves music, I think she plays guitar really very well and finds it quite relaxing (can’t think about anything else if you’re trying to master difficult songs y’know) but it isn’t a talent she often shares.

She writes poetry too, doesn’t call it that, just calls it writing. Often times her visions and prophecies can be a lot to digest and so writing about it all can help to sort her crazy imaginings from what might actually be possible.

Not adverse to substance abuse. She lives alone, and sometimes being part of Aversio leaves her incredibly amped up and angry, so it can be difficult to sleep. A few glasses of whiskey or a couple of joints sort that problem out, though.

Can get aggressive with fellow Aversio members. See she knows they can handle it and all the negative energy has to go somewhere (where else would she take it out? Nature? Absolutely not.)

She meditates because it helps focus her inner eye.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS

This aggression with Aversio members might be an interesting one- like, does she think some of them are really just death eaters afraid to admit that? Are some of them scared of her? Do they think she’s too pushy with the people she’s supposedly aligned with? Yeah, lots interesting to say there.

Of course as an Aversio member there’s always the chance that the order or DE might find out that she’s part of such a group and try to sway her one such way (the DE would have no chance, and i don’t really see the order being much luckier, though she may be willing to form some kind of cooperation with them.)

There’s always the chance of her abandoning everything to just live in the forest.

More prophecies or visions! Are they always accurate? Who knows?!?!?! No one really.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

I think I’d like to invent a potion that would make me immune to all poisons. To be honest, that’s one of the few things that forces me to buy actual food from shops and stops me from living purely off the foods nature provides. I’m quite worried about being poisoned by something not meant for me you see, so if I had a potion that meant no such poisons affected me I would live only off the bounty provided by nature.

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

I think Xenophilius Lovegood would make for very good company. He’s easy on the eye and we’re both the types who see more in the world than most people do. I don’t suppose i’d pick anyone for their ability to keep me safe- I’m quite capable of that, thank you. Rather I think I’d pick Xenophilius because we would not run out of things to talk about. Ad far as objects go, maybe a sword? They fascinate me to be perfectly honest- so violent, so pretty- and I think it would be most useful should magic fail me.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

Who to send on missions or counter attacks. It’s never very easy to decide if you need stealth and logic or aggression and strength, you know? And always I am so fearful that by sending the wrong type we will do more harm than good.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

That I am a liar. That’s easy, people can say much about me as long as they always believe I am true.

WRITING SAMPLE

Sybill could not sleep. This was not a rare occurrence. More often than not she’d use alcohol or drugs to knock herself out for the night, acutely aware of all the work that there was to be done the next day and so too focused on being alert for that to be concerned with her own body. Tonight, however, she chose the forest. And drugs. There was a lovely little wood right by her house (would Sybill move anywhere without nature close by? Of course not.) And so she meandered through the trees until a small clearing came about, settling herself with a joint and her notebook for a sleepless night.  

See, tomorrows attack did not directly involve her. It was more an urban stealth mission, not really her style, and so she saw no harm in turning up to the meeting a little tired and out of it. Hey, she was usually ‘out of it’ as far as the others thought anyway, and so what was the harm really. So for this plan she had taken more a strategic role, using her gift to her advantage to help plan the timing, who she be where and when they should be there. It was something of an arduous task to be honest, left her a little drained to look so closely at individuals, but Sybill would never complain about it. Her inner eye was a gift very few possessed and she intended to use it to it’s full potential.

Besides being out here among nature’s glory with her writing and a joint would be sufficient to restore the balance of her energy. She took a drag and sighed into the quiet night, shifting to lay on her back and feel the full flow of the earth against her body. Her fingertips tingled and her toes curled. God, you know what would really help her sleep? Sex. But so few were as interested in no strings in the same way she was. Still willing to form a connection and truly bon with each other, just not so insistent that such a bond be permanent. It was okay to need someone only for a night or two. The summer she’d bounced around muggle music festivals had spoiled her, obviously. Maybe most wizards were so interested in commitment because it carried on the family name.

Not that she could blame them for such. Cassandra Trelawney had claimed the gift skipped three generations after all and by golly the family had seen to it that her point be proved. The idea made her giggle, bright energy pushing out against a dark sky.

Whatever the case, she was antsy and restless and worried about tomorrows plans. Worried about tomorrows’ people. If things went wrong those few were the ones who would pay most dearly. She closed her eyes, trying to feel the influence of the universe move through her and search for the answers she desired. Would tomorrow be okay? Had they chosen well? The universe, as it so often was in what it considered small affairs, had little more to offer than a small reassurance that Sybill wasn’t driving towards utter disaster.

[yeozus]

[ 18, 19, 22, 33, 46, 50 ]

출처 :  SUPER DETAILED QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR OCS !지위 :  ACCEPTING !

18.  WHAT’S THEIR FAVOURITE GENRE OF :  BOOKS,  MUSIC,  TV SHOWS,  FILMS, VIDEO GAMES  &  ANYTHING ELSE ?

⸢  †  ⸥       hunter tends to be very finicky  when it comes to personal entertainment - as he is someone woven into the industry,  he draws inspiration and ideas for his own  livelihood  from that with which he surrounds himself.  in the realm of  music,  however,  he’s the most versatile ;  as he’ll listen to nearly anything that creates a sound of which he is fond.  genres closest to his heart tend to identify themselves as either rap or r&b,  with rock as a very close third.  he likes upbeat music,  though often does indulge in tracks with which he can emotionally relate.  

               never was he a very avid reader,  as his attention span is somewhat short.  thus,  a  book  often needs a suspenseful or mysterious factor to keep him interested,  though he can’t ignore the ache of his heart that ensues with well articulated romance,  as he himself wears his heart upon his sleeve.  films,  for hunter’s love,  must be of a similar caliber - though with the added requirement of eye-catching and memorable visuals and aesthetic qualities.  he’ll easily write a film off as boring if the story and the visuals lack - he feels as though these enhancements of the ordinary should live up to that standard,  for viewing pleasure and memorability.  

               he watches  television  only slightly more than he reads - and solely because he has to supervise what his daughter ingests from the colorful screen plastered against the wall.  he finds most shows too bland to watch religiously,  aside from a few particular series that have earned a place beyond his heart - though,  he doesn’t hold tv shows to the same standard as movies,  since they are meant to be simpler and build over a much longer duration.  he likes shows that have a sustainable plot or premise,  though have aspects of life to which he can relate or  ponder over.  he likes when a show gets him thinking.  

               and with what little time he has on his hands,   video games  are a rarity,  though he enjoys them.  the recurring theme applies - a strong,  developing story with appreciable characters and emotional value.  this considered,  he tends to like action and adventure games,  though he does like competition based games when friends are around to play them with - as often they leave space to create fond memories. 

19.  WHAT ARE THEIR LEAST FAVOURITE GENRES ?

               he has no distinct  “least favourite”  label  for anything he is unfond of - because it often fails to follow any true regularity or pattern.  albeit,  similar to most anyone else,  his dislikes tend to  negate his likes  in some ways - music that is too slow without an emotional appeal,  books that progress far too slowly or not at all - those lines tend to be adhered to in most instances.  however,  there are quite a few exceptions,  and this is because hunter’s soul is too free to really define or encapsulate within just a few descriptive words.  to put it most simply,  he likes what he likes.  he’d prefer not to strive too hard to contain what he prefers and its inverse beneath any labels or collections.  

               there exists,  however,  one  thing that never fails to have his nose turn up or his eyes narrow with distaste - and that is anything that constricts  (  or attempts such  )  his freedom.  it may seem unheard of for any form of media to carry out such a detrimental outcome,  but as before stated,  for hunter the majority of these preferences are wells from which he draws up inspiration - a  massive  factor in his life and career ;  too massive to be compromised in any way.  an example of this may be a piece of music that attempts to force some ideal onto him,  or even the opposite - music with no intent at all,  but only seems to be thoughtless rambling over a beat.  this standard is applicable to all selections of created media,  and in the age of yellow journalism in all its forms,  it is certainly less than difficult to come across - although  difficult to detect  at times.  

22. WHAT ARE THEIR FAVOURITE INSULTS TO USE ?   WHAT DO THEY INSULT PEOPLE FOR ?   OR DO THEY PREFER TO BITCH BEHIND SOMEONE’S BACK ?

               if approached personally on the matter,  hunter would somewhat proudly imply that he is  fluent in talking shit,  which though this is an exaggeration of sorts,  does harbor some truth.  if he feels that he is wronged a great deal  (  more often than not,  those who are not as close to him would feel the sting of his words,  as his heart is often too soft to upbraid those nearest to it - most of the time,  )  than he will hardly hesitate to express this in a manner most likely directed by impulse.  while lessening impetuous anger is a feat that he has diligently attempted to eradicate from his set list of tendencies and behaviours,  he has his moments of outburst.  he would not  openly  admit it,  but he can hold quite a grudge if the subject truly harmed or wronged him to a considerable extent - most of which cases involve deceit,  violence,  or unexplained betrayal on part of the other party. 

               his most frequent insults are  bitch  or  cunt  by far - which may seem like feminine derogatory terms at first glance,  but to hunter they are gender neutral and he would use them for someone he sees as deserving,  regardless of gender or sex.  on a lesser scale  (  though he tends to use the aforementioned two in a jovial manner as well,  )  he may utilize  bastard  or  hoe  in playful banter or in expression of a light,  but very temporary displeasure with someone whom he is comfortable.  there is a wide spectrum of words he may use altogether,  but these are substantially more likely to flow with little thought past his lips.  

                 on the matter of  confrontation,  he is more likely than not audacious enough to approach someone with which he runs into a problem.  his position of authority in his career allows him to do this with little nerve  (  in light of the issue,  of course  )  though if the issue at hand is heavier or deeper than the standard miscommunication,  he may take a moment to dwell on it or vent to a trusted loved one and absorb whatever advice they may offer him.  he rarely talks behind others’ backs,  at least not before he has approached the subject of his words first  (  or before he has planned to.  )  

33.  WHAT UNDERWEAR DO THEY WEAR ?  BOXERS OR BRIEFS? LACEY ?   COMFY GRANNY PANTIES ?

               aligning with his gender identity,  hunter is comfortable in either men’s or women’s underwear in a general sense - most casually,  he could be discovered wearing a pair of  designer  boxer-briefs.  he strays away from regular boxers because they are too loose,  as even with undergarments,  he likes a tight,  somewhat customized fit.  for a  special occasion  (  often a sexual encounter or solely because he just wants to feel  sexy,  )  he will indulge in lingerie - as he owns quite a few pairs of panties falling into this category.  this collection ranges from lace to see-through to a combination of both - he likes to accentuate his  assets  in a way that he would deem irresistible,  or tantalizing.  he doesn’t find comfort to be an issue with any of the underwear he owns,  however,  as he’s grown accustomed to the way they fit him  (  or his  endowment, rather.  )  

46.  DO THEY MAKE A GOOD FIRST IMPRESSION ?  DOES THEIR FIRST IMPRESSION REFLECT THEM ACCURATELY ?  HOW DO THEY INTRODUCE THEMSELVES ?

               usually, he makes an amiable or charming  first impression - though obviously,  this is not always the case.  he makes a rather subconscious attempt to make a good first impression,  for he abides by the philosophy that  trying too hard  diminishes its intended effect,  and being natural or mostly natural is the best option.  that being said,  he is typically genuinely himself and not much will change as he and the other party grow closer or see each other more frequently - at least in terms of how hunter presents himself,  as it takes him quite a while to trust or open up to an individual.  though it will be understandably different if said introduction takes place in a casual or business setting - the way he speaks or carries himself may differ between these two realms,  though his self-reality will not see much distortion.  

               despite his free-spirited or  conform-less  tendencies,  hunter actually does follow a pattern when introducing himself,  though he hardly realizes it.  usually when giving his name,  he emulates the  james bond-esque  style - given name - surname,  given name.  he finds that saying his given name twice and placing a bit of emphasis on his surname increases the probability that his name will be remembered  (  though with fame,  that’s hardly ever an issue for him.  )

50.  IF THEY COULD ONLY TAKE ONE BAG OF STUFF SOMEWHERE WITH THEM :  WHAT WOULD THEY PACK ?  WHAT DO THEY CONSIDER THEIR ESSENTIALS ? 

               hunter would fill his bag with supplies he needs to work -  a sketchpad,  a pencil and a set of coloured pencils or watercolors,  one of his cameras,  and if he could fit it into his bag,  his laptop  (  or tablet,  if more convenient.  )  he would also prepare however many outfits he would need,  and surely have them fit the occasion or the aesthetic of the place to where he is travelling.  with that,  he’d bring quite a bit of jewelry since he tends to change his mind about what goes the very  best  for the look of choice,  and a backup pair of shoes for each outfit.  he’d,  of  course,  bring his phone and its charger,  necessary undergarments and toiletries,  and grooming supplies.  needless to say,  if he had a one-bag limit,  he would take advantage of that and use a rather  large  bag.

[rexylafemme]

i am just one small part of forever

i’ve been on this almost-secret trip back toward the center of myself. mostly in preparation for very large transformations to come in my life, things i’ve needed and wanted for a long time, for all my life. i’ve been motivated by the intention of seeking the actions and experiences that fit the greater patterns and cycles of my life & cycles of wider social, political, cultural shifts. what i/we need to move forward. it’s not a new trip, i’m just owning it out loud.

because there’s so much more to us and what we’re capable of than these bullshit systems, barriers, these realities we’ve created or have been complicit in maintaining. their limitations and violences are constructed. failures. there are always other options, other ways. the answer to the question of “how?” frequently feeling elusive. or change feeling hopeless, impossible. and, yet, everything changes all the time. shifts in consciousness happen all the time, sometimes even driven by a generative hopelessness. it’s about harnessing that power, being able to come together, do something with it. it feels so physical. as in, of physics. energetic. so all about bonding and force. that i feel a pull toward the destiny of revolution, collective love/rage, creation in my body, that it feels deeper than my body, deeper than psyche. that those are the essential things, the real driving forces, the real truths, the real imperatives. i can’t feel this clarity all the time. but that we’ve had it once, or we’ve had it before, i can feel it in my circuitry. or, we have it all the time in small ways, in fleeting moments. people come together all the time, people force cultural shifts, people create all the time, people learn, people fight back all the time, people build. always have & when you trace those lines through the threads of time, there’s this overwhelming rush—a feeling of empowerment and potential. a feeling to keep going. the clarified knowledge that scarcity is a lie. & if we weren’t powerful, they wouldn’t want us dead or broken. self-fulfilling prophesies aid in perceiving only what we expect to see. the world will speak to us in the language that we provide.

been thinking a lot about my contributions in relation to all of this, my responsibilities to myself, others, my communities. i’ve been reflecting on the ways my sense of vocation and obligation are totally informed by my own positionality, which of course, has everything to do with the privileges i do and don’t have. that i have a lot of work to do, a lot of learning. that i have to show up and also be shown up for. about giving and receiving support, resources. from each, to each.

thinking about how i’ve had a hard time prioritizing my own needs in the past, how i’ve been even ashamed to tend to my needs, or to ask for anything. thinking it was selfish. but that’s what i was taught to do. poor/working class/white/catholic/femininity. how i did, at times, surround myself with people who required that i sublimate myself. or who just didn’t care. how it all has everything to do with the aforementioned bullshit systems. including my family system. how scarcity and power informed it. as well as abundance, nurturing, sharing. how we pass along treasures and trash, back and forth, down the line. help!

part of the solution to meeting personal and collective needs being that practices of care  and healing are constellatory, not singular. how my own healing is its own line intersecting with all the entangled individual lines of healing that make up that massive rubberband ball of collective struggle. if spirit is manifest in individual parts that get to grow and evolve and understand independently, they render the whole infinitely greater in their reconciliation. let’s go!!!! #ready

i’ve been thinking about my talents, my skills, what i have. how to channel everything i’m good at, how to put everything to good use, how to expand on sharing and giving. all of it. that this is something i’ve always been concerned with. i’ve always been able to give outwardly. but giving to myself and receiving have always been a struggle. & that’s a big deal. getting into why is too deep, but ultimately i need to honor myself and what i have to offer; i need to be generous with myself. i think of how much i admire the people i care about, how much i wanna be the cheerleader to their lives, to support them and reflect how amazing they are back to them. and how i’m working on having that relationship with myself. how it’s so much about learning how to be your own friend. the ultimate task.

and what it means to be your own friend, to love yourself, is the same as what we should strive for with anyone else in our lives.  we need the courage to connect with ourselves—all our parts. we need to be cautious and patient with the process. to be willing to make mistakes, to be vulnerable. willing to be  understanding. willing to be radically and deeply honest. willing to look at things we don’t want to see. willing to work with aspects of ourselves we don’t like. willing to surrender, to give in. willing to be open. willing to stand up. willing to take risks. willing to receive criticism graciously. willing to part with judgment. willing to part with a lot of things. willing to accept loss & change. willing to accept joy & love & newness. all the things that come naturally to us before we learn otherwise & before we get hurt, defensive. that we must master these things with ourselves and with everyone.

time doesn’t heal wounds, we do.

it sounds cheesy, but the experience of feeling like you were made to do something can be so real. we delude ourselves into thinking that destiny is tied up with inevitability, when in reality, it’s all about choice.

in my interview at the neighborhood playhouse conservatory for acting, the executive director asked, “why do you want this?” “because i want to fall apart, i want to break myself open. i’ve wanted this so much for my whole life and i’m terrified. and that’s exactly why i need to do it. i’m dying to do it.””dying?!” she said, “that’s great!” 

i remember when i gave up on that dream, i remember when i got quiet, when i got small. listening to the wrong lessons: shrink, disappear, don’t move, don’t speak, don’t make waves, don’t love or own yourself. i turned inward and couldn’t stop reading, couldn’t’ stop writing. i was always writing. at times i couldn’t be alone enough, but i  was part of a big family in new york city where there is no such thing as alone, no such thing as privacy. so, i created a space of aloneness in public space: at school, at home, on the street. in myself. an interior world, an ongoing conversation. i was other people in that world, as i chose. characters from movies, tv shows, books. strong-willed femmes with storied pasts, flawed and reaching, or closed. madame rose and gypsy rose lee. it wasn’t escape, it was immersion. into parallel experiences of feeling: my own and those of characters i admired. this & writing saved my life. & music & drawing.

so much of my exploration of self lately is concerning itself with shame, fear, anxiety. all the ugly parts, all the broken feelings. and when i just allow myself the space to sit with what’s broken, it’s like the shards are puzzle pieces and i wind up putting shit together, tracing the feeling back in time to influences, tracing the influences to lineage. this tapestry of brokenness. and then i get overwhelmed, i get angry because the shame and fear are someone else’s, instilled in me and echoing through the tides of my life from the tides of other lives.  i find myself looking for the first moments i internalized them & realizing that’s the wrong question: when.

when i was a kid i spent my days listening to the same records, watching the same movies obsessively, gobbling guzzling and focused. learning every line, every gesture, every sigh. committing every sound to memory. & i sang & i danced wherever i went. & i dressed up, & i put on my mom and aunts’ makeup, i used to sit on the closed toilet mesmerized as i watched my uncles shave their faces. i used to also revel in the process of shaving legs. the foam and the pink razor and the pink cloth robe. and at age 5, someone let me outta their sight for 2 minutes, and i cut myself “shaving” my face, and on another occasion, i cut myself “shaving” my legs. & i did get in trouble, but also we all laughed about it. & i begged my aunts, uncles, cousins to pretend with me. & i was a freak, i was 7-years-old & obsessed with susan sarandon (from jackson heights, too!). pretending to be her character from bull durham. haha, so inappropriate and strange. i wanted to be an adult so bad & i was called old soul and wise. & my aunt, the movie buff/cinephile, would indulge me and watch all the movies with me. but i was a kid and some experiences were too much. the movies and otherwise.

but, too, i think about how my experiences, traumas even, give me a range of depth and feeling to work with when it comes to acting and art. that what was always so inspiring for me from film/theatre was that ability to create a space where people connect to each others’ feelings and experiences in this really palpable way. that invisible stuff: not just sight & sound, but another sense. that draws you into a life, or a projection of one. a friend of mine joked, “i don’t trust actors. don’t you have to be a sociopath to be one?” “no!! you need to be an empath, i think!” to genuinely engage with a character’s experiences and truthfully represent them. i think the form has so much revolutionary, transformative potential in that way. representation is powerful. to provoke people to feel is powerful. to provoke people to remember or know something they didn’t is powerful. it’s challenging, too.

and expanding on that, just… what viola davis said in her oscar acceptance speech:

there’s one place where all the people with the greatest potential are gathered and that’s the graveyard. people ask me all the time ‘ what kind of stories do you wanna tell, viola?’  and i say, ‘exhume those bodies. exhume those stories. the stories of the people who dreamed. big. and never saw those dreams to fruition. people who fell in love and lost. i became an artist, and thank god i did, because we are the only profession that celebrates what it means to live a life.”

WATCH THE WHOLE SPEECH AND BE MOVED

and as surrounded as i’ve been in my own life by death, by loss, bullshit systems & all they reap in our constellated lives, as much time as i spend in the graveyard myself, i remember what always drew me back to creativity was that: life. wanting to hold onto it, wanting to know what it was all about, wanting to share it, to choose it, wanting to know people. being so alternately enchanted and horrified by what we were capable of— magic & havoc. the triangulation between, magic, havoc, intimacy. ugh, life. even tho we would come to lose it, life, and each other. 

i wonder what it means to want to connect to havoc, to want to represent it. but, sometimes we just want to play evil. i think that’s the fear in me. it’s what i’m afraid of, for sure: exposure, letting it out. driving the impulse to hide. but, then, the opposing desire: to be seen, to release. that impulse to show what you obscure, the snarling parts. the things you keep to yourself. your other powers.

i’ve been so attached to my shadows, i think, while not fully understanding where they were cast from. and how shadow is just a matter of perspective, what point you’re looking from. and nostalgia is a yearning for an old [sense of] home, the past, but when the sun’s ahead of you and you’re looking backward into night, all you see is shadow. blue. not that night isn’t beautiful in its way, or without its virtues. but it’s its own point of perspective, and it isn’t the only one.