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edie-k · 3 years

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Greener Pastures (Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, PG-13)

Title: Greener Pastures

Pairing: Lavender Brown/Mystery Character, Romione, Hinny, Deamus, Past Lavender/Ron, Past Lavender/Seamus

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: At Harry and Ginny's engagement party, Lavender bemoans her single status to a mystery man.

Author's Note: Well, here's an obscure ship for you. Thanks to @adenei for her feedback and kind words!

*************

“I think that proves that for all the complaining I’ve done, Harry, I mean it when I say you are the only one I thought was good enough for my sister,” Ron said from the front of the room, to a chorus of laughter. “So let’s raise a glass to the newly engaged couple!”

From her seat at the bar, Lavender made a face and threw back the remaining contents of her tumblr. Parvati, who was seated next to her, joined the crowd in applauding and cheering Harry and Ginny.

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“That was a nice speech,” commented Parvati.

“Oh, just the best,” muttered Lavender, trying to catch the bartender’s eye.

Parvati shook her head. “I just spotted Adam’s sister. I wanted to ask her about what the expectations are for dress code and stuff at his grandmother’s. All Adam said when I asked him was ‘Whatever’s fine.’ We’re going abroad to meet an entire side of your family I have never met in all the time we’ve been together and you’re telling me whatever is fine.”

“Mmm hmm,” Lavender said, still trying to signal for a drink.

“Are you going to be okay if I-”

“Yes, yes,” said Lavender, sighing. “I’m fine. Sorry if I’m being a drag. Just… that news earlier and then all this… happiness. Go get the dish from Mara so we can go shopping tomorrow.”

Parvati squeezed her friend’s arm before hopping off the stool and wading through the crowd to find Mara. The bartender finally made his way over to her and began to mix her another drink without a word.

At least Adam was out of town on business for the weekend so Lavender didn’t have to third wheel with her best friend and her boyfriend. Because that would have been the only thing more depressing than going to an engagement party with your platonic best friend.

The bartender nudged the glass back to her and she nodded her head in thanks as he made his way back down the bar.

“Is this seat taken?”

Lavender glanced up and met the gaze of a man she’d never seen before.

“Uh, no, be my guest,” she said. “Although be warned that I am shitty company.”

The man chuckled as he sat down on the stool. “I highly doubt that but I’m game to find out.”

Lavender looked at him again. She didn’t recognize him, which was shocking because even though the venue was full, Lavender had thought she would know everyone here. Harry and Ginny were obviously incredibly popular so they had kept tight controls on who was included on the guest list.

The man signaled for the bartender and Lavender took the opportunity to give him a once over. The guy was huge - not in an overweight or bodybuilder type way. He was just tall and solid. Other than her first boyfriend, her preference was tall guys. She was 5”8’ herself and preferred to wear heels when she could so aesthetically, it was nice for her companion to have some height. Nice eyes, cute face. He had dark blond hair and was dressed in a dark blue Muggle button down shirt and black trousers with no robes. Since the war had ended, Muggle style had become popular with the wizards in her age group. Harry, who was raised by Muggles, was always more comfortable in that style of clothing and Ron, who she knew was dressed primarily by Hermione and Hermione’s mum, followed suit. And whatever that little Trio did, everyone else did and for Merlin’s sake, Ron Weasley was now a fucking fashion icon. Lavender took a big swig of her drink.

“It’s a nice party,” said the man. Lavender nodded as the bartender approached. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

The bartender made another drink before placing it in front of the man. He went to reach for his pocket when Lavender noticed a look of panic cross his face. Before she could say anything, the bartender waved him away. “Mr. Potter has the tab covered tonight.”

“Well,” he said, his face relaxed again. He turned back to Lavender. “Should we follow Red’s instructions and toast the happy couple?” The two clinked glasses. “It was a nice speech.”

Lavender snorted.

“You disagree?”

“I’d have thought his wife wrote it for him but there was too much swearing for her to have had a hand,” Lavender said. Then she wiped the palms of her hands down her face. “Ugh, ignore me. It actually was a very touching and funny speech. I’m just in an ugly mood and I have a bit of a history with Ron so I’m being mean for no reason.”

“You dated him?” the man guessed. She nodded. “Huh, he said in the speech that he’d loved his wife since he was 13.”

“And I dated him when we were 16 so…”

“Hence the ugliness,” finished the man.

“Hence the ugliness,” Lavender repeated. “I’m over it, really. Hermione and I shared a room for six years and are better friends now than we ever were at school. As for Ron, that was just some stupid school kid bullshit on both our parts. It’s more that I didn’t realize that my only opportunity to find love was going to be at Hogwarts. If I had known that, I’d have made better choices or… maybe taken Arithmancy to secure a better paying job to support my lonely life.”

“What do you mean?” the man asked.

“Everyone I know, they’re married or engaged or about to be engaged to the person that they dated at Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny dated at school, Neville and Hannah somehow started to date during our last year during the war. My best friend Parvati and her boyfriend dated our sixth year at Hogwarts and then he fled with his Muggle family overseas but they started right back up again when he came back to England. See that girl over there, the pregnant one?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Parvati’s sister. That’s her second kid cooking. She’s married to her prefect partner, Anthony. I guess technically, Ron and Hermione didn’t date at Hogwarts but -”

“He’s loved her since he was 13,” the man said amused.

“Yeah. I’m the only one that couldn’t make it out with a relationship intact.” she moaned, taking another drink.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Lavender took another long drink and contemplated his statement. “You know what? You’re right. Ginny, she also had a relationship that didn’t work out. Do you see that tall bloke over in the corner that she’s talking to?”

The man glanced in the direction Lavender was referring to. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s Dean. He was the guy that Ginny dated before Harry. Now, do you see that cute little Irishman standing next to Dean?”

The man nodded.

“That’s Seamus. He was my ex-boyfriend before Ron. And now he’s Dean’s husband. Met in school, by the way.”

“Oh,” said the man, taken aback.

Lavender narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a problem with that? Because despite the fact that Seamus is just one more example of my inability to keep a boyfriend, I will defend those men and their amazing relationship to the death from any bigot that threatens it.”

“No, no!” the man sputtered. “I’m just… I went to an all-boys school and I knew gay guys but they all hid it and I’m just not used to people being open about it. It’s fine - more than fine. Good for them! I mean, hey, they found each other and are leaving more beautiful women for the rest of us, right?”

“Merlin, I wish I could find a beautiful woman,” Lavender moaned, burying her face in her hands. The bartender seemed to take this as a signal that she needed another drink and provided her with a refill.

“Oh, are you… interested in women?” she heard him ask.

“No,” she moaned. “You must think I’m insane.” Lavender put both her hands on the man’s arm that was closest to her. “I promise that I am not hung up on some school romance from five years ago. It’s just that, if you knew Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts… did you know Seamus or Ron at Hogwarts?”

The man shook his head.

“Okay, so if you knew them, you would know that they were both totally immature prats. After I broke up with Seamus, I thought he was the worst boyfriend ever. He was always running off to spend time with his mates, talking about Quidditch, no interest in spending time with me, dumb jokes. But then, then I dated Ron, who was even worse than him. The only thing he wanted to do with me was snog and I think that was some weird power move with Hermione or his sister… who knows. I have to be way more drunk to psychoanalyze Ron Weasley. Anyway, the last month we were together, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he wanted to ditch me for Hermione but was just too much of a coward. And yet somehow, both of those idiots ended up married before me! And it’s not like they got married to some random person that they knocked up after a one night stand. Ron eloped with his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was in love with all through school and the entire time we were dating and Seamus… oh for Godric’s sake.”

Lavender paused in her tirade for a moment. “Seamus also married his wonderful, talented, brilliant best friend that he was probably in love with all through school AND the entire time we were dating. How am I just realizing that?” Lavender groaned, banging her head on the bar.

“Can wizards knock up other wizards?” asked the man. Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter.

“Oh, thank you for that,” she giggled. “I was spiralling.”

“Uh, yeah, no worries,” said the man, shifting in his seat.

“It’s just that this dating stuff is really hard. The wizarding world is so small, you know? I think it’s why everyone locks in with their soulmate at school, ” Lavender commiserated.

“Have you ever considered dating like, outside the wizarding world?” the man asked.

Lavender shook her head. “How could I? It’s tough enough here. After all the Prophet spotlights on battle injuries and such, everyone knows how I got all these awful scars on my face but it still takes a certain type of man to look past them. And I’m sure there are Muggles that aren't shallow about them either but they would ask how I got them. How would I explain them to a Muggle? I can’t just say ‘Oh during a war at my school, a werewolf tried to rip me to shreds. But don’t worry, I’m not a werewolf although I have some side effects from it.’ They’d think I was insane.”

“Uh, yeah, that does sound a bit… daunting,” the man admitted, looking a bit pale.

“I mean, I’m still a catch. I’m funny, I have a great rack, I make excellent scones, and I’m amazing in bed.” At that comment, she heard the man next to her choke a little and she stifled a smile to continue on. “And even if I could get away with not explaining it to a man, once I meet his family, there’s no way. In my experience, mothers are always trying to find a reason to hate the woman that’s dating their special baby boy. I can’t imagine a Muggle mother taking very kindly to a literal witch with werewolf scars.”

“Yes,” sighed the man before giving a little chuckle. “I can certainly see that. And with all of the, you know, war stuff, I can see where you wish you had a school sweetheart.”

Lavender shook her head and drained the rest of her drink. “Seamus and Ron are just easy targets. I really am not hung up on them. This is about Don.”

“Who’s Don?”

“Don is my last boyfriend. We dated exclusively for eight months and he was so fun and thoughtful and generous. But he never said I love you. He kept telling me that he was too young to settle down and, I believed that he thought that. I really did. So we split in December because we wanted different things.”

“Ah,” said the man. “Seems sensible.”

“And then this morning, I see it in The Daily Prophet.”

“See what?”

“His engagement announcement,” she wailed, throwing herself on the bar again and almost upsetting her glass.

The man patted her on the shoulder. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how long they’ve been dating?” Lavender asked.

“Eight months?” ventured the man.

“FIVE!” Lavender cried.

“Maybe he knocked her up?” suggested the man.

Lavender looked up at him and burst into laughter again. “Merlin, you’re funny. Why am I whinging about all these dolts I’ve surrounded myself with when I should get to know you better?”

“Yeah?” said the man with a grin.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, if you want-”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “A funny, beautiful woman wants to get to know me better - the answer is always yes. I do need a refill. Do you want one? You’re not driving home, are you?”

Lavender giggled.

The man shook his head and looked embarrassed. “Oh, right, you wouldn’t be driving. You would uh - ”

“You must be a Muggle born. Do- I mean, I’ve heard others say that before. Those habits die hard.”

“Actually,” the man took a deep breath. “I’m a Muggle.”

Lavender’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck does a Muggle get invited to the engagement party of the Chosen One and a pureblood Quidditch player?”

“Well, Harry’s my cousin,” the man said. “My name’s Dudley.”

***************

“Do you see that over there?” asked Hermione, nudging Ron. He turned away from his conversation with Neville and Charlie to see what his wife was gesturing to across the room.

“Is that Dudley Dursley chatting up Lavender?” Ron asked, as his eyes landed on the sight before him.

“It appears to be,” said Hermione. “Merlin, they are really flirting. Should we go over there and say something? A warning or...?”

“Right,” said Ron. “Absolutely we should. Which one of them are we warning?”

#lavender brown #lavender deserved better #side hinny #romione fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #romione #deamus #hp fanfic

23 notes · View notes

rpbetter · 3 years

Note

I'm a novella roleplayer who writes long-term threads. Since this is very rare on tumblr, I've noticed that many muns are intimidated or put off by how much I write, how much information there is on my muse, and other things inherent to long-term roleplay. People have even told me outright, "I'm intimidated by you". But I do wonder if there's another component besides, well, just the amount of writing I do. Maybe there's a way to negate some of this by using certain techniques, wording, etc in my rules and overall presentation. Do you have any advice on how to reduce how intimidating I seem, even with the amount of writing I do? Any particular things I should avoid? And at what point should I just not worry about it, because it's out of my control?

Hello, Anon! Thank you very much for this question, I think it's a discussion many could benefit from. That should probably be head's up for everyone that this is going to get long, yes.

People have also told me, outright, that they're "intimidated," and I know that's something my writing partners have been told as well. It's also something that seems to be a common statement toward novella roleplayers in particular, and one's chance of having it said increases with factors such as being a long-term RPer, particularly good vocabulary, visible skill with writing, and indeed, having a muse you've dedicated obvious time to developing - made obvious in not only the amount of information available on your muse but also in your confidence about that muse.

I honestly do not think most people who say this any more realize that it's a little offensive than they know precisely what it is they are trying to tell you. Regardless, it makes it a bit hard to know what you're doing, if it's actually something wrong, is it something you can or should change, or is it just another case of being the minority in the RPC, therefore, having more muns out there that you're not suited to writing with? No one knows, because it's vague!

So, I’m additionally going to beg everyone out there to not say this. Please, if you find yourself categorizing another RPer as “intimidating,” do everyone a favor and consider what is making you feel this way, even if you never tell them this. Eventually, you will tell someone, and if you’ve thought on it already, you’ll be better able to express yourself in a way that is neither offensive nor vague. If you do tell someone they are “intimidating,” expand on it and be specific. Tell them whether it is the length, writing style, the mun OOC, it’ll be very helpful. You needn’t be shitty about it, just honest and polite.

Try: “I’m not confident enough to write with you, I don’t feel like I’m capable of writing that much, or that well, but I would love to keep following so I can read it!”

You’ve not been offensive at all, but have told them what your difficulty is. You’ve also kept this a you problem, not a them problem. When we tell people they are “intimidating,” that is a negative connotation that implies they are doing something wrong. We've made it a Them Problem. Maybe there is something they could work on, but your feelings over perceived limitations aren’t their problem. They can’t change the way you feel about yourself and your writing in contrast to theirs. By saying it this way, it’s still clear that you don’t think this will work out, you’ve told them why, and you’ve done it without projecting responsibility.

Alright, sorry, just in case anyone out there who says this and isn’t immediately turned off by the length of this reads it.

As I said, I've been told this as well, when it seemed like a mun that would be alright with me asking for specifics, I have. Unfortunately, they couldn't describe those specifics in any more detailed terms. I'm not saying this to shame anyone's capacity to describe their impressions or wishes, sometimes even the best writers aren't good at expressing themselves more personally. I'm just saying that a clearer description wasn't possible, and that I am taking this from what has been expressed by these people and others in limited ways, directly stated or vented about vaguely.

The length appears to be the predominating issue.

"It's just a lot," "I feel like I'd miss things in it," "intense," and "I like quicker back and forth" are some of the major points that have been made to or around me. They're the first and primary things that are mentioned, and they all deal with the length (though, the intensity thing also deals with the writing itself).

As you already know, as a novella RPer and how unpopular that is, the length is usually an issue, yes. Let me rephrase that - it is an issue that is a part of the vague descriptor of being "intimidating," I do not feel that lengthy RP itself is a problem! Just the problem that some muns are having with seeing you as a viable, approachable RP partner.

Looking at someone's writing is something I always highly advise doing while looking for new partners, but I believe that our writing as novella RPers can obscure it for some when they're not actively a writing partner yet, thus, not involved in it. I enjoy reading threads I am not a part of, and since everyone I write with is also novella, that means I'm essentially reading short stories every time I do - that's not typical. Most people just see Wall of Text in a novella thread they're not involved in.

It's kind of a seeing the individual trees in a forest situation, and might not have anything to do with the mun's potential interest or viability as a partner. I mean, I doubt you're looking to engage interest of short multi-para or one-line muns, since that isn't your preferred writing type and yours is not theirs. So, you're likely looking at the few and far between other novella and any lengthier multi-para muns. So, it's not going to be an issue of simply being novella, thus immensely overwhelming and not their thing. It's more likely to be that your novella is particularly lengthy, and again, they're not yet involved in it. They’re seeing a task, not the fun engagement of it yet.

I know that I've had several mid to lengthier multi-para muns approach me wanting to write, they're usually interested specifically in beginning to move toward doing novella. They also see the fruits of these great storylines, OOC friendships, and in-thread relationships on the dash, not the building that went into them. The expectation is different from the reality, and once they start receiving my replies, that can quickly turn overwhelming. They've now got something on their hands that has been too lengthy for other, established novella writers, and it's all at the beginning still with the muses.

This is when I tend to get that I'm intimidating from people who have begun to write with me, and I think it is telling of the Wall of Text problem with partners you've not gained yet, too. The problem of how they're viewing the writing is that they do not see things within it that are immediately, and easily, engaging to them specifically.

The people I referenced, they're having the same problem. Our muses do not know each other, there is no established connection of animosity or affection, no "dynamic" to fuel their replies. When looking at a lengthy novella reply and trying to judge interest in writing with the mun, they're naturally not going to see that either, since it doesn't exist yet.

And it might not exist at all.

I want to be clear to everyone that I am not saying one needs to write in a way that is not enjoyable to them, I'm just guessing at problems based on the majority of the RPC's interests and what I have been told over the years, a lot of years. Like, no one come at me about forcing anyone to write anything, or being acephobic or something fucking nuts, thanks!

People are really, really into the romantic ships. I do not care what the RPC says because it knows it's the right thing to say lol if it wasn't true, it wouldn't be a huge, and totally observable as true, problem that characters who are hard to ship with or do not ship are passed over. Regardless of beautiful writing, engaging muses, and incredible worldbuilding, they're passed over because they're not a ship partner in the waiting.

So, it's quite possible that if you do not have threads in which there are observable ships, muns are seeing the Wall of Text because there's nothing that grabs at their particular interests. I don't even just mean smut, either. I've found that far more muns than there used to be are willing to not write that, but they still want the ships.

You might be a RPer who does not do shipping at all, has a difficult to ship with muse, or who simply does not place this as a priority in your own interests. There is nothing wrong with either direction of this preference! It’s alright for people to have preferences, even if they can feel annoying to us because they’re leaving us out, or we genuinely just do not get the thrill. It’s totally okay for people to not be interested in shipping, or not place a particularly high value on it, and more muns than the RPC realizes feel this way. It’s as unpopular, and far more limiting, take on RP as being here openly only for them is. There’s nothing wrong with you as a writer or a person if you don’t write ships and smut, but it is the opposite of many people’s interests here. This would be something you can’t control, yeah. It’s still good to know as a part of the puzzle!

They see a lot of things they do not have any instant feelings about and/or what they perceive as interaction points. As, unfortunately, the predominant mode of writing here is reactive, and in brutal honesty, often self-interested. It's not rewarding to many muns in this RPC to build stories cooperatively together for the sake of those stories and love of the muses, they require putting their muse on display, having impassioned interactions through that muse's reactions.

So, you might be writing the most vivid scenes, the most beautiful character study, and letting your muse be a fleshed out, realistic person, but they're seeing "I can't react to this."

Which is, by the way, bullshit. Not just that it's bullshit as a way to try to write together, it's also bullshit in that you can react to anything. You can react to, literally, nothing. If you're muse has said not a word to mine for an entire reply, not physically interacted with them, they're just sitting there in a chair staring off into space (also not a great way to write, but I'm giving an extreme example) the whole time, I can react to that.

To be fair, my primary muse is really uh, busy, let's say lol it does make him both incredibly easy to interact with and very easy to generate natural reactions from. And that might also be a problem people are having...

Your muse is quiet.

They're the opposite of someone who is physically or verbally “busy.” They think more than they move or speak, they remain at emotional, verbal, and physical distances from others. The quiet, and still, type on the outside.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that, I love reading a muse's internal processes because I'm approaching this as a reader as much as I am a writer. It doesn't need to be something my muse can know or react to for me to enjoy it, I want to enjoy your muse, other people's muses are part of the joy of RP for me. And not just in what I might achieve having mine interact with them. There are muses mine very, very much did not work out with that I have continued to enjoy the stories of for years without writing with them!

But that's me. And I'm weird.

A lot of people are going to look at the sort of writing, particularly when not involved with it yet, and see...Words. Maybe they don't find them boring or any such thing, but they can't so easily envision themselves responding to it with the sort of vigor required to reply with length in kind. It's again the same dual issue going on that might just be making your writing difficult to approach.

It might be legitimately daunting, and might be more so if...

You're well-written.

One would think this would be a boon to written roleplay, but I haven't seen it be that in a long time. On tumblr, that has weirdly come to signify "elitism."

It's not just more legitimately intimidating for some out there because they feel they cannot write as well as you, might appear lacking or boring, end up dropped because of it. No, of course not! It's tumblr, where decent behavior as well as logic comes to die! It's because they've gotten the idea that you might be shitty to them because you posses more experience, skill, or innate talent with writing.

That's not helped when every time someone is told on any basis at all, in any manner at all, or one has any existent expectations for RPing that someone else might take issue with as though they're being forced to comply with them instead of not interacting, people freak out and call it elitism. Since most people who choose to be mutuals only and as such, are going to have to decline sometimes, are also those who are lengthier RPers...we're all categorized as Elitists.

People see what works for us as different kinds of RPers as something that is in opposition to them, and judgement of them. We can’t have scores of active partners when we write ten thousand word or more replies to everyone, it doesn’t work for us, and that doesn’t mean we think you’re an awful RPer for doing this differently than we do. We’re just exercising boundaries that are necessary for the way we enjoy it. Like how much length in return, literacy, and dedication we’re going to give and expect in return. It isn’t passing judgement, but when you want to write with a particular portrayal and they’re limited threads, mutuals only, novella and it shuts you out of the interaction, it’s easy to agree with the posts you’ve seen condemning differences of choice as elitist and hateful.

While you'd hope that people would exercise their own judgement, with the way that the RPC is so often on edge, you can't entirely blame people for being willing to believe they can identity a potential source of unpleasantness to avoid. As wild as it is, that includes people within the novella community. Your OOC is too well-spoken, your writing is too well-written? Might be an elitist. Even while they write much the same way as you do without realizing it!

I think when most people say someone here is "intimidating," it's not exactly what they mean, but for others, it's more literal than it is literary.

If you have any reason to believe this might be part of the issue, while I would never advise anyone to alter their writing to be something they personally feel is lesser than what they're capable of, you might want to consider a greater air of the casual in any OOC posts you make. Try to be as approachable there as you can - so long as that doesn't mean lying about it, of course! If we're genuinely not that gregarious or socially open, we shouldn't act like that's the case. That sets up one party with expectations that are neither true nor going to prove anything but frustrating to the other party.

I've had some success with that! And, even at my most casual, I'm not the most approachable of people lol I come off as rather intense, kind of aggressive, way too salty, curses flow from me like water during a monsoon, interspersed with...well, things like "interspersed." So, if I've seen success with that, it's possible that muns who are more genuinely gregarious, chill, and verbally polite people might see it as well!

It seems to be a case of allowing other muns the opportunity to see that you, yourself, are not frightening. You're just a person like they are, and a person who isn't going to be hateful to them if they are not perfect writers or perfectly on your level of writing. When that is apparent, approaching the writing itself is more openly done - yes, this mun has a grasp on description/dialogue/vocabulary/descriptive scenes that I do not, but they don't aggressively think they're the shit for it, so, it's safe for me to try to interact.

The Wall of Words that was once a poster for how badly they might be treated is now a collection of RP replies.

Write for the partners you want to attract.

Again, I do not want anyone to stop writing in the way they enjoy! However, what we put out is also what we attract to a large degree. It could be that your writing is an attractant for only a very small portion of the RPC, and it already is, by virtue of being both novella and the sort of novella it is.

That's very easy to do anyway, but even more so if we have few partners to write with. What we have on display is minimal, it might not have the range we're actually capable of, and therefore, might not be attracting that range of muns.

This is something I have experienced as well, though it was a little different a situation. Upon first writing RP on tumblr, I couldn't find anyone writing novella. I could barely find anyone doing short multi-para. Just as I'd find it inappropriate for someone approaching me to insist that I do one-line RP because it's what they do, I didn't find it appropriate to force novella on these muns. That's what I agreed to by interacting with them, after all! It isn't what I enjoy doing, however, it's harder for me to write short replies, so, I was consistently on the lookout for novella partners.

Those novella partners couldn't exactly see decades of my lengthy RPs, though, since they didn't take place on tumblr. They could only see the current threads, which were all quite short and rather limited in range of action, tone, muse interaction, and so on. Basically, just about whatever someone was willing to give me, and those things were pretty similar. I couldn't exactly blame potential partners for looking at this "resume" and thinking that I just thought I wanted to write novella, but was capable of neither that nor the sort of stories I wished to create.

Since I couldn't find partners to organically give me these different things, I wrote them sans partners. Much of this was in headcanon form, showing that I had spent quite a long time thinking about my canon character as more than was presented in canon only, as well as showing that I could string more than a paragraph together, but it seems like you've got the muse information down, so this might not be the best direction for you.

That might be the other thing I wrote to this end: one shots.

Especially as I do not do open starters as someone who requires some plotting, these served as a way of allowing various situations to be displayed in which other muns could better see what interacting with my muse was actually like. They could see that this truly is the way I'd prefer to write, this is a better display of my muse under various conditions and emotions, and this is how interacting with my muse as this or that type of person might go.

I don't know if you have a canon, OC, or multiples of both, but it also seemed to be helpful that I took canon events people might be familiar with and wrote snippets of them from my muse's perspective - yes, even if they were already in those events, it shows your unique portrayal. People like that for the same reason they like fanfic, a dozen people can write a canon event and give you a dozen different takes on it. It meant that they'd be more likely to read it at all, too, let's be honest.

If you have an OC, you can flesh out a fandom-specific verse they have by writing such a one shot revolving around a fandom event. I'd say not to directly insert your OC into a major canon event, but if you're going to anyway, be sure you are giving realistic changes that might occur with this character's presence in that event. Not going overboard and making them the thing that saves the day, not just having them there in the midst of some great cataclysm miraculously surviving to bear witness only. It's still my advice to place them within that world and have them aware of an event.

Something like...trying to think of a fandom and event the most people would be familiar with here...your OC is in the MCU or has a verse there, they're employed as a police officer with the NYPD - tell me what they did at work the day of the invasion in New York City in the 2012 Avengers. Did they see superheroes in the distance while they and their fellow officers were engaged in a situation they were in no way equipped to handle? And how did your OC feel about that?

That sort of thing.

If it's a canon, try to think of a situation that isn't represented among your current threads, but that is also going to be of interest potential partners. If you have few threads showing your muse in friendship with another, find something in their canon that does. No threads with much action, go for that. Show an aspect of your muse that was present when they were younger, but that is downplayed in them now. Show some things that will be new information from your unique portrayal, and do all of this while displaying your range as a writer - you can be more serious or more fun, can destroy someone with angst or make them hope a ship works out well.

This way, you're showing people what all they might get, not just what you've been given to work with. That can go a long way toward negating feelings of "intimidation" if all they're seeing is you doing one thing extremely well, so well that they feel they cannot compete with it. So, yeah, write the things you feel you're not good at, too! It puts people at ease to see you're not perfect either.

As regards rules...

Oh, boy...lmao with no intent to inflame anyone's righteousness here, so long as your rules are conveying what you feel they should, they're fine. I'm not going to say that rules cannot be a turn off, that you shouldn't find a voice that is clear, polite, and when it needs to be, firm. It's simply that you do not come off as someone who needs to be told that, Anon. If you're worried about how your rules might sound, they're almost certainly fine.

However, rules are the way they are for a reason - if you feel like you're coming off as too strict, harsh, whatever, there might be a reason why that was your first inclination. If you remake them to be softer, are you going to run into the same problems that caused you to harden them before?

I know, you're trying to attract people and downplay a notion of being "intimidating," but it's important to realize that, short of either finding a way to please everyone who comes across them or telling everyone to do whatever they please, you have no opinions, expectations, or needs, you're going to put people off. I've seen people be incredibly offended by the nicest of rules simply because they were rules. They were still clearly stated boundaries that did not align with what was desired.

For example, if I were to have in my RP rules the following:

My rules are basically just have fun and don't be a dick! This is just a hobby, I'm not paying you.

That's going to turn some people off and anger them because that's, firstly, incredibly vague, secondly, the latter part has become seriously negative.

If I were to have in my RP rules this:

I have a lot of detailed rules because I want to only write with people who will be as dedicated to it as I am, I'd rather we know now than later that we're not a good match before anyone is disappointed or offended!

That's going to turn some people off and anger them because it is contrary to the way they view and partake in the hobby. To these people, it'll come off as ridiculous expectations that are aggressive despite the wording not being so.

The point is, because this is a hobby dependent upon interacting with other people, there is a lot that is out of your control.

I probably should have done a better segue to this, but hey - most of this is out of your control.

By its very nature of individuals interacting, what is "intimidating" means different things to everyone. What I find to be that, isn't going to be what you find to be so. You can't know what someone, let alone everyone who says this, means by it in order to make those changes.

Some of those changes are a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation, like the rules.

Other changes are undesirable. You, obviously, cannot RP without partners, but it's no good making changes that will see the partners you won't work with being added, or that will ruin the things you enjoy about RP. If changing your writing style is going to do that, don't do it. If opening up new types of plots is going to do so, don't do it. Anything that is going to excessively give you stress or personal disappointment isn't a change you should make. That’s the sort of shit that was meant by it being “just a hobby” in the beginning - you’re not obliged to make yourself miserable like you are at a job sometimes, and you aren’t beholden to the standards of a professional author unless you wish to be.

It's wonderful that you're addressing this problem from the perspective of what you can do! The idea of changing much of anything is a negative one to many people. They have to be carefully approached to even consider that as a possibility, and once they do, it's more often than not that the reaction is volatile. We never think we're perfect until someone so much as loosely implies we might need work on something. So, your willingness and interest in what you can do to fix something nebulous is both incredible and a credit to how approachable you probably are in all actuality.

It bodes really well, is what I'm saying lol or...it would, if this were not the environment that it is. One in which people do react with volatility to anything that does not go exactly and immediately the way they desire. Including wanting to interact with a particular muse, then seeing that the mun doesn't write in their preferred style, length, or with their desired topics.

Many times, that's really what is meant by "intimidating." It isn't truly that they're afraid of you or your writing, but rather, that they're not getting exactly what they think they want, in the way they want, on the timeline they want. But they don't want to be offensive, they're walking on eggshells like most everyone is when telling someone, "I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll work out" is tantamount to personally attacking them.

So, giving what they feel is a compliment that still shuts down the possibility of someone trying to push for interaction anyway, that becomes the best approach. They're not giving you specifics because no, they may not even know those specifics, it might just be the feeling your writing gives them, but they're also not giving them when they have them because they don't want to be unfairly taken to task for the crime of being honest with you. After all, when we don't know someone OOC yet, we don't know that they're a reasonable person. Telling someone, "I like what you're doing, I love your muse, but the tone of your writing isn't something I can reply to, it's just too different," might have them defensively putting words in your mouth.

As I said, asking someone for details didn't get me very far. I've had to try to piece together what "intimidating" means to many different people over the years by what they tell me in conversations away from the mun they said was thus more than anything. So, don't expect that you'll get much either, but next time someone tells you this, if they seem like someone who won't take as you pressing for interaction and react badly, ask them to give you specifics. Tell them you'd like to know what makes you intimidating to them so that you can work on it, that it would really help you out to know. Make it about them helping you, not declining you.

Just going off of the only writing I have from you, which is definitely not sufficient (if you'd like, you can always submit a portion of your in character writing or tumblr message me some of it so that I might be able to be more effective) since it's both short and OOC, I'd say people might feel that you're not...relaxed? Not entirely the word I am looking for, I apologize! But something in that vein!

It doesn't come off like you're frighteningly or excessively official to me, but knowing tumblr, I can see it. Because you are quite well-spoken, and even in this casual format, you are displaying good grammar and principle. Fifteen years ago, I might have also felt something like “intimidated" by you!

Like everywhere, tumblr is full of educational snobbery. Which is insane, considering it's also full of crimes against writing that make me want to rip my hair out, but anyway...the mark of being authoritative is to display one's intellect the only way we truly can here - by suddenly out writing everyone. If we're already establishing ourselves as well-spoken muns, we've laid the foundation of being capable of utterly destroying someone publicly by shaming them on a core level.

Tumblr is also full of people who are not at a point of life experience, and the writing experience accrued within it, to use what they've learned in the higher education the majority have or are presently obtaining. It's easy for younger people to feel pre-offended by someone who writes with more skill and confidence than they do. They've bought into the notion of such validations of superiority, but they can't quite lay those down upon themselves yet, or see that they’re capable of this and it doesn’t make them an elitist, so, it’s absurd to assume everyone else is on the same pretext.

Please, everyone here under, like, 25, I'm not shaming you. I've obviously long internalized it as well! When I'm angry, I don't become less articulate, I become more so. That probably says something unpleasant about how well I understand this problem. So, don't be offended. It's a societal problem, we're all impacted by it. It just takes a little bit to realize these things is what I'm saying here. Not that you're dumb and malicious because you're young and learning.

With this in mind, it's very possible that some younger muns, or muns who have otherwise been given cause to feel they are lesser than you because of your proper writing, might be intimidated by it. Part of that is also that proper writing, and verbal speech, can come off as lacking warmth. It can be impersonal, give fewer clues as to someone's tone when that's already lacking in writing that isn't descriptive, as in an RP thread itself.

Again, I always have a bit of an issue recommending someone change something vital about themselves, and one's mode of writing is that. However, you might want to consider giving way to some indicators of not being official in your OOC behavior toward others. It's something that I did, something I will admit I still struggle with as well. I'm not naturally inclined to add things like a :) or a xD because I have some problems conveying those things either correctly or organically in person. If I'm not either, literally, acting or feeling something intensely, I'm the grand master of resting bitch face no matter what I'm feeling.

As a quick on-the-safe-side interruption: people, please, I am aware that some forms of neurodivergence can exhibit in struggles with understanding and conveying tone, as can be the side effect of some medications and physical conditions. It’s possible that you have this difficulty, Anon, it’s possible that some of the people you have approached do. Advising how to work on understanding and conveying tone with these difficulties in mind is a huge post of its own, however. (Though, if people might be interested in it, I can add it to the list, of course.) All we can do is try our best, work on it, and if we know we have this issue, politely warn partners in your rules so they know you’re not coming off less emotive and warm intentionally. You’re not thinking yourself in an ivory tower above them. I so do not want to be bitched at about how advising someone in ways to be more approachable in text is ableist, just don’t. I don’t know you, Anon, so I don’t know what difficulties you may or may not have, if you do have some complication that is impacting this in your own opinion, please, just send another ask and I can work with that information more specifically!

It's also...it grates on my nerves when people text speak, I'm not going to lie. So, forcing myself to do anything too close to it feels like someone has separated the halves of my brain. I do it because it can make people more comfortable, I don't sound like a damn robot like I easily can when trying to explain something with a lot of specifics, for example.

What was easier was letting go of the inhibition of writing conversationally. That is always something that is advised against intensely, it isn't proper writing. Don't write like you speak, and all that. It's often been my inclination to write conversationally, even if I struggled to let the hell go and actually do it, and when I allowed myself to do so, people responded to it much better. It's something I get compliments on as a part of what can make my storytelling immersive, humorous, relatable, and frightening. (Just so that the last bit there isn't confounding - in addition to the professional writing that sometimes pays for my internet, I write horror lol...now y'all know! I deal in "freak shit," I'm sure.)

People responded to me much better. I still get that my writing is intimidating, but it tends to be over length and wording more than being wholly unapproachable. Too like trying to respond to a novel that most people would only listen to if it was about a character they were deeply into and read by an actor they were also deeply into. There seems to be a more natural engagement with the material for more people this way.

I'm only using this as an example of something I found that worked to some degree in making me more approachable, meant to say that there might be something that you would enjoy, unique to yourself, that would make your writing more approachable for more muns. I'm in no way recommending that you, or anyone else, try to go with what I did! That isn't going to work out for everyone, of course. It isn't everyone's solution in those specifics, just the idea that following what people have expressed they especially enjoy about your writing could be a good path.

Other things to consider:

When you have obtained a new partner who says this not in declining further interaction, but within a conversation or one of those interaction memes, especially if you are writing them a starter at this time, experiment with what you can do in your writing that makes it more approachable. I say “experiment” because this is another point of individuality, it's naturally going to vary like everything else.

Like I said above a few times, most people approach RP in terms of reaction. And, again too, that's part of RP. I didn't say it earlier because I felt like that was obvious, but after considering...how tumblr is, I probably should say it. It is necessary to have things to react to in order to build the interaction between muses and their world. I believe in the “yes, and” method and having things to react to. My meaning by saying that people approach RP in terms of reactions was that people excessively do so. Their muses have trouble existing fully in their own right sometimes, they literally require multiple points of possible reaction.

So, give it to them while you’re figuring each other’s writing out.

When you're writing your starter or replies, give them what I call Actionable Points in unexpected places. For example, when your muse is doing as I said earlier, sitting in their chair, having Deep Thoughts they're not expecting any action within, give them something in the environment itself to interact with. Perhaps there is a pet, an insect, temperature change, or sound for their muse to notice.

He was still, as though the animating force of his very soul had flown. So entrapping were his thoughts that the ladybug making its way across the floor, technically before his eyes, escaped notice. No notice, even as it briefly took flight like a tiny, skipping stone across water, headed for where his attention would truly prefer to light as well.

Which would be, of course, the other muse in the room. They can't interact with the things in your muse's mind that you're revealing to the mun, but they can have their attention jump to the insect. They can also react to your muse’s facial expressions, most people make micro-expressions even while in thought, but this isn’t as active or available.

Just small, simple possibilities that make no difference to the immediate happenings in the thread. They can become things of great difference, that's half the fun of it! How something like a bug can alter the course of a thread's trajectory is really cool to see happen.

By doing this, feeding multiple Actionable Points into the reply, you're giving someone who feels intimidated by the thread's length and weight more points to feel active within it. If they can see themselves interactively within the text of the story, it's less intimidating I've found.

Eventually, people relax and start creating these points for themselves. They're now part of this story and its direction, so they organically see things within it. While their muse is in the room with the Chair Muse, they notice a ladybug on the floor themselves because they feel comfortable and confident enough to create that sort of realistic moment.

Most of my experiments of this nature have had that objective - make my writing partner feel more confident about their writing, muse, themselves. It either works out wonderfully, or...you can spoon-feed some people actions, ideas, and confidence forever without them ever taking up the spoon themselves (some people will totally miss the spoon every time, even). At the latter point, if they're still feeling unconfident about writing with you, "intimidated," it's never going to change. It might be better that this be addressed as something that simply isn't going to work out for either of you.

Because it can become tiresome to do this. Tiresome and disheartening, and you never want to set yourself up to feel like you've wasted your effort and energy. That's a great way to experience burnout and frustration.

Another thing to make yourself, and by nature of that, your writing, more approachable and available is to put out a decent variety of memes for people to send you and engaging in tagging games. Not only do these not need to be writing memes like starters, it's better that they are not! If someone is intimidated by you/your writing, they're not going to engage with a meme meant to begin a thread.

Reblog memes that are meant to be answered OOC like headcanon asks, writing asks, and asks about the mun. Do tag games with tests in them, bolding aesthetics or other information, and those that give details about the muse...or even yourself, there are Munday versions as well!

The point of doing this is to show people you want to interact with them, neither you nor your writing is scary and removed from the vox populi of the RPC. You're not someone with so much skill that you're above such common pursuits. You're just another RPer with the same things of interest as they do - enjoying yourself whether it's something silly like a quiz that tells you what coffee your muse would be or an in-depth headcanon. Just another mun who loves their muse and wants interactions with them.

This, too, is something I tried, and it might have been the most successful thing I did. It's even easier to do these days, as more muns don't just tag people outright, but rather, offer that anyone can take it, they just want to be tagged back so they can see the results. You don't have to wait for someone who neither knows you nor knows whether you'd be alright with being tagged to tag you in them anymore!

And as an aside, this is why I encourage that. I've seen some muns out there taking issue with it, thinking it lazy and less interactive for people to be forgoing tagging others in it. Yes, it is unfortunate that you might miss such a game from a mutual or friend, but you do realize you can go to their blog anytime? You can search their tag for these kinds of dash games, or scroll what you missed while you were away, and I recommend doing that anyway with close friends because tumblr's notifs are perpetually screwed.

It's not less inclusive, it's more so. I think it could even go a distance toward lessening the illusion that all friendships in the RPC are "cliques." Instead of the same five muns, none of whom are you, being tagged every time because they occur more quickly to the mun who interacts with them often, there is an open invitation for you to do it. It allows muns to be more visible to those they haven't established friendships with yet and allows others to put themselves out there as approachable and interested.

Alright, back on topic!

Send others these sorts of interactions when you see them. Unless someone has it in the tags or their rules that memes are only for established writing partners, send them an applicable meme.

Applicable, in this case, would be those OOC-answered memes. With most muns, it would be poor form to send in memes that are too personal. Such as sending someone you've never really spoken to, plotted with, etc. a particularly raunchy headcanon ask. I was going to give an example, but for the sake of keeping this SFW lol...we all know the sort of ask I speak of.

With some muns, this isn't an issue. Any excuse to talk about their muse is a good excuse, and they'd not have reblogged the meme if they did not intend for people to send it in. I know that I'm such a mun, and unless someone only ever sends me sexually explicit questions like this, I don't mind at all. It's just an aspect of my muse to detail in a HC.

Just exercise reasonable awareness - "read the room." If a mun seems to answer those questions from anyone, then it is alright to send them in. If they have established openness on these discussions, have nothing in their rules that would imply they'd be perturbed, etc. Conversely, if they've established such opposing behavior that you have to wonder why they posted this meme at all? Don't send anything from that one. They may be trying to establish greater comfort with these topics, but whether they realize it or not yet, they may not be ready for this to sent by anyone who isn't a very established writing partner/friend.

You want to be attracting good attention, demonstrating that you're not someone intimidating, not giving muns any reason to be disturbed by you. Even if they openly asked for it!

This brings us back to: no, really, a lot of things are out of your control.

How people view us isn't as up to us as we'd like, on or offline. Everyone has preconceived notions, biases, and developed preferences. And everyone has had experiences that lead them to react differently to all of these things where they do and do not exist.

Unfortunately, the RPC fosters a serious environment of paranoia, hostility, and the inherent defensiveness of both. Even when that is coming across more peaceably, it can lead to things like...the multiple muns I've known in the last two years alone that seem to almost panic and block potential partners for extremely negligible things they're perceiving as a red flag portending of inevitable bad behavior.

I really do mean irrational actions that are often contrary from one move to another. One potential partner is too exuberant in response to plotting, they are designated a red flag for being too inclined to pester OOC. Another is lacking exuberance and does not easily come up with plots, they are designated as being too passive a partner who will drop. One is too nice, they won't possibly be able to tell that mun of problems in the thread, another is too aggressive, they'll do nothing but stress the mun and fight with their friends. And on and on.

It's not an unreasonable situation, as we all continue to be reminded, the RPC is far more hostile than it should be for what it is. We all (that's not entirely true, but let us pretend it is) want to avoid problems and enjoy the hobby, but in the attempt to avoid those problems, we often see them where they are not.

So, you really cannot control whether someone designates you as being too much this, too little that, an inevitable problem. Your presentation is in the eye of the beholder, just as what "intimidating" is, is in the eye of the intimidated.

You can only try to identify the things that might be putting off the most people you want to write with, work on them when and where they will not ruin your time here, and hope for the best.

It's wonderful that you care, but it's also wonderful that you seem willing to accept that there are things you just have to let go of as already being out of your hands. That's honestly the best way to approach RP, period. The only things you are fully in control of are your own creativity and your behavior. That's it, in the end.

Present yourself with honesty as to who you are as a mun, be as approachable as you truly are, and know what you're looking for in writing partners.

Personally, from what little I have seen of you, Anon, there isn't anything that glaringly needs changing. You're not possessed of a shitty attitude or unrealistic expectations. You seem like a pretty reasonable mun to me who is struggling with something any of us who concentrate on the writing do; being vaguely told we're "intimidating," and seeking other partners who are interested in the same variety of RP we are.

That's my final point to touch on, and the one most likely to piss people off: there are different varieties of RP, and the people telling you this might be in the wrong corner for you.

That doesn't make them bad RPers or anything, variety is good, it's an open hobby! We're not all compatible, though, and so many problems arise from muns not accepting this reality, but rather, taking extreme offense over it.

No one I have ever established the sort of RP I enjoy most with has told me that I am "intimidating."

The people who have said this to me have been those who would not have worked out anyway. That's not said in some bizarre bitterness lol I have the best writing partners, I could not ask for anything more! It's just said in honesty of continuing to see them on my dash and/or interacting with friends. They blog and muse hop often, prefer the genres and fandoms I do not, and so on.

Changing to be less intimidating to those RPers would put me back where I started when joining the RPC here years ago, and while it's great that a lot of people enjoy RP the way they do, I don't. I worked rather hard to get away from it.

So, you do have to consider what you want. Do you want any partners, or do you want the right ones for you?

I'm genuinely glad that people are enjoying themselves, especially when they do not have hateful things to say about those who enjoy RP differently than themselves, but it'd be nice if some of the niches in the RPC were a bit wider! It shouldn't be this difficult to find people in a writing hobby who are invested in the writing, but it is. And it is something you should keep in mind when figuring out this whole "intimidating" thing.

So, my ultimate recommendation would be to assess whether there are things you can be doing to make you, as the mun, more approachable so that your writing is less “intimidating" to people within the RP corner you’re trying to attract, but consider whether the people who have said this to you might just be looking for different things and not as viable as partners as you might have liked. There are definitely more RPers on tumblr who do not enjoy RP in this way than there that do, and while the only thing you have control over is yourself, you don’t have control over how you and what you are putting out there is perceived.

I really do think that most of the “intimidation” problem comes from different varieties of RP and what muns have been led to believe about them. You check off a lot of boxes for the false perception of “elitism,” as a literate, long-term, novella RPer. People are going to see many things that you do in a threatening or off-putting light through no fault of your own because of that. Even other, lengthier writers can fall into that because they feel overwhelmed at the volume of content you have, for example. A thing that should be promising of how well-developed your muse is and how committed you are to your interest in them can come off as overwhelming to people who are less well established or interested in being around for the long game. I certainly don’t think it’s a good idea for you to remove that material or stop writing it! I cannot encourage people enough to do what you have!

Maybe, since you expressed concern of this specifically as well, you could consider how it is presented?

Do you have approachable formatting on those posts? Do they appear to be a lot of very plain text, or do you practice adding some graphics like a header and dividers, formatting that also breaks up the text like segmenting it into clear topics with bold, bigger text, and so on? Is it the opposite and potentially difficult to read, like using font that is smaller than the default small size available, or incredibly busy with colors? It’s a difficult balance, and one that will never be 100% appealing or accessible to 100% of the RPC, to make things visually appealing, easy to read, and informative while being engaging. It could be that you have information people would love to know, but the design of how you’re putting it out there is adding to them feeling overwhelmed.

Maybe, consider how it is placed on your blog, as well? Using specific tags for organization and having a detailed navigation might help. Instead of someone pulling up every one of your many HC posts in the HC tag you have, they could choose specific topics to view at their own pace with a little more control over it. Giving people some control in their experience can go a long way to giving them comfort in it!

So, let’s say you have a headcanon that addresses how your muse portrayal diverges from strict canon, and in that HC, it’s important to address their mental health and how it impacts their relationships with others. That’s a great HC, it’s going to be informative, but it has multiple topics within it. You’d want to tag it with the overall HC tag, a tag for your “player canon” topics, muse metal health discussions, and a general tag for your muse’s relationships/interactions with others.

When you do that, in your navigation, if someone clicked your tag-based link for all information pertaining to the muse’s mental health, they’ll just get that. They’ll see this headcanon post, they’ll see all relevant, tagged posts you’ve made or reblogged, but only that pertain to this topic. They won’t also get twenty extra posts that don’t discuss this, but do discuss your muse’s personal opinion on making bread at home and why sourdough is a labor of love. Unless, of course, your muse is partaking in that labor of love as an exercise that benefits their mental health, of course lmao

Delineating topics for people to engage with at their own pace, need, or interest can prevent them from scrolling through what could be hundreds of HC posts. We all desperately want people to read every one of our posts, especially if our portrayal is different from canon or popular fanon or we have an OC whose entire existence has to be learned this way, but we have to resist the temptation to make people read them all, and all at once. Because that is how it comes across when someone pulls up a ton of HCs - they may be super interested, but it’s a lot that they may put pressure on themselves to learn immediately, back to back to back. It begins to feel like a task quickly. Most people who are genuinely interested in your muse and writing are going to end up reading all of them eventually! If they don’t shut themselves down on doing so prematurely, and this could be a way of helping them avoid doing that.

Hell, if you’re really feeling it, you can even link to closely related posts and your navigation on those HC posts! Just mention at the top of the post that this is related to the one linked here, and to find more informative posts on any topic, please visit the navigation page here. You can even remind at the bottom of the post with just the links.

While like anything, it could make people feel you’re too organized and “serious” about RP, but you probably want other “too serious” RPers to interact with, so it might be a passive way of establishing partners that won’t work out. I think, for the right partners, an organized system they can interact with easily would be appealing, and again, a lot of people in the RPC do have problems that disrupt their ability to engage with a great deal of content at once. This might make them feel less overwhelmed and frustrated by themselves, or negative about themselves that they cannot but aspire to your level of content and organization.

Willing to bet that much of “intimidation” comes from negative feelings about oneself projected outward protectively and unconsciously, honestly. So, when you see ways to combat that, take it on. Make it clear that you’re not expecting anyone to be anything other than themselves, you appreciate your partners’ unique approaches and skills. The more of them you have, the more approachable you are proving yourself, too.

Since you are interested in long-term and have so much material on your muse, I have to assume this is a case of having gone on hiatus or had partners who have left. You could be appearing as less approachable because you’ve few interactions, and that’s a problem that will start correcting itself as you have more of them. If that’s the case, it may be adding serious frustration in the slow process of getting your foot back in the door, but I believe you can do it!

I hope people haven’t made you feel too anxious or bad about yourself by telling you you’re “intimidating,” Anon. Try not to internalize it or make into a more serious matter than it is! I really do think it has less to do with the RPer being told that than it does all these other factors, poor ability to express ourselves very much included. You’re interested in what you can do, willing to accept what you can’t do, overall approaching this from a chill and reasonable place, I think you’re going to find the people you need to with this attitude!

Keep at it, keep doing what you love, and my sincerest best of luck to you! Thank you for giving me the excuse to discuss this topic, it’s an important one that I hope made some difference to others out there as well. I apologize that took me a minute to get it out, and that it is still a bit more disjointed than I’d have liked.

#answered #anonymous #the intimidation problem #interactions #rp advice #tumblr rp advice #tumblr rp #long post #rpbetter

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musicallisto · 3 years

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Hello love,

Congratulations for the 800 followers! You absolutely deserve this and so much more! I'm happy to see how your blog grows and that you're still providing all of us with wonderful content. You're one of the first blogs that I've started to follow here on Tumblr and I'm so lucky to have found your blog ♡

As for your celebration event, could I please request a 🍨 vanilla milkshake with a male Peaky Blinders Character?

I'm more on the curvy side (and insecure about it) and I'm ALWAYS wearing black (which I love, no matter what others say or even more if they object). As for my personality, I'm a highly complex, paradox and complicated individium. I'm unbelievable patient, timid, awkward, kind, forgiving, open-minded, compassionate, thruthful, gentle and calm and I've been told that I have a calming effect on others, that I can easily ground anyone and anything, no matter how troubled their mind is. I prefer vintage over modern things. I think rather deep which often leads me to overthinking everything, which in turn leads me to doubting (very much) myself. You would be surprised how timid and reserved I am, I'm sure you wouln't notice me in a room full of people if it wouldn't be for my different appearance (but I like it this way). I'm always well-meaning, yet often misunderstood (maybe because it's hard for me to articulate myself). I can be incredible lazy, clumsy and forgetful. I've always felt like I don't really belong anywhere, so I've started to distance myself from others a while ago. I'm a outsider, weird, a dork, not normal, a loner and I fucking love it, because I like to be different, I would hate to fit into just one box and to be like everyone else. And I like people who are not ashamed to be their 100% true self, no matter how different that is from the mainstream. I'm the most loyal person you'll ever find, once you earn my trust, I'll always be on/by your side, no matter what. That says a lot, because I'm hard to scare away. Sometimes I feel alienated from the people and things surrounding me and I'm sure that I annoy and bore them. I'm very nervous and insecure around others, which is why I try to avoid people and why I'm not talking all that much around them (though, I'm a really good listener). I'm easily overwhelmed by large crowds and much light/noise, that's why I don't like to go outside, I prefer to cozy up at home. I would never intentionally hurt a animal and I'm not eating any meat, which is very important to me. I believe that there isn't a ounce of cruelty inside me. I'm unassuming and understanding, I only believe what I've witnessed on my own and I have endless acceptance for almost everything. Due to my Insomnia, I'm a night owl. I have strong personal values, am very opinionated and I'm really in-touch with myself and even though I'm extremly insecure, I would never reduce or change myself and views/opinions for someone and I neither have a problem to challenge authority and advocating for my beliefs. I'm a perfectionist and sometimes I really hate it. And, as you can see, I'm unable to be brief. My favourite colours are dark green, black, gold and dark purple. My greatest passion is music, even if I can't sing or play an instrument.(I prefer rock/punk/pop/80s/90s) It's the most calming and therapeutic thing when it comes to my anxiety and depression and I could never live a day without it. You will never see me in the street without headphones in my ears and even when I'm at home there's music playing almost all the time. I could talk for hours about music and what it means to me. And otherwise I love to watch films and series (I like fantasy, horror, psychological thriller, science fiction and psychological drama and almost anything from the 70s, 80s and 90s). I love rainy days and to go outside while it's pouring big, fat drops. What I love the most is to drive around without a destination, while talking and listening to music. And I love to spend time with my cat, if I could, I would have endless animals who live peacefully and loved with me. I enjoy to have deep talks and to be challenged to think. I love to take late-night-strolls, while gazing into the sky and watching the stars/moon. I have a fascination for dark and macabre things.

I really hope that's not too much? But thank you anyway ♡

Have a good day!

thank you so much for your kind words, you have no idea how much it means to me to know that I was one of the first blogs you followed ;; here’s your vanilla milkshake - and it’s also my first time writing for peaky blinders, but I hope it’s alright; and I hope finn shelby will find the portrait I paint of him accurate enough...

Birmingham was a drab and disheartening place enough without the war adding to its joylessness; but somehow the streets are even worse to bear deserted than when they’re bustling and fetid. Especially for a ten year old boy who wants nothing but to play with someone, to talk to someone, to see someone.

With his brothers off fighting somewhere in France and his aunt too busy with her businesses (adult stuff that Finn has absolutey no interest in attempting to understand), the youngest Shelby has been fighting off an affliction worse than consumption and measles, because much more insidious for a boy his age; boredom

and he’s so sad, so irrevocably sad, with no one to bruise his knees with and throw mud at, that he just aimlessly wanders the empty streets whenever aunt Polly isn’t looking, to find a semblance of stimulation

(he used to enjoy the solitude, it gave him time to imagine delirious stories in fantastical worlds and read the most enthralling of novels, but not anymore. four years of reclusion is an awfully long time for a little boy.)

and it’s during one of his escapades that he first meets you

you’re a little girl his age, dressed in a pretty dress, wearing pretty booties and holding a pretty little woven basket, but your face is stuck on the most grouchy frown he’s ever seen on a little girl, and you don’t walk, you stomp down the wet pavement like a wrathful titan

And it’s probably the first time in four years that he’s been this close to making a new friend, so he walks up to you, despite how rusty his communication skills have become

“Girls don’t frown. It’s unbecoming.”

(Yes, pretty rusty indeed; but in his defense, he’s ten, he’s bored, he’s lonely, and he’s only ever heard Ada say it, and Ada is the most level-headed of his siblings, so anything she says must be true, right?)

“Shut up.”

(Well, if it was unbecoming of you to frown, it’s even more to rebuff someone so rudely. You don’t even spare a glance and continue walking; he has to hurry to catch up to you.)

“You can’t say that. It’s a bad word.”

“How do you know that?”

“My family says it all the time, but they told me I can’t say it.”

“Well, my family is not your family. And I hate my family!”

You’ve yelled the last words at the sky, so loud that the crows on the neighboring roofs have taken off in a startled flight.

“They want to wear this stupid dress to go to the stupid market to buy stupid meat. I don’t even want to eat meat, that’s cruel! And I don’t even want to wear a frilly dress! I want to wear black!”

And in saying so you tugged at the pink and white ribbons that encircled your waist.

And Finn couldn’t help being extremely intrigued at this little girl who said bad words and refused to eat meet and wanted to wear black. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen in all the duration of the war.

“You want to wear a black dress?”

“Yes, but my mama won’t let me. She says it’s too sad because of the war. But black isn’t sad! Black is beautiful!”

“Maybe I could find you a black dress. I’m sure my sister must have one. Where do you live?”

And, loyal to his promise, the following morning he had run to your doorstep and snuck into your house - a proper Shelby talent, to be able to go unnoticed or make a ruckus depending on the occasion - with an old, crinkled mourning dress of Ada’s, that had probably belonged to his mother and had been mended several times

And it was obviously five sizes too big for you and you looked more like a ghost from one of Finn’s horror novels, your arms floating in the sleeves and the hem of the skirt pooling at your feet, but your smile was the brightest light he’d ever seen in this whole damn town.

“Do you like it?”

(He didn’t really know why he sounds so nervous. Maybe it was having a friend, a real friend, and doing something personal for them... or maybe it had to do with how fast his heart beat, watching you in that gigantic, shapeless dress)

“I love it! Thank you so much, Finn!”

From then on started one of the most wonderful friendships Finn would ever have, and what would bring a ray of light to the grim existence of a little boy in the midst of a global war

Despite the ration cards, despite the loneliness, despite the worry that tugged at his stoic aunt’s eyes for her son and nephews across the Channel... he found an unspeakable solace in your friendship

And one day, without a trace, you were gone

He knocked on your door; gone. He asked all the neighbors what had happened to the family that lived there; gone. He wrote you letters and sent them to the confines of England; gone. He got scolded by Polly for marking numbers at random on Tommy’s state-of-the-art telephone; gone.

Suddenly he was back to the bleak existence he had battled with before meeting you, and the hollow inside his chest only grew wider as the days went on, because he had no explanation as to what had happened to you, and worried every single day

Thankfully, the war ended not long after, and his brothers came back home, all alive and unscathed - well, for the most part

Fast forward more or less ten years, and much has changed in Finn Shelby’s life and in old Birmingham, but the memory of you still stugs at his heartstrings

One evening, he’s tasked by Arthur to run some errands, send a few messages, scout a few places; the most dangerous thing his older brothers will ever let him do

His task leads him to a bar in the center of town, one that pours its joyous light and music into the street outside; he’s there to meet with a client, arrange a meeting; nothing he’s hasn’t done already

But the evening takes a turn for the unexpected when he recognizes the girl sat alone at a table, enjoying the musicians’ jazz with an air of pure bliss on her face

It’s been ten years, of course, but... it’s unmistakable. That face, that silhouette, and the black ensemble from head to toe... and he’s always had a knack for remembering faces, especially those that mark him deeply

Suddenly he’s frozen on the spot, and he has forgotten why he came to the bar in the first place, what his target looks like - all he knows is you, and how beautiful you look in the dim light of the bar, and the undisclosed and unknown feelings he had for you at the time come flooding back.

Except this time, he understands, and he fears them, because he doesn’t have time for any of this, and it’s way too dangerous for you and him

But he can’t just pass you by and not say a word?

He swallows, hard.

And walks up to you.

“Y/N?”

You open your eyes, and your face flashes with recognition, and a little bit of pain as well. Even if you fled without a word, and left him hanging all these years, he’s incapable of rancor

“Finn... wow, you’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t.”

He gestures at your face, your clothes, how you savor the music like the finest drink in the world, and you laugh and blush, sending his heart into overdrive

“Where were you all this time?”

“I’m so sorry, Finn... my brother died in the war, and... my mom sent me to live with my grandparents in Scotland. We were all destroyed by grief... I needed to get away.”

“Without explanation? Not even a word?”

“I wanted to write to you, so bad, but... I couldn’t remember your address. I couldn’t remember anything about Birmingham at all...��

He nods, slowly, in understanding.

The war opens wounds that never heal, even after all the most beautiful friendships and love stories in the world.

“But I’m really glad I found you.”

His heart is pounding in his throat. Maybe it’s a sign of destiny that he found you here, tonight, alone, and ready to welcome him back. Maybe it’s a word from fate, that you can never truly be apart.

So he takes the seat in front of you, and you smile, that shy but bright smile of yours, and he forgets all about his mission, his client, and his brothers.

They’ll have to understand.

800 follower sleepover

#lunamooney2406 #sleepover800 #ship request #peaky blinders #peaky blinders ship #finn shelby #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanons #finn shelby headcanons #for some reason the first thing I write for a new fandom is always SUPER LONG but that's because i get rlly in my feelings

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mcrmadness · 3 years

Text

This is just me talking about (my) asexuality and aromanticism and mainly about how I figured I'm aroace. I'm from Finland and recently turned 30 so my experience and "lgbt+ history" might not be what you know it as, especially if you are not from Europe, or if your native language is English.

Also this is highly personal, so I doubt anyone here will have 100% same experience. But that's fine because remember: we're all individuals here and these are NEVER universal. You're still valid even if you wouldn't relate to what being aspec is to me.

It might be IS a long post so beware, but I've just been feeling like writing down some thoughts so here we go...

What I have been able to track is that I was 17, in 2008, when I first stumbled upon the term "asexuality". I don't remember exactly how, but I just remember reading about it and immediately going "yeah that's me". But what I do remember is that no one talked it being about sexual attraction. Basically how understood it was: asexuality = sex-repulsion.

I was 17, and somehow I knew I was sex-repulsed, but at the same time also thought I'm just a minor, so it's normal to be sex-repulsed. But even after turning 18, I don't recall ever feeling sexual attraction. I didn't think of myself as a "late bloomer" but just as someone who just has no interest towards sex. At some point I became really anxious of men, however. Nothing has ever happened to me* but still I, for some reason, developed terrible fear of men. I'm afab and just did not want to be seen as an object, and it made, still makes me, terrified to think someone might look at me and have Emotions. I know that we can't control our brains, I mean, I can't look at someone and force myself to feel attraction - just like those who do feel attraction, can't force themselves to stop feeling attraction. They can only control their actions. But yeah, I also had horrible (sexual) intrusive thoughts due to my generalized anxiety disorder at some point, which did not really help. They got a bit better when I came into terms with my asexuality and aromanticism, but sometimes they still come at me and it's never fun, but at least they're not as strong as what they used to be.

*(Unless if you can count that as sexual harrasment when, CW, I was 11 and a classmate was "into" me and tried to touch my face and talk "sweet things" to me but made it into a show despite me being uncomfortable and usually crying cos as a neurodivergent I didn't know how else to react.)

But anyway, back to the topic. So for years I understood asexuality as sex-repulsion, but I guess it's because I, well, am a sex-repulsed ace. So if I'm sex-repulsed, why would I then look at someone and feel something if I'm repulsed by the thing anyway? Like, it probably can't get any simpler than this :D And I know today that it's not as simple anymore. But that was 2008, at school (in ~2005) they only talked about gays a little, on one page in a sex.ed. book that otherwise was maybe 100 pages long. Only one page. About gays. And it was basically "Some boys like boys or some girls like girls and it's totally fine." and that was it, but the overall assumption was that everyone likes someone. And also there were no romantic orientations. Liking someone = both sexually and romantically. Not liking = not a thing except when you were depressed or otherwise mentally ill, or autistic or mentally disabled (which is a SUPER ableist take btw). I don't remember teachers ever talking about this, but it could also just be my adhd, maybe they did mention, but I just don't remember. At least in my notebooks there is no mention of this, everything was very much heteronormative and amatonormative, and also there was only two genders. I don't remember ever hearing about transgender people, apart from foreign documentaries and in them they were always portrayed as some shocking freaks of the nature, and loads of wrong terms were used. And this is still the mid and late 2000s we're talking about!

So this takes us to the other part aka aromanticism. Back then asexuality was not only sex-repulsion but also merged together with aromanticism, because people didn't talk about romantic orientations yet. So asexuality was not only sex-repulsion, but also you simply just not wanting a relationship. Again, nothing about attraction, just someone who did not care about sex nor relationships. A "forever single", if you will.

This was already annoying me a lot back then because I was really annoyed by sex "running the world". I was so angry because why is asexual the only sexuality that doesn't like sex? All the other sexualities had the assumption of them always wanting to have sex. Like, even think about someone who is straight, you hear that someone is straight, and you automatically assume(d) that oh they're into sex too cos why wouldn't they be. This was really driving me nuts because I was sure there are people who want to have a partner, but never want to have sex! I was still experiencing crushes, and I knew for sure it was nothing sexual, so it annoyed me that just because I'm asexual, it means I can't have crushes. That's why I actually called myself as "asexual bi" for a while, because "bisexual" indicated I would have not been sex-repulsed and I wanted to point out that I'm NOT into sexual things, at all - and remember that this was still the late 2000s or early 2010s and I had not heard of romantic orientations yet! So I was up to something, there just were no terms for that yet! Today that would be called bi-/panromantic asexual.

I haven't been able to track the exact date or even year when did I figure out I'm aromantic, or when did I hear about romantic orientations for the first time. From the messages I've been able to find, I was already in my early 20s. Aka somewhere around maybe 2011-2013. In those, I have still been wondering what I am or if I even want to have a relationship, not being really able to tell what I wanted or didn't want. Again, no one told me romantic orientations are about ATTRACTION and not about whether you have commitment issues or not (this as a half-joke, cos I have severe commitment issues with everything :D I need to feel free!).

Anyway, I do remember my key moment with aromanticism, or the "aromantic awakening" as you could call it too, was when I was 17 or 18. Or maybe I was older? I don't know, I have time blindness. Anyway, I had this one online friend I had a "crush" on (I think it was just undiagnosed adhd's person hyperfixation) and I even told her about it. Everything just is super shady, from those years, I was not really on my best and there are so many overlapping memories that feel like different alternative universes instead of memories on a same timeline. Anyway, I just remember at some point thinking about this girl and I thought about some "romantic" stuff, like kissing, and I just remember my brain going "NOOOOOPE!" I had wanted to meet with her some day so bad, but when I started thinking about actually meeting with her, I started to nope the fuck out. All I had in my head was awkward embarrassing "first kiss" scenarios from movies and I just was not having it! I basically went "lol I guess I'm aro too, then XD" but I still don't remember when did I have this realization. Was I 17? Or was I, say, 22? I guess I need to go through my old MSN Messenger and Skype convos some day to investigate this further because I really want to know. I couldn't even find anything from my Tumblr from those times (I registered here in 2011), but I don't know if that's just me not tagging or Tumblr search functioning normally (aka it never finds anything).

But yeah, I am touch-repulsed. And kiss-repulsed, and romance-repulsed, too, (unless it's my OTP we're talking about). I'm still not exactly sure if I'm touch repulsed because I'm aromantic, or if I'm aromantic because I'm touch-repulsed. I only know that because of my sensory issues (I'm neurodivergent), I have never liked touching nor being touched. Even as a little kid I hated hugs and never liked sitting on anyone's lap. I only tolerated my parents, mainly my mom, because they were my safe place as an extremely shy baby/toddler/kid, who was especially wary about men. I can't explain the latter, but there was something about adult men that caused me (as a baby) to hide my face against my mom's shoulder if they talked to me. I did that to everyone I didn't know, but especially to men I didn't know. No idea why.

I also remember how my siblings loved to sit on people's laps and were always climbing onto their laps, and I didn't like this. And once my (late) grandma was so touched when she asked me if I want to sit on her lap (I was maybe 5-7?) and I agreed just to make her happy. I still remember how it felt, and I did not like it at all, but it still made my grandma so happy that I THINK she almost cried when she told my mom I actually agreed to sit on her lap. I'm not sure how real this last part of the memory is because I was so young. But I do remember thinking I do that for a change because I knew my grandma would be happy.

So yeah, my touch-repulsion is not exactly a new thing but just something that has been a part of my personality forever. But is that the core reason for why I only feel aesthetic attraction? I never look at people and feel like I wanna touch. More of the opposite, the idea of having to touch them or them touching me makes me go "eeewww". If you have seen that video of a gibbon shaking their whole body after seeing a rat in their exhibit? That's what I feel like when I think about touching or being touched, in just any way, also platonically.

The only time I feel "sensual attraction" is when I see photos or videos of animals. The urge to pet a tiger is insane. But the feel of another human's skin or muscle (or hair or whatever) is very repulsive to me.

I still remember how disgusting it felt to e.g. sit on a cousin's lap. We sometimes used swings like this, and somehow I was aware of it not feeling nice, but still not doing anything about it cos it also was okay? Only later I have realized I really, really loathe the texture of human skin. Or the warmth and overall feeling of a human body. For example, I was at least 7 or younger when I sat on my cousin's lap while we were sitting on a swing and STILL, after over 20 years, I have that all in my body memory. I remember how the thigh bone felt under my legs and how freaking disgusting the muscles felt inbetween. Also at school, on the 1st grade, we often had to walk in a line of twos after the teacher and hold the pair's hand so no one gets lost. My then-friend had so ridiculously dry skin that the only thing I could think of was how I felt like throwing up because the skin on her palm felt so damn disgusting. I still can feel that in my hand when I think of it. That's one of my "core memories" from 1st grade - how disgusting the human skin can feel like.

I don't think I have ever felt actual romantic attraction towards anyone. It's really difficult to differentiate because as I mentioned, I get those people hyperfixations easily. I guess it's the same hormones but I never really want to do anything with them? I guess it's the emotional intimacy that "attracts" me and what gets me excited, but I'm still not exactly sure what emotional intimacy means to me. I don't exactly fall into the QPR category either, in a way I wish I had a best friend whose best friend also I would be, and that neither would have anyone else who is "better" than the other one. But the only intimacy there would be emotional intimacy, nothing else. And I need my freedom so I wouldn't move in with any human being, either.

Sometimes I've thought my "ideal partner" would be a robot because if I get annoyed, I could just turn it off and stuff into a closet and leave there, and if I felt like not having a "relationship" anymore, I could just remove the harddrive and destroy the robot, or both. That way I would be the only one with the memories, and I wouldn't have to worry about someone out there knowing things about me, things that only the closest can know, and I'm really afraid of letting anyone close in case it won't work (also with regular friendships) because I can't stop thinking about how much I wish I had that MIB memory cancelling device so that they would again know almost nothing, or at least much much less about me. There's already one friendship that ended a few years ago and I still keep thinking about how I wish I could take everything back and how I wish they delete(d) all the files and drawings and stuff I sent them. There are so many things about me I wish I never told them, now as we are no longer friends. Back then it felt like "of course this is gonna last a lifetime!" but turns out that nope, not all friendships will.

I guess it's time to stop rambling. This post is really long already. If you read it all the way here: congrats. And thanks. You probably just wasted your time but... that's on you I guess :DDD But yeah, some thoughts from a 30-years-old aroace who has been aware of their identity for at least or almost 10 years now.

#mcrmadness' deep thoughts #asexuality #aromantic #aroace #aspec

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years

Text

7 Secrets

OK! This is my first time EVER posting an imagine on Tumblr! So please love me and don’t hate it lol. I'm also not sure how many parts there will be to this, but you can expect probably at least three. Let me know what you like and don’t! Any ideas?

Summary: For the past three years, Beth has struggled and fought against the notion that she has a soulmate. It was only when she met six other girls who were in the same predicament that she finally decided that this was her life. The only real problem? Her soulmate has no idea that she even exists. Much less that soulmates are even a thing. Will she ever get to meet her soulmate, the ever popular and beloved Kim Namjoon of BTS? Does she even want to anymore?

GENRE: Soulmate!au BTS!

WARNINGS: none

Even now, as my feet lead me through the airport here in Seoul, I can’t quite believe that this is actually my life. Even now, three years later, the feeling of disbelief mingled with the thrill and fear of it all lingers.

To anyone here, I simply look like another tourist. Headphones in, not a care in the world except for keeping my backpack on my shoulders and taking one step at a time. I pass a group of girls loitering by the stairs, completely decked out in BTS merch. I smile at them, my action going unnoticed by my mask and hat low on my head. Am I a tourist or celebrity?

Neither. And yet, in some twisted way, both.

To my eternal horror and delight, six of my closest (and weirdest) friends await me at the baggage claim, welcome signs held up high.

All of them are from either here in South Korea or Japan, yet despite our differences we just click.

It’s something that I’m still not used to.

Their loud squeals can be heard bouncing off the walls of the airport the second I come into view, and I thank the heavens above for the mask and hat I’m wearing which shields my bright smile from the rest of the world. They would never let me hear the end of it if they knew just how excited I was to be back.

“You’re back!”

“Finally, you’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

“Wow, look at you. You look like a whole celebrity.”

“Since when did our little B grow up so much?”

I roll my eyes lovingly at them, unable to hold back as we all rush toward each other in a fit of excitement. A year was way too long.

“You’ve made it look like I’m coming back from military service or something.” I joke with my closest friends, laughing as Minsuh pokes my ribs in defense.

“It feels like it, too. You look like you’re coming out of a battle or something.”

I feign offense. “It’s called jet-lag, thank you very much. Wow, some people never change, do they?” I accept a hug from Aera, and only when I set my chin on her shoulder do I notice the two cameras trained on us.

Ah yes. That is one thing that I haven’t missed. Aera silently attaches a mic to my sweatshirt, clipping it on with a conspiratorial wink. She knows just how much I despise our ongoing documentary.

The cameramen are kind enough, shadowing us constantly in an attempt to compile enough content to someday show our soulmates. However I can’t help but feel like it’s a bit hopeless at times. I highly doubt our boys will ever watch the material, they seem busy enough. And we’re not that entertaining.

But who knows? The most famous band in the world tends to surprise me.

“Is it the balloons? It’s all the balloons, isn't’ it.” Kyung-Soon fiddles with the balloons in her hands, the mass floating above her in an attempt to block out any light from above. The sight pulls a giggle out of me, tired as I may be. I waddle over to her, one of the girls easing the backpack off of my shoulders and grunting at the weight.

I wrap her up in a hug, knowing just how much she tends to stress and over think. “The balloons look great. You know me, I just get embarrassed easily. But I love them.”

“I wonder how you would react if it was Namjoon holding the balloons instead of Soon-ah.” My head swivels to my best friend, glaring strongly. Himari only returns the look, her smirk growing. “You get embarrassed so easily, I’m just wondering what that would be like.”

The mention of my soulmate has my cheeks burning, and I offer up a silent prayer of gratitude for the mask I still have on.

The other girls take up the conversation, wondering aloud how I would react if it was my soulmate picking me up from the airport instead of his band member’s soulmates. Himari’s Japanese accent cuts clear through the rabble, making me feel right at home even as I secretly plan to embarrass her later on. Usually a well placed comment about j-hope’s latest concept photos will leave her reeling and red-faced.

The cameras edge closer, and I leap up grabbing my luggage before I can be embarrassed even more.

“Time to go!” I shout, ignoring the snickers from behind me. “Himari, since you’re so keen on helping me today would you mind bringing my backpack?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Ha, just like you Beth. Way to avoid the conversation.” A less noticeable Japanese accent greets me, and I turn to see Ichika already by my side. I raise my eyebrows at the girl only a year my senior.

“Your Korean sounds great, Ichika!” She smiles at me, her delicate features reminding me of a flower. Ichika looked like a piece of art, which I guess made sense considering that she had a soulmate who would probably recognize that same fact immediately upon meeting her. At least, I’ve heard that Taehyung has an eye for art. Or maybe he just has an artsy personality? I can’t remember. Probably both.

“Thanks,” she replies, giving me a firm high five. “I missed you!” I breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s always been so refreshing how honest Ichika is.

“Missed ya too,” I mumble out, suddenly disoriented in the humid air as we exit the airport. By now we’ve attracted our fair share of strange looks and even a few stragglers, who follow us solely because of our small camera crew.

Once outside, Aera gently herds me in the direction of a couple of black cars. I nod to the managers the BigHit sent us as they open the car door for us and help to put our things away. I can see one eyeing the mess of balloons that Kyung-Soon still clings to, calculating how on earth to fit seven girls and seventy balloons into two small cars. (Ok, maybe not seventy, but it feels like it)

I turn to help Kyung-Soon, but find Minsuh already there. The sweet girl, only six months older than me, is always quick to help. Typically her and Aera are inseparable, but I’m glad to see that Minsuh has slowly been pushing herself to mingle with the others. It’s another thing that makes sense, seeing that Minsuh’s boy is Jungkook and Aera’s is Jimin. As far as I know, those two are pretty close as well.

Minsuh smiles shyly at me, sidling over to give me a quick hug before going back to her work. The cameraman makes sure to catch the sweet action, never one to miss a candid moment.

Was that cute enough for you? I silently ask Bang Si Hyuk. There’s no doubt that these will be reviewed and only the kindest, funniest, and cutest moments will make the cut.

Pity for Namjoon, but that means I will probably only be featured in a little bit of the documentary. Oh well, if he’s curious he can come find me himself. I’m done waiting. Or caring.

“What are you pouting about?”

Himari’s voice drags me out of my stupor, and I shrug my shoulders in response. Her happy demeanor doesn’t falter as she looks into my eyes like she can read them. There’s an underlying seriousness that few get to know, but I’ve been lucky enough to see it several times.

“Just tired,” I bump her hip with mine before we get the ok to all pile into the car. She doesn’t press the matter, but I can count on her slipping it into the conversation again once we’re alone. Once the pressing matter of the cameras watching our every mood is lessened and I feel more comfortable.

Sliding in, I collide with another body that has already taken the far seat. Both Seohyun and I burst into laughter at the sudden collision, her eyes turning into crescent moons.

“Well hello to you too,” she manages to say between giggles. Himari slides in next to me, shaking her head at the both of us. A couple of cameras in the car automatically focus on us, but I pay them no mind.

“I like your sweatshirt,” I say, gesturing to the homage to her soulmate. Sure enough, Yoongi’s new mixtape “D2” cover is printed on her shirt. Funnily enough, out of all of us, Seohyun is one of the most showy when it comes to her soulmate. Constantly buying merch, listening to his music, and gushing about him.

I know she’ll make Yoongi very happy. If she ever gets to meet him.

If any of us ever get to meet them. Or if they’re ever informed of our existence. Not for the first time today, I curse Bang Si Hyuk again in my mind.

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banashee · 3 years

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Hi Folks, welcome to my first fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week one (June 1-7) Prompts: friendship, pre-canon, self-expression, affirmation and sharing clothes.

The key words I've used here are mostly sharing clothes, self-expression, affirmation and friendship

Also, I'm late for week one! My Fucking WIFI broke so you'll get two fics for this week...

Content warnings: this is mostly tooth rotting fluff but just to be safe: - mentions of Top Surgery - hints at dead and/or unaccepting families but nothing explicit

"You mean, OUR closet"

It happens like clockwork. Ever since the four of them moved in together, as soon as the weather gets cold and the leaves outside start to turn golden-red, the usually sizable stack of woolen jumpers in Martin's closet seems to magically shrink. One day, they’re there and the next day, there are suddenly only a few left. Every year – it’s gotten to be a routine, and it makes Martin smile and shake his head fondly each and every time again.

Over the warmer months, the jumpers just sit there in the closet, carefully tucked away. Only a few of them are store bought at this point - Martin tends to knit them himself, and he’s spent weeks and months of his life making them. This is probably one of the many reasons why Jon, Tim and Sasha tend to steal them so much - they’re part of him, for one, and apparently they miss each other as soon as someone leaves the room or something. (Codependency issues? Them? Nah) the jumpers are also warm and big and they “feel like a permanent hug”, so what else is there to say? It’s adorable, really.

And Martin will say this as often as he can, if only so he can watch Tim go scarlet red (as smooth as he usually is, cute compliments like this get to him more than he cares to admit), watch Jon splutter and claim “I am not, nor have they ever been adorable!” – Unlucky for them, no one else agrees, and so they’re stuck with three partners who will tell them as much at any given opportunity. Sasha, on the other hand, is having way too much fun with this and will go “Aww, shucks.” Every time, just to see her favourite people blush even more.

The thing is, Martin owns plenty of woolen jumpers; he likes them because they’re warm and comfy, which is always a plus. To a certain degree, they’re pure self-preservation as well. The heating in the Archives breaks constantly, and oftentimes, it stays that way for days. They need to bundle up then, and drink more tea and coffee than any human should. Those days leave all of them freezing their butts off, and having something warm and cozy to wrap around themselves helps a lot. But their own woolen jumpers or even outdoor jackets aren’t nearly as warm and comfortable as Martin’s. His clothes are just the softest, and so, he knows to expect them to migrate to his partners when a certain time of year hits.

On a more personal note for him, the loose fit of the knitted jumpers helps him a lot on days when the body dysmorphia gets bad. Those days have gotten less now – especially since he’s had top surgery – but it’s still nice to have something comforting around. Just in case.

And then, of course there is the simple fact that he likes the aesthetic. “Retro-Aesthetic” as his partners tend to call it, and really, it is kind of accurate.

Right now, Martin is standing in front of the open closet in his underwear and is absolutely not surprised to find some of his jumpers already gone. There is no doubt that, as soon as he gets back downstairs he’ll find everyone else wrapped up in at least one of his jumpers. Sneaky, the whole lot of them.

The weather has turned quite rapidly in the last few days. That morning, they wake up and the cold wind has creeped in through the open window, leaving the entire bedroom freezing. If it wasn’t for the many, many blankets, they would wake up with their limbs frozen off, but by now, there are at least three or four blankets available at any given time. That is, because certain people tend to steal the covers in their sleep, but no one would look at Tim or Jon, oh no, of course not.

These two are frequently playing tug of war at night, which is why they often end up in the middle of their sleeping arrangements. That way, there are at least some chances to steal the blankets back for everyone else.

Martin has started to wrap one of the edges around himself in an attempt to keep the blanket there, while Sasha has threatened to staple the bloody thing to the floor on either side of the bed. There is no doubt that she is dead serious about the threat, even when it’s mostly mumbled at 2 in the morning, disgruntled as her face is smushed into whoever is currently closest to her.

But lucky for them, body heat is the best source of warmth, and there is plenty of it available in their family. Especially Tim and Martin run hot as it is, which is why Sasha and Jon lovingly call the two of them their Human Heaters on a regular basis.

Sasha is always happy for more warmth - she’s not cold very often, but she loves being close to the other three.

There are no romantic or sexual feelings from her side - it’s just not how she works. But her feelings towards those three people in her life are different from Just Friendship, and she loves them all dearly. Just… Not in a romantic kind way, but it is nice to share a life with people who know, understand and love her back just as much and just as she is.

It’s only when she wakes up in the middle of the night with no blanket anywhere to be found that she wants to strangle someone. Temporarily.

Jon, on the other hand, is pretty much always cold. They’re “made of nothing but bones and sharp edges” as Tim so eloquently put it, earning himself a jab from one of said sharp elbows into his ribs. It only makes him laugh, loud and carefree as he is, as he pulls Jon into his arms and smothers them in kisses until they laugh and complain half-heartedly. They don’t mind it at all.

So if they’re not currently stealing blankets, Jon clings. Like an octopus, to whomever they can reach easiest.

So this is how they wake up that morning:

There is a fresh, icy wind coming in through the window while under the small mountain of blankets, the four of them are wrapped up around one another, noses pressed into the warmth of each other's necks or into the chest of soft shirts. Hands that cling or seek warmth on bare skin under ancient T-shirts or pyjamas.

Sasha wakes up first, entirely uninterested in getting out of bed as soon as she realizes how cold the room has gotten over night. Only half awake, she moves closer to Tim and wraps her arms and legs around him. Her warm breath is tickling his neck, but he is long used to being surrounded by warmth and people - he loves it. Loves them, most of all.

Tim can’t move much. He’s got Sasha clinging to his back and he can tell that she is already dozing off again. While he wakes up to that realization, he does so with a face full of long, curly salt and pepper hair and a pair of arms wrapped around his middle.

Jon is still dead to the world, happily wedged in between Tim and Martin. Even if they were awake, it’s highly unlikely they would be able to move a limb at this point. Lucky for everyone else, due to the circumstances, they leave the blankets alone for once. They’re warm and dead asleep and Tim’s hands are busy holding both them and Sasha’s forearm around him. One of Martin's arms is stretched out in his sleep, resting near him as he provides another comfortable weight and source of heat.

Between their shared breaths and heartbeats, flailing limbs and two cats curled up by their feet, waking up is a comfortably lazy thing today. Neither of them needs to be anywhere - it’s a long weekend, and so they’re taking the opportunity to start their day out as slowly as possible.

And this is how Martin finds himself in front of his side of the closet, finding a small stack of his jumpers missing. The one on top is a jumper he knitted early in the year, after receiving several balls of really good wool for Christmas from Tim. Light blue, white and pink - more than enough for a jumper and maybe a scarf or gloves. Martin still has some of it left over, but the majority of this gift is now in his hands, in the form of a thick, woolen jumper in his pride colours. Needless to say, he loves the thing.

On his way down the stairs, Martin is joined by Crumpet. The tiny black void had been dozing in the mess of their unmade bed until recently, but as soon as Martin is on the way down, she magically wakes up with a small “mrrp?”, jumps off of the bed with light feline feet and is glued to his heels just a split second later. Maybe there is hope for some treats - as if there wasn’t a blackboard in the kitchen for this very reason.

“The sneaky bastards have been fed, DO NOT fall for their foul play.” is written on it in big bold letters next to shopping lists and lopsidedly drawn hearts, checked off with a bright green checkmark twice a day. To outsiders, it might seem excessive, but they have developed this system for very good reason. Especially at first, the pitiful meows and empty food bowls had been enough to convince whichever human was closest that it was time for food, the mistake only being discovered after a few days of rapidly shrinking cat food supplies and two fat and lazy cats rolling about in a cozy corner. Hence, the blackboard.

Now, Crumpet is making zig-zag-lines down the stairs, conveniently getting in the way wherever Martin is stepping until he scoops her up into his arms with a small sigh.

“Crumpet, my Love. You’ll make us both fall down the stairs. That is illegal in this household.” He tells her seriously and Crumpet meows, as if in protest.

“Yes, yes, I know. Cat crimes are what you do. The answer is still no.” Crumpet meows at him again, but then she proceeds to bump her tiny head against Martins, purring loudly as he scratches her soft chin.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin can make out the familiar sound of singing from the kitchen. Even after so many years, it makes him smile and wanting to stop in his tracks, just to listen for a bit. Jon has a beautiful voice. It’s one of the, if not the first thing that made Martin fall in love with them, and getting to hear them not only talk but sing on a daily basis is… Truly wonderful.

Martin may or may not be completely besotted, and he knows for a fact that he isn’t alone in that. And really, when he rounds the corner, he finds Tim and Sasha sprawled on the couch, Sasha on her back and with a book in one hand, Tim half-dozing with his head on her chest, but he is still awake enough to listen, judging from the small, content smile on his face.

Of course, two of Martin’s missing jumpers are to be found right here with them. Sasha has claimed one of the plain ones, dark green and with a neat Haskell stitch. It suits her really well, even though it dwarves her – which is one more reason she loves it. Sasha is not short at all - but there is still plenty of space for her to wrap up in, which she happily does whenever she can.

Meanwhile, Tim has put on what Martin calls his “scrap collection”. Frankly, he refuses to even call it a jumper, because what it is, technically, is a bunch of scrap wool in all different colours, shapes and bulk sizes, anything that was a leftover and too little to finish anything with, knitted together into… Something with sleeves. The main reason Martin hasn’t thrown it out years ago is that he spent a long time working on it, and besides, even the scraps were expensive once – wool is about the only thing he likes to splurge on for himself sometimes.

But then, Tim discovered this atrocity in the back of Martin’s closet one winter morning. Of course, he promptly fell in love with the garish colours and it’s kind of charming overall ugliness. Which leads Martin to put it into Tim’s closet after the next wash, but the Scrap Collection Jumper always finds its way back to where it came from, despite the fact that no one else ever wears it.

“Stealing it is half the fun!” Tim had shrugged when asked, and shot him one of his blinding grins.

Now, Sasha and Tim look up when Martin enters the living room, and he sets Crumpet down to the floor. Tiny Void that she is, she scrambles right off to jump onto the couch – or rather, on top of Tim, who has already been claimed by their other cat, Gandalf.

Gandalf is, just like his name suggests, a large, grey Norwegian Forest Cat, sprawled out over the length of Tim’s back. He looks like an old, wise wizard, with a huge beard and knowing eyes and everything. Gandalf is of gentle nature, and despite being impressively large, he is a big old softie. This is one of the reasons for his second, mostly-unofficial name, Professor Floof.

Crumpet wriggles herself into the tiny space between Gandalf’s front paws, turns on the spot until she happily settles down.

“I see you have been claimed.” Martin smiles, and he means both Sasha and Tim.

“Yep! I’m not moving today.” Tim tells him, and pulls on Martin as soon as he is close enough to do so and he bends down for a quick kiss. It is warm and gentle, still tasting a bit of tea.

“We’ve also got another private kitchen concert to listen to.” He points out then, and Sasha adds,

“It’s been Disney songs this whole time. I am so glad that you managed to talk Jon into watching those with us.” She smiles, and it only grows wider when the first lines of “I’ll make a man out of you” travel over from the kitchen. Not that anyone would blame Jon for having this particular song stuck in their head – it’s a great song from a great movie, for one, and besides, it’s not like it’s easy to get rid of once it is stuck in someone’s brain.

Martin settles down on the couch near Sasha and just listens for a bit. A small, happy smile is tugging at his lips. He is happy and content, knowing all of his family near and safe and happy – there really isn’t much more to ask for. Eventually, Sasha’s head finds its way onto his lap, and her book remains forgotten and face down on top of Tim’s head – it doesn’t bother him at all and he doesn’t even comment on it. .

“It was about time, too. Can’t leave someone in this household having such glaring holes in their cultural knowledge.” She continues from where she left off earlier, leaning back into Martin as she puts the book to the side, properly this time, so that her own hands can find their way to Tim’s messy mop of bright purple. In an instant, it is met with a happy, satisfied hum.

“Oh, of course not. Speaking of, any idea what they’re doing in there?” Martin asks eventually, nodding over to the half closed kitchen door. It happens sometimes, that Jon disappears in there for hours, doing their thing and refusing help when it’s offered. It’s nothing negative, the others have learned by now; it’s just something relaxing, some “me-time” so to say.

“Cooking. But they very lovingly kicked us out and didn’t want any help, so here we are.” Tim explains cheerfully, although he is getting slightly groggy from the head scritches and the warmth of two cats dozing on him.

“I’m sure you’re absolutely heartbroken, having to be all lazy and comfy on a day off.”

“Oh, how shall we survive this horrible fate?” he laments ironically, face pressed into Sasha as she just laughs at him.

“Drama Queen.”

Another song starts, and Martin makes his way into the kitchen. As much as he loves listening and hanging out with Tim and Sasha, he is curious as to what Jon is up to, and besides, he wants to spend time with them as well.

When he enters the kitchen, he is met with a mess that is very familiar to him by now. As particular as Jon is about most other things in life, cooking isn’t one of them. Or more precisely, they’re particular about the results – not how the kitchen looks after they’re finished being a whirlwind of chaos. Today, there are small mountains of chopped vegetables on several wooden cutting boards, about half the contents of their spice rack strewn about the counter, right next to bundles of fresh herbs and the giant pot on the stove. There is another, smaller pan on the stove, and this is where the heavenly scent comes from. It already smells like roasted spices, and there is no doubt that the mouthwatering smell will creep out the door as Martin opens it further.

Jon turns around when they notice movement out of the corner of their eye, without missing a beat or stopping their song, but there is a happy sparkle in their eyes that seems to get even brighter when they spot Martin.

Surprising absolutely no one, they are currently wearing a stolen jumper as well. It’s one of the older ones, one of the first jumpers that Martin ever made – it’s far from perfect and nearly falls apart at this point, but it is still warm and comfortable. Well worn – which is the reason Jon loves this one so much. They have to fold over the sleeves to be able to use their hands, and the whole thing – dark purple wool with black, white and grey flecks throughout – hangs off of Jon’s small frame and makes them look even smaller than they actually are. But they love it, and much like when Martin attempted to give the other jumper to Tim, he put this one into Jon’s closet. But much like their other partner, they’d put it back into Martins space with identical reasoning:

“Stealing it is half the fun, Love.”

Martin doesn’t even question it anymore – and really, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind it at all. And if he notices his partners buying sleep shirts and such in sizes they wouldn’t usually wear, well. He recognizes it as his invitation to join in on the fun, and he does.

There really is something exciting about squirreling away something that’s usually worn by a loved one, even when it’s something they’d lend out with no questions asked. Especially then, because as the others have truthfully informed him, stealing the clothes from your partners is half the fun.

Right now, Martin is standing in the kitchen, surrounded by a hot mess that includes one of his favorite people in the world, and they only stop singing for a moment, wrapping themselves around Martin like the affectionate octopus they can be when the mood strikes them. Not like he is about to complain.

He happily hugs back, nose buried in the messy bun that Jon haphazardly piled up on top of their head earlier that day. The long familiar scent of shampoo and conditioner is still lingering, and Martin can’t help but kiss Jon right at this moment. They happily let him, and Martin rubs small, gentle circles on their back, aware of the soft, warm material of the jumper under his hands.

Another reason Jon loves this particular jumper so much, Martin knows, is because its colours resemble the Ace Pride flag. This isn’t even on purpose – it’s just how the wool looks. But there is no one in this household who isn’t happy about the smallest bit of affirmation of their identities, and as soon as Jon gets their hands on the jumper, well, you know how it goes.

Almost as predicted, Jon kicks Martin out of the room just as lovingly as they did Tim and Sasha, but only after more kisses and a brief but passionate duet as Martin makes tea for everyone, now that he’s here.

Back in the living room, Tim and Sasha thoroughly enjoy their private concert, snuggled up on the couch together and with their two fuzzy companions. Happiness can’t even begin to describe the feelings that bloom in both of their chests, as well as their partners back in the kitchen.

Later that day, the four of them are sprawled out on the couch, plates full with the Vegetarian Kadai that Jon prepared earlier. As secretive as they can be about their cooking sometimes, the one guarantee about it is that it’s always good. Today is no different.

Everyone tucks in, knowing that there will be plenty left still. More often than not, they end up freezing the leftovers, so they can have fresh, wonderful food whenever they want without the hassle – some days just are like that, and the energy can be low then. Everyone has bad days every now and then, but the knowledge that they are not alone, that they are loved and have a functioning support system, both at home and at work, helps a lot. Together, they always manage somehow.

They are family, the four of them, in any sense of the word. Neither of them has much of a family left that is related in blood – there are several reasons for this, and it hurts sometimes. Some days more than others, but by now, they have found one another and built their own family. They love and support one another, in so many different ways, but what it boils down to is just this. Family.

One Bisexual Man, one Pansexual Trans Man, one Biromantic Asexual Nonbinary Person and one Aromantic Asexual Woman – they’re a colorful rainbow mix, and they wouldn’t want it any other way.

#Archival Pride 2021 #tma fanfic #banashee writes #the magnus archives #fluffy and very very queer #season 1 polycule

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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What time are you starting this? It’s 3:49AM. Name? Stephanie. Nicknames? Steph or Sis. Date of birth? July 28th. Sex? Female.

Height? About 5′4. Eye color? Brown. Where were you born? Somewhere in California. Number of candles on your last birthday cake? 32. D; Pets? I have a 4 year old doggo named Princess Leia. Hair color? Dark Brown. Piercings? Just my earlobes. Town you live in? I’m not sharing that. Favorite foods? Eggs, ramen, chicken tenders, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, pastas, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, and pizza. Ever been to Africa? No. Been toilet papering? No, and I’d never participate in something like that. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes. Been in a car accident? No, fortunately. Croutons or bacon bits? Croutons. Favorite day of the week? I don’t have one really since my days seem to just blend together. Favorite resturant? I don’t have one. Favorite flower? I don’t have one. Favorite sport to watch? None. Favorite drink? Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi... lol clearly I like the cherry flavored sodas. And *gasp* I like Coke and Pepsi, highly controversial I know. Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Warner Bros. or Disney? Disney. Favorite fast food restuarant? I guess Jack in the Box because I really like their chicken strips. Carpet color in your bedroom? Tan. Whom did you get your last email from? From one of the stores I’m subscribed to. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don’t wanna max out any credit cards. What do you do most often when you are bored? I do the same things regardless: scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, check social medias, watch TV, read, color, play The Sims... Most annoying thing to say to me? I hate being told to “calm down.” Bedtime? I fall asleep in the early morning hours. Favorite TV show? I have several. Last person you went out to dinner with?: I haven’t gone out to dinner in quite awhile. Been out of country? Once when I went to Mexico. Believe in magick? No. Ford or Chevy? Ford. What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video. Have you ever failed a grade? No. If you have, what grade did you fail? -- Do you have a crush on someone? No. Do you have a bf/gf? No. If so, what is their name? -- How long have you been together? -- What are you wearing right now? A t-shirt dress. Would you have sex before marriage? I don’t plan on getting married, I just want to be in a long-term committed relationship with someone I’m in love and feel comfortable with before engaging in that. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? Nope. Are you a virgin? I am. Do you smoke? No. Do you drink? No. Are you a player? Np. What are your favorite colors? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow. What is your favorite animal? Dogs and giraffes. Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, one on my right elbow. Who do you talk to most on the phone? My mom. I don’t talk on the phone except for quick calls from my mom or sometimes from my brother who call to ask/tell me something real quick or my mom might call on her lunch at work to talk for a bit. They’re just brief calls. Have you ever been slapped? No. Do you get online a lot? Yeah, I spend a lot of time online. Are you shy or outgoing? I’m very shy. Do you shower? Yes. Do you hate school? I’m not in school anymore, but no I wouldn’t say I hated it. Well, not overall anyway. I definitely felt that way at times, but there were parts I liked. Do you have a social life? Nope. How easily do you trust people? I don’t really have a trust issue, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to others. That even includes people I’m close to. Would you ever sky dive? Nooo. Do you like to dance? I don’t dance except for like nodding my head to the beat or moving my arms or hands a little. Have you ever been out of state? Yes, a few times. Do you like to travel? I do. Have you ever been expelled from school? Nope. Have you ever been suspended from school? Nope. Do you want to get out of your hometown? Yes. Are you a brat? I feel like I’ve been acting like one nowadays. I’m just so irritable and moody and snippy all the time. :/ Have you ever been dumped? Yes. Do you like snapple? Sure. It’s bee awhile since I’ve had it, though. Do you drink a lot of water? Not nearly enough. What toothpaste do you use? Sensodyne. Do you have a cell phone? I do. Do you have a curfew? No, I’m 32 years old. I actually never had a curfew, though. There was no need to set one because I didn’t go anywhere. Who do you look up to? My mom. Are you a role model? I wouldn’t say so. Have you ever been to Six Flags or Cedar Point? I’ve been to Six Flags several times. What name brand do you wear the most? I have a lot of Adidas clothes, shoes, and accessories. What kind of jewelry do you wear? I hardly ever wear jewelry, but if I do it’ll likely be bracelets. What do you want pierced? Nothing. Do you like takin pictures? Not of myself. Do you like gettin your picture taken? No. Do you have a tan? I have a slight tan from my beach trip earlier this month. Do you get annoyed easily? Yes. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you have your own phone or phone line? I have a cell phone. Do you have your own pool? No. Do you have any siblings? I have two brothers. Have you ever been played? Yes. Have you ever played anyone? No. Do you get along with your parents? I do. How do you vent your anger? By crying. Have you ever ran away? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Do you even have a job? Nope. Do you daydream a lot? I suppose so. Do you run your mouth? No. What do you want a tattoo of? I highly doubt I’ll ever get one. What do you have a tattoo of? I don’t have any. Are you rude? I truly don’t mean or intend to be, but like I said I’m so moody, irritable, and snippy nowadays that I feel like I probably am kind of rude at times. :/ What was the last compliment you recieved? On my hair, I think. What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8. What does your hair look like right now? It’s really short. Could you ever be a vegetarian? No. Describe your looks? Really short dark brown hair, brown eyes, some freckles, thin, about 5′4... quite average, nothing special. Would you ever date someone younger than you? I’d much prefer someone older but in my range. I wouldn’t date anyone younger than 30. Would you ever date someone older than you? Yes. When was the last time you were drunk? Almost 10 years ago on my birthday. How many rings until you answer the phone? I don’t answer after a certain amount of rings. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, and I have no desire to ever do so. If yes, when was the last time? -- When was the last time you went on a date? It’s been a few years. Do you look more like your mother or father? My mom. Do you cry a lot? I feel like such a crybaby nowadays. What phrase do you use most when on the phone? I don’tave a certain phrase I always use when on the phone. Have you ever been chased by cops? No. What do you like most about your body? Nothing.

What do you like least about your body? Everything. When did you have your first crush? When I was in 3rd grade. When was the last time you threw up? It’s been a few years. In the opposite sex, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I don’t care. Do you ever wear shirts do show your belly? No. What about cleavage? No. Is your best friend a virgin? No. What theme does your room have? It doesn’t really have one. What size show do you wear? I wear a size 6 in women’s US. What is your screen name on AIM? Aw, rip AIM. How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry. When was the last time you were at a party? Back in June for my bro’s grad party. Has there ever been a rumor spread about you? No. What is one of your bad qualilties? One of many is that I’m very stubborn. What is one of your good qualilties? I’m understanding. Would you marry for money? No. What do you drive? I don’t. What kind of music do you like? I like variety. Would you ever bungee jump? Nooo. What is your worst fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life. Would you ever join the army? No. Do you like cows? Sure. If you were to die today, what would you do? Uhhh. If you had one last word to say to someone before you die, what would it b? I would tell them I love them and thank them for everything. Do you like to party? I like small, chill get togethers. Hearts or broken hearts? Uh, hearts. Moons or stars? Stars. Coke or pepsi? Both. Favorite scent? I have a lot. Favorite band? One will always be Linkin Park. Would you ever dye your hair red? I was dyeing my hair red for the past 5 years and plan on doing so again when my hair grows out more. How many languages can you speak? I’m only fluent in English. What time are you finishing this? 10:47AM. I fell asleep at some point so I finished this later.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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n1ghtcrwler · 4 years

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So there is a post that I recently saw that I just don’t want to add notes to for a number of reasons, not least of which being that I’m about to go on a significant tangent, so I’ll just say what I needed to say about it here.

The post is screenshots of a tweet thread about how bad “Cuties” actually is, from someone who claims to have watched it, and that’s fine. I haven’t seen the movie, I have no input to give on that matter. My concern arises in a reply offered by one user, who goes into more detail about how disturbing it is to consider that someone had to, at minimum, be comfortable putting the underage actresses in the situations depicted for the sake of filming them for the movie, and again, that is probably a valid point. But they ended their tirade with this:

“If you didn’t believe it before, the fact that this movie was even released and is being defended by the elite is proof that there is a deliberate plan to normalize and eventually legalize pedophilia and child porn.”

And that, my friends, is some QAnon bullshit.

See, this is a great example of how conspiracy theories work. We tend to only think of them in terms of their major propositions and the implications of those propositions--that the Earth is hollow, your average garden-variety antisemitic caricature of a shadowy society controlling you, that sort of thing--instead of talking much about how people fall into that hole in the first place. And, in our day-to-day lives, it’s really where the theories start that we need to be vigilant about more than where they end. Where they end is important, obviously, but no one buys the end product immediately. They get there through a process. And the user who posted the above quote is playing into that process.

Here’s the process that I want you to see in that paragraph, and to look out for elsewhere:

0: ‘Facts’ that are viable, and possibly even true

Step Zero is not to lie or even to introduce new information. I call it Step Zero because it isn’t automatically part of a conspiracy theory; obviously, if we’re going to talk about the impact of anything on the world, we have to talk about what is actually happening. But I point it out because conspiracy theories always start with a premise that you can accept. Always. Every time. You cannot assume that you will recognize a nonsense theory based on immediate nonsense. No one starts there. They start in the real world. As above, where they are describing very real or at least realistic consideration for the ways filming such a movie can groom young actresses and audiences.

1: Framing facts through key concepts

A good conspiracy theory begins not in the facts provided, but in the way they are provided.

Consider the bit of the paragraph I copied where it said, “the fact that this movie was even released and is being defended by the elite.” Who are the ‘elite?’ See, the use of that wording is intentional. What the user has done is frame the delivery of the fact or near-fact (that the movie and its mode of production are abhorrent) in a way that an elusive enemy is embedded in the fact or near-fact itself (that the elite are defending the abhorrent thing, making ‘them,’ whoever they are, also abhorrent) such that it is difficult to separate that idea from the rest of the fact or near-fact. In fact, I expect that if anyone wishes to argue with me about this post, they will do so by framing my dismissal of a mythical elite with being part of their work; that is, the primary means of arguing against this post, based on the way people have argued with me about similar things in the past, will be to hold that if I doubt that part of the sentence I must doubt the whole sentence and doubting the whole sentence means not finding pedophilia abhorrent and that, by extension, must make me either a pedophile myself or a man comfortable with pedophiles.

I’m sure you’ve seen that play out before in some context or another. This is why it plays out that way: the fact or near-fact has been married, unsuitably, to a claim that sets up Step Two.

2: Using the altered fact or near-fact to demand a pre-determined conclusion

Here’s the thing. If there is an elite who are actively trying to make and promote and defend “Cuties” (which is a highly suspect claim already), then the logical question is why they are doing so. Well, by golly, our friendly neighborhood conspiracy theorist has an answer! See, it’s “proof that there is a deliberate plan to normalize and eventually legalize pedophilia and child porn.”

That conclusion is not demanded by the agreed-upon facts. That is, if I agree with the theorist that the movie is, indeed, a work that grooms actresses and audiences, there are actually a variety of conclusions we can draw about why the movie was made. Maybe it was filmed with entirely different intentions and the end result is because of editing, or license taken by questionable cameramen. Maybe the version shown at Sundance or whatever was not actually the version currently on Netflix, so the people defending it were defending something other than what the twitter thread author saw. Maybe the producer really did have terrible motives but managed to convince someone at Netflix that that was not what was happening. Some or all of these may be false. I have no idea. But here’s the thing: neither does the person who posted the paragraph in question. The facts given in the post are actually pretty sparse as far as coming to a certain conclusion about intent are concerned. You need more information to know what is really going on here.

But see, that’s why they added information in Step One. By making it a behavior of that conspiracy’s boogeyman, they can easily come to a conclusion. The facts or fact-adjacent statements made in the body of the post, paired with a conspiracy-based understanding of who the elite are and what they want, is enough information to come to a conclusion. And it’s a conclusion that is only reasonable if the elite are real and are who the conspiracy says they are. See, the goal of getting you to believe the bigger conspiracy isn’t by telling you who the elite are, but by getting you to accept something that requires them. Which is why

3. Frame the delivery in a way that hides the conspiracy

The post leading up to the quoted paragraph is actually fairly long (admittedly, not as long as this post), and every part of it fits the conversation that has been had about the movie and is presented in a way that makes sense. So while the average tumblr user is scrolling along, if they read through, they’re being hit with a lot of sensible discourse about a movie they probably haven’t seen but have seen more discourse about, and then that bit of QAnon is just kinda slipped in without any major change to wording and presentation. It’s bolded for effect, but the content itself seems to flow naturally from the rest of the post. It’s only in stopping and thinking seriously about what has been said that the diversion away from a discussion of facts gets noticed.

The point is to be distinct enough to set up the conspiracy theory, but subtle enough that you accept it as part of the rest of the post’s claims. See, because, what happens there is that if the rest of the post makes sense to you, and you aren’t thinking about the fact that the post has taken a left turn, you accept the conclusion being given as a natural part of the post. And accepting the conclusion requires that you have, maybe without realizing it, accepted the claims about the ‘elite.’ And that sets you up.

4. Go Deeper

Because once you have accepted the conspiracy’s claims about the elite, preferably without recognizing that there was a claim about the elite, you are ready to accept other things that connect to that. Someone comes along and says something that also sounds plausible, and also ties into the conclusion that the elite are trying to legalize pedophilia. Well, because you’ve already accepted that this was a reasonable conclusion elsewhere, and it seems reasonable enough here, you accept it here as well. And this is solidifying in your mind the idea that it is known that there is an elite working toward that goal. But the questions remains of who the elite are. So, when someone finally comes along and ties the ‘elite’ to a specific person or group of people that you do recognize (usually Jewish people or some caricature thereof), and offers some evidence that is pretty flimsy but plays very nicely with claims you’ve already accepted, you buy it. Or you don’t, but you’re so deep now that you have to provide an alternative if you want to reject the answer you’ve been given, and so you start to spin your own theory.

Either way, the end result is the same: you are convinced of a claim that would have sounded crazy to you a year ago, and your family is trying to tell you how crazy it sounds to them now, but they just don’t know! They haven’t seen all the facts! You should probably show them the facts. Ideally, by starting with something they already know to be true. And the cycle continues.

Please. Be careful out there, folks. Don’t be that guy.

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

Text

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op.64 Chapter 1

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x

Ao3: x x

April—Six Months Earlier

“Don’t be so obvious,” her music stand partner Leevy whispered in amusement, “but Peeta Mellark is staring at you again.”

“What?” Katniss looked straight up, not even pretending to be subtle, and locked eyes with the first chair trumpet player sitting directly across the room from her. His eyes widened for a moment, probably assuming she wouldn’t catch his stare with the clarinet section in front of him, but instead of looking away like a normal person would after being caught, Peeta Mellark smiled at her, his right eyebrow raising suggestively in question. Katniss gripped her flute and pointedly turned back to her music, knowing her section would be criticized next on their sloppy runs.

He liked to do that every so often during rehearsal, look at her like she was some kind of joke that amused him. Get her all flustered with those stupid eyebrows and smiles. Leevy enjoyed pointing it out all the time, drawing kissy faces with their initials in hearts on their shared music that Katniss would then furiously erase because what if someone saw that? People in band were gossipy enough with who was dating whom and who broke up with whom.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she had a crush on Peeta Mellark.

Mr. Abernathy, their band director, stepped between them on his podium, breaking any eye contact Peeta could make on her, and tapped his baton on his stand to grab everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, ya mangy teens! A few announcements before you all age me once more with your apparent lack of practicing. First being, next season’s field show—”

“Oh, can I say it?” Miss Trinket, their assistant director, asked, already pushing Mr. Abernathy off the podium. Miss Trinket was a small wispy woman, her height mainly due to the massive heels she sported no matter the season, but despite her title and small stature, it was clear to anyone with eyes who was in charge of any decision making for the band program.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, smiling brightly as the room waited with anticipation.

Marching season was one of the biggest things they did in the school year. Everyone looked forward to it and a strong field show could finally mean getting Athens Ridge High’s Marching Gladiators to finals and beating the crap out of their arch rivals: the rich snooty Capitol Heights Academy’s Imperial Marching Crusaders.

Every year they always came so close to beating them, but Capitol Heights had the money for large expensive props and Athens Ridge did not. They were lucky enough to have been able to afford new marching uniforms a few years back, replacing the threadbare grey ones with sleek black and gold. Mr. Abernathy always reminded everyone that he didn’t care about winning, nor did he give a rat’s ass about Capitol Heights and all their achievements. All he cared about was that they performed to the best of their ability and marched off the field with pride, but Katniss wanted their band to be the best. Everyone in the Athens Ridge band did.

“Can I get a drumroll, please?” Miss Trinket asked, looking pointedly to Gale in the back.

Gale rolled his eyes, but started the roll on his snare drum.

“This year’s marching show is…” Another dramatic pause.

“Will you just tell them, woman? This ain’t the Oscars,” Mr. Abernathy snapped, sick of all her flairs and dramatics. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet. There. Now get off my podium.”

Miss Trinket held her ground, her pale features brightening under her anger, making her purple-streaked hair stand out more than usual. “Haymitch—!”

Everyone watched, entertained by yet another round of the two directors going at it once more. Katniss turned to look back at Gale, the head keeper of the betting pool, and he signed another two months before their directors would go at it like rabbits. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, and turned back to watch as the directors duked it out.

“I’ve heard the music to this field show,” Leevy said after practice, cleaning out her flute. “It’s really pretty. I can see why Miss Trinket picked it.”

Katniss carefully tucked her flute back in its case, giving it one final shine before locking it shut. “You think Miss Trinket picked it?”

Leevy laughed and threw a pointed look over to where Mr. Abernathy sat slunk in his chair, stained coffee mug in hand as he scowled at some piece of paper. “I highly doubt Mr. Abernathy would choose a show like Romeo & Juliet without some heavy outside persuasion.”

She had a point there.

As they waited by the door, ready to book it the second the bell rang, Katniss and Leevy rolled their eyes at the chaos in front of them. Thresh Armstrong, a tuba player known for sneaking in toys from home, had brought out a foam football and had tossed it over to Johanna Mason, one of the smart ass percussionists, who almost crashed into the chimes trying to catch it. She held the ball up in victory and the guys around her hooted and hollered in applause. With a dramatic bow, she tossed it to Gale behind her, who caught it and called out for his girlfriend Madge to catch. Madge squealed in shock when the ball hit her in the back of the head, throwing the ball back at him in protest.

“You’d think Abernathy would put a stop to that,” Leevy commented, laughing despite herself when the ball nailed Marvel Baxter in the face. “People can get hurt.”

“Maybe he wants to see assholes like Marvel get hit in the face, too,” Katniss snorted, glad she got to witness it. “Do you think we’ll get to see Cato get hit in the face?” she asked, eyeing the bulky blond in the far corner with interest.

“Doubt it.” Cato Martin was that stereotypical asshole who thought he walked on water and expected everyone to treat him as thus. And the sickening part was that people did. The school’s star quarterback was praised constantly in their school paper for his dedication to both the school’s athletic department and music department, despite being last chair in Symphonic Band and always being hounded for how bad he played by Mr. Abernathy. Despite his assholery, though, he always had a gaggle of followers around him, probably praising him for breathing.

Katniss hated him so much, and it wasn’t just because they were locker neighbors and she was constantly having to shove him and whatever girl he was making out with off her own locker to squeeze in. Or that, since the 7th grade, he’s only referred to her as “Katnips Everslip” after a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at the community pool. Or even that time he taped rubber baby bottle nipples all over her locker sophomore year and only received a slap on the wrist by their dean, Mr. Flickerman, because he didn’t realize how offensive it was and he was so so sorry. Yeah, Cato sucked and she hated him for all those things and more, but she hated him most because Cato Martin was that entitled ass who just expected things to be given to him. He never faced any consequences and those were the worst kind of people.

Laughing at Marvel and his botched up nose, her eyes briefly caught Peeta’s and the amusement she felt seeing Marvel get nailed in the face vanished instantly. Every bully had that one lackey who wasn’t really an asshole, but was kind of one by association because he just went along with anything the bully did. Yeah, that lackey was Peeta Mellark. Which somehow made it even worse. She knew Peeta. Used to be friends with him in elementary school, back when your neighborhood friends were your whole world and nothing could come between you. Now he was just one of Cato’s goons who blindly followed whatever Golden Ass commanded.

“Are you auditioning for color guard again?” Leevy asked, snapping Katniss’s attention back to her friend.

“Huh?”

Leevy’s eyes followed where hers had been and Katniss pretended not to notice the knowing smirk on her friend’s face, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead. “Are you trying out for color guard this year?” she asked again.

“Of course.” Katniss flushed at her sure answer, but she always did color guard. It was kind of her thing, especially since Miss Trinket had singled her out freshman year, snatching 14-year-old Katniss off the practice field where she had been marching with her fellow flute players. “You’ve got the perfect arms,” Miss Trinket had told her and she’d been part of color guard ever since.

“I’m hoping for captain, actually,” Katniss admitted, looking down at her beat-up sneakers. She hadn’t told anyone but Prim that, afraid she’d jinx it by putting it out in the universe too much, but going into senior year next season, she’d be the most experienced one auditioning. The odds were definitely in her favor, but the universe also had a tendency of fucking things up when she least expected it and she didn’t want to chance it.

Leevy sighed. “I wish you’d stay with the flutes. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with that”—she pointed at the giggly flute players who were now fawning over Cato like lovesick puppies—"all by myself.”

Katniss gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’d rather shoot myself in the eye than have to deal with Golden Ass’ fan club. Why don’t you try out? You’re small, like me. I bet Miss Trinket would love that.” Their assistant director would be beside herself with joy at having another petite person in guard she could have tossed around. Miss Trinket was always complaining how there were too many tall girls nowadays and that it limited her “vision.”

Leevy shook her head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think I could ever do what you all do. Who would trust me to throw something in the air and expect me to catch it? And the way you did those handsprings for last year’s show?” She shook her head again in amazement. “I can’t even balance on one foot without falling. I’m nowhere near as talented as you.”

Katniss’ cheeks darkened again at Leevy’s appraisal. Those handsprings were a bitch to grasp, she remembered, and the only reason she was the one doing them wasn’t because Trinket saw her as some talented goddess. No, it was just because everyone else was too afraid of doing them without any type of mat underneath them and Katniss wasn’t. She was about to tell her friend this—that yeah, she was pretty good with a flag and rifle, but all that can be taught and Leevy’s lack of gymnastic talent shouldn’t stop her from auditioning—when the foam football smacked her hard on the side of her head.

“What the hell?” She scanned the chaotic room for the culprit, rubbing at the spot where the ball hit. “Who threw that?”

The culprit in question raised his hand apologetically and jogged over to pick the blue ball off the ground. Her hands balled into fists.

Peeta Mellark.

Of course.

“My bad!” he apologized, smiling down at her in that totally non-assery way that just pissed her off more. “I was trying to throw the ball to Glimmer and—” he started to explain, casually pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Your aim sucks that much?” she fumed, interrupting him. Glimmer was clear across the room by the other French horn players, far from where she and Leevy stood. “That could have hit my eye!”

There was a time, long ago, when she was once taller than him. She used to jokingly lean on Peeta while they waited in lines at school or the grocery store, calling him squirt and messing up his curly blond hair like his dad did, laughing when he’d scowl and pull away, hating that nickname. He always vowed he’d reach his growth spurt someday soon, just like his brothers, and she’d be sorry she ever called him squirt. Peeta stood almost a foot taller than her now, but she stood her ground. Glaring up at him, she considered using the old nickname, just to see if it rattled him

There was no way his aim was that bad. They’d had the same gym class for almost six years now and she knew he wasn’t terrible. Peeta was one of those guys things just came naturally to, especially sports. For years she has watched as he made the winning pass in basketball, smacked a volleyball down to score like nobody’s business, swiped the puck in during hockey. She smelled bullshit.

This was probably some stupid dare Cato or Marvel put him up to. She eyed Marvel off to the side, still rubbing his nose. He was probably pissed at her for laughing at him and thought it’d be funny watching her get nailed in the face, too. Let’s see how hard the ball can bounce off Katnips Everslip’s tiny head! she could hear the idiots snickering. Marvel always did have a small ego. And of course, like always, Peeta just went along with it because that’s what Peeta did. Just go along with anything his friends suggested, even if meant injuring an innocent bystander.

“So why’d you throw it at me?” she point-blank asked, crossing her arms. “Did Marvel put you up to it? Cato?”

His face quickly went from apologetic smiles to annoyance, rolling his eyes at her sneer. “You know, Katniss, believe it or not, accidents do happen.”

“Accident? Please,” she scoffed. “I know you, Peeta. You don’t do accidents. Everything you do is strategically planned and executed with exact precision. So who dared you? It was Marvel, wasn’t it?”

He looked back at his buddies and laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m touched that you think I’m so robotic, Katniss, truly, but believe whatever the fuck you want. I said it was an accident because it was an accident.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I already did.” He leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes mocking, and tapped the football on her nose with a smug smile, walking back over to his friends. Some of the guys made kissy faces at his return, laughing when Peeta shoved them to quit it, but he was laughing along with them.

Katniss’ nails dug into her palms as she watched them, briefly wondering if someone could be glared to death. God, they were the worst.

“Wow,” Leevy breathed, watching the trumpet players, too. “The sexual tension is strong today. Felt like I was in a movie just now.”

She turned to her friend, incredulous. “Sexual tension? With Peeta Mellark?” She gagged at the thought. “Did you not just see him be a complete ass to me? He hit me with a football!”

“Yeah and apologized for it.” Katniss rolled her eyes at the low standard bar Leevy had for apologies. Peeta’s apology was obviously fake and what about that annoying ball tap to the nose? Did she not see how condescending that was? “You two are so going to bone by the end of this year.”

The bell rang before Katniss could choke out a rebuttal.

#Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Everlark #The Hunger Games #My writing #Marching band fic #The Dance of the Color Guard Op. 64 #I hope you all enjoy #Let me know what you think!#:)

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firewoodfigs · 4 years

Text

no matter the hearts you burn, in mine you shall always remain

read on ao3

[I highly recommend reading on ao3 instead because of the long notes. also because I have no idea how to centralise things on Tumblr 🤣]

for @moms-made-fullmetal-2020, day 7: farewells and new beginnings. thank you once again @waddiwasiwitch for organising such a lovely event!

Summary: The label ‘bastard’ bears multiple meanings for Roy Mustang, who is the result of a dangerous, illicit affair between two childhood lovers. The story begins in an Imperial Court, deep in the heart of Xing.

Translations:

要选 (yào xuǎn) means "want to choose", but Yao Xuan’s name would probably be written as 姚璇 (yáo xuán) in Xingese. The first character is a common Chinese surname and what I’m guessing is the Xingese equivalent for the Yao clan, and the second character means “jade”. Hence why Yao Xuan mentions that her name is a wordplay on “choice” later on.

亲爱的 (qīn ài de) - dear; a term of affection.

再见 (zài jiàn) - farewell, goodbye.

心肝 (xīn gān) - darling; a term of endearment. However, translated literally, it means “heart and liver”.

A/N: I know Ling’s name in FMA is structured as Ling Yao, but for the purposes of this fic I rearranged the name such that the clan name comes first - hence Yao Xuan instead of Xuan Yao (in part because the latter has a different meaning). It’s also common for surnames to come first for Chinese names.

Songs: Chrysanthemum Terrace, Endless Love

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

The Imperial Court is a terribly lonely place.

Underneath every smile plastered on perfect porcelain is a heart that mourns and yearns for a life outside the palace. Engraved on walls of gold and jade are recurring motifs of phoenixes and dragons, a reminder to all the concubines sequestered within to remember who they serve. Who their heart rightfully belongs to for the rest of their lives.

The Supreme Eminence, the Sovereign Emperor.

Her fate is inescapable from the day she was born. You are the oldest daughter of the Yao clan, Yao Xuan. It is your duty to produce an heir for the Emperor, for us. She doesn’t have a say in the matter, doesn’t have a choice, because her destiny has been plotted out like a graph from birth.

It’s only been months since she entered the Imperial Court as a concubine, but Yao Xuan finds herself already suffocated by the politics and overwhelming expectations of perfection that line every crevice, every footstep. Mornings are a particularly tiresome affair - she awakes even before the sun rises, to begin dressing up for a man that she’s frankly not even interested in.

But he owns your life now.

The entire thing is ritualistic, but doesn’t offer a sliver of comfort like a religious ritual might have. She sinks gracefully into the warm bathtub filled with red petals for her at six in the morning, before letting the ladies under her dry and tug at her raven tresses methodically. It hurts - the teeth of the jade comb stabs at her scalp mercilessly, and is an added weight to the already heavy burden on her shoulders. Her face is powdered alabaster with lead, eyebrows darkened with charcoal and lips painted a bright crimson, before she’s swathed tightly in gold satin and scarlet silk.

Though red represents prosperity in Xing, she finds there is nothing prosperous about dressing up everyday for a man who only spares her a momentary glance as he scans the throng of women lined up orderly at the paulownia pavilion for him.

Who shall it be today, Your Majesty?

Secretly, Yao Xuan begs for the Emperor to not pick her for the night, in spite of the pleasant, seductive smile that tugs at her lips mechanically whenever he saunters past her. His eyes scan her like she’s nothing more than a slab of meat at the market, and she finds her heart shattering every time she remembers a man who looked at her like she was the world to him.

Christopher Mustang. He’s nothing more than a forbidden fruit now, but it’s the fact that he’s dangled in front of her that exacerbates the cruelty. Once he was her childhood lover, but now he’s a soldier - General Mustang - in the Imperial Court who’s sworn fealty to the same sovereign entity.

She wishes this was not their destiny, but fate is cruel and ineluctable and they can only share forlorn, fleeting glances whenever she strolls past him after another day of rejection to return to the royal chambers with the other ladies to dabble in senseless politicking disguised by equally mindless embroidery.

Sewing has never been one of Yao Xuan’s talents, but there’s really nothing else to do in the stifling confines of the palace. Her fingers ache as she pricks herself with the needle, but it pales in comparison to the pain that shreds through her as she laments for a love and desire buried deep within by the immeasurable weights of duty and destiny.

~x~

Years pass, and spring comes in full bloom.

Yao Xuan is a wonderful sight to behold in the warmth of spring. Her cheeks are suffused in pink, mirroring the petals falling delicately above her, a lilac robe embracing her magnificent figure. But in spite of her beauty the Emperor waltzes past her in his full regalia without even passing a glance, and with every step she finds her self-worth getting trampled on.

The other members of the Yao clan have expressed their displeasure many, many times at the very apparent lack of an heir, but there’s nothing she can do. It’s all a matter of chance, and there’s nothing she can do to improve her luck: concubines are not allowed into the Emperor’s room unless they’re chosen.

(It’s strangely paradoxical, because her name’s a wordplay on choice, but she’s neither chosen nor given a choice.)

The routine repeats itself: she returns to her chambers after receiving a severe scolding from the other members of the Yao clan for being utterly, utterly useless. The only thing that stings is the needle - she refuses to let tears sting her eyes in front of them. Instead, she bows her head subserviently and promises to do better the next time, but her feet wander when night falls.

Yao Xuan finds herself at the paulownia pavilion again, admiring the lotuses that float gracefully atop shallow waters and decorate them in flecks of white and pink.

Purity and enlightenment.

There’s nothing enlightening about her entire predicament - she doesn’t know what else can be done to make herself more attractive to the Emperor, but every dismissal comes with disapproval and disappointment, and it’s a painful pill to swallow. It sits uncomfortably in her gut as she drums her fingers against the chrysanthemum-coloured balustrades to distract herself from the nauseating feeling bubbling in her throat.

“Lady Yao? What are you doing out here so late at night?” The familiar voice of her childhood lover abates the nausea a little.

“Just thinking, General Mustang.” She turns to look at him, but her resolve crumples along with her face when she witnesses his kind, strong stature under the moonlight. There’s nothing more I want than to be with you, qīn ài de.

“Are you alright?” General Mustang stands with a respectable distance between them, but she sees love and sincerity pooling in his eyes, and her own desire that she’s tried to suppress since her entrance to the Imperial Court makes a fiery resurgence.

“... I’m not,” and she begins to cry. Instinctively, he wants to embrace her, whisper sweet nothings into her crown of black tresses, but he can’t.

General Mustang grips the hilt of his blade in an attempt to resist temptation, but she inches forward daintily to reach for his hand, and his resolve likewise falters. He automatically responds in kind when she rests her palm on his, and he’s quick to intertwine his fingers around hers, tracing circles on the back of her palm while murmuring soothing platitudes.

In the end, years of suppressed desire inundates them, and despite the alarm bells ringing in their heads their feet move involuntarily, as if possessed by some kind of uncontrollable automatism, towards Yao Xuan’s chambers. She disrobes, he disarms, and their bare bodies finally become one in the darkness.

There’s nothing pure about their union, only immoral, but it’s the first time they’ve felt happiness after an eternity of loneliness and despair.

~x~

sentenced to death

even before you were born curse the stars, cruel fate — they have damned you! but i knew, even then you were born to be loved in my womb, in my heart i carry you with all my love.

~x~

She’s not sure if the nausea is due to the tempestuous storm of emotions writhing in her gut after enduring incessant reprimands and lashings from the other members of the Yao clan, or the symptoms of something a lot more petrifying.

But it persists for weeks, and she’s late.

Late.

A terrifying consequence after an illicit affair. It goes without saying that they’ll both be executed upon discovery, for it is impossible that this is the Emperor’s scion. After all, he’s never even laid a hand on her, and the only logical conclusion is that the child growing inside her belongs to her lover.

The inevitable fate that awaits them is only death and dishonor. They would face opprobrium in its most unadulterated form, no doubt, and she would be exiled from the Yao clan for the shame she’s brought to her family’s name.

Yao Xuan could bear dying alone, being humiliated and scorned by her clan, but the thought of her lover and her unborn child being murdered alongside her kills her.

An unborn, innocent child who has done nothing wrong except exist.

Despite the wrongness of the whole situation, there’s a part of her that’s secretly elated - excited, even. For this was the fruit of their love, and her heart was already beginning to bloom with adoration for her son. Or daughter, but her maternal instincts convince her that it will be a son.

Fortunately, she’s not selected by the Emperor that day. Yao Xuan endures the rest of the day with as much normalcy as she can before making her way to a secluded veranda at night that’s a safe spot away from prying eyes.

She spots General Mustang, who has received her note earlier in the day to meet her here at midnight, and walks to his side.

“What’s the matter, Lady Yao?”

Yao Xuan doesn’t speak. Instead, she bends over gracefully to pick up three abandoned petals on the ground and lifts it up to his eyes, her other hand resting on the barely discernible swell of her stomach.

General Mustang’s eyes widen. They’ve known each other for years, and it’s easy for him to understand her message immediately.

Pregnant. With our child.

He closes the remaining distance between them and splays an open palm on her stomach.

“I plan to run away with this child, General.” Alone. The implication is clear - she doesn’t want him to be involved, doesn’t want him to be stripped of his title and suffer a dishonorable discharge and be executed.

But there’s nothing more dishonorable than leaving the woman I love to go through this alone. “Not by yourself, Yao Xuan.”

She pushes his palm away gently from her stomach, and meets his gaze with a stern one, trying not to let his use of her full name unwind her. “Yes, General. I will not do this to you - not after you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now.”

“You’re more important than all of that,” he murmurs, but there’s an edge to his voice that makes it crystal clear that he’s made up his mind, and there’s nothing she can do that will deter him from acting upon it. He clasps a firm hand around her wrist. “Let’s go.”

Yao Xuan casts a final glance at the overbearing silhouette of the palace grounds before whispering a quiet apology to her sister - they’re ten years apart in terms of age, but it will be her turn to bear the unbearable burden of being a concubine this time - as she elopes with her lover and a stomach that’s beginning to swell with life.

Together, they traverse through the desert with nothing to their name, but full of love for their unborn child.

~x~

the stars stare down at you as we traverse through the desert. the night is cold but here you will stay warm, within me. you are a blessing, God’s gift to me. a journey thus sublime — you must live, new life.

~x~

Her son’s birth had been a difficult one, and life afterwards with her husband as fugitives in the harsh desert wasn’t easy. But she’s surprisingly content. Happy, even, with the simple domesticity that they’ve been blessed with, and whenever Yao Xuan looks at the innocent bundle of joy in her arms she smiles with the knowing conviction that they’d made the right choice.

She can’t help but think that their beloved son - Roy Mustang - is perfection in a swath of linen the first time she sees him, and she loves him with such a fierce tenderness that it engulfs her completely - even more than her love for her husband. Chris shares the same sentiments, and they both share an unspoken consensus that they would die for him instantaneously should the need arise, without second thought.

And like a fulfilled prophecy, the need does arise.

Roy Mustang is a little toddler of four, brimming with innocuous delight whenever his mother reads to him about the basics of science, before reciting tales of knights in shining armour slaying evil dragons that breathe fire afterwards.

(His father has a nice voice, too, and Roy is equally delighted whenever he reads to him, but he finds himself preferring his mother’s voice to his bright tenor.)

Yao Xuan rests a hand endearingly on his arm, and Roy thinks there’s nothing like the warmth of her bosom as he snuggles in adorably. The gentle lull of her voice has an almost soporific effect, and he finds himself slowly dozing off.

Until his father barges in. He speaks with a pitch higher than Roy is accustomed to, and the panic radiating off his body, his every movement, causes him to stir slightly. “We need to go now, Yao Xuan. They’ve found us.”

The book she’d been reading earlier falls to the ground unceremoniously with a loud thud, jolting Roy awake. “What’s wrong, mama? Papa?” He blinks, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes blearily. At the sight of the fallen book, he picks up the book immediately and brushes off any imaginary specks of dust, grabbing it firmly with his tiny hands.

“We need to run, son,” she picks him up deftly, allowing Roy to rest on her shoulder while stroking his tuft of raven hair with trembling hands.

Together they begin to run through the desert, Roy’s eyes wide as he takes in the stars gleaming brightly overhead and the cold wind slapping his face, but the wind and stars are not their only companion. His parents hear footsteps inching towards them, metal clanging against armor and know that they’re close to getting ambushed.

Is this it? The punishment for our sins?

“Stop right there, the both of you.”

General Mustang stiffens. That voice…

“General Lan Yan?” he calls. It’s difficult to make out the man’s identity, especially when he’s decked in black from head to toe and has a mask on, but he would recognise that voice anywhere.

The masked man removes his visor to confirm General Mustang’s thoughts, as the other soldiers draw their swords, inching closer to form an inescapable circle around the two traitors.

“We’re trapped, aren’t we?” Yao Xuan whispers to her husband. She holds her son closer to her as he starts sobbing into her shoulder, his young mind confused and scared by the dangerous-looking strangers swarming around them.

(The only people Roy knew who wielded swords were the knights from fairytales, and the men around him looked nothing like heroes.)

“We’re under orders from the Emperor to execute the both of you,” General Lan Yan announces, eyes steeled in resolve but with a tremulous edge in his voice. He winces at the thought of being ordered to kill a former comrade, a friend.

A friend who he had once admired, trained with and fought against. Years ago, they’d started out with relatively bad impressions of each other. Lan Yan had thought he was an arrogant bastard, even though everyone called him the golden boy because of his impressive swordsmanship and mastery of alkahestry. On the other hand, Christopher Mustang was inclined to think of him as a rival, an annoying panderer, given that he was constantly trying to one-up him.

But they’d eventually grown to become close friends, for they were more alike than they thought. Not only did they have similar tastes in food and literature, but they’d shared the same ideals and hopes for the future of Xing as well.

How terrible that we have to be reunited like this, my friend. The words, though unspoken, lingered on the tip of their tongues.

“I only ask that you spare my son, General Lan Yan,” And my wife, but I know that’s asking for too much.

“... Very well, General Mustang. I’ll give you and Lady Yao five minutes,” he states. Beside him, a masked man begins to prepare lethal poison in two silver cups.

“Thank you, General Lan Yan.” An indescribable gratitude fills General Mustang’s voice, as his wife’s cries begin to mirror his son’s sobs.

Sorrow, sympathy and guilt tugs at General Lan Yan’s heartstrings as he looks at the terrified child in Lady Yao’s arms. His mind races, cogs working in overdrive, scrambling for a final favour he could do for General Mustang. He couldn’t save him or his wife, but perhaps he could save his son - after all, the Emperor had made no mention about executing the product of their affair.

The least I can do for my best friend would be to bring his child to safety.

“... To my sister. Across the desert, in Amestris, there’s a tavern in Central called The Blue Porcelain. Please bring him there for me.”

“I will do that, General Mustang. On my honor - you have my word.”

Four minutes left. “Listen, Roy, we’re going to have to say goodbye here,” Yao Xuan whispers softly, but she can’t restrain her voice from cracking at the thought of having to bid her precious son farewell.

“Why, mama?” Roy sobs, tightening his hold around her neck while still clutching onto the book with a vice-like grip.

“... Your father and I did some wrong things in the past. But listen carefully, xin gan.” A term of endearment, but Yao Xuan feels like her heart and liver are being ripped apart from her at the moment as she loosens his arms to look him in the eye. “We’re going to send you to live with your aunt, but I want you to be good for her, okay? I know she will love you as much as I do, if not more.”

She runs a thumb across his soft, wet cheeks, savouring the feeling and ingraining it in her memory. “Make sure you eat well everyday, shower twice a day. Study hard, and do your best in school. Don’t skive off. Be kind to those around you, and… and I hope you grow up to be a wonderful man like your father.” Yao Xuan weeps, tears mixing with her son’s. “There will be bright days, rainy days, but I know that you will come to find people who care about you as deeply as I do. And no matter what you do… know that we will always love you, Roy.”

“I love you too, mama, but don’t go, please,” Roy begs. He’s not quite sure what’s going on around him - they were the heroes and heroines in the books they read to him, and they were supposed to protect him, not abandon him.

What does that mean? Will I see them again?

General Mustang rubs at his eyes impatiently. “We have to, Roy. I love you, and I know that you will grow up to be a fine man. I know you’ll surpass me.” He flashes Roy a watery smile as he places a warm hand on his forehead, but it’s full of faith and certitude.

This is our son, after all.

“I love you too, papa. I need you,” Roy pleads with all the desperation of a child who wanted nothing more than to be with his parents every day.

Their hearts shatter when General Lan Yan signals that their time is almost up. Ten seconds.

“Be strong, son. We’re so sorry,” Yao Xuan mourns as Roy is pried from her arms and lifted onto a horse by General Lan Yan. “Zai jian, xin gan,” she bids farewell solemnly as she watches his small, struggling frame disappear in the dark, unforgiving night, deserting them to face their death. The wind carries his desperate wails, and for the first time since her pregnancy the nausea is back with a wrathful vengeance.

But it won’t be here to stay this time.

She crosses an arm with her husband as they receive the cups of poison with unwilling hands, pulses beating violently as they repeat their vows of undying love to each other for the last time.

Farewell, my son.

~x~

your first breath, first taste of this wretched world: a cry of triumph, a fist of victory, a defiance of death. my soul sings into satin and linen: affection for perfection.

~x~

It doesn’t take long for Roy to cry himself to sleep. His petite body shuts down quickly from the sheer exhaustion of doing so, and he’s out like a light soon enough as he traverses across the desert with General Lan Yan. When he’s awoken by the onslaught of a particularly harsh wind and what sounds like an oncoming sandstorm, he’s pulled back into sleep by a gentle force on his pressure point.

Suddenly, he’s roused from his slumber by someone shaking him, and as he cracks an eyelid open to peer out the window he realises that - wait, this is not the desert. The scene around him is a stark contrast to the vast expanse of sand and ochre that he’s used to. The alleys that they pass by are narrow, and they reek of something unfamiliar. It’s unpleasant. Roy doesn’t like it.

Then the memory of what happened hits him like a truck, and he begins to bawl again even as he’s brought out into the sunlight, towards a strange-looking establishment. It’s nothing like Roy has ever seen in his life, and though it’s significantly cooler he finds himself already longing for the desert heat beating on his back.

The Blue Por… He tries to read the sign on the door, but it’s a word too big for his age.

General Lan Yan raps on the door while keeping a steady hand on the boy’s sobbing frame. “Miss Mustang?”

The door opens to reveal a gruff-looking woman. “What?” Roy finds himself intimidated by the woman’s brusque and domineering persona. She’s decked in a plum-coloured dress with lips to match, with mother-of-pearls and gold branched around her neck like a collar. Her hair and eyes are jet black, like Roy’s and his parent’s, but he finds that she looks nothing like his mother, who’s kind and sweet and -

- he bursts into tears again.

“What’s going on?” The Madame asks, bewildered by the sight of a crying child and a man who, from his ostentatious armor and features is obviously from Xing. There’s a sense of guilt lingering within her when she looks upon the distressed child, so she stretches out to rest an awkward hand on his unruly black hair (which reminds her a little of her brother’s, who’s never been known to make acquaintance with a comb).

“Your brother…” General Lan Yan straightens, chiding himself mentally for letting his tongue slip. “General Mustang said to bring your nephew here, miss.”

My nephew. Nephew.

God, she wasn’t even aware that her brother had a son. How did he even find the time to raise a child while serving in the Xingese military?

“That’s Madame Christmas to you, and where’s my brother?”

“I hate to inform you of this, Madame Christmas. He is dead.” There’s a certain fluidity in his response that disguises his remorse, his reluctance, but his eyes prickle marginally at the thought of his deceased friend and his wife.

Christmas feels like he’s just thrown her under a moving train. “Don’t joke around.”

“I… I am afraid not. I’m here to carry out his last wish,” General Lan Yan replies somberly. Beside him, the child fidgets, gripping onto the book he’d brought along with him so hard that the edges begin to leave marks on his palms.

“How?”

“... It is not my place to say, Madame. We’ve been silenced by a royal decree,” and it’s true. She wants to go after the man with a quick fist, but there’s nothing that belies the brutal veracity of his statement on his expression.

Christmas swallows the painful lump in her throat before choking out her next words. “And what… what was his last wish?” I definitely need a drink after this.

“He only said to bring the child to you. I assume he intended for you to raise him as well.”

“... Where’s his mother?” It’s more rhetorical than anything, but Christmas wanted to believe that there could be a different answer by some stroke of luck.

“Dead, as well,” he whispers, and Roy’s cries amplify tenfold as he flinches away from the General’s hand - his hand reminded him of the villains in the stories his mother would read aloud to him - and huddles into itself.

“... I see.” She pauses for a moment to take in his frail frame. “Well, I’ll be taking him, then,” she motions for Roy to come over before gesturing for the General to leave.

(As much as she wanted to flip a finger, she realised that she would have to rethink some habits now that she had a child under her wing.)

“Thank you, Madame Christmas. I entrust the boy into your care,” he bows before turning to leave, glancing at the boy’s shuddering figure for one last time before returning back to the carriage.

Here’s to a new beginning for your son, General Mustang, Lady Yao. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for the both of you.

~x~

It takes time for the child to adjust to the novelty of his new home, his new beginning. But eventually, he does.

Aunt Chris and his mother are two worlds apart. For starters, they looked nothing alike. And where his mother was delicate and soft, Aunt Chris was loud and rough.

Nevertheless, they are alike in some ways, he learns. Roy’s the only boy in the bar, as he later learns it’s called, and despite her initial crabbiness Aunt Chris is surprisingly tactile and nice. It doesn’t take long for her to grow fond of the boy, the same way the girls in the bar fawn over him from the moment he steps in. He’s rather petulant and sullen initially, but this doesn’t come as a shock for someone who lost his parents at such a tender age.

When Roy first arrived at The Blue Porcelain he’d holed himself up in the room assigned to him, reading the only book he’d brought from home over and over again (Roy also discovered that his mother had left a poem, a letter of sorts within, and he never went anywhere without it - he treated it like a talisman).

But Aunt Chris doesn’t let him sulk for long.

No matter how grouchy he was, she would always drag him out forcibly for dinner, and made a conscious effort to talk to him daily even though he clearly wasn’t the biggest conversationalist around. She’d tried reading bedtime stories to him, even, and indulged him when he whined about wanting to hear about princesses and knights.

Where his mother’s voice was like silk, hers was a lot more like gravel. Nevertheless, Roy eventually comes to appreciate it, and would even look forward to their nightly sessions where he could tell her all about what he’d learnt at school that day.

Aunt Chris also nags at him the same way his own mother did - she’s always yammering at him to finish his food, hold his chopsticks properly or do his homework, and while it gets on his nerves occasionally he comes to understand that it’s their way of showing affection.

It’s therefore a no-brainer for him to draw both his aunt and his mother when he’s assigned with the task of producing an artwork of his mother for school, but when he shows it to Aunt Chris she begins to tear up.

He’s puzzled. Am I really that bad at art?

“What’s wrong, Aunt Chris?”

“Nothing, boy. It’s lovely,” she says sincerely.

Roy grins. “My teacher said so, too. I’ve been doing well in all my other subjects in school too, you know. Top of the class,” he chirps happily, puffing out his chest a little in pride.

“That’s wonderful, Roy-boy. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a great man one day, like your father.”

“... Really?” There’s a certain melancholy that laces his voice, as if he was unsure of himself.

His aunt, on the other hand, is unequivocal that he would. She was no fortune teller, but there was a fire that illuminated his eyes. The mark of a warrior, a leader. “Absolutely. You’re destined for greatness, my boy.”

(Roy didn’t know this yet, but he would one day negotiate treaties on behalf of his country with a future distant relative and ascend to a rank higher than his father’s so that he could marry the woman he loved without any ramifications.)

~x~

(look, a bastard child!) no, you will embark towards glorious greatness. life doomed you once, but in your hands it shall soon rest. hear me now. heart and hearth: keep them ablaze, alight. no matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain.

~x~

The war-torn desert reminds Major Mustang of a childhood memory that he’s tried to suppress for a long, long time. With every howl of the wind, the ache in his heart only grew stronger. Hotter. Like an inferno threatening to consume his innards.

He’d always been acutely aware of the pain of having your parents ripped apart from you in front of your very eyes. It was the kind of anguish that abated only slightly with time, but then and now grief would come back with a vengeance. Always, in the most unexpected of moments.

And yet here he was, doing the exact same thing years later.

Spare no one, the decree says. In response, The Flame Alchemist obeys.

Destined for greatness, my ass.

He would have liked to seek out a certain childhood friend for comfort, but he couldn’t bear to touch her. Not like this. Not when he’d stained his hands scarlet, not when he’d been a contributing factor to her involvement in the war. In any case, he highly doubted that she wanted to be even associated with him at this point, which suited him fine. He didn’t deserve her.

Not in the least, you monster.

The whiskey does nothing to assuage the emotional storm brewing within him. A distasteful mix of sorrow, compunction, longing. Alcohol, he realised, could not bring him absolution or erase his sins. It only offered a brief respite, a numbing agent.

Major Mustang sinks onto the floor of the weather-beaten tent as he digs inside his pockets for an old poem that had offered him comfort since he was five, even before his vocabulary was wide enough to comprehend its intended message.

He hadn’t cried, not since the war happened, but his mother’s predictions had been eerily accurate. Prophetic, even. For indeed life rested in his hands - with a snap, he could destroy an entire population; he’d burnt so many hearts, so many hearths, that his were now darkened with despair and remorse.

I really am a bastard of the most reprehensible kind, aren’t I?

Lost in a pool of words and grief, he misses the presence of a blonde girl who was only slightly shorter, younger than he was. Riza Hawkeye comes in through the tent flap and stares at him wordlessly. She sees him grasping tightly onto a familiar piece of crumpled parchment, as if it was the last shred of hope in their wretched lives.

Overcome with sympathy, Riza decides to push aside the conflicting feelings raging within her - for now, at least - and sits beside him.

He’d shown her the letter once, when they were children - the only memento his late mother had left behind. Riza had never seen him go anywhere without it. It was obviously of great import to him, and his mother had clearly loved him dearly.

“No matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain,” Riza whispers. And it’s true: despite the atrocities they’d committed outside, the crimes against humanity they’d perpetrated, there was a part of her that still loved him, as his own mother would have.

For the first time since The Ishvalan Extermination, Roy allows himself to mourn in her arms as he clutches desperately onto a yellowing letter.

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

special thanks to @hirayaart and @x-rainflame-x - thank you so much for helping me read through this, and for your invaluable feedback 💖

you can read the full poem here if you’re interested ^_^

#moms-made-fullmetal-2020 #fma fanfic #xingese!roy #Royai fic #implied royai #roy's parents #madame christmas #fma #royai fanfic #xingese imperial court

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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15.11 and moving forward

Some of you may have seen my Putrefied in Purgatory video surrounding 15.09. Putrefaction is the reduction of a material to its barest state for a new foundation, rotting away to the alchemical Blackened state to rebuild on new stages of whitening (which seemed to crest in 15.10 for Dean), then yellowing and reddening en route, though for completion there's other stages ahead of us (as per what I lended towards in Philosopher's Gold, also 15.09 video.)

But I think what I need to do is discuss the tree.

SO MOVING FORWARD, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN ALCHEMY AND QABBALAH SPN LAND. GLAD YOU ASKED, NOBODY.

I *AM* gonna need you to bear with me right now, because I’m about to data-dump out a bunch of information and then go back over and explain how this is connecting to what Andrew Fucking Dabb and company are doing actively, episode by episode. If you don’t get it on first read, that’s fine, once I start putting it in terms and concepts and show stuff you get, scroll back and re-digest in frame.

Okay so, let’s drop some points. You may have remembered me making early videos of Belphegor as the ruler of Thagirion after 15.01 (x) and later, one called Worthy of Love for Tiphareth (x), but not before he who blocks and hampers the heart guides walked them through flames they were not yet ready to access (x), causing an unlevel involution between the Three Principles with Castiel reaching a reddening while Dean sat in darkness and Sam struggled to maintain his own light.

This is going to become very important to my babbling, but the concept is that there is a nega/void/blockage version of the tree that has “evil” versions of each node. Tiphareth’s shadow is Thagirion. Tiphareth is the essence of love, true and genuine. It dominates the heart chakra, and its disputer, Belphegor, the blocker, is he who does not believe in love and observes marriages for dissent and further aggitates the blockage in the path. Sound familiar?

This Sephira is in some respects the most important of all. It is the centre of the whole system; it is the only Sephira below the Abyss which communicates directly with Kether. (Think crown/godhead/source -- white node #1) It is fed directly from Chokmah and Binah; also from Chesed and Geburah. (I’ll... get into these another time, they’re a higher segment) It is thus admirably fitted to dominate the lower Sephiroth; it is balanced both vertically and horizontally. In the planetary system it represents the Sun; in the system of Tetragrammaton it represents the Son. In other words, the Son is an interpretation of the Father in terms of the Mind. [Tiphareth is] thus representative of [the four] elements at their practical best. (Book of Thoth, p.181)

You don’t say. (vaguely screams into fist about who and what the Mind is and who and what the Father in this Aeon is)

Soft Husband Gaze Dot Gif not found in tumblr search so I’ma nab and tag another by @starsmish

Dean and Cas’ blowout over Jack, “you’re dead to me”, was over Cas knowing something was wrong with Jack, and not telling them, and Dean’s anger leading to distrust.

That was putrefied in purgatory, everything laid bare. And while they haven’t had their heart to heart yet (that big good omens energy shot is probably from 12, a bobocuda episode like The Future was), here–

Cas already had his gasping, shocked, clutched reunion with the son. Sam came home and gave a squeeze too.

But Dean walked up, put a hand behind his son’s neck, stared deeply into his eyes to see if it was him. And, as if doubting himself, looked to his somber husband, who silently communicated and affirmed it, and Dean knew, and trusted, and believed, and their son was home.

Someone launch me to jupiter please

oh wait neverfuckingmind, Dabb and co are working on that shortly.

Tiphareth, the heart, is the central vein, the power between godhood and the terrestrial earth as manifest in Malkuth.

I had pointed out the choice taste in Dean emerging from black in a white suit to look into yellow light and past red drapes in 15.10 and that Dean seemed to be approaching his whitening, but that’s even truer now.

The phases I speak of bear relevance to these.

Just--humor me and see earth as the blackened base from the human perspective, even if the blackened base of the Shadow of Man lies beneath the Ain Soph (which I’ll show some inverted trees for later). I’ve spoken of lunar light in regards to the whitening before, and it even rose in my Reflection video about crucifying the ego before it was too late (x) (please mind the video was made a year ago now based on hermetic pattern spec) “The moon gives me her secret, a confidant; as full and bright as I am, this light is not my own and a million light reflections pass over me.”

(aside re: crucifying the ego, it’s about removing the blackened snake of our unrefined parts of the self, similar to putrefaction, so a step we just crossed)

In alchemy, albedo is one of the four major stages of the magnum opus, along with nigredo, citrinitas/xanthosis and rubedo. It is a Latinicized term meaning "whiteness". Following the chaos or massa confusa of the nigredo stage, the alchemist undertakes a purification or rectification in albedo, which is literally referred to as ablutio or absolution – the washing away of impurities. This phase is concerned with "bringing light and clarity to the prima materia (personal material)". But the transmutational state is ... well.

“The whitening phase is ruled by the moon and as such is reflective, in that it does not have its own light. The maturation of the whitening happens via reflection and is often described as mirroring. The reflective processes, of thinking and feeling, dominate the direct experiences of intuition, sensation and imagination. Knowledge is King, and Mystery is banished by the whitening ego's searchlight. Perfection is idealised, and imperfection seen as weakness. Immediate gratification is expected. Nothing is allowed to mature. Lacking true wisdom, we are children in adult's bodies. Our leaders lack the vision to see the real problems, and the guts to really change things.

“The first main goal of the process... highly prized by many alchemists... is the silver or moon condition, which still has to be raised to the sun condition. The albedo [whitening], is so to speak, the daybreak, but not till the rubedo [reddening] is it sunrise. The transition to the rubedo is formed by the citrinitas [yellowing], though this, as we said, was omitted later.” (x)

Now let’s take a look at how that applies to Yesod in the middle pillar, above Malkuth, both of which gain power from light *elsewhere* -- that is, Tiphareth.

Of Yesod:

“After the double excursion into misfortune, (Hod and Netzach) the current returns to the middle pillar. This Sephira is the seat of the great crystallization of Energy. But it takes place very far down the Tree, at the apex of the third descending triangle, and a flat triangle at that. There is little help from low, unbalanced spheres like Netzach and Hod. What saves Yesod is the direct ray from Tiphareth; this Sephira is in the direct line of succession. (Book of Thoth) “

Yesod is that subtle basis upon which the physical world is based....It is the Astral Plane, which in one sense being passive and reflecting energies from above is lunar, even as the moon reflects the light of the sun. The Astral Light is an omnipresent and all-permeating fluid or medium of extremely subtle matter; substance in a highly tenuous state, electric and magnetic in constitution, which is the model upon which the physical world is built. It is the endless, changeless, ebb and flow of the world's forces that, in the last resort, guarantee the stability of the world and provides its foundation. [...] The general conception of Yesod is of change with stability. (Regardie, 1994)

So let’s take a quick aside on that double journey into instability in Hod and netzach, and I’ll leave everyone to think of how this correlates now.

The position of Netzach is doubly unbalanced; off the middle pillar, and very low down on the Tree. It is taking a very great risk to descend so far into illusion, and, above all, to do it by frantic struggle. Netzach pertains to Venus...and the greatest catastrophe that can befall Venus is to lose her Heavenly origin. (Book of Thoth, p.182)

The sphere of Hod represents on a very much lower plane similar qualities to those obtaining in Chokmah. It is the lower plane, first primitive version of union and sharing between the divine masculine and feminine (SPN video recs [x], [x] ) as mirrored to Netzach’s above details.

So we’ve got... lesser unions *scrolls over 15.9* cast down Mark wedding, check, from a blackened putrified base of Malkuth not yet even fully acquiring its own awareness of reflected light in Yesod or Albedo. 15.10 Dean does seem to start gaining some sense of light and dream, if reflected off of imaginings of others while coming out from behind the curtain *checks* but it’s not fully manifest yet. Now the heroes struggle through descending into illusion and frantic struggle, questioning all they know in existence, or their “luck”. *checks*

Now, Fortuna tells our heroes a good deal of what we knew they needed to hear. In the end it really isn’t about their luck. Heroes aren’t extinct, but it’s not about playing god’s game, it’s about playing their own. The divine feminine told them the secrets of the gods and, in a way, it is the steps towards mastering their human sovereignty.

Notice the lunar card path lending towards the lunar Yesod node, for example, even using arcana -- given this is Grey’s system, there’s a few others.

Uh, ignore the given card/highlighted path for now, that’s there for reasons you may recognize that I’ll bang on about elsewhere.(Aeon, for the record, is basically the same as Judgement and World=Universe, and Lust=Strength different naming system -- you’ll notice the second names on the first chart apply here, though in a matter of descending vs ascending. A few are different; and I’m not gonna pledge up and down which version Dabb is using, so I’m more going to take the raw idea that works across multiple models)

In the interim -- and defaulting back to Tiphareth after following the path of the Sun through Art, towards the philosopher’s stone of unabridged love, marriage, the sun and the son, the moon reflects the light of the sun, the Rising Sun, albeit not yet back to its proper reddening -- the yellow familial light I’ve banged on about in this show, even beyond our romantic pairings. The sun had been lost and the family and the three principles fell into chaos, needing to rebuild. And yet, as Castiel brings home Jack, we see the growth even in these few episodes:

With pain and distrust betrayed in purgatory, over having failed to communicate issues with Jack, once everything was laid bare and rotten to base to rebuild in Purgatory, Dean looked to Castiel after doubting himself staring into Jack’s eyes to know if their son was truly home, and by a look, he knew, and accepted, and as weighty as it was, that family was complete.

Back to Tiphareth as the four elements in harmony, we have our future playing field here.

I will tap back to Hod reflecting Chokmah though, at a lesser value, by citing some points of Chokmah: “male creative energy, wisdom and the expression of a single idea in terms of duality. It transmits the idea of the divine unity to its feminine counterpart, the understanding, somewhat as a man transmits the essence of his character to his wife so that he perceives his inmost nature, itself unintelligible to him directly, by observing the flowering of that essence in his son. “

Cough. blossom.

Anyway,

the yellowing is upon them all now, in actual harmony, with the return of the sun by which to reflect their light in Yesod, but furthermore, to step forward.

Hm. What saves Yesod is the direct ray from Tiphareth.

Their su/on. Is home. And the yellow light, if faint at first, as they come to speak, has returned, lingering between them. The yellowing itself comes from moving into a form of being where one’s own soul is less a reflected light of the grand scheme of things and one’s own personal, generated light, and that is landing upon us shortly.

To like, fully break down this path shit I’d have to go full like alchemical sermon here, but I’m more trying to map out just how artistically rendered this show is using these paths.

So where do we go now? The crown, Kether, is our goal. But we’re not ready to Priestess rocket straight that direction, as much as there’s still a strong overshadow of Kether upon them, even if the Star’s light descending leads towards hope.

But we’ve left the primitive base triangle now. Geburah and Chesed await.

Geburah:

The introduction of the number Five shows the idea of motion coming to the aid of that of matter...The result is a complete upset of the statically stabilized system. Now appear storm and stress. (The Book of Thoth, p.180)

Despite the fact that Geburah is a feminine potency, as are all Sephiros [sic] on the left-hand column of the Tree, practically all its attributions are male and vigorous...This is not confusion of thought, but a recognition of the necessity for equilibrium." (Regardie, 1994)

Geburah represents on a much lower plane the Sakti force-element attributed to Binah. (Regardie, 1994)

The quality of Geburah is summed up in the general idea of strength and power and force. Its card based attributions are strife, disappointment, defeat, and worry. That which the heart must overcome with strength.

Chesed:

Lots of crazy mystic math involved but summarily Righteousness, Mercy, and Love, combining seemingly diverse ideas.

"below the Abyss"; therefore, in practice, it means solidification, materialization. Things have become manifest. The essential point is that it expresses the Rule of Law...The manifestation promised by Binah has now taken place. Chesed...is the highest idea which can be understood in an intellectual way. (The Book of Thoth).

These are given to travel to Chokmah (which I’ve noted already) and Binah “For she is omniform as Love and as Death, the Great Sea whence all Life springs, and whose black womb reabsorbs all. She thus resumes in herself the duplex process of the Formula of Love under Will" (Little Esssays Towards Truth, "Love") - planetary association Saturn, so you may.. *gestures back at other videos* (x)

Like... Rowena’s Reverse Womb Symbolism Dot Jaypeg, “Death is an infinite vessel.” (reminder drop x)

“In short, Binah is the substantive vehicle of every possible phenomenon, physical or mental” (Regardie, 1994)

opposite chokmah, as above mentioned in the masculine presence of the union to meet the godhead.

These lovers must still walk different paths for a time, but will meet across the void of hidden knowledge before standing at the crown, if only after facing their strife and personal strength, taking the understanding of the moon and fortuna, to not play another’s game, to blossom into holding one’s own light along with completion in the family unit, and to find wisdom in the hidden things between them, by which the aged hermit, the hierophant, he who held the unofficiated wedding’s gold, the incomplete, lesser manifestation at Hod, and formerly cast it down -- as his foundation to approach the crown.

At more immediate, Netzach is also led forward by Fortune or Fortuna towards Chesed. The Hermit, a role Sam has heavily embodied on his Hierophant path, crosses from Tiphareth. As the one that impressed Fortuna, Sam is likely the one to hold the torch of her words right now, and figure out how to make Chuck play their game. Whereas Hod travels the road of the Hanged Man, each to find their strength sourced upward from Tiphareth, the heart, the sun, the son, the marriage, the family light, the yellowing, with adjustment through Tiphareth removing some of the pillar of severity and the hanged man road ahead of the struggling, still separated union.

Death descends from Binah to Geburah, enacting her volatile change and meeting the path of the hanged man, empowered by heart and adjustment; the hierophant will meet and become the hermit at Chesed. The path of the united lovers is an inevitability in any system rising from the heart towards the path of the hanged man in affiliation with the divine feminine, death's forces included; and the hierophant enacts the emperor on way to the divine masculine. The Emperor and Empress' marriage will end up being the fundament by which to face that final triangle of upper creation.

For those of you who remember me banging on about Art/Temperance versus Lovers arcana all goddamn hiatus, enjoy seeing them spawn out of Tiphareth there.

Here the red eagle and white lion commune and share in their parts, for the restoration of the golden orphic (x) child and great work under the hands of the Hierophant against the pillars of overseeing divine fem/masc (here represented in Adam and Lilith, other versions Adam and Eve)

Just... honestly just read this (x) if you want to know more about how each of these elementson those cards correspond to the above paths.

So I guess this is a really long magical way of shipper Sam is gonna have to get these two knuckleheads cosmically married and complete before standing as the godman and subverting the allfather with the rebirth of the heart and their su/on. And hopefully not have Eileen recreate the Rowena thing on the way. Or Cas for that matter.

The complete deconstruction of the lovers in purgatory was necessary, having been in the cursed and evil, inverted tree and blocked at Tiphareth. Now we can build forward in light and knowledge and the sovereign journey of man, even if it has its pitfalls and misfortunes. The Empress’ marriage to the Emperor makes foundation for the Fool (which isn’t what it sounds like) and the Magician’s completed work, finalizing the top triangle of unity to complete their magnum opus against god. Man created the gods, and are to soon prove themselves the equal of him.

And that’s my rambling because I suck at teaching this shit.

*nervous chuckling for potential ways for Castiel’s deal to work out right now*

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mannatea · 4 years

Note

Excuse me I want the opinions about the apocalyptic humans are the real monsters please!

>Are you sure you would like to board this train?

Anyway, sure! I have a lot of thoughts. And opinions. And considerations. Hopefully this train of thought is worth the trip. All aboaaaaard!

Part I: This Mentality Doesn’t Exist in Just Fiction!

I take issue with this phrasing as a general rule because humans are still human. Calling them “monsters” for their evil deeds—something everyone is capable of performing, by the way—is just...asinine to the nth degree. Sure, we’d all like to imagine we’re not capable of Great Evil, but WE ARE.

I don’t want to dive into Purity Police Politics here, but here’s a question for (general) you: where is the line drawn? What makes a “bad” person “a monster” vs. just being a bad/thoughtless/careless person?

I think we can all agree that objectively some acts are evil. If you’ve been following the news this year, you probably have a million examples, but (TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS LINK) here’s a particularly terrible one; they even call the abusers monsters in this news article. Why? I think you know why. They want to emotionally distance themselves. They want to believe that these people are unique in their ability to cause harm and suffering to another human being.

But WOWEE!!! Spoiler alert: the writer is just as capable of abuse as the people who committed the crime!!!!

Don’t get me wrong, I think most people are UNLIKELY to commit a crime like that, or even hurt another person with malicious intent or hatred in their hearts. But to pretend we are not all capable of it is putting yourself on a pedestal above the rest of humanity, and...I dunno. That’s awfully cocky.

Tumblr in particular loves to talk about toxicity and abuse, and they love to paint themselves as “better than” or “above” that behavior, but 1) we are all capable of toxicity, have been problematic in our lifetime, and have probably done something abusive to someone else at one point or another, and 2) we must remember that this is true of everyone else as well as ourselves. The important thing is that we strive to behave better, to learn to recognize when we are hurting someone else, to CARE THAT WE MIGHT BE HURTING SOMEONE ELSE, and to actively work to just be better/kinder people.

I totally get the desire to call a cruel, abusive, or evil person “a monster” but THEY ARE NOT. They are people. People are not infallible. Monsters by definition are imaginary creatures, but the abuse these people inflict is real. The crimes are real. The hurt is real. The effect these people have on those around them is as real as they themselves are, and to pretend for even a moment that it’s not, that they are somehow separate from you and I, that the rules apply differently for them than you and I, is just...harmful?

Because again, where do you draw the line?

Part II: Using Monster as an Insult

Monsters are creations, always, as they are by definition imaginary creatures. I think some might look to the Nature vs. Nurture Debate when it comes to criminal acts to try and justify their use of the word “monster” to refer to people like the abusers in the link above (aka: “society shaped them into that, it was never their natural inclination”) but that feels vaguely like cherry-picking to me, and I don’t like it.

Also, “Monster” is used as such a joking insult online these days (you’re a monster for dissing my anime waifu headcanons) it’s lost its bite if it ever had it to begin with. My beloved cat CiCi’s nickname was ‘Monster’ because the first Christmas I had her she rolled around on the Christmas presents and hissed at anyone who tried to move them. We also have an energy drink named Monster. Cookie Monster. Created ‘monsters’ with their own lore like werewolves and vampires and kelpies and Bigfoot.

So you risk one of three things by calling someone a monster: 1) it comes across like a joking insult/cute pet name, 2) you’re putting them on par with beings that literally do not exist except in fiction, and that half of this hellsite wants to fuck MANY people actually enjoy talking/reading about as part of an entire literary genre, or 3) you’re saying they’re literally not human beings and therefore not worth being considered as such.

None of these options are good.

Part III: “Humans Were the Real Monsters All Along!™”

Maybe when literacy levels were super low and only the wealthy had the leisure time and access to literature they could read for fun, this kind of reveal was Intriguing, but I’m here to tell you that it’s never been interesting to any person who has lived in the real world, like, ever.

I feel like for children this may be different (I dunno, as a child you don’t always understand what’s going on around you/are more likely to be sheltered from these kinds of truths outside of fiction), but I highly doubt that, say, peasants in 1620 weren’t well aware that humans were capable of evil.

Sure, they did the same thing we like to do and called people who committed particularly heinous acts ‘monsters’ (probably for the same reasons we do as well as because they wanted to believe they were safe in their communities and that their neighbors were also different and not capable of doing that sort of thing) but again you see the general level of denial:

This person is not like me.

I am different.

I must call them something else.

Which, yes you are different, but the difference is NOT in WHAT you are, it’s in HOW YOU ACT and the emotions you act upon!

Society has a history of doing this separation, and of revealing in fiction that humans are actually the real monsters, but again, those of us who exist in the real world already know that human beings are capable of great evil. Even if we are surprised by the level of vileness or not is irrelevant; we all know that logically this kind of thing happens in the real world and that human beings are responsible for it.

Part IV: Bad Reveal. BAD!

In some pieces of media, the writers go out of their way to be like, “THE MONSTERS WE’VE HATED ALL THIS TIME AND HAVE BEEN FIGHTING WERE ONCE HUMAN LIKE US. WE COULD BECOME LIKE THEM! OH NO!”

Which...lol.

Let’s look at zombies, a monster created for the sake of this kind of narrative. They were “once human” but are now mindless beings completely unaware of the hurt they are inflicting, even on those they might have known in their lifetime. Zombies can infect living human beings, turning them into zombies. The humans in these stories don’t want to become zombies, so they fight the zombies (with varying results, depending on the particular piece of media you choose to consume).

Zombie stories have a huge cult following; people love this kind of thing. On the surface you might think zombie stories fit the above narrative, and they do, but like...literally. “They were human once but aren’t anymore!” is almost never a reveal in these stories; it’s something everyone already knows and is actively fighting against.

"Humans are the real monsters” rarely has much to do with the zombies. It almost always occurs when a human in the group of survivors betrays the others in a big way.

The betrayer is then painted as the REAL monster here, the REAL threat. You might notice that lot of post-apocalyptic and/or humans-vs.-monsters fiction follows the same pattern: humans fight monsters, (optional ingredient: the monsters were once human!), and then they find out that Actually, Humans Were the Real Monsters All Along!

Again, anyone reading this post already knows that. They go out in public and see people who can’t be assed to wear a mask. “Wah it itches.” “Wah I can’t breathe.” “Wah it’s inconvenient for me and I’m not infected I know I’m fine!”

These same maskless fools would tell you to your face that the betrayer in these stories is a monster. They themselves, however, are not capable of hurting other people! They’re better than that! That person is a monster! They would never betray their allies. Except they do, every day, by refusing to wear a mask to protect other people from themselves. “Just in case” isn’t a good enough reason for them because it’s an inconvenience and they don’t like how it feels.

Sure, wearing a mask during a pandemic seems like such a small thing compared to, you know, betraying your fellow survivors in the apocalypse, but you have to consider context. If wearing a mask during a pandemic that has literally killed huNDreDS oF thousands is so inconvenient they won’t even wear it for the 3 minutes they are in the gas station...would you trust this person in a post-apocalyptic setting? Would they gather food for a physically disabled survivor? Would they literally fight to protect someone ill? Share resources fairly? You know if they can’t wear a mask for three minutes in a whole damn day they wouldn’t step up like that. They could easily end up being the betrayer in a situation like that. They’ve never been desperate enough to do something like that before, and they probably don’t think they’re capable of it now, but we know what they do when something is a minor inconvenience to them. Imagine a major inconvenience. Imagine their whole life being turned upside-down!

My issues with the reveal of “Humans are actually the real monsters!” are many, but the biggest issue I take with it from a writing perspective is that it’s almost never accurate when you look at the scope of the story.

Tens of thousands of zombies vs. one (1) betrayer: and you’re telling me the betrayer is the real monster? The bigger threat??? BULLSHIT. Sure, it takes a real asshole to betray people during the literal apocalypse, but that act doesn’t take away from the fact that they are human, LET ALONE the fact that using this particular point as a Big Important Reveal tells me you’re a shit writer who thinks you’re smart.

(For the record, you might have a character who will prioritize this and consider that betrayer the bigger threat, but we’re not talking about character development/motivations so much as overarching narratives the writer includes in the story separate from that.)

Anyway, I’m not saying stories with this premise in them are shit, I’m saying that this concept as a big plot reveal/climax of a story is shit. How can this even be a reveal worth revealing? Has anyone ever turned on the news?

Part V: Drawing the Line and Other Particulars

I definitely do not have the expertise or the experience to make this a detailed point, so please forgive me for that, but let’s talk about that line again, because this point absolutely cannot be overlooked.

Where is it? What makes one person who commits a crime or evil act a monster and not another? Is it the act committed? Their mental state? What about the mentally ill? What about neurodivergent people? What about children?

As an extreme example: is a woman who throws her baby off a building a monster? NO!!! SHE’S HUMAN and she did something terrible. We might like to say we’re different and we would neVeR do that, but we don’t know because we have never been in her shoes. We are missing context even the courts will never have or fully grasp. We do not know or understand her mental state no matter what the doctors say. Calling her a monster doesn’t do anything but put her in a separate category from the rest of us, which is harmful on SO many levels, starting with the fact that it means nobody talks to her, nobody gets her side of the story, nobody listens, and so we have no perspective, no understanding, no desire to learn.

Things like this are why it took so long for PPD to even begin to be understood, and why EVEN NOW women are afraid to talk about it and all related issues. I follow a ob-gyn on YouTube and the amount of women in her comments who thank her (oftentimes VERY emotionally) for openly saying it’s normal to not immediately feel a connection to your baby when they are born is mind-blowing. Not everyone will feel that! Sometimes you have to get to know your baby because they are an individual person and that is how love works for some people! But 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 20 years ago, 100 years ago: that was unthinkable to admit. You lied about it and you felt like a terrible person instead. What kind of mom doesn’t love their baby instantly? You must be the worst. Meanwhile, the woman you’re getting your information from doesn’t feel that bond either and is lying about it because she feels pressured and just as bad as you do. All this suffering, and for what?! Stigma. Being told you’re not human if you don’t feel like that.

Don’t you know the bond with that baby suffered from this issue, too? Don’t you think it affected the parent/child relationship for the rest of their lives?

Not everyone who commits a crime falls into a category like this, and maybe the woman in my example doesn’t either, but I hope your takeaway is that calling people monsters keeps them separated from other people to the point where their story becomes just as fictional as the monsters they are called, and when it is heard it is enjoyed as fiction, rather than seriously considered.

Let’s not pretend that this separation of humanity into “human” and “not human” based on the way someone acts hasn’t hindered progress in the mental health/medical fields for everyone. When people are not considered human they are not given human treatment, rights, consideration, or empathy.

Part VI: TL;DR:

we are all human and capable of doing bad things.

the difference between a bad person and you or I is a lot more complex and multilayered than “they did a terrible thing and I did not do that terrible thing.”

calling people ‘monsters’ for the bad things they do dehumanizes them and may:

strip them of responsibility for their actions by insinuating they were born that way or they aren’t actually human like you and I, and/or

prevent them from getting the help they need/from others who have not done anything bad yet getting the help they need

it’s not a good reveal in fiction

because most of us already know people commit evil acts,

and it is oftentimes is presented in a way that doesn’t actually make sense for the story.

Sorry that it got long and probably isn’t very well organized! I wrote it in bursts at work. But anyway yeah...

I don’t mind when characters feel this way about other characters, but to see it used as a narrative feature/reveal/et cetera in fiction is like, so tiresome. No shit, Sherlock. I turn on the news. I followed true crime for a while. WE ALL KNOW PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE OF DOING TERRIBLE, AWFUL THINGS TO OTHER LIVING THINGS.

Having *that* be your big reveal in a story is so childish it embarrasses me to see it. Wow, congrats on figuring out something at 47 that the rest of us learned on the playground before we turned 7!

#highwind91 #answered mail #tw: abuse #long post #idk i feel like posting this is a bad idea...??#oh well it's make idiot decisions day!#it's ok to reblog if u want thx for asking chi!

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thevaultturtle · 4 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Danse

And for the first installment of the NSFW alphabets. I’m sorry if the Favorite Positions section is a little funky, but Tumblr won’t allow images that would even remotely help with that anymore, so I did my best to describe everything. Need it even be said that there’s NSFW material under the cut?

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Danse gets super cuddly after sex. He wants to make his partner feel safe during what could be a very vulnerable time for them, so he tends to have them lay on him in some way, typically with their head on his chest while he wraps an arm around them and his hand gently strokes their back. This isn't purely for their sake, either. This extra bit of contact after such an intimate act also makes him feel more secure, in himself and in his relationship with his partner. It makes him feel like he truly belongs with them, and it helps to satisfy the protective urge that he constantly feels towards his partner.

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner)

Danse loves his partner's eye. They're just so reflective of what his partner is feeling, whether that's in everyday life or during sex, and he'll never get tired of seeing the almost drunk, hazy look in his partner's eyes whenever he's doing a good job of making them feel good. Just thinking about that look can get him riled up and ready to go in seconds.

Since his Power Armor doesn't exactly count for this, Danse doesn't really have a favorite part of himself. He's never really given it much thought before, but if he absolutely had to choose, it'd probably be his chest, just because that's where he likes his partner to lay after sex.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He has got to have some of the most average cum that you could imagine, simply because he's a synth and his body was manufactured, and it's highly doubtful that the Institute cared to put too much variety in all the glands that make cum. The glands are probably completely uniform, churning out a very average amount of cum that has a very average consistency. As for where he prefers to come, he'd prefer to do it inside of his partner because he finds it to be more intimate, but if he has a female partner, he will ignore that preference for obvious reasons, at least until he finds out that he's a synth since that particular worry wouldn't apply anymore (as far as we know).

D: Dirty Secret

During Recon Squad Gladius' initial travel to the Commonwealth, Danse involuntarily ended up hearing several of his squad members 'taking care of themselves' at several times throughout the journey. It's to be expected when you're traveling in such close quarters with a squad that's mostly in its physical prime, and it's not like they weren't trying to be discrete about it, but Danse has been able to maintain some pretty damn good hearing throughout the years. It shouldn't have been much of a problem, a bit embarrassing, but that should have been it. Unfortunately, as will be discussed later, Danse has a bit of a thing for any sort of sexual noises, so this led to a bit of frustration for him, frustration that he was far too embarrassed to take care of. He was incredibly grateful for his Power Armor.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

At some point after finding out that he was synth and that most of his memories were fabricated, it occurred to Danse that he didn't actually know when his sexual history began. He can't figure out where the fake memories end and the real ones begin, and it's a bit disconcerting for him. It can be assumed that all of the sexual encounters that he had while he was with the Brotherhood were real, so he has some experience that he actually experienced. He caught the eyes of quite a few of his fellow Brotherhood soldiers, and while he acted on a few of those interests, there were a whole lot more that he didn't act on, purely because he was so focused on his duties to the Brotherhood and training. So he has some experience, plus whatever 'experience' he had programmed into him.

F: Favorite Position

Danse favors intimate positions, particularly those that allow for a lot of eye contact, so positions like Gemini (where his partner is sitting on his lap, facing him while they hold onto each other, and both of them also have their legs extended while they both grind into each other) are right up his alley.

He also likes the Louis position for its similar setup (like Gemini, but he's in more of a kneeling position), plus it gives him plenty of opportunities to touch his partner and more leverage to fuck them with.

Missionary is also a safe bet for him, because it's versatile on its simplicity and it allows for plenty of eye contact.

He also really likes being ridden, and he prefers positions like Oasis (where his partner is on his lap again, facing him, kneeling with their knees on the outside of his hips while he sits with his legs outstretched) for this because it gives him close contact with his partner while they ride him, so he can put his hands and mouth to good use while they do that.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Danse is definitely more serious during sex, as he is with just about everything else in life. While he can have some more casual bouts, overall, sex is a very intimate act for Danse, so he takes it very seriously, which doesn't allow for a lot of humor. He's not completely broody during sex or anything like that, so there will be plenty of smiles, just not a lot of outright laughter.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The typical Wastelander probably doesn't care too much for personal grooming of this kind since every day is a fight for survival, but since the Brotherhood offers a good bit of protection to its people, they would probably have more time to put some effort into that grooming. Danse still probably wouldn't put that much time into it because he has better things to do, but he'd at least keep everything a little trimmed so it wasn't too bushy, and what he has is just as dark as what he has up top.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

It has been said here before and it'll be said again: sex is an incredibly intimate act for Danse. He sees it as the ultimate way to connect with his partner on what he could only describe as a spiritual level. It makes him feel closer to them and more bonded with them, and the hope of strengthening those bonds with them even further really drives Dance to please his partner that much more, to be more intimate with them. Sex with Danse outside of a relationship is great, but because of his want and need for intimacy and how fervently he pursues that through sex, sex with Danse while in a relationship with a partner that he loves is a damn near life-changing experience.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He thinks it's a waste of time overall, and that there are quite a few better ways for him to spend his rare free time, but...a man has his needs, and unless the Institute developed the greatest hormonal control in existence for its synths or they didn't give them any at all, then Danse has a lot of needs. He'll avoid it for as long as he can, but when he can't resist any longer, he'll make it a very quick affair, far, far away from any and all human life so nobody has a chance at catching him.

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has a healthy bit of an authority kink. Will he take control over his partner and dominate them whenever they ask him to? Yes, but what really sends him reeling is the reverse of that scenario. There's just something so invigorating yet relieving about giving his partner that much control over him, about putting that much trust in them, and he finds an intimacy in it that others might not see.

Voyeurism in a very closed setting. He loves watching his partner pleasure themselves, seeing every way that their body responds to ecstasy in action and in sound. It drives him absolutely wild.

He also just loves it when his partner talks to him during sex, whether they're telling him what they want, that they love what he's doing to them, or they're telling him those sweet nothings that make his head spin. Something about their voice just does things to him.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

It's kind of hard to have a favorite location for sex in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where you really just have to take what you can get location-wise, but overall, Danse prefers to have as much privacy as possible, in a place where his partner can be comfortable. If a private bedroom is available, fantastic, if not, he can make do.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Gentleness and vulnerability. These may sound strange as turn-ons, but remember, Danse craves intimacy with his partner, and these are two very intimate things that will make him want that intimacy even more, typically through sex. And if his partner is showing him any type of gentleness after finding out he's a synth, this increases tenfold because it makes him feel like they accept him and it makes him feel human again.

Any sort of sexual movement or response. Danse pays a lot of attention to his partner, watching them and noticing every detail about them, and any subtle action that might indicate that they want him, or reminds him of a time when they were together, will get him going. This isn't just with his partner, though. Sexual sounds and actions in general just trigger something primal inside of him, which is what got him into trouble in his 'Dirty Secret'.

And if he tries to say that seeing his partner in Power Armor doesn't turn him on, he's lying. Any feat of strength or power from his partner will get his blood boiling for them in the best way.

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not going to do anything while he's on the clock. He has a duty to see to and he will be completely focused on that. His needs can wait until his job is complete, while he's in the Brotherhood and afterwards, because he's a mission-oriented person regardless of where he is in life.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He has mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, he'd rather just get to the main event, but on the other hand, he really, really likes going down on his partner. He's all about making his partner feel good, and oral can be pretty handy in doing that, plus the way that their body reacts to it is just…exquisite, in his opinion. For his partner's pleasure, his oral skills are pretty damn good, and he's really enthusiastic in going about everything, too. He won't turn down a blowjob, but they aren't high on his priority list.

P: Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Slow and sensual all the way because he wants to make every intimate moment with his partner last as long as possible. He'll turn things up a notch at his partners behest, but he'll always start off slow and gentle.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

They aren't his thing. Since life is so unpredictable in the Wasteland and tomorrow is never guaranteed, though, he'll have one if he has to just to be with his partner, but he definitely prefer proper sex.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He's far too cautious of a person for risks, and he's of the impression that life is already risky enough as it is. He’s definitely not fond of risking being caught in such a compromising situation, especially while his partner is in such a vulnerable state.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Look, not only is Danse in freaking amazing shape, but he's also a synth, which just adds to his conditioning that much more. He has yet to find a limit on how many rounds he can go for because his partners tend to tap out before he can even get close to that point. His refractory period is also damn near nonexistent, so… Danse has some stamina, to say the least.

T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Do sex toys even still exist in the Fallout universe? Assuming that they do, Danse probably wouldn't be into them. They might even confuse him to some extent. Who would really need one with him, anyway, when he has that stamina and is so dedicated to his partner's pleasure?

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If this is something that his partner wants, they'll have to mention it to him and then tell him exactly what it is that they want. He'll do it, but teasing is not something that he naturally thinks to do. He's too blunt and straightforward for it to be.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's not terribly loud, which is very purposeful on his part because he wants to hear every little sound that his partner makes, but he does let out these quiet, breathy grunts that are toe-curling on their own.

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

We've already established that gentleness is a surefire way to get Danse going, but for maximum effectiveness with that, his partner should hold him and go for the hair. They need to make him feel safe, wrapping their arms around him and letting him rest his head against their chest (so this would have to be while he was sitting or lying down because he's kind of a big guy). And then, once they run their fingers through his hair, gently scraping them against his scalp, they'll hear him let out a soft sigh. It is far from a sigh of relief, though. That feeling sent a shiver down his spine, and that shiver made his whole body tense with little crackles of ecstasy, so that sigh was more or less a light moan indicative of things to come.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

How does the Institute determine synth dick size? Do they throw some variety into the genes or are they all pretty much uniform? We'll assume there's variety, because Danse just had the essence of being thick. He's a little above average at about 5 ¾ inches erect (if you're going with the average of 5 ⅕ inches). Girth-wise, he's well above the average (which is about 4 ⅗ inches), coming in at nearly 6 inches while he's hard.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a pretty decent sex drive just because he so desperately wants to be close to his partner, but really it’s completely dependent on them, because he can hold his urges back when he needs to, but he will also take any opportunity that he can to be close to them.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Well, he doesn't really have a need to sleep because of what he is, and he doesn't really want to after sex, either. He'd rather stay up so he can watch over his partner, ensuring that they sleep peacefully, protecting them and holding them so he can feel them against him and remind himself that they're still with him.

#paladin danse #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #fallout danse #fo4 danse #fallout 4 danse #fallout headcanons #not so sfw alphabet #don't read in polite company

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