#jasprjordamn
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first of all: I am having a blast with Camlann, it's been a while since I've excitedly awaited the new episodes of an audio drama! Thank you for putting this amazing story out in the world :)
I have Very Important Burning Questions after the main character descriptions - 1) what type of dog/breed is Gelert? 2) is Gwaine a snapback guy? 3) are there any sort of headcanons floating around regarding Kay's appearance (ngl, I heard him speak and I was immidiately like. yeah. this checks out. annoying little shit :) )
bonus question: has there been any concious choice made for the spelling of the names? as someone who has studied the mabinogi and had to translate sections pwyll and branwen (and voluntarily had a go at Yr Afallenau Myrddin), I have noticed my brain tends to default to certain spellings, so I was wondering if there is a reason for the spellings you've chosen?
Hello hello hello!!!! Thank you so much for the kind words this is lovely of you!!!!
Regarding your questions:
Gelert is an Irish Wolfhound! Big grey boi
Hmmm, snapback might be slightly too American for him. Gwaine is quite proudly Scottish. He was living in Bristol though, so he's definitely a fashionable sunglasses guy.
Hahaha yep! Honestly with Kay the defining feature is Forgettable. Like, I'm kind of joking and I'm kind of not. He's someone who easily blends into crowds and who people tend to pass over and underestimate. He was a scrum-half on the rugby team, so he's definitely wiry. But he's not bulky, and I always imagine everything about him being a bit washed out. I also imagine him as shorter than Arthur and Gwaine.
Kind of! Also hell YES fellow medieval Welsh person!! So broadly speaking when it comes to the character's modern names I wanted very modernised, easy to pronounce names. This is partly a practical issue - the actors have to say the names a lot, and not all of them speak Welsh. But it's also about the fact that Camlann is very much a story that rejects the premise that there is a 'pure' or 'true' version of any story, or the idea that you need the oldest or most accurate name to really connect with it. So with Gwaine - Gavin, Owen, Owain etc could work just as well as Gawain. It's also sometimes a character choice - for example Dai very specifically wanted to keep using a Welsh name when he moved to England. Dai is easy for English speakers to say, but still distinctively Welsh, so it was the compromise he settled for. And then sometimes it's kind of a backstory thing - Gwen's Dad Kai taught Western Literature at a university in Hong Kong. He was a single dad, and Gwen was his only child, so they're very close. Gwen's mother gave her her Chinese name, Shújūn, but left when she was a baby. So, (unusually), Gwen and her Dad chose her English name together when she was a teenager. But because Kai taught broadly Western Literature, he was working with English Arthuriana rather than Welsh, hence Guinevere/Gwen instead of, for example, Gwenhwyfar.
Thank you so much for the questions, andf for listening to the show!!! It's always exciting to get a chance to ramble about it.
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happy birthday jen!!🎉 hope you have a wonderful day!💖
Thank you so much!
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my found family, (one-sided-)rivals-to friends-(to (qp)lovers) ass: yes let's watch 9-1-1. i'm sure it won't become a new hyperfixation or anything👀
!!!!! WELCOME, FRIEND
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If you want less serious games honey heist, sexy battle wizards and goat crashers are easy to understand, chaotic as all hell, and loads of fun! They take 2-4 hours each and you can find them online i think
I am very intrigued by Sexy Battle Wizards lmao Thank you for the suggestions, I’ll check em out!
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honestly I only really encountered literary theory when I took a mini-course on literary analysis. I'm in my post-grad, and I had encountered some in my research school subject about arthuriana, but I do kinda agree. Whilst we could always choose what to write about in our BA Celtic Languages & Cultures and had some other basic frameworks (like the heroic framework) thrown at us, we didn't actually dive into literary theory- I guess part is because it was more focused on translation but still
yeah exactly!! like in my undergrad, language and literature were taught together as one module, so there wasn't really SPACE for learning about literary theory? we had one lecture on it where our lecturer was like "here's all the shit other fields are doing. ours mostly isn't. somebody should do that, probably" and I 100% took that to heart
but that was all we got
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Okay so few of my fave podcasts are wolf 359, king falls am, archive 81 and return home! For a quick romance kaleidotrope and the two princes are very cute. Also, if you want an ace main character, both the alexandria archives and the magnus archives have them! I'm also keeping my eye on Kirsten DiMecurio's Brimstone Valley Mall, and I think my favourite new listens of this year are Taking Initiative (d&d), caravan (horny demons), and No Bad Ideas (non-fiction)!
I’ve heard of all of them except for Return Home—thanks for the rec!
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The Lights, The Radio
3,600 words
Jasper + Monty, Murphy + Bellamy
Modern AU
Murphy and Bellamy, bored in the middle of a quiet suburban summer night, search out a rumored new local radio station.
For @jasprjordamn who requested “jasper/monty and radio-hosting. Can and may include bellamy and murphy too :)“ in January and here I am, finally getting around to it.
Read on AO3 or below.
*
The radio crackles on with a sudden sonic jump, then settles at a high-pitched fizz. A sharp whine of static follows: a flexible shiver of sound that fuzzes out into audio snow. It slides for a moment into a hint of human voice, then out and up into a shaky ear-splitting register again.
Back down low. Buzzing through the heat-thick air.
Bellamy crouches down in front of the old relic, his tongue between his teeth, turns the dial slowly to the right as he searches out frequencies. The radio has sat up in his room for so long that it's still dust-streaked. Its speakers look out from either side of the tape deck like round bug-eyes.
"You'll never find it," Murphy tells him. His voice is too dull to be mocking: this is just an observation, an announcement of the ways of the world, a PSA to describe the edges of the reality of things. He's propped up on the porch railing, leaning back against the corner column and his ankle swinging back, sometimes, and cracking an off-beat against the wooden railing beams. Beyond him, the backyard is velvet dark and deep-space dense. The air is humid and heavy with summer heat.
Every now and then, lightning bugs flicker.
"Yeah, I will," Bellamy answers. The radio slips past a scrap of voice again, and Bellamy swears under his breath.
"Wasn't them," Murphy says. This time he sounds almost sing-song. That's a risk but he knows Bellamy well enough to take it. "They don't exist."
"Don't be stupid. Of course they exist. I know them."
Bellamy rocks back on his heels and then lets himself fall back down on his ass. The move looks choreographed, rather than a mistake, and Murphy rolls his eyes and turns his head in the direction of the darkness. (Summer sky's dipping low, the air soft and warm; been waiting a long time now for the rain to return.) Bellamy twists himself around and up onto his knees, grabs the radio, and turns the knob to tune it again, faster this time. The rustling of static fans out loud from the round eye-speakers.
Sometimes in the quiet pauses between almost-stations, Murphy can hear the invasive chirps of crickets and the loud trill of the cicadas, out in the yard and just beyond his reach. As if they were in the wilderness, surrounded by the unknown shouts and cries of animals—except that this bug-song is so perfectly suburban, he can't even pretend to forget where he is.
Even after dark, the season presses close, weighted down with the scent of over-bloomed flowers and overabundant grass, smothering whoever it can reach. He lets his head bang back against the column. A spiraling high spark of static tunnels its way into his ear.
"So, they have this radio show—"
"Yeah."
"And you want to listen to it?"
Bellamy's just being stubborn, is what it is. He just wants to prove himself right: that these two guys he knows are really broadcasting a show out of their house or something, and it’s there if you just tune to the exact right spot on the dial. But whatever. They took the radio out around sunset on a whim and listened to the upbeat '80s pop the local station always plays on Saturday nights, while the light around them shaded into gray and the Blakes' backyard sunk beneath the shadows. Duran Duran rolling out neon-bright across the lawn as the butterflies flitted off to sleep and the moths awoke. But then the hour ended: the sober reality of the ten o’clock news following, dull, and the muted light faded away finally into no light, and no moon. Bellamy flicked the radio off. Murphy pulled at the threads ratting out the edges of the hole in his jeans.
"Yeah, you got any better ideas?" Bellamy asks, now, and Murphy shrugs. Bellamy's got his back to him, can't see him, and he doesn't care.
He's considering an answer in words when two isolated syllables
—Hello!—
snap out from the audio fizz. Murphy turns his head. His shoulders square and his back straightens on a sudden alert. The voice is so bright and so friendly, that of a distant traveler, a figure on a tiny boat hailing the shore, that he is almost disappointed when the radio sounds disintegrate into hard shush of incoherence again. Bellamy reaches for the dial but before he can touch it, the frequency adjusts: here is a new voice, a calmer but no less genial voice, grabbing them, reaching out and calling for them, and in its next words it becomes coherent and nearly clear.
"Hello, Arkadia. Or whoever in Arkadia is listening right now. You're tuned in to W-A-R-K, Ark Radio. This is Monty—"
"And Jasper, broadcasting from—"
"A very secret, undisclosed location."
"That is definitely NOT anyone's garage. We hope you're enjoying this humid nearly-thunderous night. Monty and I have been placing bets as to when it will finally start to rain in these parts and we each keep losing. I'd say we could take this opportunity to widen our pool but this isn't a call-in show."
"It's more like a show where we just talk into microphones and hope we're not just talking to ourselves."
"Yeah, we think there's at least a fifty-percent chance this whole set up is a useless piece of junk. But it passes the time, right?"
“Through what has got to be the longest summer vacation in the history of mankind.”
“And that’s with the requisite cliché summer jobs." The voice sighs—Jasper's voice if Murphy is keeping them straight in his head, and it's hard because they bounce and bump against each other, an audio circus routine—and the sound sputters like imitation static over the air. "I have this torture-job at the Grand Union, the whole paper-or-plastic deal, and Monty's working for his parents at the flower shop, which—"
"Is a little bit less terrible but basically requires the same skill set and is boring. Yay us."
Bellamy leaves the radio where it is, worried perhaps that even the slightest jolt will knock their reception out, but pulls himself up to sit on the porch swing instead of the floor. He plants his feet on the ground and rocks himself back and forth slowly. He shoots Murphy a smirk that reads clearly as I told you so.
"Yeah, so the point is Arkadia doesn't have a ton to offer us right now and—you know those kids who are a little too smart for their own good and should really, really never be left alone to just do whatever because who knows what they might do?"
A beat of silence, and then Monty's voice, too loud and slightly blurred, like he has his lips right up against his microphone: "We're those kids."
"Right, and there are two of us and Monty is a tech genius and my dad has a lot of junk lying around the house, so here we are."
Another pause seeps out over the airwaves, longer this time and unchoreographed. Murphy lets his gaze drift up. He watches the bugs flicking and fluttering around the porch light, swinging in circles on their tiny black wings, drawn to its steady electric hum.
He considers asking Bellamy just what they're listening to but why bother? That is not a question that can be answered, at least not beyond what he already knows, which is that somewhere out there in the steady electric hum of the suburban streets a couple of kids have kicked their feet up, trying not to let their junkyard radio equipment, their excess of black electric cords, get tangled up in the laces of their scuffed and battered sneakers, the ones they bought back in September, when the coming school year made the whole world feel new, and they're leaning back in their chairs in a breathless, stuffy garage filled with their parents' old junk, their dad's tools or their mom's unused ceramic flower pots, or something, whatever normal kids have in their garages, smelling the clear, sharp, ever-present scent of concrete and gasoline and plastic, maybe with the door open to let in the fresh night air and the cacophony of cicadas that have taken over the whole town, and they're talking. Talking out into the void, wondering if anyone can hear them.
"So that's how we got here," Jasper says, and clears his throat, splitting the silence in two. "And I admit: it's maybe not as interesting as I thought it would be?"
"Most of our adventures are like that," Monty adds, low, in a take on a conspiratorial whisper. His voice sounds scratchy and excessively loud through the microphone.
"It's always the planning that's the best part. Like the time we went UFO hunting."
"Okay, I was actually going to say that was the exception, though."
In the next pause, curled and eloquent, Murphy pictures Jasper twisting his face up into incredulous shapes, trying to make Monty laugh with the movement of his eyebrows and the distorted curve of his mouth. He doesn't know what Jasper looks like. But he sounds like the sort of person who'd pull faces a lot. He glances at Bellamy for confirmation, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.
"Really?" Jasper asks.
Just remembered he's on the radio, perhaps, not the TV.
"Yeah! Yeah, okay, so listen—" Monty’s clearly addressing their audience now, his voice peaking, gaining in excitement—"Listen. We had this idea last week that we'd check out those weird lights you're supposed to be able to see sometimes from the woods out past Eligius Park.”
“Classic Arkadian urban legend,” Jasper adds, with what sounds like a hint of pride. Pride in themselves, perhaps, for finding the best tall tale and piercing its heart. Or pride in Arkadia, for showing a bit of an interesting underbelly, not letting them down with soft, unbroken quiet for once.
"Do you think those lights are real?" Murphy asks. "I heard Reyes tried to follow them once—"
Bellamy shushes him.
Murphy throws him the finger.
"—And we didn't know what to pack," Monty's saying, "because what if we did find aliens, what would they want? What could we show them?"
"My opinion was that anything would do because if I were an alien, I'd want to know anything and everything. Like, forget take me to your leader, try take me to your best restaurant—"
"Or your best fast food place—"
"Or explain your version of restaurants and fast food because who even knows? You know, if they have that."
"But we were probably just going to be seeing some vague lights in the sky anyway," Monty picks up. "Realistically."
"Cause Monty's always so realistic," Jasper cuts in, and Murphy can't tell if he's mocking or not, if this is some inside joke between them, if, out there in their hideout between the garden hose and the boxes of out of season Christmas ornaments, Monty is at this moment shooting him an inscrutable, private look.
"But that's what Jasper's saying with the whole 'it's more interesting to plan' thing, like if you're not going to plan to run into some aliens, what's even the point of going? Mostly we just brought practical stuff, in the end. Flashlights, compass—"
"Walkie-talkies, in case we got separated by spooky alien forces—"
"Batteries, water, food."
"We had no idea when the lights were most likely to be visible because people just talk about 'the lights over the woods near the park,' which isn't very helpful when you're trying to pick a time to go exploring, so we just went on the night it would be easiest to sneak out of our houses."
The lights over the woods near the park. Yeah. Murphy turns his head toward the yard again, just in time to catch a firefly flashing in the unbroken black. He's never seen them himself, the mysterious lights. And if asked he would never admit he believed, not even a little, not even just a part of him, believing with the bored sincerity of those who have nothing to lose and nothing to gain, either, from belief. He'd rather just say it was nonsense. Most people, when they mention the lights, don't describe them. He's always pictured them as yellow lights, flickering in and out in the distant way-above. Humans on the ground watching them like they watch clouds, drawing shapes and finding meaning in their random, meaningless movements.
"It's not that far to walk out to Eligius Park, so that's what we did," Monty says. His voice has settled now into the story, and Murphy settles too. He slides his gaze back down to the radio, dusty and small on the floor, bringing far-off voices to them. Bellamy rocks the porch swing back again and it squeaks out one long, high, distracting whine. "And—" He pauses, and Murphy wonders if they've lost the signal again. Two long beats of silence he counts out using his own breath.
"And you know how this summer has been?" Monty asks.
He sounds, not uncertain, but yearning, hopeful perhaps that whoever is listening will understand.
How it's been?
Cricket sounds and the warm breathless air? The smell of flowers and grass and dirt, sweet and grimy and growing? The whole world lush and dense and still?
"So green," Monty says. The word green is breathed out with an unbelieving amazement that Murphy has not yet heard in these radio voices, hasn't heard from anyone, in any context, for a long time. "After all those rains a couple weeks ago and then the temperature going up, Arkadia's like a giant greenhouse now and everything is growing. I don't think I really noticed it until we went out to the park and the woods on the other side."
"It's so true though," Jasper agrees. His voice is quiet too, and lightly awed. "All the trees and bushes seem to have more leaves. There's grass growing up between all the cracks in the sidewalks in town. And over some of the sidewalks. Trees growing up over porches. The colors are stronger and brighter, shades of green I've never noticed before, like someone just turned up the volume on the green."
The Blakes' backyard like a miniature jungle, losing any manicured edge it used to have. The trees grown so thick and so tall that the neighbors' yards can no longer be seen. The grass taking on the uncontrolled wild fuzz and immense height of wildflower fields. Nature without respect for human limits, bordering on the grotesque.
"...And plants," Monty's saying, "where I didn't expect them to be. We really noticed it in the park. Grass you could feel around your ankles. Overgrown trees sneaking up on us in the flashlight beams."
"It didn't feel like Eligius Park anymore. Like, I know this park. Monty and I used to play on the playground, you know, with that creaky old merry-go-round and the black rubber swings—all the time. My dad took me out to the toy boat races on the lake in the summer every year through elementary school. But that night, it was—not sinister—"
"Wild."
"An other-world."
"And even more so in the woods. What we couldn't see with the flashlights, we could feel. We tripped over roots breaking up out of the ground. Thin tree branches reaching out into the path scratched our arms."
"If we even were on the path," Jasper says, and Monty echoes:
"If we even were on the path."
"And it's not that we were scared. I mean, I wasn't—"
"I wasn't either. But I didn't really feel like we were in Arkadia anymore."
"Wizard of Oz without the flying monkeys," Jasper says, and laughs, but the sound is dull. It cuts off abruptly, and Murphy feels that silence, always threatening, seeping in around the edges of his hearing again.
"Because Arkadia is civilization. We've lived here our whole lives so," Monty says. "This is what we know. But we were out in the woods brushing up against leaves and tree trunks and moss and we could have been anywhere. The uncontrolled domain of nature. Or whatever."
"It was really hot," Jasper remembers. "Even after dark. And sometimes we heard things, rustling, snapping, noises like animals talking, and we didn't know what they were."
"That's when we got the clearing. It was cooler there and easier to breathe. When we looked up, we could see the sky and the stars like they were in a window, framed by the tops of the trees."
"It made me feel a bit dizzy."
"We set down our bags and sat down on the ground, in the grass and the dirt. I remember, it sounds weird now, taking off my shoes."
"Yeah, because it was so hot, and we'd been walking so long."
Monty hums, a quiet noise to compete with the cicadas' chirping and trilling. Murphy's closed his eyes, without thinking.
"I gotta admit, I felt kind of silly," Monty says. "Like we'd gone all this way to see something we'd just heard about, and we didn't even know if the lights would show up that night, or if they'd ever show up, or if they were real."
"Or if they'd even look like much, if we saw them," Jasper adds.
"But it was nice out there, anyway, far away from town. Or that's how it felt. Just the woods and the quiet and the sky. We lay back and stared up and I remember there weren't any clouds and just a thin sliver of moon."
"And it was really quiet. Like the noises of the woods, they existed, but they didn't mean anything. They didn't seem to disturb the silence at all. I was really aware of my own breathing. And of Monty and the stars and not much else."
"I probably would have been okay with just lying out there for a while and then heading back, even if we didn't see anything else. Even if the light show hadn't started."
"So they are real," Bellamy says, so low that Murphy almost doesn't hear him.
Murphy opens his eyes, puts his finger to his lips and shushes Bellamy dramatically, and Bellamy sends the porch swing all the way back and then abruptly forward again, kicking out his leg but not quite reaching Murphy's leg with his foot.
"We were out there, I don't know.... maybe twenty minutes?" Jasper says. "Honestly could have been a lot longer, I don't really know. At first, I thought it was a plane or something, this single red light making its way across the sky."
"It definitely wasn't anything natural," Monty adds. "It wasn't a shooting star or something like that. The color was too bright and too red and it was moving too deliberately."
"But I felt like if it were a plane, it would have been smaller, I guess. And then there were two, and three. All red. Moving together."
"I thought maybe we were imagining it. We were seeing the same thing but—"
"Some sort of joint hallucination?"
"It could happen."
"It could."
Murphy tries to picture the lights. The woods feel a long way from the sleepy suburban street where he's sitting, listening, waiting, but still, a part of him is there: surrounded by green, close and small against the uncontrollable riot of nature all around. Even the Blakes' backyard feels like wilderness at this hour, hidden by this particular shade of the dark.
"And maybe we were," Jasper says. "Maybe the light show was something we made for ourselves. A part of me thought if we really saw something and we couldn't explain it, that it would be frightening. But it wasn't."
"I thought it was kinda beautiful."
"Yeah. Like distant red fireflies dancing."
"Maybe that's why they do it, you know?" Monty says. "Why they just fly over us sometimes and never come down. Just to show us something nice."
"Whoever they are."
Jasper's voice sounds out distant and low from the speakers: his thoughts given voice but only barely, and already drifting away into words that can never be voiced, and never shared. Afterwards, a long silence, not awkward, fills in the gaps between heartbeats and breaths. Bellamy plants his feet on the ground, and the intermittent metallic whine and wooden squeak of the swing abruptly cuts off into nothing.
"Unfortunately," Monty's voice breaks in, and Murphy startles upright again, "they never made any sort of contact with us. Which we already knew wasn't going to happen anyway, going in."
Funny how he sounds disappointed.
"That's part of why we started up this radio show," Jasper admits. "Just on the off chance we might be able to reach them. Not that that's really possible. Tiny little signal like ours might not even reach all the way through Arkadia. But..."
"They are close," Monty says, wistful and soft. "Right above us, if what we saw was..."
"Anything."
"Anything really at all."
Murphy leans out over the railing, letting himself balance precariously, his arm curling around the corner column for leverage, and looks out. He tilts back his head and looks up. The sky is clear tonight, too: no clouds, many stars, a half moon. No mysterious lights. Nothing he cannot explain with textbook terms. But then, what does he really know? What does he know about the distances of space?
"We don't know if we've reached anyone at all," Jasper's saying. "Hi, whoever you are, if we did. I suppose we'll keep talking, anyway. Saturday nights, ten-thirty. For the rest of the summer at least."
"Or until we get bored," Monty adds.
Bellamy makes a low sound, a bubble of laughter rising up in his throat. The swing starts creaking an off-beat again.
"Or until—" The radio shivers with static once more, perhaps the station fading out. The uncoiling tendrils of sound get weaker, quieter, and the night sounds rise up to take their place.
"Until maybe, someday, someone answers us at last."
#jonty#murphamy#the 100#jasprjordamn#jasper x monty#jasper jordan#monty green#john murphy#bellamy blake#mine#my writing#the lights the radio
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things i watched in 2019 → gewoon vrienden (just friends) (2018)
“Liefde laat zich niet sturen, die stuurt jou. / You can’t control love, love controls you.”
#gewoon vrienden#vstuff#w19#thank u to @jasprjordamn for the help with the translation!#also i screamed every time they played holocene
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jasprjordamn replied to your post: I had my exam this morning and it was terrible so...
good luck! gotta go call DUO for financing MA’s outside NL but I already did email Aberystwyth, the UvA, and I did call the doctor for a small thing so I am content about my day!
You go!! that’s some great stuff!
I have now done the cleaning and my finances, and I also paid my health insurance bill (ouch), did a load of laundry and took out the recycling! So now I’m going to play AC for about an hour until I’m gonna go get my sister from the bus stop :)
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ohh that is very cool! I get what you mean about Kay, it's just like a person who is able to blend in because there is something unassuming? regular? about him. I am not convinced I am fully conveying that I get what you're trying to say, but I think I understand 😂 as for the names, very cool to read! and I think, especially if you look at all various texts and traditions, it really makes sense to not base yourself around the concept of a 'pure' or 'true' version of characters (it in some ways might even feel as a disservice to what you're drawing from or the intention of the story you're trying to tell). One of the things I remember clearly from when I was studying was something we called the Mabinogion-Frage, in which was questioned whether the Welsh material was earlier than the French (Arthurian) material, and how it interacted. As an extension of this; do you draw from different language traditions as well? I think mostly in context of Arthurian texts, sparked by the spelling variations of Gwaine- e.g. would Walewein, which is a Middle Dutch variant of the name, also work? Thank you so much for answering! ☺️
Yeah exactly!!! Ah this is such a lovely message to read.
So yes for sure I'm drawing for different language traditions! The ones with which I'm most familiar are Welsh, English, Breton and French - so those are my focuses. Obviously I've also been drawing folklore from Scotland, and there's some other literary traditions we'll see later in the show.
Cultural identity of stories does play into Camlann a little bit - for example the Arthur that Gwaine, Perry and Dai know is very much an English Arthur - defined by the propaganda campaign of English imperialism that stole Arthur first in the Elizabethan era, then the Victorian, and lastly moved him to America and Hollywood. The English Arthur is an imperial conqueror rather than the Welsh symbol of resistance he was originally.
In addition to the meta, in the fiction of the story it has relevance too. So Arthur and the Knights moved from Bristol to Glastonury because they realised their story would be stronger in a place that housed their story - and the English Arthur is very much homed in Glastonbury.
Meanwhile, our gang are finding their names slightly more powerful than usual. Peredur is the Welsh variant of Percival, so our Perry is a bit stronger when they're actually in Wales (when it comes to their powers.) Similarly, Morgan's been even more unsettled by her name recently because she's in a heartland of belief for her story (though of course Le Fay would be most powerful in Brittany)
Thank you so much for all your lovely messages! It's so nice to see people engaging with the show <3
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Tag 9 people you want to know better
Thank you so much for tagging me @tessabennet !!!🥺💗 like you, I am doing this in an online lecture. I am a *very* diligent student, oh yes I am xD
1. Favourite piece of clothing you own? Ahhh this is so hard... (I'm a bit of a clothes horse haha). But I suppose I'd have to go with my night blue velvet flares. I've had them since secondary school and I've worn them so often, it's a miracle they aren't threadbare yet
2. Your comfort food? SHEPHERD'S PIE (sans meat^^) it feels like a warm hug for your belly🥰
3. Favourite time of year? Late summer when the cicadas are chirping all night long and it's still hot enough to spend all day in the water but there's this sense of...transience in the air. It's always felt like a very poetic time of year to me (which quite appeals to my hopelessly histrionic self lol).
4. Favourite song? Honestly, it changes every couple of days. Right now it's Quicksand by David Bowie. Great song to cry to haha. (There's a lovely version on yt where he duets with Robert Smith of The Cure)
5. Do you collect anything? Do records count? Other than that...my parish gives out little prayer cards with saints on them, the art work is absolutely gorgeous :)
6. Favourite drink? Tea (my roomie has taken to making tally lists bc she thinks the number of cups I drink in a day is of some sort of comedic value haha)
[Optional if you feel comfortable sharing: favourite fanfiction? (any and all fandoms)]:
I'm gonna have to agree with you, Tessa. The Hundred Year Playlist is such an incredibly beautiful, heart-rending piece of work. It's made me laugh and cry, and everyone should go read it!!🥺💗💗💗💗
This was such great fun!!! (Much more so than my statistics class haha)
I tag: @sail-away-sweet-sister @turtle-steverogers @mysweetgeo @goldenhornets @saltforsalt @geeky-in-the-tardis @johns-diqi @rosemary-rabbit @jasprjordamn
And anyone who wants to, consider yourself tagged!!!🥰💗
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Thank you for the tag @myfalsedevotion 💛
you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. put your favourite playlist on shuffle and list the first ten songs then tag ten people! no skipping!
Victorious by Panic! At The Disco
National Anthem by Lana Del Rey
Friends by Ed Sheeran
Coming Home by The Vamps
In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier
It's Time To Go by Taylor Swift
Gold Rush by Taylor Swift
If I Could Fly by One Direction
Adore You by Harry Styles
'Tis The Damn Season by Taylor Swift
Tag 10 people: @thankee-sir @babevevo @hermionegrangcr @jaskier-royale @jasprjordamn @karlimeaghan @lilithsaur @mamalazzer @path-of-my-childhood @pisceskink (obviously don't feel you have to participate)
If anyone else wants to do this, consider this a tag for you too 😊
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daffodil, peony, tulip, sunflower?
Flowery fanfic author asks
daffodil: do you prefer to write about an OC or an unnamed reader (y/n)? - I really really hate the unnamed character/reader trope. It’s unnatural for me to read, it makes no sense to me and I don’t understand why the author can’t just leave the name out instead of going (y/n). I’ve never written a reader insert and I never will. Okay, rant over.
peony: au or canon? - Depends tbh. I try to stick as close to canon as I can, but AUs are also a lot of fun to write. Usually I go for a “what if” situation.
tulip: what is your favorite writing blog on tumblr that you feel deserves more followers and reads? - @characterdevelopmentforwriters is a really amazing blog and doesn’t just give prompts, they also give a lot of world-building checklists that are really helpful.
sunflower: what is the best feedback/compliment you’ve ever received regarding your writing? - One of my favourite authors and major inspirations once liked one of my oneshots, and I’ve also had someone say they paused their music so they could focus on my writing a little better.
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*sheds a gay celtic tear*
*catches it* *eats it* *grows in GAY CELTICIST POWER*
#sorry that was a weird response#i just ... momentarily forgot how to be a normal human being#jasprjordamn#answered#gay celticist tears
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For my fave palladins: yellow, blue?
just answered! (mine too hehe)
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Iridescent (Jasper/Monty, Modern AU)
~10,200 words
Jasper takes up photography in the wake of Maya's death, and in the process makes a new friend.
Read on AO3.
For @jasprjordamn who asked, in January, for a Jonty fic in which “jasper is working on a photography project and shoots people on the street (i mean takes their picture) and thus he meets monty and then things happen” but I’ve only just finished it now because I’m awful. On the other hand, this was supposed to be short and ended up over 10k long so I guess that’s...something?
*
I.
You should try something new, his therapist says. Her voice is mellow and low, like the drift of soft new snow building against the outside window ledge. Coming down again. It's almost Christmas, and the house next door has cheery red and green and yellow lights strung around its windows, blinking in the early winter dusk. You need to get out of your own head.
Out of his head. Out of his head and his repetitive thoughts, out into the real world again. That’s the refrain. It's been almost a year. One full year at the New Year. He taps his heel against the plush floral carpet and makes no sound.
Jasper? Are you listening?
Later he'll walk outside and cross the short way to his car, over the frozen crunch of grass, over the thin layer of snow that's already sticking to the ground. He'll feel the cold, round, wet flakes of it on the back of his neck and on his ears. He'll shove his hands deep in his pockets. The neighborhood will be very quiet and the sky above a deep pure black pierced with tiny diamonds of stars.
Yeah. I'm listening. Like a hobby.
Exactly. Smiling that warm smile like they're getting somewhere. The room is well lit with an overhead and three extra standing lamps and all the furniture is overstuffed. He likes to scan the bookshelves behind her shoulder. He can read the spines, even the old and lightly etched ones, even from this distance and though he's memorized them by now, the habit soothes him.
You can't keep hiding from the world, she's saying.
He breathes out hard through his nose and curls his fingers around his knees, turns away so he's looking down at the pattern of ferns on the carpet, crushed there underneath his right foot. How long has he been coming here and she still thinks he's hiding? What he's looking for is some respite from the world, and all its screeching angry sounds, startling him, shaking him out of his skin. Its uncertain people on the street. A bit of memory here, the odd reminder there: not just her old hair ties left next to the bathroom sink or the novel she was reading shoved in the bedside table drawer but the girl on the street wearing a sundress just like hers, a voice shouting his name and he turns and she's not there—that's the world. Threats and memories.
If only he could learn how to hide, more completely and more certainly, to make himself invisible even to himself, he'd be all right. But that’s just not something he knows how to explain.
Read the rest on AO3.
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