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hella1975 · 8 months

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HELLA HOW DID YOU LIKE UNREAL UNEARTH?? FAVORITES??

finally finally FINALLY listening to this album im literally sat here laptop open finger on the play button genius page up ready to just spew out any thought i have in real time. let's go!

de selby pt1 - i forgot how much i fucking love hozier's lyricism. he just gets it. he's a master at his craft it's truly an honour to exist in the same time as him. this song is so calm but in a haunting way, like the stillness of fog on a lake in the morning. your reflection cant offer a word to the bliss of not knowing yourself. okay!!! OMG THE IRISH!! absolutely adore how vocal hozier is about his culture and even just how much his accent comes through on this album compared to earlier tracks. also love how the intensity builds in this part of the song this whole thing is stunning

de selby pt2 - THE WAY IT SLIDES RIGHT INTO PART 2! LOVE LOVE LOVE! very different vibe but it works. i love how there's always so many layers to hozier songs. like de selby alone has the actual song meaning AND the references to the third policeman AND its relevance to the circles of hell that we keep throughout the album. as far as media consumption goes hozier has never once failed to deliver an entire banquet. also love the whole 'becoming each other' of it all with de selby. ouroboros love. hannah have u seen this

first time - this feels like he's singing in a pub somewhere u love to see it. the liffey would have been softer on my stomach all the same! unearth without a name! some part of me must have died the first time you called me baby! this is v classic hozier imo just the most gorgeous love song u ever heard. also i love the themes of light/dark he's weaving into all these songs. girls when there are themes and symbolism <333

francesca - YEAHHHHHH i could talk about this song for HOURS there's so much going on it is so far my fave of the album ID TELL THEM PUT ME BACK IN IT! insanity. if a man sang about me this way id throw up blood

i, carrion (icarian) - insane song name. hello. what the fuck. is this about icarus. did hozier himself actually write a song about icarus. one sec. OH MY GOD HE DID WHAT THE FUCKKKK. "this song has tried to imagine that he was so enamored and so breathless and so ecstatic in the moment that he felt the air rushing by him, that he never knew he died" THEY HIT THE FUCKING PENTAGON. beautiful gorgeous im inconsolable cheers for that

eat your young - LETS GOOOOOO. cuntism off the charts. i listen to this at least once a day

damage gets done - circle of greed time! 'we had nowhere to go and every desire for going there' 'being blamed for a world we had no power in' god :')) the HARMONIES!!!! this is exactlyyy what being young is like good and bad. this is such a car song

who we are - I JUST HELD IT TIGHT SO SOMEONE WITH YOUR EYES MIGHT COME IN TIME TO HOLD ME LIKE WATER OR CHRIST HOLD ME LIKE A KNIFE WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK NO ONE FUCKING TALK TO ME. the uncertainty of growing up that he tackles in this, finding purpose, grappling with the fact there isn't always one. the last verse going soft and gentle. what was the NEED for this

son of nyx - another mythology reference! im crawling up the wall. ohhh it's instrumental! just looked at the meaning behind this and wow. this is beautiful

all things end - ADORE this song and the message of it. literally if there was anyone to ever get through this life with their heart still intact they didn't do it right!!!!!! and all things end!! and we begin again!!!! i just know zukka nation is going to go crazy with the parenthesis titles after this one

to someone from a warm climate - this is such a cool idea for a love song. like being from somewhere cold so you know how to stay warm, and saying to someone from a warm climate that it's okay if they don't know those things because you'll do it for them. the domestic, casual affection of that. it's not a bold declaration it's just confirmation that i'll keep the bed warm for you. that's all there is. that's all there needs to be

butchered tongue - ive already read some stuff about this one and ive been really itching to listen to it. the way he alternates between singing about the violence of the english against the irish (particularly the wexford rebellion) and the loss of culture there to how it relates to violence and loss of culture experienced by natives of countries on the complete other side of the world, how he's able to identify with that while still acknowledging that his language at least has a written history that can be recovered, while many native cultures dont even have that. there's no translator left to sound a butchered tongue still singing here above the ground. this whole thing is just. haunting and the fact such a big singer like hozier is taking so much time and care to talk about and spread awareness about ireland is very very cool to see

anything but - VIBE CHANGE! THIS MAKES ME WANT TO DANCE OMG! more water themes too omg i love this 'if i had his job you'd live forever' DAMN 😭 me personally i wouldnt have that. also the repetition of all the things he wants to be sooo true that's the human condition baby!

abstract (psychopomp) - ive been thinking about making a post for TIME about like. the desensitisation to death that you get from growing up in a rural area so listening to this is sooooo. like yeah. you remember the first animal you saw die don't you. you know the smell. the look in its eyes. see how it shines. see how it shines. this is an insane thing to write a song about. and to tie it to love? humanity? and the ongoing undercurrent of the circles of hell? CRAZYYYYY. this song is religious. to me. it's also very coldplay sounding actually? which is only ever a good thing

unknown/nth - HELLOOOOOO YOU KNOW THE DISTANCE NEVER MADE A DIFFERENCE TO ME!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW I COULD BREAK BENEATH THE WEIGHT OF THE GOODNESS LOVE I STILL CARRY FOR YOU???? THAT ID WALK SO FAR JUST TO TAKE THE INJURY OF FINALLY KNOWING YOU?????? lyrics of all time. caving my own skull. top 3 songs on the album

first light - light themes again!!! dante surfacing from hell!!! the end of a journey quite literally!!! he can't keep getting away with this!! i love how... heavy? this gets in places. like it's got all the instruments and backing vocals all going at once with his voice overarching everything it's amazing. this is a perfect end song <3

#and there we have it!!!! favourites are francesca. i carrion. eat your young. abstract and unknown nth #ask #hozier #unreal unearth

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sorenfm · 4 years

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choi san . cis male . he / him or they / them . / soren shin just pulled up blasting late night by goldlink ft. masego . -- that song is so them ! you know , for a twenty four year old socialite and illustrator , i’ve heard they’re really -vexatious , but that they make up for it by being so + alluring . if i had to choose three things to describe them , i’d probably say graphite stained hands gripping the neck of a bottle of remy martin louis xiii , gucci sneakers tapping rhythmically on museum floors , and unread texts and unanswered phone calls clogging his lockscreen . here’s to hopping they don’t cause too much trouble !

hmm , yes . this two gif thing with block quotes is just as extra as i was hoping it would be 🥰 . that being said , hi babies ! my name’s koa ( pronounced like co - uh ) , and i’m really excited to be here ! my pronouns are preferably non - binary , but please feel free to use she / her as well . i’m not going to get upset if you do , promise 🥺 . i’ve been dying to play san for quite some time , so with that comes the birth of my absolutely vile son known as soren ! he’s like ... fresh from the box brand new so i’m working out kinks and stuff , but everything mentioned in this intro is pretty much set in stone ! i won’t ramble on for too long , but i can share my discord if that’s the easiest or most convenient for you , but i’m also down to plot in the im’s !

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

BIRTH NAME : shin jin - hyeok .

PREFERRED NAME : soren shin .

NICKNAME(S) : jinnie ( by his mom , only ) .

BIRTHDATE / AGE : december 25th , 1996 / 23 .

ZODIAC : capricorn .

HOMETOWN : atlanta , georgia .

GENDER : cis male .

NATIONALITY : korean american .

ETHNICITY : korean .

HEIGHT : 5′10″ .

LABEL(S) : the artisan , the bellwether , the gregarious , the icarian , and the thespian .

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual .

OCCUPATION : socialite and freelance illustrator .

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : korean , english , and conversational spanish .

POSITIVES : alluring , veritable , altruistic , unconstrained , and urbane .

NEGATIVES : domineering , sardonic , quick - tempered , shallow and vexatious .

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 .

it’s nearly impossible to think about the atlanta social scene without the shin family coming to mind . both of jin - hyeok’s parents did not come from money , but they both lived comfortably . both were children of immigrants from south korea , and that is what caused them to work as hard as they did . woo - yong and eun - mi met one another when they were both accepted into the same culinary school , but eun - mi originally had no interest in woo - yong . he was known around their school as something of a player , and for the longest , she always shot down his advances .

eventually , eun - mi decided to go on one date with him , and it was history from there . they were married within two years , and they eloped at the city of atlanta courthouse and their honeymoon consisted of getting matching tattoos on their ring fingers because they couldn’t afford rings at that time . the couple worked hard through the years , and they eventually opened the first location of their korean - american fusion brunch restaurant . the restaurant opened to strong success , and they brought in over a million in profits in their first year , which turned their lives for the better .

the day they went to finally purchase their wedding rings was the day eun - mi told woo - yong that they were having a lil squish . said lil squish came seven months and two weeks later in their master bathroom tub ( because jin - hyeok refused to be in there to full term ) and it was the happiest day of their lives . throughout jin - hyeok’s childhood , the couple continued to pursue their restaurant dreams , and opened four more locations in buckhead , sandy springs , morningside , and brookhaven by the time he was ten .

while growing up , jin - hyeok always took a liking to his creative side , and it was mostly due to his parents being creatives themselves . when he wasn’t in the kitchen with them , he was reading webtoons and mangas , which sparked his own interest in drawing . he was 100% self taught , and used to spend hours watching videos on how to do do certain things . by the time he started posting his art on the new platform that was instagram , jin - hyeok had begun going by the name of soren shin since he kept his art mostly to himself at the time . to get an idea of what his art looks like , check out my favorite artist laia lopez on instagram !

he went to the coveted scad ( savannah college of art and design ) where he studied fine arts . he graduated in the spring of 2018 , and he continued posting his art on instagram before he was approached by a publishing company to create a book of his own art ! he’s released a few of them leading into this year , and has drawn the illustrations for a few graphic novels throughout the years . moved to los angeles for the big dreamz but in reality he doesn’t do a damn thing but post on his personal account and go to fashion shows . he still does art and everything , but his life as a socialite is more prominent for him at the time .

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

baby is an artist ! despite him having no interest to hold down a day job , he mainly focuses on his art throughout the day . he definitely doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s drawing so if he answers the door with an attitude , then you know why .

he does not answer the phone and don’t expect him to ! he will intentionally leave you on read and watch his phone ring until it stops . really , he doesn’t know why he needs a phone outside of social media , but if you want to get in touch ... dm him . he might answer .

his favorite food is sushi so for the love of everything that is holy don’t let him pick where to eat because he’ll say sugarfish or nobu every single time .

he wears all black , but like .... expensive all black . he will wear his berets and his garrett leight glasses and his cartier bracelets and his fancy clothes literally every day . don’t ask him about casual clothes . they don’t exist . his casual is a silk pajama set .

drives a white audi q7 and lives in the hollywood hills .

don’t ask him to go on a date because he’ll just wanna go to art exhibits , art festivals , and museums . ya’ll will go to dinner and he’ll talk your ear off about it , but he’ll get all shy and rosy cheeked when someone asks about his own art since he doesn’t really share it that often .

owns every piece and collection of the fenty beauty line . curly bangs in his eyes 25 / 8 .

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 .

i’ve pretty much said everything in the headcanons , but he’s really a charmer at heart but he’ll also make you panic . since he doesn’t answer the phone people tend to think that he’s fallen of the face of the earth or god forbid he’s gone missing , but chances are he’s in his house ... ignoring you lol . he’s really about his looks and won’t leave the house without making sure that he looks impeccable , and he will go home if he feels ugly . he can be really sarcastic and it doesn’t take much but a couple of words to put him into a sour mood , so he’s a real testy one . above all else , though , he really likes to have fun and he’s really social so please come join him at his house for some reality show viewing with wine and junk food .

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 .

idk why i’m envisioning this , but someone he drew inspo from for the manga he’s working on . they could either m , nb , or female of course and it’s more so based on their looks than anything else , but he’s always going to them and wanting to show the progress he’s making !

i’d die if he had an angsty ex boyfriend kinda thing because honestly 👀 i wanna have my wig snatched thank u .

a best friend !

someone that tries to make him workout but in reality he’s sitting and eating a bagel on the weight bench .

some generic tingz like neighbors , friends with benefits , confidant(s) , good or bad influence , one night stand(s) , a current fling , enemies with benefits , and frenemies !!!

honestly i’m a sl*t for angst and everything that comes with it so please hand it over or i’ll start crying .

#excess:intro #WHEW i lied again when i said this was gonna be short !!

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hqolympia · 4 years

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chicago’s very own 𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 has been spotted on madison avenue driving a chevrolet corvette z06 , welcome ! your resemblance to 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒏 is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 , but being 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒆 might help you . i think being a 𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊 explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 , 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 .

hi , peachy ! my name’s char & that smile of yours is making my heart melt ! 🥺 allow me to introduce u to my fren over here !

full name : olympia giselle hargrove

nickname : oly , pia (tho, the latter one is reserved for her grandmother)

date of birth : may 22nd , 1997 (23)

birth place : chicago , il

sexual orientation : pansexual

occupation : competitive diver

labels : the crimson / the icarian

𝐢. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

one : picture a little girl with bright blue eyes, pigtails bouncing with every step she takes as a grin makes its way upon her face . she seems happy ---- and in the moment she truly is, despite the fact that the people she needs the most, her parents, are a few thousand miles away and aren’t here to see olympia say her first words or take her first step. she is too young to understand --- honestly, too young to even think about the reasons why they left her.

two : she is a little bit older now, a full-on eleven years old --- taller, thinner and, most importantly, rowdier. she has quite a few friends, although they all seem to be having picnics with their barbie dolls and sleepovers dedicated to watching princess movies whereas olympia wants to run around and jump all over the place. the girls just don’t seem to match her energy, the boys aren’t exactly welcoming towards her, having this stupid, “ew, but you’re a girl!” mindset. she just wants to find something for herself, something that will keep her interested for longer than three hours ---- that something turned out to be diving.

three : it’s a few years later, and now she’s standing at the 10m platform. it’s her last dive, and she needs to get it exactly right to win the gold medal. olympia would honestly be lying if she said her legs weren’t shaking because of how nervous she was --- but there’s a camera right in front of her face, therefore she has to keep it together. she turns around, takes one last breath, and then she’s up in the air. fifteen seconds later she’s fully submerged into water ----- and fifteen minutes later she has tears coming out of her eyes. she did it. she’s the world champion now.

four : it’s exactly a year later, and a lot has changed. olympia finds herself in the sunny city of rio de janeiro where she’s come to compete in her first olympic games --- which is exactly what she’s always been meant to do, judging by the name her parents gave her. except this time she’s nervous for an entirely different reason --- she’s now a successful athlete, this season’s leader and the one to watch out for. she’s the reigning world champion, for god’s sake, so she has to prove every single person out there she didn’t win on an accident. a lot of things seem to be going wrong; from oly flubbing her first dive to her coach coming up to her before her final one to say that her parents have showed up at the arena. eventually she finds herself in the same exact position as she did back in Russia ---- her palms are sweating, her legs are shaking, but there’s no turning back. the only way is down, so she has to dive one way or another. a jump, two somersaults, a twist ----- she’s back in the pool, and as she immediately drowns in the roar coming from the audience, tears start coming out of her eyes. she did it again. she’s lived up to her name.

five : ever since she got back home, her life has completely changed. interview after interview, a campaign after a photoshoot, an event after the other ---- all of that mixed in with her training routine has it ups and downs. her schedule keeps her busy yet there’s something missing. she’s looking everywhere in the hopes of finding that missing piece, and at some point she feels like she’s found it in the face of a stranger who ends up in her bed that night. it brings her a sense of serenity, that lasts a few weeks ---- but olympia knows it’s all too good to be true, and it’s proven to be that way as she stumbles upon a certain page on a random night. it doesn’t seem real at first, but when she spots a tattoo on the girl’s ribcage, a realization hits her ---- she’s plastered all over porn sites, and that particular video featuring her has generated a few million views in a span of two months. she doesn’t remember the night at first due to her drunken state, but she recognizes her bedroom, particularly a personalized louis vuitton gym bag sitting in the corner. details like that help her piece the night together, and from that point on there’s nothing but fear of it all coming out and ruining her career.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀

basically ! this intro is all over the place so here are some bullet points to get u up to speed !

oly was born in chicago but grew up and spent most of her time in toronto with her grandmother, since her parents were setting up their business overseas. they were coming by to visit her maybe once or twice a year, so she isn’t as close with them.

she is a competitive diver (a quite decorated one bc .... why wouldn’t she be 🥺🥺🥺) representing canada bc of her upbringing despite the fact that she now lives in new york (she moved here in 2017, after the rio olympics)

astrology wise, she is a gemini sun cancer rising .... so sorry to all of u for this

her placements mean that she is quite creative, capricious and may appear manic sometimes --- but really she is just downright STUPID bc she is always trying to get her ass into trouble. like, you can’t even imagine how many times her coach had to drag her out of the mess she got herself into ...

she is very much about having sympathy for others and helping them and whatnot, but unbeknownst to her, these tendencies can be explained by the “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” mindset. she has to keep her act straight, so getting onto someone’s bad side isn’t in the cards for her --- god knows what kind of shit she may end up in now that she’s a part of ... this world of glamour and fame, u kno?

olympia also really loves to talk, preach, argue --- just do whatever to be heard

in her free time (the time when she doesn’t feel like wreaking havoc tbh) she usually cooks deserts (vegan banana pudding? blackberry sorbet? key lime cheesecake? u want it, u got it!), reads books (painted veil by somerset is her ultimate FAV) and ... drives around town whilst listening to some cheesy music 🥺

other than that her usual routine consists of training, clubbing and messing shit up due to the chaotic stupid personality !

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

i promise this intro won’t be that long ... after this ! 🤠🤠🤠these are just the few ideas i can get off the top of my head so ... there’s always room for brainstorming ! :-)

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃 / close friends --- everybody needs some sort of a support system in their life, and oly is no exception to this rule. she’s never really had a big family, therefore she’s always surrounded herself with people in the hopes of filling the empty space in her heart. and honestly, if it wasn’t for these people, she would’ve quit diving right after winning the olympics, moved to the suburbs of toronto and just lived a quiet life --- but the pride for her friends just gives her enough motivation to move further and become better.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 / best friend --- we all have that someone who’s impossibly close to us; who we cannot imagine our lives without. the bond is so crucial to them both parties that it feels as if there’s never been a moment without each other. the general public and tabloids, though, feel as if there’s more going on and will not stop nagging them about the details.

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 / friends drifted apart / exes --- as weird as it is, oly is very much a yolo person. in addition to that, she has a ton of love and devotion for every single person she’s ever had in her life no matter what happened between them or what caused them to drift apart. though, her ever-changing nature is known to drive people away which, tbh, happens to be a blessing and a curse -- it helps oly sort of “filter” through her circle of friends, but then again, if someone enters her life, they leave and undeniable impact on it. therefore, she misses whoever left her life more than they could ever imagine.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 / rival (?) --- olympia isn’t perfect in any way, shape or form. she knows that, but most importantly, the public knows that and will not stop critiquing every little thing that she does. this person, though, is the exact opposite - the public LOVES them to the point where even olympia’s parents would probably say things like “ugh, i wish you could be more like that!”. this makes the relationship between the two quite ... strained. because as much as olympia may love them as a person, there’s always this lingering sense of jealousy that just enables her petty side.

𝐢𝐯. 𝐎𝐎𝐂

ok so ! if you’ve reached this part of my intro ... i cannot thank u enough bc this ?? this is long as HECK but i wanted to actually try and describe the kind of muse i envision in my head. i love u all a latte & if u feel like plotting w/ my dumb kid, leave a like on this post or feel free to mssg me on discord under futurenostalgias#1692 🤠sidenote tho: i’ll probably get to the mssgs in a few hours seeing as i have a few assignments to complete and i’m sorta braindead ... love u , cannot wait to write w/ u ! xoxo ur friendly neighborhood trash char

#wealthyhq:intro #im so .... slow at this wow ! 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠#here ur standart 'like for a dad joke n plots' tag :-)

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, KITA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CORIOLANUS. Admin Minnie: Kita, I genuinely don’t think we’ve had a Cyrus like yours join us in Verona. The way you capture both Cyrus’s beauty and his ugliness both. All that entitlement, all that arrogance, all that charm — you’ve grasped it masterfully. You understand Cyrus on a deep, personal level; but that’s not why I was so excited to accept your application. Ultimately, it was this line that really won me over: “But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.” I’m already in love with your Cyrus for who he is, and all the potential he has to ruin my life! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER Alias | kita Age | 20 Preferred Pronouns | she/her Activity Level | I think I can be fairly active. I am a full-time student, so my priority will always be there, but I always aim to get my replies done within a week. 6/10 or more? Hopefully more. Timezone | EST

(also English is not my first language so pls be kind)

IN CHARACTER Character |

Cyrus Vicente Sloane ; CORIOLANUS FC: Lorenzo Zurzolo

Alt fc: Wolfgang Novogratz

What drew you to this character? |

oh Gods, where do I begin? Of all Verona’s monsters, Cyrus Sloane has to be one of the worst. At once, spoiled rotten, cruel and innately duplicitous, Cyrus is an arrogant princeling whose tyranny knows no bounds. And yet, as soon as I finished reading his biography, I knew it was over. He materialized in my mind like some sort of phantom, flashed that winning smile at me and visions of him haunted me ever after.

I saw his head across Brigette’s lap on a lazy summer afternoon. Sipping champagne out of long-stemmed glasses, wearing filigreed gold masks to cover their ugliness inside, the two of them are tyrants, fickle and fiendish things about to wreak terror on a city that has only known it.

———— “do you love me, cyrus?” she pouts. he smiles. when he kisses the petulance from her lips, there is no answer needed.

I saw his lips tilt upward into a smug grin as he and Lawrence meet up in a dingy bar. When the time comes, he throws his head back with laughter, he leans in, whispers something just loud enough for the other man to hear. This is a dangerous game to play, Lawrence knows. Nothing, after all, is ever given freely. But one look at Cyrus, at that indigent boy who seems not at all concerned with his traitorous tongue nor the consequences of it, and his fears are momentarily assuaged.

———— “all of this is just talk between friends, signor vernon,” cyrus says, waving off worries with an unconcerned shrug. lawrence pauses, raises an eyebrow, “is that what we are?”

I could wax poetic about why Cyrus is the way he is, why he plays at being charming, demands to be worshipped. But, in the end, it boils down to this: the rot in Cyrus Sloane is that he could not find it in himself to be forgiven. The anger he has in his heart, the revenge he plots– it is all because he cannot find anyone to blame but himself.

In Capetown, he learned to make weapons out of fleeting sweet-faced grins and honeyed lies. Barely into manhood, he won the hearts of his countrymen, had the ear of a kingpin, sat poised for an easy throne. But, though he had everything one could ever dream of, he still gave it all up in order to return to the place of his first and most terrible failure. Look, I have no doubt that he tells himself that he hates his mother. I have no doubt that he even believes that. However, I know that if you cut him open, you would see that he only hates that he does not hate her, not really. He hates that he cannot fault her for anything that she has ever done.

He had always idolized her, had always thought her the paragon of perfection, of stoic and unbending strength. He had never even blamed her for being cold to him– after all, his mother was never anything but pragmatic. She must have had her own reasons to toss him to the wolves. He blames her only for this: for propping up a mirror to his nature, for casting a light on a part of him that he would rather have never acknowledged… for reminding him that he was weak enough to be unwanted, that no matter how hard he tried to be beloved—he would only ever be left behind.

Yes, he is a sharp and cutting thing, hard to look at. He burns so bright, my icarian boy. He fashions himself so easy to be loved and flies so close to the sun, taunting it to shoot him down. He will ruin Verona, if he has his way. He will almost certainly burn himself up to do it. And I suppose I have applied— in part, to try and stop him, to save him from himself. But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1— Nothing short of a prodigy in politics + war, this princeling figures some form of leadership to be the most natural application for his talents, and, as it seems, he seems destined for it. Impressed by Cyrus’ verve and natural aptitude for diplomacy, Cosimo has promoted the young man to an emissary and holds Cyrus in high regard. But, while Cyrus seems content in his position and its upwards mobility, he does not intend to take orders forever.

In his biography, there are inklings of a betrayal from Cyrus to the Capulets written throughout his biography. His position to Lawrence as an informant is an obvious clue of lack of loyalty, but it definitely goes far beyond that. Cyrus pays no mind to any man (nor God). He is only concerned with his own interest.

While the possibility of Cyrus becoming a Montague is tantalizing, I think Cyrus hates the Capulets for what they have done to him, but he hates all of Verona the same way. Trading loyalties to the Montagues, to another mob family with a rigid hierarchy isn’t how Cyrus sees himself. He wants to be King, not just a soldier with a different perspective of the Castelvecchio Bridge. Right now, Cyrus does his best to play at peace. But, as the war in Verona streets escalates, the number of neutral sanctuaries decreases, I intend to make Cyrus prove himself loyal to a side, once and for all— whichever one that may be.

———— “Do you not trust me?” Cyrus grins. With his teeth bared and the whites of his eyes glittering in the dark, he looks like the Cheshire cat. You think you have never trusted him less.

2— Earnestly, I think that Cyrus probably wouldn’t betray the Capulets for the Montagues. However, I didn’t say Cyrus wouldn’t betray the Capulets altogether. In fact, for his goal (just like… enacting revenge on all of Verona), I think it’s more likely than not that he will betray them at some point. A thread I’ve been following through the biographies is Cassian’s ties to certain neutral parties (olivia + mona in particular). I could be misreading, but Olivia has her eyes on him. Mona knows his secrets. Like snakes, they cut through the grass, wrap themselves around the prey and they squeeze. Pressure mounting, Cassian might crack sometime soon. And Cyrus— well, he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

In the biography, it is explicitly stated that Cyrus seeks to overtake Cassian. Though Cyrus plays the part of being his dutiful student, he has no real affection for his mentor. Ever since he has been in Verona, he has tried to get closer to his mentor. However, when he spots Olivia’s watchful gaze on the man, I think Cyrus will jump at the chance to act– to finally show that he is not someone to be underestimated. I think this is a perfect opportunity for him to stumble.

I would love to see him team up with Mona and Olivia to amp up the pressure on Cassian. And moreover, I would love to see Cyrus’ loyalties be swayed to them entirely. In my eyes, Mona Chen is someone who thrives in duplicity, whose mother (and father) has not been kind to her and someone who Cyrus knows- will never bow to anyone. It is those things that Cyrus respects. It is those things that will make Cyrus vulnerable to her.

Perhaps Cyrus just passes information about Cassian to Mona and Olivia at first. he offers his assistance from time to time. But maybe things go deeper. Maybe he sees Mona as the coming storm, as someone who will brings the winds of change. Maybe Cyrus can be even convinced to follow her entirely. In any case, this is a perfect opportunity for Cyrus to make a misstep, for him to reveal too much about himself and having that be his undoing. Mona is a woman who deals with secrets and has no problem weaponizing that. It would be awful for him, if she had some dirt of him.

———— “You cannot think that I will let you crush my mentor,” he says, “at least, not without my help.”

3— What is Cyrus without his mother? What is a list of plots without Cyrus and Vivianne on it?. Honestly, I don’t even know where this is going to go. I just know that it’s going to hurt so exquisitely. If you asked Cyrus about his mother, he would laugh. I have your love, he would say, why do I need hers? There is no hard feelings between the two of them, he says. What she did gave him a better life. I mean, just look at him. He was spoiled in Capetown, given everything he ever wanted. And now that he is back in Verona, his good fortune has only followed. Right?

In the years since Cyrus left Capetown, Vivianne has only thrived. She has married Cosimo, become the underboss of the city’s best crime family (fuck u, montagues). She has even found a surrogate daughter to replace him, one that she loves in ways that she never could with him. It is clear that the problem was never with her. To a layman’s eye, Cyrus is nothing but an indigent boy who aims to make Verona his playground. Reveling in every waking moment in the city, he’s a reckless and terrible thing, content to leave caution to the wind so long as he conquers these streets. But the truth is– he has no appetite for ambition without her as an audience, no desire to prove his happiness and success if the news will not travel somehow to her ears.

He hates Vivianne. But what he hates most about her is that—while he would have done anything for her attention, she never seemed to care for him. ———— “You have the world, Cyrus,” she says, calm as ever. He laughs. ”Does it matter? I would have given it all up if you had just been there.”

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | not yet.

IN DEPTH In-Character Para Sample:

//// I WROTE THIS LITERALLY ALL TODAY BC I WANTED TO GET MY APP IN PLS DONT JUDGE TOO HARSHLY

Mass had only ended an hour or so ago. The candles lit for the service still smoldered from having been snuffed out. But Cyrus held no pretensions—sanctity had left this house of worship far before that.

There was nothing holy about this place, he ascertained.

Perhaps there never had been.

Of course—he would not deny that, as a child, Cyrus had found the Cattedrale di Verona impossibly beautiful. A feat of architecture like no other, it had filled his chest with wonder to see the golden mural that arched across the vaulted ceiling, the reverential way sunlight passed through the stained glass. However, he had long since learned that the spectacle was only a clever ruse. Just like most things in Verona, beauty existed only to hide the rot that so often lurked beneath.

As he walked through the empty pews now, he felt a visceral disgust with himself. How had he not seen it? While he sat in these very seats, knelt on this very floor, sought out something bigger than himself, looked in every corner to find out why the room always felt so empty, he had been blind to the cracks in walls, the chips in the paint. The priest had said once to him that “in god, he would find all answers”—but there was no salvation to be found here.

Even when he had needed it the most, he had never found any salvation here.

Yes, you see he understood now. There was only one reason why he came to the Cathedral now: to drink in his bitterness, to remind himself of the debt he was owed.

The Cathedral was his, just like this city was. Not in that he believed in it or that he loved it more than anyone else, but because he had paid for it ten times over. It had promised him mercy and benevolence and safety, but, when every alley had looked like fear and every corner had held another terrible surprise, it had denied him of all of it. When he was weak, they had cast him aside, and he still remembered that casual cruelty, still felt the sting of rejection and could not bear it.

With no one around to stop him, Cyrus clambered atop an empty pew and went to light a cigarette. While the puff of smoke rose ever upwards, caressed the faces of Abaddon and John, St. Michael and Magog, he laughed. How prescient of them, he thought to himself, to paint a picture of their own reckoning.

He stubs his cigarette out on the pew. It leaves a scorch mark, but he does not seem to care. He offers a rakish smile to no one in particular. He laughs.

“You would forgive me,” he says to the empty air.

(And look- look at that winsome smile, at that careless leer. You could try to fault him for something. He would dare you to. But you would still forgive him anyways.)

#accepted #accepted: coriolanus

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Fifth night of writing! Up to 8985 words, thanks to a burst of writing when i really should have been already asleep. Four kids with letters for names face consequences.

Be advised that this part focuses on feelings of dysphoria in a young egg!

i’m currently only able to work for 14 hours a week; donations to support this are welcome! Feel free to let me know when you’ve donated, I’ll see about including a tribute of some sort to you in the text of the story:

https://www.paypal.me/ayellowbirds

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As always, keep track of the tag for updates!

(logo fonts are Bradley Gratis and Yiddishkeit Bold)

Click the Read More to continue, or click here for the previous part, and here for the first part!

And so it was that they sat in front of Captain Tserac, feeling both physically and emotionally in the pits.

“The four of you,” Tserac intoned, pale, watery eyes looking down at them from a gaunt face tinged slightly blue, “have been very fortunate indeed. Tell me, do you recall how it is that you became trainees here?”

“In recognition of our excellent academic and physical performance in our studies at the Imperial Children’s Home,” intoned J., repeating a line they’d heard many times, the first a mere three years ago when the letters of selection had arrived.

“Just so,” Tserac nodded, taking a sip of for a glass of medicated soda water. The stuff was favored among Icosan citizens, and strictly regulated by laws forbidding its sale or consumption by anyone except full-blooded Icosans* certified by the Imperial Bureau of Statistics. “And do you recall to what purpose you are receiving training?”

* The official reason being that Icosans possessed a natural physiognomy that allowed them to consume the drink without “succumbing to rambunctious and licentious behavior”. The real reason was that the alchemically treated silver solutions in the beverage were the source of the side effects that caused habitual drinkers to develop a bluish-gray skin tone, which had become fashionable amongst the Icarian elite a generation back. It simply wouldn’t do for any Icarian citizens except Icosans to be able to display such hallmarks of good taste and breeding.

“To contribute to the betterment of society and ensure the freedom of all citizens by removing subversive elements and rooting out the evil of anarchism and preventing inchoate sedition,” offered N. this time, again a verbatim repetition.

“And for what reason, hm?” asked Tserac, licking his thin lips as he finished his drink. He looked to B. This was the routine: questions in a series of four, with the expectation that each row being questioned would answer in reverse order. It was typical—but not always the case—that the most challenging question be directed at the leader of the row.

Thus, B. answered: “in order to repay the kindness shown by the Emperor himself in securing a home and an education for us after our discovery as foundlings.”

V. heard a twinge of pain in her voice. Most of the children from the ICF had some measure of sadness about their status as orphans, though a few weathered it well enough that it wasn’t obvious. They didn’t lack for anything, and had seen on educational and holiday trips how rough it could be even for children with families of their own, without the Emperor’s blessing. That said, it seemed like a particularly sore subject with B.

But Tserac seemed satisfied by this. “So you understand. And make no mistake, you are receiving an education here that is the envy of citizens fully twice your age, particularly those in the military academies. Why, I myself was not so fortunate as to have the caliber of training you receive in your physical education.”

As he said this, Tserac made a point of brushing off the medals on his breast. Although his rank was officially ‘Captain’, it was understood by all the trainees and officials alike that Thasgeril Tserac held far higher status. After all, he was considered by the Imperial Army to be the one suitable for overseeing their training. And V. had felt on more than one occasion that the bony old man seemed to be a bit too quick to dodge stray bits from food fights, avoid soapy floors in the midst of being scrubbed, and take notice of trainees hiding where they ought not to be.

“Which is precisely why the four of you need to pay more attention in your lessons,” Tserac continued, now turning his gaze to V. “When I was a cadet myself, I daren’t think I would have been caught doing something so unseemly as raiding a secret stash of candies when I was meant to be studying. Don’t you think so, Mr. V.? I should expect—”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and Tserac expected an answer. He was saying more, but all that V. could hear was the sound of blood rushing, heartbeat pumping. It didn’t make much sense that something so simple could be so rattling.

It wasn’t just that Tserac twisted the pronunciation of the letter of V.’s name—being foundlings without any known surname or given name, they had each been assigned a letter† from the Stafroph, the revered Icarian Alphabet established by the Immortal Emperor Earsil himself in his youth—turning what everyone else read as the letter “Uht” or “Vuht” into “Hwot”, insisting on applying his frustratingly Icosan accent to the sound.

† V. was, in point of fact, V.5, the youngest V out of the precisely one hundred orphans at the Imperial Children’s Home, and younger than the rest of Row Four by a solid year.

It wasn’t just the inexplicable way that he emphasized “Mr.”, either. V. couldn’t explain why that title was so upsetting, why it felt the same way that being called “young man” or “boy” or “he” did, while all of those threw everything off stride. After all, V. was born a boy, so that all just made sense as the way to refer to… him, right?

V. managed to blurt out an answer that seemed to satisfy Tserac, who offered a wide, thin smile in response.

“Excellent,” he said, so snappily and formally, so much in that ‘at attention’ voice, that V.’s spine straightened on impulse. The old Icosan pulled out his pocketwatch, not actually looking at its face. “The four of you are to report to the Witching Hall. There is a special review that you are required to attend, and I should expect you will be pleased with the results. Afterwards, we shall find some means of exercising your taste for adventure with additional training and chores—but time is slipping away, and there is a schedule to keep to for the time being. Row Four, dismissed.”

Before V. fully realized what was happening, the four of them were out the door and rushing down the passages to the Witching Hall. Clarity came soon enough to realize that Chief Nurse Eciurtal was passing in the opposite direction, looking very frustrated about something and focusing on Tserac’s door.

“Children,” she greeted them, and all four saluted without stopping.

“I can’t believe that’s all we got away with,” N. gasped, fussing with her hair. The tight blonde coils had gotten out of place at some point, and she was trying to put them back into a bun while keeping up with the others.

“Well, maybe he figures this sick feeling is enough punishment,” V. suggested, but something felt off about that. Sweat dripped down… his brow. V. swept it back, slicking red locks into an upward sweep. Maybe it was just the usual weird discomfort. Something to talk to the nurses about, maybe? It was getting harder to ignore, lately.

“You think so?” B. asked, with the kind of expression that suggested she had some notion what the reason was, or—more likely, in V.’s opinion—wanted them all to think that she did.

“Well, I can’t think of anything aside from that and that he wants us to try harder not to be caught, and was trying to tell us that the whole reason we’re here is to become better at sneaking into places we’re not supposed to be,” guessed J., sounding far away in thought.

They scrambled down the stairs in silence, turning the corner to the walkway that led to the Witching Hall. It was only once they got into the fresh air in sight of the entryway where the other rows were milling about that all but one of them slowed, J. running ahead for a moment before noticing and turning back.

“You think that’s it?” asked N.

V. turned to look out over the edge of the walkway, considering the idea. “I wouldn’t put it past the Captain.”

Far below, the grays and greens of western Dembenklion gave way to the smaller state of Charnozam, all fertile black earth checked with the green of farmlands and the shining slickness of as-yet undrained swamps. The wind whipped around the walkway, and birds flew underneath. Being up in The Mountain afforded quite the view of the world, and the instructors were fond of talking about that in grand metaphorical ways.

Suddenly, V. felt like maybe there were more important things to focus on than a little inexplicable discomfort.

Twenty-six minutes later, V. felt very differently.

THE PRESENT DAY

“I really can’t thank you enough for bringing this particular shipment,” Menax said between mouthfuls of pickle. While it made for a convenient cover, Belaset’s crate of ‘pickles’ was in fact part of one of the other ways she earned a living, making deliveries for a local factory. The cucumbers that had provided camouflage for the true nature of Menax’s delivery were genuinely good.

In spite of that, Belaset cringed. “I don’t know how you can stomach those, considering.”

Menax looked at the pickle, and back at Belaset. “Well, it’s not as though they were touching anything. But if this business is too sour for your tastes, I have something—or rather, a couple somethings, that are a bit sweeter.”

The trio were back up in Menax’s kitchen, where Musick had been enjoying a bit more of the doctor’s cooking. Belaset had found space in a corner—managing to fill it entirely, in spite of having easily found her way downstairs into the comparatively small space of the secret cellar. She had the broadsheet in one hand, and had been practicing reading it. Menax found that he rather enjoyed the sound of her efforts at literacy, a recent pursuit that he strongly encouraged since she had become his regular employee.

He made his way over to a small desk beside his icebox, from which he produced an envelope, waving it at Belaset. “Your payment.”

Belaset smiled, and then grinned even broader at him as Menax reached into his vest pocket and produced another few bills, adding, “plus a bonus for the, ah, exceptional quality of this shipment.”

Outside of the cellar, he never spoke openly of the true nature of their business. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t compensate her fairly. He passed the envelope and additional bills to Belaset, who took them out and counted. The standard twenty-five dollars, plus a bonus of five. Equivalent to a week and a half’s pay at a decent hourly rate in more mundane labor, with the way inflation was at the time.

And then there was the other bonus. He turned back not to the desk, but to the icebox, and opened it in search of a particular treasure within it. He pulled out a large, spiny object from which several stiff leaves projected. Were it not for the leaves, one might have mistaken it for the egg of some great reptile or terrible monstrous bird, but it was something far more special than all of that.

“Either of you ever see one of these?” he asked Belaset and Musick both, as he brought the strange object over to the cutting board, setting it down as he fished around the kitchen drawers in search of a suitable knife. Settling on a long knife with a good point, he set it at just the right level. It had been a few years since he’d done this, though once he had the blade in position, he could already feel the right way to cut. “It’s a fruit from the island, called an ananas, though the Icosans insist for some reason on calling it a ‘pineapple’. I suppose it looks enough like a pinecone at first, but—”

He began chopping off parts, starting with the top and bottom before spearing the whole fruit on the blade and coring it with a twist of his wrist. He gave it a thump, sliding out the core so that it fell neatly into the sink, before spinning the ananas around and cutting off the sides, taking care not to remove his own fingers along with the thorny exterior and leaves. Finally, he set the now vivid yellow fruit on its side, and began cutting it into discs—rings, really—and laying them out in a row across the cutting board. He speared one of the largest ones on the end of the knife, and with another flick of his wrist, threw it across the room to Belaset.

She caught it, gave it a close look and a sniff, and slid the whole ring into her mouth, chewing tentatively. “Mmm!” was all she could manage.

“Isn’t it?” Menax laughed, cutting several pieces on a plate to bring over to Musick. “I used to get them more often, one of my classmates came from a family in the business of importing fruit.”

“I never heard of it,” his landlady said, licking at the plate first, and then planting her face into it to gobble up the chunks of sweet, juicy fruit.

#yenne velt: dead names #my writing

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treacherycuphq · 3 years

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I’m really interested in taking a star player / exploring a “fame monster” dynamic but I don’t want to step on a moderator’s toes - can you guys give some ideas as to how we can explore that without feeling like we’re stealing plots?

FIRST OFF - WE WANT TO SINCERELY THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION. IT WAS VERY COURTEOUS OF YOU TO REACH OUT WITH THIS, BECAUSE IT SHOWS YOU'VE READ OVER THE SAMPLE APP AND ENOUGH SKELES TO GET A GENERAL LAYOUT OF CHARACTER TRAJECTORIES & WERE ABLE TO IDENTIFY AN OVERLYING CONNECTION. WE APPRECIATE THE LEVEL OF CRITICAL THINKING THAT OCCURRED FOR THIS QUESTION. I'M ( MOD S ) GOING TO ASSUME THIS IS IN CONJUNCTION WITH MY CHARACTER, MARLENE, SO I'M GOING TO FINISH ANSWERING IT.

WE'VE MADE SEVERAL "STAR PLAYER" SKELES FOR THE PURPOSE OF "FAME MONSTER" EXPLORATION PLOTS, SO I WOULDN'T BE CONCERNED WITH "STEALING" ANYTHING FROM ME ! I PERSONALLY SEE THE CONCEPT OF FAME AS A MULTI-HEADED BEAST, AND DIFFERENT ASPECTS / SCENARIOS THAT ARE BORN FROM IT WOULD AFFECT CHARACTERS IN DIFFERENT WAYS. OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD, I KNOW AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD, LUDOVIC BAGMAN, LUCINDA TALKALOT, AND EMMA VANITY ARE PRETTY CODED TOWARD "FAME MONSTER" PLOTS OUT OF THE QUIDDITCH PLAYERS. UNDER THE READ MORE CUT, I'M GOING TO LIST SPECIFIC PLOTS I'D LOVE TO SEE !

( SINCE THIS QUESTION SPECIFICALLY MENTIONED 'STAR PLAYERS,' I'M GOING TO FOCUS ON THEM, BUT I 100% SUPPORT THE FAME MONSTER PLOTS APPLYING TO OTHER CHARACTERS, OUTSIDE OF QUIDDITCH, AS WELL ! )

First, you need to address some key "Fame" thematics, before you tap into the monster portion:

Who was your character before they became famous, and who have they become because of the spotlight?

Does your character put on a facade for their public personality, or do they present themselves authentically for public consumption?

If they use a fake public personality, what do they do with the emotional dissonance of pretending to be somebody they're not? Does it affect their private relationships? How do they cope?

If they present themselves authentically, do they maintain healthy boundaries with the public? Can they separate their inner perspective versus the public perception of them? What happens when these two versions don't match up?

Do they have an ability to change back to who they were before fame, or has the appeal of the spotlight changed them, for better or for worse?

The "monster" portion of the fame monster trope really rests in your character responding to a slew of these circumstances negatively - similarly to a "bridezilla," the definition doesn't fit if it's not born of antagonism, y'know?

With all of that in mind, here's a non-exhaustive list of everything I could come up with re: alternate "fame monster" plots / dynamics that don't have any effect whatsoever over me & my current musings.

PLOTS:

BEST OF THE BEST OF THE BEST OF THE...: No one can be flawless forever. No one can be the best until they die. The best is the best until... what? Typically, we see the end of powerful reigns because something else begins to matter more: love, money, power, friendship, self-preservation, addiction, and anonymity are all well-known and valid reasons to finally break ties with the fame monster. Maybe your character did, and is dealing with the fallout from the limelight; maybe your character is about to, but is still trying to figure out what's worth leaving the fame monster behind.

THE LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH & FAMOUS: saying your character has adjusted to their celebrity status would be an understatement; they've flourished beneath the limelight, and now have a personal assistant, an agent, and a public relations manager to help offset even the barest inkling of a bad image. Heck, they've been famous for so long, they barely remember what life was like before - they've become someone that's lost their connection to their roots. However, that's all about to change... because where's the fun in not fracturing everything a person knows, for the sake of conflict?

ICARUS' LANDING: oh how high we fly! oh how far we fall ! your character has found themselves in a typical Icarian tragedy - their fame is hinged on the exploitation of their worst hubris, and they won't stop trying to succeed until it's far too late. Try as they damnedest to touch the sun and dazzle in its spotlight, so too will they find their end and burn beneath its brilliance; whatever your character is using to find fame, they will overindulge and find themselves plummeting toward normality far sooner than they'd ever think.

FAN BASE FAVOR: your character has fallen into the monotony of catering to their fan bases' every wish & whim, creating a public version of themselves that's simultaneously overly enthusiastic & underwhelming. That means that they constantly stop for pictures or autographs, to the point of near compulsion. If they're always willing & able to provide for their fans, what does that mean in terms of their public identity? Are they constantly putting on a show, in case fans are nearby? Do they feel invalidated if fans aren't screaming for their attention at all times? Do they lose hours upon hours responding to fan mail? How do the other people in their lives feel about this exhaustive fan service?

STARRING IN THE SHADOWS: your character's parent was famous, to a high enough caliber that their star power has created an everlasting shadow over your own reputation; nothing you do, nothing you say will keep them from being mentioned in the next sentence. But fame has sunk its teeth into you, and your left with two complex paths: do you cede under their spotlight, and hope it bolsters your own? Or do you try anything to break out of their typecast, and make a name for yourself, outside your family ties? More importantly, does anyone else in the world care? Do you talk about your complex relationship with your own privilege, or let sleeping dogs lie?

MY OWN WORST ENEMY: your character has a complicated relationship with hedonism; whether it be romantic entanglements, illicit substances, or general gluttony of all things sin, they compulsively indulge, with little to no discipline. Regardless of outside intervention, your character partakes time & time again, refusing help for what they don't see as a problem, just a "good time." There's only so long this lifestyle can be catered to, however, before they gain a level of notoriety that blackballs them from the famous circles they were once included in.

DANCING WITH YOUR HANDS TIED: your character has feelings for a certain someone, but is unable to act on it, thanks to their celebrity status. Maybe you're trying to exploit the pureblood/muggleborn dynamic? Maybe their interest rests on someone outside the public eye? Maybe that person has no interest in being brought into the public eye, making your celebrity status the difference between having or losing that special person? Can your character let go of the validation of many for the love of one? Do they even have a choice - stepping out of the public eye doesn't automatically free you from being a celebrity, ask any former child star !

DYNAMICS:

OBSESSIONS & CONFESSIONS: your character may be too famous, as they're currently trying to sidestep a stalker - or "obsessed fan," depending on your definition. Either way, no one enjoys invasions of your property or your privacy - does your character confront the stalker directly, in an attempt to gain their sympathy? Or do they take increasingly ludicrous measures in an attempt to ward them off? Maybe, they enjoy the newfound level of attention, and begin to build a complicated relationship with them?

CHASE YOU DOWN UNTIL YOU LOVE ME: Paparazzi, baby ! Love to hate them or hate to love them, the physical entity that is tabloid publication follows you around wherever you go. Does your character love the constant audience, or crave the solace of anonymity? Is the paparazzi better or worse than the rest of the world's consumption of you? Does one person in particular rile you up for the sake of a juicy photograph, leading to a cumbersome antagonism that's almost targeted at you? Does their presence give your character confidence or anxiety? Maybe your character gets on good terms with one of their paid stalkers, and hatches a scheme to always be on the front page in exchange for the juiciest weekly scoop? Maybe your character is trying to use the paparazzi to increase their celebrity status, which hasn't been fully realized yet?

PEOPLE I DON'T LIKE: there's nothing wrong with making famous friends for the sake of gaining more fame, but Lord, doesn't it get cumbersome constantly trying to please people you barely even like? The photographs may seem favorable enough, but behind closed doors & velvet ropes, these people are NOT your friends - but then what are they? And honestly, is anyone really your friend anymore? What defines friendship, in a world where the flashing light will always mean more than the people standing in front of it?

UPPER MANAGEMENT: all celebrities hit a streak of their pride where they become more eggheaded than egg-ceptional - whether your character is the celebrity or their support staff, the high horse of the limelight has finally caused a conflict between what you think you deserve & what you currently receive. Whether you're demanding a new agent, coach, assistant, or some other ludicrous proclamation, this sudden inflation of your ego has done nothing but piss off the people around you. Congrats ! Now it's time to deal with the fall out of your holier-than-thou expectations.

ASSIST ME: a niche dynamic of the one presented above, this deals with the relationship between star & personal assistant, and the synchrony needed to sail an exceptionally famous ship. Is the assistant good at their job? Is the star judgmental & opinionated, with unrealistic expectations? What does the personal assistant get from this dynamic? How does it further their career? Do they only do it out of contractual obligation to their client, or does their relationship with their assigned celebrity go far deeper than that?

SELL OUT YOUR HEART: your character wakes up one day to find that somebody close to them has leaked explicit information to the press about you. However, this source is left "anonymous." What does your character do? Do they root out the imposter, who sold their personal information for a quick dime? Do they want to know the identity of the perpetrator? Is it actually a betrayal in their eyes, or a product of their work? Or maybe your character picked out someone in their group who exclusively leaks these pockets of information for the sake of bolstering your reputation?

THE BOJACK HORSEMAN PLOT: your character has been playing the fame game long enough that the public has begun the enamored catcalls for a book about your life ! Your character's agent places them with a well-respected ghost writer to get things started; does your character enjoy their time with the writer, or do they find them judgmental / opinionated over your character's past? Does the writer respect your character's vision, or expect them to bend to narrative style of a story? Do they ruminate on ideas that your character finds hit a little too close to home, or maybe they won't write what your character wants at all? Does your character treat their sessions like therapy? Does it force them to confront deep personal issues & views they'd never questioned before? Or do they simply finish the endeavor & send them off, without ever thinking about their ghost writer again? Do they build a relationship with one another, or does it begin & end with work?

FAKE DATING AU: pretty self-explanatory & a fan favorite, especially for celebrity characters !

BODYGUARD AU: also self-explanatory & a personal favorite !!

#wanted ideas #hp rp #new rp #au rp #mod: answer #holy fuck this was a cool question !!!

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valeriadelano-blog · 7 years

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hello loves!! this is lydia back once again with valeria, still a sarcastic and very gay troll, not much has changed about her but u know why not repost it bc i’m trash. but as always pls like this or hmu for plots i swear i’m nice.

LAUREN JAUREGUI - VALERIA DELANO currently plays ROWENA in LOVELY EQUALS on Bridge Broadcasting! I swear, they’re TWENTY-ONE and they’ve already done so much within the business. They’re often described as the ICARIAN by the paparazzi who follows them around, because they’re apparently +DEDICATED and -GUARDED. Though, that’s just paparazzi talk. Who knows if it’s true? All I know is that they go by SHE/HER and they’re on my favorite show.

her dad’s a big hot shot movie director while her mother was an extra on one of his movies. how they fell in love is very cute considering their backgrounds

valeria’s an only child and was spoiled by her dad much to her mother’s dismay and she’s not at all ashamed to admit that she’s a daddy’s girl

unfortunately her parents split when she was eight years old because of a rumored cheating scandal that was pinned on her father and one of the actresses on his newest movie because of that she lived with her dad and spent only some time with her mom

she coped with the divorce by reading fearful creatures and fell in love with rowena’s character

most of her acting roles were on her father’s productions which lots of people found unfair but she assures everyone that she tried out and got the role fair and square. but she knew she couldn’t do that forever.

instead valeria turned to bridge broadcasting where they were holding auditions for lovely equals and she was ecstatic to see her favorite book series come to life

originally she tried out for brenna before the producers agreed she was a better fit for rowena

she absolutely loves playing rowena and her job especially because rowena alludes to being lgbtq+ as she herself is homosexual she recently came out at a convention and is very proud of her sexuality

but tbh she hates london and would much rather be back in los angeles or in vancouver with her dad. she sucks it up bc that’s where she has to work but if she could she would be out of the country

miscellaneous facts:

she’s a virgo born september 2nd

her alignment is chaotic neutral

she is literally is the captain of rowena x brenna ship bc she goes above and beyond by going off script for each of their romantic scenes

her hobbies include: going on long motorbike rides, playing water polo, bowling, creating 10 hour spotify playlists, going to free concerts, attending music festivals, and trolling people on social media.

she has a fan account that she uses to spy on fans of the show

#tele:intro #( intro. )#also if you want to keep old plots lmk!

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Sixth night of writing! Up to 10,952 words, more than half a day’s writing over the target number for last night. I’m almost up to a full week of working on this; what do you all think so far?

https://www.paypal.me/ayellowbirds

https://ko-fi.com/ayellowbirds

As always, keep track of the tag for updates!

(logo fonts are Bradley Gratis and Yiddishkeit Bold)

Click the Read More to continue, or click here for the previous part, and here for the first part!

“Tasty, though.”

“The trick of it is cutting out the core,” Menax explained. “There is some property of the juices in the center that is excellent for tenderizing meat, but can be most unpleasant to the mouth in more than small quantities, unless it is well-cooked.”

He popped a small section of a ring into his mouth, and chewed at it a bit. He looked around the room; Belaset was taking her time to enjoy the ring, taking small nibbles that seemed even more delicate for all her height, while Musick had swallowed down all that she had been offered and was licking her chops. Her ears perked for a moment, and Menax smiled.

“I learned that the hard way,” he added, speaking around the morsel. “That classmate of mine had given a very large quantity in exchange for, ah… assisting him in some unpleasant business. And I found that eating too much in one sitting could even cause the soft palate to bleed. So, I am always overly cautious in cutting out the core, when I can get an ananas to myself.”

Belaset swallowed her mouthful. “Wait, so you mean that, while you were eating the—ananas?—it was as if it was biting you—”

There was a loud and unmistakable thudding sound from directly beneath them. Belaset and Musick both looked to Menax, who swallowed hard. He found that his hand was on the cutting board behind him, already grabbing the knife. The question went unspoken as both of his guests looked down towards the secret cellar.

“Yes,” he said. “We had best investigate.”

Menax’s mind raced as he moved towards the study, grabbing a skillet from a hook on the kitchen wall and holding it as if it was a shield. There was a ventilation grate—doubled up and leading to his small backyard, where nobody out to be entering without his notice. It was possible some intruder had been keeping an eye on his home, and had pried it open while he was distracted in the kitchen. It was just wide enough that a smaller person than himself could fit through.

There was another exit besides that, but he was certain it was even more secret, and he was all but certain it could not be discovered even under extraordinary circumstances, and he had never revealed it to anyone.

But then, if it was his worst fear and the imperial authorities were there to arrest him for theft and experimentation on bodies—he had conducted more than one study specifically of Icosan remains—then it was possible there was sorcery involved, and any number of explanations could be at hand. It could even be a sheyd, having found some way into his home from the other world.

“I’ll keep here the door,” Belaset said, standing between the kitchen and the study. “Might need to shut it, might need to hold it open for you, right?”

“Sound reasoning, Miss Alazraki,” he replied. He noticed that Musick was simply letting out a low growl rather than speak, her muscles taut and her ears held back.

He moved to open the secret door.

BEFORE

Pain!

Cold, much, much too cold.

Never such a cold, empty, too empty, hungry thirsty feeling too dry and wet at the same time—cold outside, colder inside, darkness on darkness.

Where? Think, remember.

A fight?

“Wait, stop, I’m Icarian Se—” pain! “—you’re screwing up weeks of investigation, look, my badge!” SHARP! Burning, fire, angry! Hate! Screaming! Teeth, hooves? White and red and red going white going black.

Don’t belong there? Where? Why? What do you mean, won’t have me? What did you call me? I—maybe?

Where are you going, where am I going, where am I?

Can’t talk! Can’t move? Move, move, move—something—my throat?

My mouth? Clay? Stone?

Bone?

Got to get out!

Move!

PUSH!

Where? Cold, cold box, get up, still cold inside, too cold inside, too dry, too thirsty, too hungry, too empty, move!

Can’t move right, where—table, floor, walls, air flowing—a grate?

Can’t move it. Sound? Footsteps, one, two. One very big. No, three, an animal?

Above! Above, so—stairs?

There, stairs!

Sound, light, warmth!

Too cold, too dry, too empty, thirsty, too hungry!

Light, more light, opening—it’s warm it’s big it’s hot meat blood I’m empty I’m cold I’m dry I’m HUNGRY!

NOW

As Menax opened the door, too many things happened at once. Something that should not have been up and moving about loomed over him, very much up, and lunged at him, very much about.

He somehow had the presence of mind to realize that the cadaver, the distinctly and definitely deceased body, was attacking him. He managed to thrust his knife into its—her?—raised hand, but a fleshless jaw closed on his shoulder.

He was ever so thankful that his daily attire involved several layers, including a durable undergarment.

Dropping the pan and letting go of the knife, he brought up both hands and all of his strength to push the walking corpse away. Questions sprang into his mind as his body acted. A dybbuk? He knew that sometimes the dead could possess unliving things if they were in the likeness of the living, and some were quite hostile.

The corpse paused, chewing cotton shreds, and slowly looked at her hand, where the knife was embedded. She mouthed something, seeming unable to speak—the vocal cords were part of the damage to the throat, of course—and with a strange stiffness, settled into some kind of fighting stance, holding out the knife as if wielding it.

Menax was vaguely aware of Belaset swearing in incredulity, while Musick uttered a long string of prayers; all he could do was fall back on the two ways he had been trained. The first, was academic—the second moved his hands and feet, and he did not dwell on it as his mind raced. If not a dybbuk, a vampir? No, this corpse seemed to conscious, now. He had studied cases of vampir attacks, and although they looked like the living, they were feral things driven solely by bloodthirst.

His opponent was measuring his own stance, taking in the situation as he made adjustments in his footing, retreating in a way that he hoped was not too obvious, to invite another attack. His hands were raised, fingers ready to curl into fists but not openly presenting either a threat or an invitation.

Not a vampir, and not a phthisick, either. The cause of death had been injury, not a wasting illness such as consumption, and he seemed to recall that pthisicks did not move their physical forms much, preferring attacks of an invisible nature.

The corpse’s yellow-stained eyes moved to the windows, to the door Belaset was blocking. Her feet moved back just a touch, as if considering retreating back to the cellar.

Certainly not a neveylah, as there had been no proposal of marriage, nor one of the headless hunters, as the body quite plainly still bore a head.

Slowly, cautiously, the corpse crouched. Not readying to lunge again, no. Hands held up—then pausing, lowering the hand with the knife in it, wincing. One hand still raised. A gesture of caution, or conciliation. Sitting, watching, waiting.

Menax moved back with more haste, keeping one hand up and using the other to gesture to Belaset and Musick.

“Back, back up,” he said, and as they moved through the door into the kitchen, “shut it—hold it!”

Belaset did so, putting her whole body against the door.

FIVE YEARS AGO

“I’m just saying, this is, like, the third time you’ve volunteered to disguise yourself as a girl,” H. said, rubbing a salve into his cheeks and forearms. His appearance changed slightly as he did, looking older, gruffer, more worn. His clothing fit the look more than his casual attire did, dressed like some kind of laborer, with an apron covered in stains of uncertain origin covering most of his body.

“And I’m just saying, it just works out that way,” V. replied, rubbing a differently-colored cream into… her, yes, that was appropriate right now. Rubbing it into her chest, reaching down through her collar. She felt the ache of fatty tissue growing where there had been flatness a moment before, a few nascent hairs falling away. “F. is disguised as a boy, we had to balance things out for this mission. They’re expecting even numbers.”

“Yeah, but—” H. gave up, throwing his hands up in the air. “Whatever. You’re not my row, anyway.”

True, F. Ferdbin had disguised herself as a boy because her natural appearance was the closest fit to that of the person of interest she was replacing, and that her expertise in chemicals made her the best choice to eliminate the target up-close. The rest of them were just meant to be the schoolmates of the boy whose visiting uncle was, in secret, a notorious firebrand.

And while it was true that the letters they had intercepted suggested a group of five other friends—D. joining H. as the other boys, with B. and N. together with V. on the girls’ side, while O. and J. observed the situation from a distance, ready to effect their ‘exit’—V. had to admit to herself that there had been no particular statement of the actual genders of the rest of the party.

But it gave her an excuse to be, well, her, at least for an hour or so, as long as the mission went according to plan.

An hour or so later, all had gone according to plan, the mission was entirely successful, and V. and F. were dead.

ABOUT A YEAR AFTER THAT, OR FOUR YEARS BEFORE NOW

“Me? Specifically, me? As… a girl?” V. asked, surprised.

“Yes, you’ve demonstrated exceptional skill in taking on disguises regardless of gender,” Chief Nurse Eciurtal explained, reviewing V.’s records. “The officers have taken note of this, and in light of your exemplary performance as a member of the Corpse—”

Not exemplary enough, if she was still ranked just number four, she thought to herself. She was leader of a whole row, and still only counted as four out of twenty? It was absurd. And what a rank. Out of all the parts of the metaphorical “Corpse of the Empire” represented—‘corpse’ being in the more general sense of a body and not just a dead one, or even an organizational ‘body’—she was….

The “Pit”. The lowest point of the stomach, the point in the abdomen where ‘gut’ feelings laid. Oh yes, important. But not The Brain, not The Crown. Not even one of the eyes, ears, The Neck. On the diagrams they used to map it out when they explained it to her and the rest of them all those years ago, the part circled to indicate The Pit included, well. Well! It was an unpleasant, smelly area. Including some parts she didn’t like being reminded of, much.

And the damnedest thing was that her own body decided that was correct. She always had excellent ‘gut’ feelings, an instinct for things. It felt like the center of her balance, too. And she effortlessly shrugged off certain illnesses and poisons, like that one time that left the rest of Row Four in the latrine for a whole day. At least that, she was glad for. But, well. There were other things. Things that she was told were the result of being particularly healthy there, ways her body was betraying her hopes.

So, she was very glad to be receiving this assignment.

And she was trying not to think too deeply about the fact that she was thinking of herself as “she” before even putting on the disguise.

#yenne velt: dead names #my writing

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