#and they do a marathon reading of her poetry every year

[philosopherking1887]

Apparently Madeline Miller, of Song of Achilles fame, also still has Long Covid 3 years after catching Covid-19 in early 2020. Her op-ed is copied below (mostly under a Keep Reading link) for those who can't get past WaPo's paywall.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/08/09/madeline-miller-long-covid-post-pandemic/

In 2019, I was in high gear. I had two young children, a busy social life, a book tour and a novel in progress. I spent my days racing between airports, juggling to-do lists and child care. Yes, I felt tired, but I come from a family of high-energy women. I was proud to be keeping the sacred flame of Productivity burning. Then I got covid. I didn’t know it was covid at the time. This was early February 2020, before the government was acknowledging SARS-CoV-2’s spread in the United States. In the weeks after infection, my body went haywire. My ears rang. My heart would start galloping at random times. I developed violent new food allergies overnight. When I walked upstairs, I gasped alarmingly.

I reached out to doctors. One told me I was “deconditioned” and needed to exercise more. But my usual jog left me doubled over, and when I tried to lift weights, I ended up in the ER with chest pains and tachycardia. My tests were normal, which alarmed me further. How could they be normal? Every morning, I woke breathless, leaden, utterly depleted. Worst of all, I couldn’t concentrate enough to compose sentences. Writing had been my haven since I was 6. Now, it was my family’s livelihood. I kept looking through my pre-covid novel drafts, desperately trying to prod my sticky, limp brain forward. But I was too tired to answer email, let alone grapple with my book. When people asked how I was, I gave an airy answer. Inside, I was in a cold sweat. My whole future was dropping away. Looking at old photos, I was overwhelmed with grief and bitterness. I didn’t recognize myself. On my best days, I was 30 percent of that person. I turned to the internet and discovered others with similar experiences. In fact, my symptoms were textbook — a textbook being written in real time by “first wavers” like me, comparing notes and giving our condition a name: long covid.

In those communities, everyone had stories like mine — life-altering symptoms, demoralizing doctor visits, loss of jobs, loss of identity. The virus can produce a bewildering buffet of long-term conditions, including cognitive impairment and cardiac failure, tinnitus, loss of taste, immune dysfunction, migraines and stroke, any one of which could tank quality of life. For me, one of the worst was post-exertional malaise (PEM), a Victorian-sounding name for a very real and debilitating condition in which exertion causes your body to crash. In my new post-covid life, exertion could include washing dishes, carrying my children, even just talking with too much animation. Whenever I exceeded my invisible allowance, I would pay for it with hours, or days, of migraines and misery. There was no more worshiping productivity. I gave my best hours to my children, but it was crushing to realize just how few hours there were. Nothing was more painful than hearing my kids delightedly laughing and being too sick to join them. Doctors looked at me askance. They offered me antidepressants and pointed anecdotes about their friends who’d just had covid and were running marathons again. I didn’t say I’d love to be able to run. I didn’t say what really made me depressed was dragging myself to appointments to be patronized. I didn’t say that post-viral illness was nothing new, nor was PEM — which for decades had been documented by people with myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome — so if they didn’t know what I was talking about, they should stop sneering and get caught up. I was too sick for that, and too worried.

I began scouring medical journals the way I used to close-read ancient Greek poetry. I burned through horrifying amounts of money on vitamins and supplements. At night, my fears chased themselves. Would I ever get relief? Would I ever finish another book? Was long covid progressive? It was a bad moment when I realized that any answer to that last question would come from my own body. I was in the first cohort of an unwilling experiment. When vaccines rolled out, many people rushed back to “normal.” My world, already small, constricted further. Friends who invited me out to eat were surprised when I declined. I couldn’t risk reinfection, I said, and suggested a masked, outdoor stroll. Sure, they said, we’ll be in touch. Zoom events dried up. Masks began disappearing. I tried to warn the people I loved. Covid is airborne. Keep wearing an N95. Vaccines protect you but don’t stop transmission. Few wanted to listen. During the omicron wave, politicians tweeted about how quickly they’d recovered. I was glad for everyone who was fine, but a nasty implication hovered over those of us who weren’t: What’s your problem?

Friends who did struggle often seemed embarrassed by their symptoms. I’m just tired. My memory’s never been good. I gave them the resources I had, but there were few to give. There is no cure for long covid. Two of my friends went on to have strokes. A third developed diabetes, a fourth dementia. One died. I’ve watched in horror as our public institutions have turned their back on containment. The virus is still very much with us, but the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has stopped reporting on cases. States have shut down testing. Corporations, rather than improving ventilation in their buildings, have pushed for shield laws indemnifying them against lawsuits. Despite the crystal-clear science on the damage covid-19 does to our bodies, medical settings have dropped mask requirements, so patients now gamble their health to receive care. Those of us who are high-risk or immunocompromised, or who just don’t want to roll the dice on death and misery, have not only been left behind — we’re being actively mocked and pathologized. I’ve personally been ridiculed, heckled and coughed on for wearing my N95. Acquaintances who were understanding in the beginning are now irritated, even offended. One demanded: How long are you going to do this? As if trying to avoid covid was an attack on her, rather than an attempt to keep myself from sliding further into an abyss that threatens to swallow my family.

The United States has always been a terrible place to be sick and disabled. Ableism is baked into our myths of bootstrapping and self-reliance, in which health is virtue and illness is degeneracy. It is long past time for a bedrock shift, for all of us. We desperately need access to informed care, new treatments, fast-tracked research, safe spaces and disability protections. We also need a basic grasp of the facts of long covid. How it can follow anywhere from 10 to 30 percent of infections. How infections accumulate risk. How it’s not anxiety or depression, though its punishing nature can contribute to both those things. How children can get it; a recent review puts it at 12 to 16 percent of cases. How long-haulers who are reinfected usually get worse. How as many as 23 million Americans have post-covid symptoms, with that number increasing daily. Over three years later, I still have long covid. I still give my best hours to my children, and I still wear my N95. Thanks to relentless experimentation with treatments, I can write again, but my fatigue is worse. I recognize how fortunate I am: to have a caring partner and community, health insurance, good doctors (at last), a job I can do from home, a supportive publishing team, and wonderful readers who recommend my books. I’m grateful to all those who have accepted the new me without making me beg.

Some days, long covid feels manageable. Others, it feels like a crushing mountain on my chest. I yearn for the casual spontaneity and scope of my old life. I miss the friends and family who have moved on. I grieve those lost forever. So how long am I going to do this? Until indoor air is safe for all, until vaccines prevent transmission, until there’s a cure for long covid. Until I’m not risking my family’s future on a grocery run. Because the truth is that however immortal we feel, we are all just one infection away from a new life.

[purlturtle]

✍️🖥

Hi and thank you for asking! (from this ask game)

✍️ "when did you get started writing?"

Oh now that is a story. I got broken up with, really badly. Had to move out of shared living space, had lost my job at the same time, was feeling REALLY bad for myself, and marathoned Voyager as something of an escape. Fell deeply in love with Kathryn Janeway, and decided to find the novel "Mosaic", since it was then advertised as basically her background story.

And as I read it, every other page I thought, "I can write better than that - this book got published; the author got money for that, and I can do better than this!" And so I did. I wrote a very long self-insert story, in which I fell in love with Kathryn Janeway and she with me, and the rest is history!

I know a lot of people get started in their childhood or teenage years, and I *think* I wrote the beginnings of a story? But it was never encouraged, by anyone, and so it went nowhere. And therefore I consider the above as my start in writing :)

🖥️"what types of writing do you do?" (I think that's the symbol? It didn't get transcribed correctly, I think, and this is what Google said)

Not sure how to answer this, tbh - I do fanfic? No original fiction, no poetry, nothing like that. Sometimes drabbles and sometimes long-form, but always fanfic. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean I write at work, too, but I don't wanna talk about that 😅😅

Thank you for asking, and I hope this last one was what you were asking!

[pinkprimrose05]

3 choices. Arc V (Fandom) for 2 and 10. Yuri (Character) for 5, 6 and 7. Yuya (character)for 2 and 15. If you take on all 7 of these questions I will tie you upside down and play whale noises until you chill. Take care!

Put that rope away, yes, thank you- aaaand here we go!

2) my three favorite characters and why I love them so much:

I should preface this by thanking you for my most recent microcrisis, AKA the abrupt realization that somehow, somewhere along the line... the Theatre Kid Agenda™ has discreetly overtaken my top 3 list.

Speaking of the list:

1- You thought this would be Yuuya, but as it turns out... it's Yuuya! lol.

I'd go ahead and wax the usual poetry about the layers and symbols and all that jazz, but you've already seen me gush about that several times over, so I'll just focus on the babyboy factor for once instead. Yuuya may not have wet kitten energy even at his angstiest, but he sure is a sunshine bean of debatable genuity, and that's just as adoptable!

Looking at him alone is enough to make me want to offer comfort ok. I'm stuffing him in a blanket burrito and shipping him off to my place for a long, long break and some overdue therapy. We can cope with life together, cry a little, cry a lot, bake sweets to recuperate, melt into happy little puddles after a good treat, and then nerd out about theatrics and play a few duels to test silly strategies! This kid is my Son and he deserves all the best things in the world, so for every bit of pain he goes through I'm giving him a truckload of comfort.

______

2- You may have noticed this in ARC-V Month, you may have picked up on it through my sporadic, scattered mentions of the guy, but if not, then here's a fun fact: I have more than one ARC-V blorbo.

Introducing the central piece of a great many of my conflicted thoughts, confused feelings, paradoxical opinions, abrupt perception shifts, and eventual (semi-)begrudging affection that had me questioning my taste in pixels for like a whole year:

...Zarc.

I've known this fucker for 5 years, hated him for a solid 3, and then woke up one winter day in 2023 and realized that oh shit, he managed to land himself a spot in blorbo tier. Is this what people mean when they say a character grew on them? Were my feelings playing the most long-winded joke on my mind for 4 years? Trust me, I don't know. What I do know is that maining his deck was definitely an endearing factor, and so was the 3rd ARC-V watch (this is where I started uncovering most of the easter eggs I know about the show, so perhaps the build-up made me a touch biased over time, but I genuinely found the 136-139 marathon more entertaining than annoying for once. We speak not of 140).

TL;DR: I think the lettuce clown is neat. Past me would have a stroke if I told her I'm a Zarc apologist now tho.

______

3- Super Duper Ultra Hyper Extra Mega- ok I'll stop now.

Sawatari is actually the one surprise in this list to me because, huh, I didn't realize how much I liked him over other nearly as cool characters until I put them side by side and pondered who brings me more joy when on-screen. I thought 3rd place would be someone like Yuugo, maybe Serena, but it seems I've taken a spontaneous shine to the banana peel?

(Help how does this keep happening why am I weak to clowns lmao)

See, Shingo's character may be on the simpler side by virtue of being the... designated comic relief, but that simplicity is part of his charm! The mix of charismatic and pathetic aura is a also rare thing, you know- It's not easy to be so cool and cringe at the same time and make it feel natural. That takes skill.

And speaking of skill, Shingo has my respect for always putting up a good fight, even in the games he loses to all sorts of jobber bullshit. He's a genuinely good duelist and a great entertainer, and I love that for him!

______

10) how many fics I've read that are set in it (approximately and making exaggerated guesstimates):

Guesstimate: Around a thousand. I've been around the fandom long enough to read all sorts of fics on ff.net and Ao3 (among other sites), and it sure feels like I've seen a lot, looking back.

Actual number: Approximately 600, rounding down. On Ao3 alone. Huh, I was expecting the number to be like, 200, so this is not too far off, actually! Maybe the reason the fic count feels higher than it is because the memorable reads tend to be REALLY long multichapters. Why are these so common in the ARC-V tag, by the way? Is it the allure of crossovers? The canon divergence AUs?

(The answer is both, and a few other factors as well. Good for us, I say! Longfics are a serious test of commitment, and I'm glad to see and follow so many talented and dedicated authors!)

[helleanorlance]

It’s National poetry month and I want you all to know that I do not know as much about poetry as I should, but I absolutely love Emily Dickinson. Not just for her poetry, although I absolutely love her poems and think they’re some of the best. But also just get a a person. She was a recluse but still loved children and would send them cookies and things in a basket that she lowered down from her window. She took to wearing white, for reasons that we can only guess at. She was such a prolific writer, and wrote in a way that was completely uncharacteristic off the time but paved the way for a lot of poetry, especially poetry by women. I just think she’s fascinating.

[literallymechanical]

Book Recommendations? Book Recommendations!

This is the list of books I've read during the pandemic, and let me tell you, I am doing all sorts of decision paralysis on what I should read next. If any of y'all vibe with these, do you have anything you'd recommend? Other than the obvious sequels. Ideally nothing too YA-ish, right now.

In reverse chronological order: Skyward, Ancillary Justice, A Desolation Called Peace, A Memory Called Empire, Spinning Silver, Empress of Forever, Red Mars, The Priory Of The Orange Tree, This Is How You Lose The Time War, Harrow the Ninth, Gideon the Ninth, Rhythm of War, Dawnshard, The Ruin of Angels, and Four Roads Cross. I've put a little review of each of them under the cut!

Skyward, by Brandon Sanderson, 2018. Your usual story about an outcast, misunderstood teenage girl finding an injured dragon and nursing it back to health, except instead of a dragon it's a starfighter spaceship. Really solid YA scifi with Sanderson's trademark meticulous worldbuilding. An enjoyable read, though much lighter than his usual epic fantasy.

Ancillary Justice, by Ann Leckie, 2013. Honestly, I didn't enjoy this one. It was pitched as a queer science fiction space opera, but the "queer" bit was gimmicky and falls apart if you think about it, I didn't find the characters interesting, and the plot didn't even try to hide that it was just a list of checkboxes. Felt like a YA novel that refused to admit it. This is the only book on this list that I personally wouldn't recommend. But all my friends seemed to enjoy it, so I might be the odd one out here.

A Memory Called Empire and A Desolation Called Peace, by Arkadiy Martine, 2019 and 2021. The first two books in what will presumably be a trilogy, and the best stories I've read in a long time. Twisty political thrillers wrapped up in gorgeous science fiction, and by FAR my favorite books on this list. Vibrant characters with nuanced relationships, scifi worldbuilding that is frankly breathtaking, a captivating story, and an all-around delight to read. Language, identity, colonialism/imperialism, and cultural assimilation are tackled through the lens of scifi. In my opinion, this is what science fiction should be. Also there are lesbians. Above every other book here I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THESE ONES. Martine seriously earned her Hugo Award.

Spinning Silver, by Naomi Novik, 2018. Folklore-fantasy about three young women — the daughter of a jewish moneylender, a poor peasant girl from an abusive home, and the daughter of a nobleman who wants to marry her to the Tsar — caught up in a conflict between the Faerie realms, the human world, and something much more sinister than either. Highly recommend, especially if you're jewish.

Empress of Forever, by Max Gladstone, 2019. A fantastical science fiction breakneck-pace adventure romp that puts its foot on the gas in Chapter 2 and doesn't let up. It's also quite explicitly a genderbent retelling of the classic Chinese epic Journey to the West, with more lesbians this time. This book has all kinds of energy, extremely fun characters with more depth than you'd expect, and some bonkers high-concept SF. Highly recommend if you like swashbuckling found-family adventure stories, and wlw romance.

Red Mars, by Kim Stanley Robinson, 1992. Every book, movie, and TV show about colonizing Mars since Red Mars was written owes pretty much everything to this book. It can be a bit dense if you're not up for lengthy (but gorgeous!) descriptions of Martian landscapes, and there are one or two bits where you just have to keep in mind that it was the 90's and this was quite progressive for its day. That being said, I am a sucker for a two-page description of a martian sunset. If crunchy hard-science fiction thrillers (emphasis on the "science") are your thing, I recommend this one. I'll read the sequels (Blue Mars and Green Mars) at some point.

The Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon, 2019. The prose and plot read like classic high fantasy, but with a modern eye towards character-driven storytelling. It's not often that you get something that feels so classic and so modern at the same time. Scratches that Lord of the Rings itch, with Queens and dragons and glorious heroes, but queer romance and a heavy focus on character development makes this a modern fantasy classic. Highly recommend if you like doorstopper-length high fantasy, and lesbians.

This Is How You Lose The Time War, by Max Gladstone and Amal El-Mohtar, 2019. A novella, you can read it in a couple of days — or a single marathon sitting, if you get into it. Gladstone (same author as Empress of Forever) and El-Mohtar take turns writing letters back and forth from time-traveling spies of rival timelines: Red works for the post-singularity mechanical Agency, and Blue fights for the Garden, a post-solarpunk biofuture. Their letters start out as taunts, and gradually change in tone as each develops a grudging respect for her rival. That rivalry blossoms — or compiles — into something deeper. It's emotional and raw, and it cartwheels merrily down the tightrope of fantasy, science fiction, and poetry. Highly recommend, though the flowery prose and gleeful disregard for explaining itself to the audience might be off-putting for some.

Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, 2019 and 2020. I'll let the pull quote from on the cover of Gideon from Charles Stross' review describe these: "Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space! Decadent nobles vie to serve the deathless emperor! Skeletons!" This one is horrifying, and it's funny, but I wouldn't call it comedy-horror. It kind of defies genre, outside the very broadest scope of "science fantasy." Read it if you like lots of gore, graphic violence, madcap humor, and extremely unhealthy, codependent, dysfunctional relationships that are always on the verge of self-destructing into multiple-homicide. Highly recommend.

Rhythm of War and Dawnshard, by Brandon Sanderson, 2020. Rhythm of War is book 4 of the Stormlight Archives, one of several epic fantasy series by Brandon Sanderson. Dawnshard is a novella set between books 3 and 4. This is the same author as Skyward, but intended for a more mature audience. Stormlight is definitely my favorite epic fantasy series, and I've read a lot of epic fantasy. These books have some extremely interesting takes on racism, mental illness, trauma, disability, identity, family, and regret, far more so than pretty much any other high fantasy I've read. The first book is The Way of Kings, and if you like bigass doorstopper multi-book fantasy series, The Stormlight Archives should be at the top of your list.

Four Roads Cross and The Ruin of Angels, by Max Gladstone, 2016 and 2017. While Empress of Forever and Time War were standalone novels, these are books 5 and 6 in Gladstone's Craft Sequence, and they are absolutely brilliant. This is a world where about sixty years ago, humankind went to war with the Gods, and the Gods lost. "Magic" in this world is more or less synonymous with "legal contracts," where you can literally sell your soul to your student loan company and resurrecting a dead god is basically bankruptcy restructuring. "Necromancer" is roughly synonymous with "lawyer." The first five books can be read more-or-less out of order, but I recommend you start with Three Parts Dead. Gladstone is probably my favorite author these days. Everything he writes feel like it could be a poem. Also, once again, lesbians.

I am really not sure why about 2/3 of these books are about lesbians. Like seriously, I went into almost all of these books completely cold. The only ones where I knew ahead of time to expect lesbians were the Locked Tomb books, and The Priory of the Orange Tree. I don't know if this is just because a lot of modern scifi and fantasy has lesbians, or if all my friends who recommend me books are queer, or if it's just a coincidence, but hey, I'm not complaining.

[gleefanfictionfriday]

July & August Masterpost

Between the months of July and August, we have 5 posting days. Below, you’ll find links to each of the stories posted, divided by author. We would LOVE to have more of you participate! It’s always awesome to have more authors and more new stories to read. Remember, you can fill any prompt any time after the prompt is posted, and you can post your fill any time after the posting day for the prompt. Please consider joining us!

Meanwhile, if you haven’t had a chance to yet, please check out the works that have been posted for our prompt fills! They’re amazing! Enjoy!

Stranger Than Crackfiction by @gleefulpoppet Multi-Chapter work: Chapters One through Five (Chapter Six now available) Summary: [AU] In the magical land of Hollywood where dreams come true, there’s an adage that states, "It’s impossible to tell what is real and what is fiction." It’s even harder for Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson to separate as they were thrown into stardom overnight six years ago, and their show, His & His, is still the hottest thing on TV. Add to that being head over heels in love with each other, addicted to fanfiction, and have a propensity for roleplaying, and it’s got everyone buzzing as fans try to decide what these Hollywood stars are up to. Because sometimes, reality is stranger than crackfiction. Read it now on AO3!!!

Braid of Gold by @jayhawk-writes​ (In Every Lifetime series Part 16) Multi-Chapter work: Chapters One through Four (Chapter Five now available) Summary: Kurt and Blaine ask Caphriel to make the decision about where they go next. He chooses a lifetime where Kurt and Blaine will have to navigate a situation they've not yet been in. They'll have to work through loss and betrayal and ultimately, their bond will be stronger as a family because of it. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Stargazing Memories by @jayhawk-writes One-shot Summary: Kurt reminisces on some of his experiences here in Cassville while waiting for Blaine to show up. This is one of those memories. (This story was inspired by KB.Ellen’s Summer Story.) Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Nerds by @jayhawk-writes One-shot Summary: Kurt decides to move away from home for college to a much more liberal town than Lima. So what if it happens to be the same place his favorite team is? That’s just icing on the cake. He fully expects to go to classes and make friends. What he doesn't expect is to meet the love of his life in the most unexpected of places while wearing the most unlikely of outfits. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Poppet’s Standards of Communication by @jayhawk-writes One-shot - Part of the Outlined on My Finger ‘verse Summary: Kurt and Blaine are excited to read and learn from Poppet as she releases her first book into the world. Their communication is already pretty good. How much better will it get after reading her advice? Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Could I Have This Dance? by @jayhawk-writes One-shot - Part of the Outlined on My Finger ‘verse Summary: This wasn't exactly what Blaine had in mind when he told Kurt he fantasized about lap dances. He loves it just the same, though, and he'll never think of science the same way again. (Directly follows Poppet’s Standards of Communication) Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Crimson Yarn by @teddyshoney​ (In Every Lifetime series Part 15) Multi-chapter work - Complete Summary: Back from New York, Kurt has just purchased a lake house in need of fixing up to keep him busy while he tries to heal from his past relationship. Back from LA, Blaine reluctantly takes a job from his father while he mourns the loss of his dream. Will red yarn, coffee, and some heavy conversation be enough for both boys to realize that there may be an answer to their healing right in front of them? Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Do You Have A Moo? by @teddyshoney One-shot - Part of the Klaine Goes to Daycare series Summary: Four-year-old Kurt is excited to get to daycare. Why? It's "'magination Friday," and they get to play dress-up. But thanks to having to eat breakfast before playing, Kurt doesn't get to play the part he wants to play. Blaine, however, is determined to make it all better for him. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Five Letters and A Geronimo Lily by @teddyshoney One-shot Summary: Letters slipped under doors, flower delivery, showers, and singing. Shared apartment walls are typically so annoying. Not this time. This time, they're a blessing. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

Football and Gaga by @teddyshoney One-shot Summary: Kurt and Blaine have been dating for nearly 18 months when Blaine comes up with the perfect plan to surprise the love of his life. However, he missed just a few important details, and now he needs Burt's help—complete with codenames and phrases—if he's going to pull this off and give Kurt a magical 18 month anniversary. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

The Poetry Marathon by @teddyshoney One-shot Summary: Blaine's set himself a goal: 24 poems in 24 hours. He's focused, and he's going to complete his challenge. Kurt, on the other hand, would really like just a couple of moments to distract him because he NEEDS Blaine. Read it now on AO3 or FF.net!!!

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I really enjoyed your book review of Sebastian Junger’s Homecoming. Perhaps enjoyment isn’t the right word because it brought home some hard truths. Your book review really helped me understand my older brother better when I think back on how he came home from the war in Afghanistan after serving with the Paras and had medals pinned up the yin yang. It was hard on everyone in the family, especially for him and his wife and young kids. He has found it hard going. Thanks for sharing your own thoughts as a combat veteran from that  war. Even if you’re a toff you don’t come across as a typical Oxbridge poncey Rupert! As you’re a classicist and historian how did ancient soldiers deal with PTSD? Did the Greeks and Roman soldiers even suffer from it like our fighting boys and girls do? Is PTSD just a modern thing?

Part 1 of 2 (see following post)

Because this is subject very close to my heart as a combat veteran I thought very long and hard about the issues you raised. I decided to answer this question in two posts.

This is Part 1 and Part 2 is the next post.

My apologies for the length but this is subject that deserves full careful consideration.

Thank you for your lovely words and I especially find its heart warming if they touched you. I appreciate you for sharing something of the experience your ex-Para brother went through in coming home from war. I have every respect for the Parachute regiment as one of the world’s premier fighting force.

Working alongside them on missions out in Afghanistan I could see their reputation as the ‘brain shit’ of the British Army was well deserved. They’re most uncouth, sweary, and smelliest group of yobbos I’ve ever had the awful misfortune to meet. I’m kidding. The mutual respect and the ribbing went hand in hand. I doff my smurf hat to the cherry berries as ‘propah soldiers’ as they liked to say especially when they cast a glance over at the other elite regiments like HCav and the guards regiments.

Don’t worry I’ve been called a lot worse! But I am grateful you don’t lump me with the other ‘poncey’ officers. Not sure what a female Rupert is called. The fact that I was never accused of being one by any of those I served with is perhaps something I take some measure of pride. There are not as many real toff officers these days compared to the past but there are a fair few Ruperts who are clueless in leading men under their charge. I knew one or two and frankly I’m embarrassed for them and the men under their charge.

I don’t know when the term PTSD was first used in any official way. My older sister who is a doctor - specialising in neurology and all round brain box and is currently working on the front lines in the NHS wards fighting Covid alongside all our amazing NHS nurses and doctors -  took time out one evening to have a discussion with me about these issues. I also talked to one or two other friends in the psychiatric field too. In consensus they agree it was around 1980 when the term PTSD came into usage. Specifically it was the third edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-lll) published by the American Psychiatric Association in 1980 partly because as a result of the ongoing treatment of veterans from the Vietnam War. In the modern mind, PTSD is more associated with the legacy of the Vietnam War disaster.

The importance of whether PTSD affected the ancient Greeks and Romans lies in the larger historical question of to what extent we can apply modern experience to unlock or interpret the past. In the period since PTSD was officially recognised, scholars and psychologists have noted its symptoms in descriptions of the veterans of past conflicts. It has become increasingly common in books and novels as well as articles to assume the direct relevance of present-day psychology to the reactions of those who experienced violent events in the historical past. In popular culture, especially television and film dramas, claims for the historical pedigree of PTSD are now often provided as background to the modern story, without attribution. Indeed we just take it as a given that soldier-warriors in the past suffered the same and in the same way as their modern day counterparts. We are used to the West to map the classical world upon the present but whether we can so easily map the modern world back upon the Greeks and Romans is a doubtful proposition when it comes to discussing PTSD.

Simply put, there is no definitive evidence for the existence of PTSD in the ancient world existed, and relies instead upon the assumption that either the Greeks or Romans, because they were exposed to combat so often, must have suffered psychological trauma.

There are two schools of thought regarding the possibility of PTSD featuring in the Greco-Roman world (and indeed the wider ancient world stretching back into pre-history, myth and legend) – universalism and relativism. Put simply, the universalists argue that we all carry the same ‘wetware’ in our heads, since the human brain probably hasn’t developed in evolutionary terms in the eye blink that is the two thousand years or so since the Greco-Roman Classical era. If we’re subject to PTSD now, they posit, then the Greeks and the Romans must have been equally vulnerable. The relativists, on the other hand, argue that the circumstances under which the individual has received their life conditioning – the experiences which programme the highly individual software running that identical ‘wetware’, if you will – is of critical importance to an individual’s capacity to absorb the undoubted horrors of any battlefield, ancient or modern.

Whichever school one falls down on the side of is that what seems to happen in any serious discussion of the issue of PTSD in the ancient world is to either infer it indirectly from culture (primarily, literature and poetry) or infer it from a comparative historical understanding of ancient warfare. Because the direct evidence is so scant we can only ever infer or deduce but can never be certain. So we can read into it whenever we wish.

In Greek antiquity we have of course The Illiad and the Odyssey as one of the most cited examples when we look at the character traits of both Achilles and Odysseus. From Greek tragedy those who think PTSD can be inferred often point to Sophocles’s Ajax and Euripide’s Heracles. Or they look to Aeschylus and The Oresteia. I personally think this is an over stretch. Greek writers do; the return from war was a revisited theme in tragedy and is the subject of the Odyssey and the Cyclic Nostoi.

The Greeks didn’t leave us much to ponder further. But, with rare exceptions, the works from Graeco-Roman antiquity do not discuss the mental state of those who had fought. There is silence about the interior world of the fighting man at war’s end. So we are led to ponder the question why the silence?

This silence also echoes into the Roman period of literature and history too. Indeed when we turn to the Roman world, descriptions of veterans are rare in the writings that survive from the Roman world and occur most often in fiction.

In the first poem of Ovid’s Heroides, the poet writes about a returned soldier tracing a map upon a table (Ov. Her. 1.31–5):

...upon the tabletop that has been set someone shows the fierce battles, and paints all Troy with a slender line of pure wine:
‘Here the Simois flowed; this is the Sigeian territory,
here stood the lofty palace of old Priam, there the tent of Achilles...’

This scene provides an intimate glimpse of what it must have been like when a veteran returned home and told stories of his campaigns: the memories of battle brought to the meal, the crimson trail of the wine offering a rough outline of the places and battlefields he had experienced. The military characters in poems and plays show a world in which soldiers are ubiquitous, if somewhat annoying to the civilians. Plautus, for instance, in his Miles Gloriosus, portrays an officer boasting about his made-up conquests – the model for the braggart in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum – and Juvenal complains about a centurion who stomps on his sandalled foot in the bustling Roman street.

Despite this silence, compelling works have been written that interweave vivid modern accounts of combat and its aftermath with quotes from ancient prose and poetry. At their best, these comparisons can illuminate both worlds, but at other times the concerns of the present-day author are imposed on the ancient material. But the question remains are such approaches truthful and valid in understanding PTSD in the ancient world?

So if arts and literature don’t really tell us much what about comparative examples drawn from military history itself?

Here again we are in left disappointed.

According to the Greek historian, Herodotus, in 480 B.C., at the Battle of Thermopylae, where King Leonidas and 300 Spartans took on Xerxes I and 100,000-150,000 Persian troops, two of the Spartan soldiers, Aristodemos and another named Eurytos, reported that they were suffering from an “acute inflammation of the eyes,”...Labeled tresantes, meaning “trembler,”. It is that Aristodemos later hung himself in shame. Another Spartan commander was forced to dismiss several of his troops in the Battle of Thermopylae Pass in 480 B.C, “They had no heart for the fight and were unwilling to take their share of the danger.”

Herodotus again in writing about the battle of Marathon in 490 B.C., cites an Athenian warrior who went permanently blind when the soldier standing next to him was killed, although the blinded soldier “was wounded in no part of his body.” Interestingly enough, blindness, deafness, and paralysis, among other conditions, are common forms of “conversion reactions” experienced and well-documented among soldiers today

Outside the fictional world, Roman military history tell us very little.

Appian of Alexandria (c. 95? – c. AD 165) described a legion veteran called Cestius Macedonicus who, when his town was under threat of capture by (the Emperor-to-be) Octavian, set fire to his house and burned himself within it.  Plutarch’s Life of Marius speaks of Caius Marius’ behaviour who, when he found himself under severe stress towards the end of his life, suffering from night terrors, harassing dreams, excessive drinking and flashbacks to previous battles. These examples are just a few instances which seem to demonstrate that PTSD, or culturally similar phenomena, may be as old as warfare itself. But it’s worth stressing it is not definitive, just conjecture.

Of course of accounts of wars and battles were copiously written but not the hard bloody experience of the soldier. Indeed the Roman military man is described almost exclusively as a commander or in battle. Men such as Caesar who experienced war and wrote about it do not to tell us about homecoming.

It seems one of main challenges when we try to see military history through the lens of our definition of PTSD is to first understand the comparative nature of military history and what it is we are comparing ie mistaking apples for oranges.

The origin of military history was tied to the idea that if one understood ancient battle, one might fight and, more importantly, one might lead and strategise more effectively. In essence, much of the training of officers – even in the military handbooks of the Greeks and Romans – was an attempt to keep new commanders from making the same mistakes as the commanders of old. Military history is intended to be a pragmatic enterprise; in pursuit of this pragmatic goal, it has long been the norm to use comparative materials to understand the nature of ancient battle.

The 19th Century French military theorist Ardant du Picq argued for the continuity of human behaviour and assumed that the reactions of men under the threat of lethal force would be identical over the centuries: “Man does not enter battle to fight, but for victory. He does everything that he can to avoid the first and obtain the second....Now, man has a horror of death. In the bravest, a great sense of duty, which they alone are capable of understanding and living up to, is paramount. But the mass always cowers at sight of the phantom, death. Discipline is for the purpose of dominating that horror by a still greater horror, that of punishment or disgrace. But there always comes an instant when natural horror gets an upper hand over discipline, and the fighter flees”

These words offer insight to those of us who have never faced the terror of battle but at the same time assume the universality of how combat is experienced, despite changes in psychological expectations and weaponry, to name but two variables.

Another incentive for scholars and researchers is to turn to comparative material has been the growing awareness of the artificiality of how we describe war. A mere phrase such as ‘flank attack’ does not capture the bloody, grinding human struggle. Roman authors – especially those who had not fought – often wrote generic descriptions of battle. Literary battle can distort and simplify even as it tells, but if the main things are right – who won, who lost, and who the good guys are – the important ‘facts’ are covered. Even if one intends to speak the truth about battle, the assumptions and the normative language used to describe violence will affect the telling. We may note that the battle accounts in poetry become increasingly grisly during the course of the Roman Empire (perhaps owing to the growing popularity of gladiatorial games),while, in Caesar’s Gallic War, the Latin word cruor (blood) never appears and sanguis (another Latin word for blood) only appears in quoted appeals (Caes. B. Gall. 7.20, in the mouth of Vercingetorix, and 7.50, where the centurion M. Petronius urges his men to retreat). The realities of the battlefield are described in anodyne shorthand. In much the same way that the news rarely prints or televises graphic images, Caesar does not use gore, and perhaps for the same reason – to give a sense of reportorial objectivity.

Another element in the interpretive scrum is a given author’s goal in writing an account in the first place: Caesar, for example, was writing about himself, and he may have been producing something akin to a political campaign ad. Caesar makes Caesar look great and there is reason to believe that, if he was not precisely cooking the books, he did give them a little rinse to make him look more pristine. Given the many factors that complicate our ability to ‘unpack’ battle narratives, Philip Sabin has argued that the ambiguity and unreliability of the ancient sources must be supplemented by looking at the “form of the overall characteristics of Roman infantry in mortal combat”. Again the modern is used to illuminate that which is obscured by written accounts and the “the enduring psychological strains” are merely unconsciously assumed.

These legitimate uses of comparative materials have led to a sort of creep: because military historians have used observations of how men react to combat stress during battle to indicate continuity of behaviour through time, there appears to be a consequent expectation that men will also react identically after battle. This creep became a lusty stride with modern books written about the ancient world and PTSD.

After I finished my tour in Afghanistan I read many books recommended to me by family and friends as well as comrades. One of these books is well known in military circles - at least amongst the thinking officer class - as an iconic work of marrying the ancient world and the modern experience of war. I read it and I was touched deeply by this brilliant therapeutic book. It was only months later I began to re-think whether it was a true account of PTSD in the ancient world.

This insightful book is called Achilles in Vietnam by Jonathan Shay. Shay is psychiatrist in Boston, USA. He began reading The Iliad with Vietnam veterans whom he was treating. Achilles in Vietnam, is a deeply humane work and is very much concerned with promoting policies that he hoped would help diminish the frequency of post-traumatic stress. His goal was not to explain ancient poetry but to use it therapeutically by linking his patients’ pain to that of the Iliad’s great hero. His book offers a conduit between the reader and the experiences of the men that Shay counsels. In the introduction to this work he makes a nod to Homerists while also asserting the primacy of his own reading:

“I shall present the Iliad as the tragedy of Achilles. I will not glorify Vietnam combat veterans by linking them to a prestigious ‘classic’ nor attempt to justify study of the Iliad by making it sexy, exciting, modern or ‘relevant’. I respect the work of classical scholars and could not have done my work without them. Homer’s poem does not mean whatever I want it to mean. However, having honored the boundaries of meaning that scholars have pointed out, I can confidently tell you that my reading of the Iliad as an account of men in war is not a ‘meditation’ that is only tenuously rooted in the text. “

After outlining the major plot points around which he will organise his argument, he notes, “ ‘This is the story of Achilles in the Iliad, not some metaphorical translation of it”.

The trouble was and continues to be is that many in the historical and medical fields began to rush to unfounded conclusions that Shay, on the issue of PTSD in the ancient world, had demonstrated that the psychological realities of western warfare were universal and enduring. More books on similar comparative themes soon emerged and began to enshrine the truth that PTSD was indeed prevalent throughout the ancient world and one could draw comparative lessons from it.

Perhaps one of the most influential books after Shay was by Lawrence Tritle. Tritle, a veteran himself, wrote From Melos to My Lai. It’s a fascinating book to read and there are parts that certainly resonate with my own experiences and those of others I have known. In the book Tritle drew a direct parallel between the experiences of the ancient Greeks and those of modern veterans. For instance, Xenophon, in his military autobiography, presents a brief eulogy for one of his fallen commanders, Clearchus. Xenophon writes that Clearchus was ‘polemikos kai philopolemos eschatos’ (Xen. An. 2.6) – ‘warlike and a lover of war to the highest degree’.

Tritle comments:

“The question that arises is why men like Clearchus and his counterparts in Vietnam and the Western Front became so entranced with violence. The answer is to be found in the natural ‘high’ that violence induces in those exposed to it, and in the PTSD that follows this exposure. Such a modern interpretation in Clearchus’ case might seem forced, but there seems little reason to doubt that Xenophon in fact provides us with the first known historical case of PTSD in the western literary tradition.”

Arguably in the West and especially our current modern Western culture is predicated at baulking at the notion of being ‘war lovers” as immoral. But such an interpretation speaks more of our modern Christianised ambivalence towards war; to the Spartans and Athenians the term would not have had a negative connotation. ‘Philopolemos’ is, in fact, a compliment, and the list of Clearchus’ military exploits functions as a eulogy. There are points where his analysis does not adequately address the divergences between ancient and modern experiences.

For all the talk of our Western culture being rooted in Ancient Greece and Rome we are not shaped by the same ethics. Our modern ethics and our moral code is Christian. There is no such thing as a secular humanist or atheist both owe a debt to Christianity for the way they have come to be; in many respects it’s more accurate to describe such people as Christianised Humanists or Christian Atheists even if they reject the theological tenets of the religious faith because they use Christian morality as the foundation to construct their own. Many forget just how brutal these ancient societies were in every day life to the point there would be little one could find recognisable within our own modern lives.

Now we come to third point I wish to make in determining where the Greeks or Romans actually experienced PTSD. This is to do with the little understood nature of PTSD itself. As much as we know about PTSD there is still much more we don’t know. Indeed one of the most problematic and complicated issues is the continued disagreement around the diagnosis and specific triggers of the disorder which remain little understood. We have to admit there are competing theories about what causes PTSD but, in terms of experiences that make it manifest, there are essentially three possible triggers: witnessing horrific events and/or being in mortal danger and/or the act of killing – especially close kills where the reality of one’s responsibility cannot be doubted. The last of these was strongly argued in another scholarly book by D. Grossman, On Killing, the Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society (1995).

Roman soldiers had the potential to experience all of these things. The majority of Roman combat was close combat and permitted no doubt as to the killer. The comparatively short length of the gladius encouraged aggressive fighting. Caesar recounts how his men, facing a shield wall carried by the taller Gauls, leaped up on top of the shields, grabbed the upper edges with one hand, and stabbed downwards into the faces of their opponents (Caes. B. Gall. 1.52). As for mortal danger, Stefan Chrissanthos in his informative book, Warfare in the Ancient World: From the Rise of Uruk to the Fall of Rome, 3500BC-476AD, puts it this way: “For Roman soldiers, though the weapons were more primitive, the terrors and risks of combat were just as real. They had to face javelins, stones, spears, arrows, swords, cavalry charges, and maybe worst of all, the threat of being trampled by war elephants.”

Such terrors are regularly attested. During his campaign in North Africa, Caesar, noting his men’s fear, procured a number of elephants to familiarise his troops with how best to kill the beasts (Caes. B. Afr.72). It should also be noted that it was not unusual for the reserve line to be made up of veterans because they were better able to watch the combat without losing their nerve. Held in reserve, they had to watch stoically as their comrades were injured and killed, and contemplate the awful fact that they might suffer the same fate. This was not a role for the faint of heart.

However, while the Romans certainly had the raw ingredients for combat trauma, the danger for a Roman legionary was much more localised. Mortars could not be lobbed into the Green Zone, suicide bombers did not walk into the market, and garbage piled on the street did not hide powerful explosives. The danger for a Roman soldier was largely circumscribed by his moments on the field of battle, and even here, if he was with the victorious side, the casualties were likely to be light: at Gergovia, a disaster by Caesar’s standards, he lost nearly seven hundred men (Caes. B. Gall. 7.51). In his victory over Pompey the Great at Pharsalus, his casualties numbered only two hundred (Caes. B. Civ. 3.99).

So we are left with the disturbing question: were the stressors really the same?

This is the part where I also defer to my eldest sister as a doctor and surgeon specialising in neurology and just so much smarter than myself.

My eldest sister holds the view in talking to her own American medical peers that despite  similar experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq, British soldiers on average report better mental health than US soldiers.

My sister pointed out to research study done by Kings College London way back around 2015 or so that analysed 34 studies produced over a 15-year period (up to 2015) and found that overall there has been no increase in mental health issues among British personnel - with the exception of high rates of alcohol abuse among soldiers. The study was in part inspired the “significant mental health morbidity” among U.S. soldiers and reports that factors such as age and the quality of mental health programs contribute to the difference between the two nation’s servicemen and women.

She pointed out that these same studies showed that post-traumatic stress disorder afflicts roughly 2 to 5% of non-combat U.K. soldiers returning from deployment, while 7% of combat troops report PTSD. According to a General Health Questionnaire, an estimated 16 to 20% of U.K. soldiers have reported symptoms of common mental disorders, similar to the rates of the general U.K. population. In comparison, studies around the same time in 2014 showed U.S. soldiers experience PTSD at rates of 21 to 29%. The U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs estimated PTSD afflicted 11% of veterans returning from Afghanistan and 20% returning from Iraq. Major depression was reported by 14% of major soldiers according to another study commissioned by RAND corporation; roughly 7% of the general U.S. population reports similar symptoms.

It’s always tough comparing rates between countries and is not a reflection of the quality of the fighting soldier. But one finding that consistently and stubbornly refuses to go away is that over the past 20 years reported mental health problems tend to be higher among service personnel and veterans of the USA compared with the UK, Canada, Germany and Denmark.

However my sister strongly cautioned against making hasty judgements. And there could be many variable factors at play. One explanation is that American soldiers are more likely than their British counterparts to be from the reserve forces. Empirical studies showed reservists from both America and British troops were more likely to experience mental illness post-deployment. It was also worth pointing out that American soldiers also tended to be younger - being younger and inexperienced as well as untested on the battlefield, service personnel would naturally run the risk of greater and be more vulnerable to mental illness.

In contrast, the elite forces of the British army, such as your brother’s Parachute Regiment or the Royal Marines, were found to be the least affected by mental illness. It was found that in spite of elite forces experiencing some of the toughest fighting conditions, they tended to enjoy better mental health than non-elite troops. The more elite a unit is or more professional then you find that troops tend to enjoy a very deep bonds of camaraderie. As such the social cohesion of these fighting forces provides a psychological protective buffer. Not for all, but for many.

More intriguing are new avenues of discovery that might go a long way to actually understanding one of the root causes of PTSD. According to my sister, recent research carried out in the US and Europe and published in such prestigious medical journals as the New England Journal of Medicine (US) and the Lancet (UK), seems to establish a causal link between concussive injury and PTSD. 

One recent study looked at US soldiers that concerned itself with the effects of concussive injuries upon troops after their return from active duty during the war in Iraq.

Of the majority of soldiers who suffered no combat injuries of any sort, 9.1 per cent exhibited symptoms consistent with PTSD. This allows a baseline for susceptibility of roughly 10% of the population. A slightly higher number (16.2%)  of those who were injured in some way, but suffered no concussion, also experienced symptoms. As soon as concussive injuries were involved, however, the rates of PTSD climbed dramatically.

Although only 4.9% of the troops suffered concussions that resulted in complete loss of consciousness, 43.9% of these soldiers noted on their questionnaires that they were experiencing a range of PTSD symptoms. Of the 10.3% of the unit who suffered concussion resulting in confusion but retained consciousness, more than a quarter (27.3%) suffered symptoms. This suggests a high correlation between head trauma and the occurrence of subsequent psychological problems. The authors of the study note that ‘concern has been emerging about the possible long term effect of mild traumatic brain injury or concussion...as a result of deployment related head injuries, particularly those resulting from proximity to blast explosions’

Although these results are preliminary, if confirmed they have profound implications for anyone trying to understand the nature of warfare in the ancient world, especially the Western world. 

So why does it matter?

In Roman warfare, wounds were most often inflicted by edged weapons. Romans did of course experience head trauma, but the incidence of concussive injuries would have been limited both by the types of weapons they faced and by the use of helmets. Indeed the efficacy and importance of headgear for example can be deduced from the death of the Epirrote general Pyrrhus from a roof tile during the sack of Argos. It is likely that the Romans designed their helmets with an eye to blunting the force of the blows they most often encountered. Connolly has argued that helmet design in the Republican period suggests a crouching fighting stance (see P. Connolly, ‘The Roman Fighting Technique Deduced from Armour and Weaponry’, Roman Frontier Studies (1989). However my own view is that the change in helmet design may signal instead a shift in the role of troops from performing assaults on towns and fortifications when the empire was expanding (and the blows would more often rain from above) to the defence and guarding of the frontiers.

While the evidence is clear that concussion is not the only risk factor for PTSD, it is so strongly correlated that it suggests that the incidence of PTSD may have risen sharply with the arrival of modern warfare and the technology of gunpowder, shells, and plastic explosives. Indeed, accounts of shell shock from the First World War are common, and it was in the wake of that war that those observing veterans suspected that neurological damage was being caused by exploding shells.

For soldiers of the Second World War and down to our modern day, an artillery barrage is like an invention of hell.

As one American put it in his memoirs of fighting the Japanese at Peleiu and Okinawa, “I developed a passionate hatred for shells. To be killed by a bullet seemed so clean and surgical but shells would not only tear and rip the body, they tortured one’s mind almost beyond the brink of sanity. After each shell I was wrung out, limp and exhausted. During prolonged shelling, I often had to restrain myself and fight back a wild inexorable urge to scream, to sob, and to cry. As Peleliu dragged on, I feared that if I ever lost control of myself under shell fire my mind would be shattered. To be under heavy shell fire was to me by far the most terrifying of combat experiences. Each time it left me feeling more forlorn and helpless, more fatalistic, and with less confidence that I could escape the dreadful law of averages that inexorably reduced our numbers. Fear is many-faceted and has many subtle nuances, but the terror and desperation endured under heavy shelling are by far the most unbearable” (see E.B. Sledge, With the Old Breed at Peleiu and Okinanwa, 2007).

The psychological effect of shelling seems to result from the combined effect of awaiting injury while at the same time having no power to combat it.

There is another aspect that I alluded to above which is the psychological and societal conditioning of the Roman soldier. In other words a Roman male’s social and cultural expectations of his place in the world. Feelings of helplessness and fatalism were probably a less alien experience for most Romans – even those in the upper classes. In general, the Romans inhabited a world that was significantly more brutal and uncertain than our own.

This another way of saying that the Roman and 21st century combat are very different in a variety of ways that subject the modern soldier to a good deal more stress than the legionary was ever likely to suffer. And the Roman’s societal preparation – his life before the battle – was far more robust than that we enjoy today.

Take infant mortality. In the modern developed world, our infant mortality rates are about ten per thousand. In Rome, it is estimated that this number was three hundred per thousand. Three-tenths of infants would die within the first year, and an additional fifth would not make it to the age of ten - 50% of children would not survive childhood. Anecdotal evidence supports these statistics: Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, gave birth to twelve children between 163 bc and 152 bc; all twelve survived their father’s death in 152 bc, but only three survived to adulthood. Marcus Aurelius and his wife, Faustina, had at least twelve children but only the future emperor Commodus survived. 


Then look at how that child grows up. The typical Roman child would be raised in a society that readily accepted ultra-violent arena entertainment, mob justice, frequent and bloody warfare as a fact of life. This was reinforced by religious and societal encouragement to see war as natural and beneficial, open butchering of food animals, a total lack of support structures for the poor and less able.

Compared to the legionary our modern soldier has been protected from such realities to a greater degree than at any other point in history, and will thus be far less well prepared for the horror of a warfare that contains far more stress factors than for a man who might fight a handful of battles in his military career, with long periods of relative calm in between, state of war notwithstanding. Modern special and elite forces training often emphasises the brutalisation and ‘rebuilding’ of the recruit in readiness for this step into darkness, but it seems likely that no such conditioning would have been needed two thousand years ago.

I would argue that we experience war very differently from the way the Romans did. Our modern identity is defined far more by our Western Christian heritage than our Western Classical roots. They are in fact world apart when it comes to ethics and morality. Consider the fact that when we talk of war and killing today we often do so through conflict between our civilian moral codes – which offer the strict injunction not to do violence to other human beings – and wartime, when men are commanded to violate such prohibitions. It is a terrible thing to try to navigate ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and the necessity of taking a life in combat.

It is sometimes the case that the qualities that make the best soldier do not make the best civilian, a point amply attested in Greek poetry by heroes such as Heracles and Odysseus.

The Romans, for their part, celebrated heroes such as Cincinnatus, who could command effectively and then leave behind the power he wielded to return to his humble plough. It is important, however, when evaluating combat and its effects in the ancient world, that we do not read our ambivalence about violence onto the Romans. They inhabited an empire whose prosperity was quite openly tied to conquest.

As M. Zimmerman writes in his academic article, “Violence in Late Antiquity Reconsidered’ (2007), “The pain of the other, seen on the distorted faces of public and private monuments, or heard in the screams of criminals in the amphitheatre, reassured Romans of their own place in the world. Violence was a pervasive presence in the public space; indeed, it was an important basis for its existence, pertaining as it did not only to victories over external enemies but also to the internal order of the state.”

Violence then was both the means and the expression of Roman power. The Roman soldier was its instrument. The Roman warrior then would have brought a different perspective to lethal violence, and would have had a far more restricted moral circle to his modern counterpart – his friends and family, clan, patron and clients, as opposed to millions of fellow citizens via the internet and social media.

Part II follows next post

[awed-frog]

Hi! If it's okay, I'd like to ask you a language-related question, since you have plenty experience with them. I'm currently studying second language learning in one of my subjects, and there's plenty discussion about age as a factor, and I'm kinda wondering if at age 22 I'm able to properly learn a language - I'm having much less success with German than with English back in the day. What's your personal experience with age and languages?

Hi! First of all, congrats on learning your third (?) language, that’s amazing! 

I’m not sure I can help you properly because I’m not up to date with the latest research in brain development/aging and language learning, but as for my personal experience, here goes:

The main problem with languages is that they take frequent and consistent study - daily if possible, but minimum once a week - if you want any results at all. This is not one of those things you can ignore for weeks or months and then magically solve with a 12-hour study marathon. That’s one reason why younger people tend to be better at learning languages: because they’re forced to. Most schools will schedule two lessons a week, and set worksheets, tests and exams on a regular basis. Even so, many kids are average at best (for various reasons), so the idea that children have supernatural abilities to learn languages is a bit of a myth. What is true is that, as you age, a) your ability to perceive unfamiliar sounds dims, b) your memory worsens and mostly c) you can’t devote yourself single-handedly to something because you have a job, a family, poor mental or physical health, not enough money for those 4/h a week with a teacher you’d probably need and so on and so forth. 

Point a) there’s nothing you can do about. Babies absorb all sounds, but they quickly get more interested in those of their native language. If you’re learning a language as an adult, it’s likely there will be sounds in it you won’t be able to reproduce - in fact, it’s possible you won’t even hear the difference between two or three distinct sounds. Personally, I had zero trouble with French sounds, for instance, because I started to learn French when I was very young, while it took me some time and a very detailed map of the inside of my mouth to even hear the difference between the two Russian ‘i’s (и and ы).  

(Then again, pronunciation is the least of your worries. ‘Sounding like a native’ is useless and highly overrated.)

Point b) you can work on. We underestimate how important this is, but we do need a lot of stimulation to prevent mental decline and lower the risk of developing cognitive diseases as we age. The good news is that anything goes: reading, crossword puzzles, language learning, playing music, learning poetry by heart - the key thing is forcing your brain to maintain what connections it has and create and forge new ones.

Point c) obviously is complicated, as life is not completely under our control. Many adults are not good at language learning simply because they don’t have the necessary time to pour into it, while teens are often forced to spend time on their language learning - or face bad grades. Still, if it matters to you for any reason, you can do your best to make it a priority.

On the whole, what I found myself is that effective language learning is a combination of four things: 

how well you understand grammar

how good your memory is

how consistent you are with your studying

how motivated you are in wanting to learn that language.

As I had the good luck of having very good teachers when it came to general grammatical structures and I generally remember stuff easily, my main problems have always been point 3 and 4. I find it very hard to stick to a schedule because I’m one of those ‘Well, I didn’t start studying at 8 and now it’s 8:04, better watch TV because the whole day is ruined anyway’ people and my enthusiasm for the languages I learned has been very uneven. With Latin, for instance, I had great results even if I don’t love the culture because I was super-consistent (we were assigned a study buddy and mine was a real pain in the ass, forced me to work on vocabulary with her every. single. day.). English and German I was forced to learn for work-related reasons, so I studied a lot, but I have zero affinity with German, which means my level is nowhere near where it should be considering the amount of time I spent on it. With French I started very young, and yes, that’s one instance of getting a language ‘for free’, but then again, it’s also very close to my own. Ancient Greek - I only studied for exams, the most absurd grammar I’ve ever seen, very poor results even if I studied it for a total of nine years and started reasonably young. Now I’m starting a new language and I’m almost forty, but I don’t see an obvious difference compared to when I was studying a new language at twelve. The only challenge is finding two uninterrupted hours every week to go through a lesson - and the fact that I’m on my own, so no endless role-playing about where the station is and what do you want for lunch. But other than that, no - everything is the same.

Obviously I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but at 22 you’re basically a baby! A legity fat-little-fists, burp-on-your-shoulder BABY!

Man, when I was 22 I knew only one language sort of well and still made tons of mistake (because I’d learned literary French, so negotiating a supermarket was always a struggle). If I’m understanding this right, you’re in uni, which means you’ll have lots of things to do on top of learning German! Going to class, study for your ‘regular’ subjects, managing a social life, chores and housework and possibly a job, fretting about the end of the world...I think it’s perfectly normal you’re finding it harder to learn a language now than when you were 14 or so. You simply have a lot more going on. Also, German is one of those language very few people actually click with and/or are enthusiastic about. Many of us just have to learn it, and we sort of do, and that’s it. Just be patient and consistent and find a way to love it (if you don’t atm), and you will improve.

(And remember: you may feel old now, or like it’s too late to start some things, but a human life is a lot longer than we give it credit for. Keep working on your German, and by the time you’re my age, it’s a language you’ll have practiced for almost twenty years! And same goes with anything else - baking, yoga, watercolours - is it too late to start at 30, at 40, at 50? Well - start meditating at 50, for instance, and you’ll be a grandma who’s meditated for 20 or 30 years! In fact, your grandchildren won’t even remember a time you weren’t a serene old turtle sitting one hour every morning on your favourite pillow, eyes closed, entire galaxies slowly dancing around your brain. So whatever you want to do - just do it, start today, and find a way to stick with it if it brings you joy.)

[amberstormblade]

Totally Transparent (In All Ways but the Important Ones)

I got socked in the face with a story idea for the @devil-may-care-series universe and this is the first chapter! Since I’m not actually a writer, I have no clue how long this will end up being and only a vague and shifting mental image of where it will end up. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any helpful criticism!

Part 2

Steph had a three day weekend from work and her and Matt were planning on enjoying every last second of it. It was going to be them and Skip vegging on the futon, watching movies and goofing around. Matt had even agreed to put his research on halt and just relax for once. These plans all flew out the window when a distressed sounding Ro called.

“Hello?” Matt answered, after the second ring.

“Matt! Hey, um, I don’t want you to panic but something happened here at the Roadhouse and, well, your brother… well it really would be easier to explain in person. Are you able to come over?” Ro flusteredly replied, trying and failing to hide the panic in her voice.

Worriedly, Matt asks, “Did something happen to Nate? Is he hurt or dying or-”

“No, no, no! He’s, well, he’s okay physically but, like I said, it would be better to explain in person.” Rosanna interrupted.

“Alright, I’ll get there as soon as I can. Should I bring Steph with me? She’s got a long weekend off right now and I’m sure she would want to help out in any way she could.”

“Of course! I was actually hoping she would be able to come. Just, try and get here quick!” Responded Ro.

“Alright, see you soon.” Matt sighed.

The phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to look at Stephanie who had walked into the room halfway through his and Ro’s conversation.

“Looks like we’ll have to put our movies and munchies marathon on hold,” Matt explained, “Nate’s gotten himself into trouble at the Roadhouse but Ro won’t tell me what happened.”

“Ah, man! You pack the gear, I’ll grab the tech and notes.” 

Steph took the news rather well and within a few hours of receiving the original call, they had arrived at their destination. The sun was getting low in the sky, helping to highlight the oddity of the almost empty parking lot. For a Thursday night, they had expected more than just Ro and Nate to be there. Then again, Rosanna did say that something had happened recently. The couple walked through the entrance, and stopped dead in their tracks.

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

Nate had been trying to have a normal life recently. Well, as normal a life as a hunter of supernatural entities with a head full of ghosts could have. He’d taken up work at the Roadhouse; cleaning, making drinks, taking inventory, usual restaurant activities. He had even been making friends with some of the regulars! So when he woke up actually excited about life, (he was supposed to have cooking lessons with Ro later and that was always fun), he was very confused, and slightly concerned, about why his body was still in bed. He reached out to poke it, but then noticed that something was wrong with his hand. It was transparent! He could see his hand but he could also see the bed and himself through it. He turned around to look in the mirror over his dresser only to find that the transparency wasn’t contained to just his one limb. His entire body was slightly see-through and would occasionally flicker around the edges. In the back of his mind, he thought about how similar his current state looked in comparison to how Charlie appeared. In the front of his mind, he was screaming. He was also screaming out loud though, which is what brought Rosanna barreling through his door. 

“Nate! What’s wro-“ she cut herself off as she took in the body on the bed and his ghostly appearance. “Oh… Oh my goodness! How… How did this even- And Why?”

“I-I don’t know! I literally just woke up and- oh gosh, am I dead! Did I like, die in my sleep? Can you see if my body has a pulse or something?” Nate fumbled over some of his words as his mind raced to process what was happening to him. 

Ro edged over to the bed and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, trying to find some sign of life. 

“Well, your body has a pulse, and seems to be breathing, too.” Both of them let out a sigh of relief at that. “From what I can tell, your physical body is just...  sleeping? I guess that’s the best way to explain it. Maybe this is like an astral projection type thing?”

“Doesn’t astral projection require you to actually try to project yourself? You need to be all calm and focused and crap, and we both know that I’m none of those things!” Nate’s form flickers suddenly as a strong jolt of anxiety washes through him. “Ah! What the heck was that!” His form flickers more as his panic increases. He would probably be sobbing out of fear and confusion by now if it hadn’t been drilled into him from a young age that men, and hunters, don’t cry. Instead, he smothered his emotions and took in a few deep breaths. “What should we do about this? There’s got to be some way to reverse whatever this is, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t have a clue! I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before. I do have some books I’ve collected from hunters over the years that we can look through. Maybe one of them has something?” Ro reached over to comfort Nate by placing her hand on his shoulder and surprised both of them when she was actually able to make contact with him. “Oooh! I didn’t think about that! You still feel solid like this, but also kind of... fuzzy? It’s like what a cloud might feel like if you could touch one, solid and soft, but not all there.”

“Well good to know I can still interact with things like people but, we should probably go test it out with those books now.” Nate says, unsure of what to do with that information.

The two head out of Nate’s room into the main area to where a little bookshelf sits, practically unnoticed, near the door. The shelves are loaded full of various books on a wide variety of topics ranging from cooking to the formation of black holes to American poetry from the mid 1800’s. Most of the books were for decoration, to fill up the shelf and give it justification for existing but the top shelf was dedicated to books left behind by hunters who, for one reason or another, never bothered to retrieve them. Ro and Nate each grabbed half of that shelf and set up a sort of study section at one of the empty tables. Ro left for a second to go grab a plate of peanut butter cookies she had made earlier that morning and set them on the table for the two of them to snack on. She was surprised when half an hour later, there were still cookies on the plate. She looked at Nate with worry upon noticing this. He always loved her peanut butter cookies.

It was another two hours when Ro made a decision. “We should call Matt and Steph. They might be able to help us search through this stuff easier. It would also be nice to have someone search online for a solution so we have something to fall back on in case these books don’t have anything.”

“Are you sure?” Nate asks, looking up from his reading. “I wouldn’t want to bother them…” He runs a hand through his hair as his form flickers a bit.

“Nate, we’re getting nowhere searching on our own. I think it’s time to call in some help.” With that, Ro turned and headed into the kitchen, already dialing Matt. Nate sighed and continued reading. 

He must have gotten too absorbed in the book because the next thing Nate knew, the door to the Roadhouse was opening and Matt and Steph were bustling through the entrance and staring at him in shock.

[libertyreads]

Best and Worst Books of 2020

This has been a mess of a year for everyone, but I actually managed to get a lot of books read. I decided to repeat this post from last year because I enjoyed going back through all the things I read and remembering how I felt about them.

I’ll try to avoid any repeats, but I’m sure it’ll happen at some point. If you want more info about my feelings on these books, check out my ratings and reviews on GoodReads.

Best Sci-Fi: This one was such an easy pick for me. All Systems Red by Martha Wells. This whole series just knocks it out of the park. The Murderbot Diaries is a series about a Security Bot who hacks their governor module so they can just watch their shows all day. Too bad the humans they’re assigned to protect are getting into trouble left and right. Worst Sci-Fi: Starstruck by Brenda Hiatt. I remember this being a free e-book that I picked up this year. I explained it to my husband as a sci-fi version of Twilight. You get a small town nerdy girl with few friends who suddenly becomes important when this alien boy pays attention to her. It was definitely a book of its time. Best Fantasy: A Fantasy that I really enjoyed this year was Fable by Adrienne Young. It is about a girl whose pirate father leaves her stranded on a deserted island after her mother dies. If she can survive, she can find her way back to him and receive her inheritance. It goes in depth about family and friendship. Plus found families. Am I right? Worst Fantasy: The Magicians by Lev Grossman. Oh boy. How do I get into it with this one without regurgitating my review? I had a problem with the author taking all of the best known magical stories of all time and twisting them throughout this dense book in order to point out that magic is a problem to be dealt with and not all unicorns and rainbows--just to rip that point out of the reader’s hands in the last four pages of the novel. Please read my review I go so in depth there. Best Contemporary: Second Chance Summer by Morgan Matson. I think this was mostly just that I read this book at the right time. This book is about a family who is going through a hard time when the father is diagnosed with terminal cancer. They decide to spend one final summer at their cabin on the lake before he passes. I distinctly remember crying my eyes out at the end of this one and it hitting me so hard. Worst Contemporary: Girls in the Moon by Janet McNally. This was a Book of the Month pick for me at a time when they had less variety in their options. I felt like I couldn’t keep pushing back my picks every month. It’s a story about this rock band family who divorced in the late 90s and the fall out for their two children while one moves to New York to pursue a music career. A lot of fluff and almost no substance. Best Mystery: This is the year I realized that I like YA Mystery novels and not a lot else in the mystery genre. I had a three way tie for best Mystery and they call came from the YA Age Range. The Hand on the Wall by Maureen Johnson, In the Hall with the Knife by Diana Peterfreund, and The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Lynn Barnes. These were all done so well and all taking the things I love about mysteries and twisting them. Worst Mystery: In a Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware. I had heard so many amazing things about this book, but it fell so flat for me. I hate unreliable narrators. Why are they necessary in this genre? I feel like if you need an unreliable narrator to write a good mystery then you’re a bad mystery author. Best YA: Traitor to the Throne by Alwyn Hamilton. This is book 2 in the Rebel of the Sands series. It’s a desert Fantasy that is written so well. The world building is fantastic. We have a rebellion, magic, and some amazing characters. In book two we see Amani thrust into court politics. I marathoned this whole series in a couple of weeks and loved the adventure. Worst YA: The worst YA book I read this year was Wink Poppy Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke. I felt like the story went no where and the writing was overly flowery. I’m sure it does good things for some people but it’s the polar opposite of what I love in books. Best Adult: For this one we have a two way tie. The first book is House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) by Sarah J. Maas. Is this the next great American novel? Of course not. But I had an amazing time reading this book. I felt so many feelings and the world building was fantastic. The second book is In A Holidaze by Christina Lauren. I read an ARC of this for my Christmas in July and enjoyed it so much I had to read it again right before Christmas. It was perfect for getting in the Christmas spirit.  Worst Adult: This category is also a two way tie. I read The Broken Girls by Simone St. James and thoroughly disliked the mystery aspect of the story. I felt like it was left too open ended and it completely put me off. The second is a book of poetry called Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. It felt like a lot of these poems were incomplete thoughts. Maybe it’s how open it is too interpretation again, but I really did not like this at all. Best New Release: This feels like the hardest category to pick from. If we’re going based on ratings, Check, Please! Volume #2: Sticks and Scones is the highest rated new release that I read this year. But I also have a couple of YA Mystery novels that I read this year that I loved and that stuck with me throughout the year. The first is The Hand on the Wall by Maureen Johnson which is the third book in the Truly Devious series and finishes out that mystery arc. The second is The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Lynn Barnes which I have been raving about since I read it this fall. The Inheritances games is the first book in a new series that is like a combination of Knives Out and Clue plus puzzles minus a few murders. It’s just so good. So, a top three for this category I guess. Worst New Release: The Bookweaver’s Daughter by Malavika Kannan. This one was easy to pick hands down. I felt like this book brushed over some major events that happened. As well, there’s a major lack of world building in this novel. I think with some polishing it could have made for a good middle grade novel but was sold as a YA novel. Best Backlist: The City of Brass by S.A. Chakraborty. I’m normally not huge into Adult Fantasy, but I feel like the author does a good job of making the world accessible to the reader even though it’s vast with a lot of political machinations. Probably one of the best series I read start to finish this year. Worst Backlist: The Cruelty by Scott Bergstrom. I was going to put in Wink Poppy Midnight here again, but technically I gave The Cruelty the same rating and I wanted to avoid repeats. For this one, I gave a LENGTHY review about my problems with the book. I wanted to like it, but the author’s internalized ableism and misogyny really ruined the party here. Best 2021 ARC: This was a two way tie between “You Have a Match” by Emma Lord and “Shipped” by Angie Hockman. I had no idea I enjoyed these equally because they’re such different books. Both are contemporaries but “You Have A Match” is YA Contemporary about families and secrets while “Shipped” is an Adult Contemporary about a hate to love romance and work/life balance. Worst 2021 ARC: “The Castle School (for Troubled Girls)” by Alyssa B. Sheinmel. This one is more of a problem about what the publishers sold the book as. Because the book summary wasn’t correct when it came to the whole point of the book. So I went in with completely incorrect expectations. I think because of the plot twist I would have still rated it lower than the other 2021 ARCs I read, but it would have been a closer contest. Best Standalone: I Hope You’re Listening by Tom Ryan. This is a YA Mystery that came out this Fall that I really enjoyed. It’s about a girl who is present when her friend gets taken from the woods. Years later she still has trouble dealing with being the child left behind so she starts a podcast to help people solve missing persons cases. It also had a surprise cult element that I wasn’t expecting and really enjoyed. Worst Standalone: Meet Me at Fir Tree Lodge by Rachel Dove. This one is a bit blurred in my brain. I think that really speaks to how I feel about this one. It is about a girl whose life falls apart after a skiing accident and how she tries to put it back together. But it involves a romance with an Alpha Male character which everyone hates at this point. I wanted it to be sweeter and softer and more heart wrenching than it was. Best Book in a Series: All Systems Red by Martha Wells. I scoured my spreadsheets to try to find a book I hadn’t already gushed over, but there’s a reason this one is in the top of so many categories. I love Murderbot and following all of their misadventures. The Murderbot Diaries is a series about a Security Bot who has hijacked their Governor Module and just wants to watch their serials all day. But those pesky human’s they’re hired to protect keep getting themselves in trouble. Worst Book in a Series: I found the book in a series that I gave the worst rating to and I had to go over my review to try to remember what it’s even about. I read Legacy of Ash by Matthew Ward which is the first book in the Legacy Trilogy. And I still don’t remember much about it. I remember it being dense and hard to read without getting a lot out of the book in reward for my effort. It was a hard slog and clearly not great if I can’t remember what it’s about less than 9 months after I read it.

[dorkylittleweirdo]

crazy shit that happened during high school

freshman year:

my favorite teacher (pe coach) ended up being a pedophile. it’s kinda scary to think about bc like,, that was my favorite teacher and i trusted him and if he tried anything with me i don’t think i would’ve stopped him and just yikes. but yeah, it was a whole thing. once the school found out they got the police involved and he fled the state. they got him in the end but i mean,, i spent a lot of time in the secretary’s office crying about it bc i really trusted that dude and i was distraught over it. that might’ve been where my trust issues started??? fun stuff

my school shut down. like i mean,, bc it was a charter school and we had to get the charter renewed. but the board at my school wasn’t using their money the way they were supposed to. it was a whole thing, like the principal left that school year bc he knew what was happening, couldn’t stop them from doing it, and didn’t want to be part of it. so they had a lot of meetings that us kids were allowed to go to so we could see what was happening and all that. i only went to one and it was A Time bc the lady who was recording everything passed tf out and of course nobody was a doctor and my pipsqueak thirteen year old ass went “i know what to do” bc i Did so i had to help her which was a trip in and of itself. but anyways, the school’s charter got denied, and everyone had to transfer, but the district promised that we could go to any school we wanted, not just the one we would have to go to by zip code

sophomore year:

i ended up going to a private christian school. big fucking mistake. absolute disaster. nothing really happened that was crazy by their standards, but it was for me

so they have a house system. think of harry potter, it’s EXACTLY like that. we have points, we have competitions, we have all that extra stuff. it was such a time, like i don’t,, i don’t even know how to explain how fucking weird that shit was

i came out in the middle of class. the principal’s daughter was our sub and she goes “okay so everyone is gonna tell us something that nobody knows about them” so when it was my turn i go “so it’s not a secret and y’all should know this but clearly y’all don’t: i’m not straight”. silence. dead silence. we could hear the class next to us it was so quiet. some girl whispers “i knew it”. another girl leans over and whispers to my friend “i’m so sorry”. principal’s daughter gives me the most threatening, condescending smile i’ve ever seen and goes “thanks for sharing”. i had to come out to my mom that same day bc i told me friends and they panicked on my behalf bc when people found out that they were gay, the principal told their parents. and i was Not about to be outed by the principal. my mom has since told me that the principal never contacted her about it so i came out for nothing but i mean i really like being out so we’re good

so instead of prom, cult school has this thing called “the ball”. sophomores, juniors, and seniors are allowed to go bc there’s less than fifty people per grade so if sophomores don’t come, there’s not enough people. so i went bc my friends were all going and i was like “yeah why not might as well”. three dance lessons. three fucking dance lessons for this stupid ball that i didn’t dance once at. i literally had three panic attacks in the span of an hour at the second one, and then i had swim practice right after. fucking exhausted. felt like i ran five marathons by the time i got home. the last lesson i didn’t do any dancing, just vibed with my friend in the corner. so at the actual ball, same friend and i vibed at the tables the whole time. we went to the bathroom for like an hour and took mirror selfies and tried to make our asses look bigger bc we’re Like That

SO AFTER THE BALL, there was apparently a massive party and there was alcohol and stuff. so my friends and i were blissfully unaware bc nobody liked us bc who tf likes the school sinners. so we walked to get ice cream after in our fucking ballgowns and suits looking like All That. so the principal thought that it was one of us who hosted the party and we were like “??? what party?”. literally almost got in trouble bc the principal thought we were LYING. i told my mom and she takes No Shit, so when the principal called her demanding to know if i went to/hosted the party, she marched her ass down to the school and was like “i know y’all have something against mexicans and people who are different from y’all, but that’s no reason to blame my daughter for something that your so called “perfect” students did”. my mom got Heated, roasted the fuck out of the principal, then LEFT. principal never fucked with my mom after that

so there was a fire like across the street from the school. the fd told us to evacuate, but noooooo the school was like “god will protect us” i’m like “okay but i’m gay and apparently your god hates that so i think we’re gonna Perish”. the fucking POWER went out and they STILL wouldn’t let us go. my mom called to sign me out so i could go wherever the fuck i wanted in the school until my friend’s dad came to pick us up bc she couldn’t get there bc of the fire. so i vibed next door to my friends’ class and i was like “heeeeey god’s trying to kill the gays” and we laughed about that until my gay ass got saved lmaoooo

okay so this is the funniest memory i have. in chemistry once, our teacher took us outside and started digging a lil hole next to the school. and keep in mind, my chem teacher used to be a hardcore atheist druggie, like fucking meth and coke and shit. took a theology course and converted. so he’s really sweet and nice but he’s also Slightly mad scientist vibes. so anyways, he puts something in this little hole, lights it on fire. i forgot why he did it, but i was standing back with him and one of the exchange students and the three of us watch in Horror as the rest of the class makes a circle around the fire and start doing some weird dance and saying something. it wasn’t like a chant, idk what to call it, but they were like counting like “and one, and two, and three, and four” and then the dance would get more intense and they’d get louder. so eventually they were screaming and going apeshit and i looked at my teacher and he’s just,, watching them do this. i’m like “and i’m satan, huh?”. like these kids really trying to summon the devil but i’m the bad one bc i like girls

junior year:

so technically this was during the summer but i’m putting it here. they have like a house party after the school year ends. i made cookies. apparently they “looked weird” so nobody ate them, two of my soon to be teachers kept insulting them. i called my mom to pick me up, took my cookies with me, got back in the car in tears. had to have a whole conversation with the principal and those two teachers so they could apologize bc i wanted to leave the school after that. dw tho, i took my cookies to the guards at my summer camp and they appreciated the hell out of them bc they were Very Good Cookies

so my ap bio teacher was an enabler. i was his favorite bc i wasn’t a religious nut and it was very obvious that i believed in science and not whatever the hell this cult was doing with their creationist bs. also he was a parasitologist and i’m super into parasitology so he had fun talking about it to someone who both understood and was extremely interested in the topic. i rolled up to class one day like “hey so i’m gonna buy hissing cockroaches from amazon, if my parents find out and don’t let me keep them do you want them??” and he’s like “yeah”. i brought them to class a few times and everyone Hated it but my teacher was like ayyyyy. and everyone thought he was either and atheist or agnostic, so when some girl asked how he thought mary conceived jesus to see what he said, he looked at me like “y’all hear somethin/hel p” and i go “parthenogenesis” and he Went With It, talking about how it was theoretically possible in humans but we ignored the fact that the baby would’ve been a girl bc the class is dumb none of them have ever heard of parthenogenesis before jesus is the true trans icon we all need

my art teacher was my favorite and she knows that i’m gay. she’s the only teacher from my school that i’m still in contact with. so every big project we did, i made it gay. and i knew, and my friends knew, and she knew, but the rest of the class had no idea. i’m like presenting my project and the class would get sus and they’re like “so are those two really good friends” and i’m like “so she has a rainbow heart on her choker and she has a lesbian symbol on her shirt”. the class was still confused and my friend yells “they’re LESBIANS”. it was iconic

my brit lit teacher was bi. she never said it, but i know she was. always talked about how much she hated men, then was like “women are very very good”. no way this woman was straight. so we read dracula and it’s got that Subtext, so one time i leaned over to my friend bc he sat next to me and i go “the Homoerotic Subtext”. and i didn’t realize that the teacher was right in front of me until she tapped my desk and goes “it gets better”, told me a page number that i flipped to, and it was Even More Gay and i was like 😏. also she assigned me a gay poet for my poetry project and i talked about that for my whole presentation in front of the class and it was the biggest paragraph in my essay and i got 100% on it even tho i choked at the beginning. also i mentioned in passing that i liked sappho and she goes “ooh i love sappho” i’m like “ma’am please leave this cult and get you a gf”

senior year:

i left the cult finally. went to the one school i actually liked. i made friends who actually like me and they were patient and they were amazing and i love them all very much even if i’ll never tell them. my classmates were great, v friendly, i had a great time. however,

so many fires. school got cancelled like five times bc of how bad the fires were

the school shooting. i don’t think i need to go further into that, it’s pretty self explanatory

covid. again, don’t need to go further into that, v self explanatory

[intothewilde]

⌠ ellie bamber, 20, cis female, she/her ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, GIORGIA WILDE! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in UNDECIDED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (first edition books, walking in the rain, candy-scented lip gloss, getting lost in a museum, millions of twinkling city lights). when it’s the (sagittarius)’s birthday on 12/13/1999, they always request their CHERRY PIE from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

she can’t do shit with knives yet but it’s a great gif, don’t @ me) but DO like this if you want me to hit you up for plots

@gallagherintro​

tw: implied neglect, brief mentions of mental illness and addiction

ok! so giorgia was born and raised in new york city. both of her parents came from extremely wealthy families. her mother was a french socialite and her father was the golden boy of a hearst-like (founders/owners of a distinguished publishing conglomerate) family from connecticut. some of his family members claimed to be descendants of one of oscar wilde’s cousins (a rumor that has yet to be confirmed) and he believed he had it in him to become a literary great himself. he seemingly succeeded, having published multiple best sellers popular with young pseudo-intellectuals. 

giorgia was never sure if her mother had wanted a daughter or a life-size doll. from a very young age she was primed to fit into high society and paraded around her parent’s lavish parties. most of her time was spent with nannies and violin tutors, studying her father’s poetic heroes, and dancing ballet. she was taught how to socialize with society’s elite, but she never felt comfortable doing so. she felt safer hiding behind her mother or sitting beneath the stairs with her nose in a book.

while her mother wanted her child to be pretty and proper, her father wanted someone to continue his family’s legacy. she learned to read when she was four, and by the time she was five, gio was forced to write in a diary every. single. day. (over the last fifteen years she’s filled up dozens of notebooks that live on a bookshelf in her childhood bedroom). she didn’t particularly like her father and she didn’t want to want what he wanted for her. (did that sentence make sense? i hope so). but she did like to write and she was damn good at it. her poetry was published in online journals and lit mags, her short stories won young artist awards. on the outside, she was everything her parents wanted.

but like i said before, gio struggled with the social part or being a socialite, and the life of an heiress was never something she wanted. she didn’t seem to have the right attitude - she was demure and diffident, a textbook wallflower. she was never happier than when she was reading a book or roaming a museum, always curious about the world around her. she never misbehaved or did anything wrong, but her parents wanted her to behave differently. 

their tribeca penthouse always had a certain cold air to it and the high ceilings only seemed to add to the lonely feeling that gio couldn’t escape. her relationship with her parents seemed to become more strained with each passing day. the more she learned about them the more gio realized she didn’t know them at all - the spa retreats her mother went on were really trips to psychiatric facilities and rehabs, and the endless slew of young women her father employed as assistants were all lazily hidden affairs. they never talked about it, if she tried to she was shut down or ignored entirely.

gio grew up wanting to go to nyu. she didn’t know where the dream came from (her parents wanted her to go to vassar or dartmouth) but she loved her home city and something about nyu had always called to her. she was accepted early admission to the gallatin school where she planned to major in an individualized study of creative and dramatic writing.

she loved her freshman year of college. she was finally out of her parents’ home and into a postage stamp of an apartment with an eccentric girl studying theater. she was around people from all over the world and all walks of life instead of the tiny bubble of rich snobs and private schools. she was around people she actually had things in common with. she was still shy and she still found it extremely difficult to talk to people. the easiest way for her to interact with people was to overcompensate for her shyness and be excessively friendly. when she was actually able to talk, she found she had many things to say, and once she started talking it was hard for her to stop.

her roommate was a big fan of movie marathons (in october they watched all of the scream movies, and then all of the saw movies, and then all of the children of the corn movies. that’s twenty horror movies. gio still has nightmares from them). for a few weeks in the fall she had a spy movie marathon. mission: impossible and jason bourne movies, mostly. something about them piqued gio’s interest, and she started reading spy novels, which quickly turned into her writing one of her own. she wanted the protagonist to be a woman for once, and one who’s main personality trait wasn’t tits. her novel, at dawn beneath the bridge of sighs, followed a cia operative and an italia aisi agent who are forced to work together to find the kidnapped daughter of an american diplomat along with the priceless jewelry she was wearing at the time of her capture. (do i know what the fuck im talking about? no!!) 

gio comes from a family of publishers so it was fairly easy for her to find someone who wanted to publish it, but the nepotism ended there, the success was all her own. it was lauded as an impressive debut novel and critics praised her subversion of genre tropes and inventive action sequences. but it stuck out to a select few for a different reason - the heroine used tactics uncannily similar to those used by actual spies, and she used them well. some people were curious as to how the character would handle other situations in the spy world, or really how the author would plan it.

so yeah she got a letter from gallagher, and she thought it was a joke at first. she eventually figured out it was very real (how? idk!) and her curiosity got the better of her. she decided it would be good for research, and that she could go back to nyu if she wanted to. once she arrived at gallagher, giorgia... did not know what to do. she had never been so out of her element, and she felt like she was terrible at everything. but that wasn’t really true, all the things you could study for were things she was actually learning. she became determined to actually do well, and as her first year comes to an end, gio still feels extremely unsure of herself, and unsure of where she wants to focus her studies, but she’s starting to feel like gallagher is the right place for her to be.

personality: she’s very sweet, very earnest, sometimes has a tendency to retreat into herself and get quiet, but she still combats her shyness with an outgoing attitude she learned from her mother that takes her far out of her comfort zone. basically as outgoing as an introvert can be. she tries to see the best in everyone and every situation. emphasis on tries, because she’s a total worrier and is often pulled between the desire to find a silver lining and the fear that something horrible will happen. she will give people more chances than they deserve and let them walk all over her. her self esteem can be pretty low, but one thing she is confident about is her writing (although she won’t tell you because she doesn’t want to seem boastful). art and literature in all forms are her favorite things and she could talk about it forever. she’s the kind of person who tries to learn everyone’s names and once she knows it she’ll say hi to you every time she sees you.

other stuff: she’s fluent in french and english and grew up speaking them equally. (she also knows some spanish, italian, german, and russian from her nannies, but she’s not fluent). she has a deep love for photography, usually bringing a camera with her at all times. she can play classic violin and piano, but hasn’t in a while and is probably rusty, she continued to dance until she came to gallagher and no longer had time to practice. she has a cat named pierre (named after pierre-auguste renoir). she's a vegetarian. she’s basically addicted to fruit. she listens to a lot of sad pop music. her favorite colors are blush pink and forest green. she watches a lot jean-luc godard and wes anderson movies. she’s kind of a sad girl/art ho. she gets crushes on people easily and all the time. she is very impressionable, and seems to experience heartbreak often. she just wants someone to lover her for her, you know? 

wanted connections: (im super fucking tired so im just gonna write some really basic shit but hopefully i’ll edit it tomorrow).

a best friend: it’s not easy for her to make friends but i want gio to have one person she can truly be herself around. a platonic soulmate, if you will.

friends: really just anyone who is understanding of how she’s not always comfortable talking but will also listen if she starts ranting about queer representation in 20th century poetry and plays, ya feel?

big brother/big sister: because she hated being an only child and she really needs someone looking out for her

bad influence: its not hard to be a bad influence on her but someones gotta do it!

good influence: someone who lets her baby ways rub off on them

idk what to call this but a sort of mutual respect with someone she’s had a class with?

idk what to call this either but someone she really clashes with, they just don’t understand each other

people she knew in nyc: she was there for the first 19 years of her life so if your character was there in early 2019 or any time before that, they could’ve run into each other

someone from a similar background who she can just be like... felt with?

hookups/flings: she loves love but love does not love her

an ex: could be good or bad terms idk 

crushes, mutual or unrequited

give me literally anything, the more angst the better!!

[oldnebulabooks]

The Secret History by Donna Tartt Rating: 5/5 Stars

"What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star?" The story: At its very, very bare minimum this story is a whodunit murder mystery told in reverse: we are told of the crime, the victim, and the murders on the very first page; a group of students in a Greek class who have murdered one of their number. What follows is a long, unspooling tragedy of beauty and tension and horror that asks two critical questions: why was this done, and now what are the murderers to do? The review: The first thing you have to know about me is that I am, above all, a lover of language. And not just language on its own, but language used deliberately , think the careful spareness of poetry, capturing as much emotion as possible in only so many words. At over 200,000 words this book is definitely longer than a poem, but the deliberate nature of the language holds true. No writer I have ever encountered can match Donna Tartt in her ability to write lyrical, dreamy prose that somehow manages to be crisp and fresh and encapsulate exactly the necessary atmosphere and feeling of the scene. It seems like an oxymoron. Beautiful prose used to deliberate effect? But some how, remarkably, it works--language does not have to be flowery to be lovely. Think of the prologue: "...while for years I might have imagined myself to be somewhere else, in reality I have been there all the time: up at the top by the muddy wheel-ruts in the new grass, where they sky is dark over the shivering apple blossoms..." . I think, perhaps, it is her economical and exacting use of adjectives and adverbs that does it. I studied Latin for years, and am obsessed with the parallels of translated classical literature and Tartt's own writing style--the starkness, the spareness, the harsh beauty. These similarities are, of course, made even better by the thematic content of the novel itself. But I digress. What else to say? I could tell you that the first time I read this book I was at beach with my family, and I walked with it everywhere--through shops, down streets, onto the beach--trailing listlessly after my family, absolutely unable to put this book down. Every time I finish it I feel as drained and exhausted as if I'd just run a marathon. The perfection of the final scene, the final lines, sends me reeling. I am continuity amazed by how Tartt manages to evoke sympathy for characters who are really and truly awful--as much as you hate Bunny, or Charles, or Henry, in one moment you can't help but feel sorry for them in another. Part of this is the magic of an unreliable narrator written perfectly--Richard tells us from the first page that he suffers from a longing for the picturesque at all costs. And thus even the most horrid aspects of his friends become sympathetic in certain lights. This is echoed in the repeating mantra of the novel -- "Beauty is terror". This novel won't be for everyone. It is long and meandering, and full of scenes of characters sleeping or walking at night or reading together in the library. It takes time to understand that each small scene serves a greater purpose, but I can absolutely understand flagging and getting bored along the way. Even so, I have come to understand why this book holds the moniker of a "modern classic"

[loopy777]

I got an anonymous Ask that seems to be inquiring, in a roundabout fashion, about my methods for focusing on a single work and finishing it, but it mentions another author in a manner that I consider to be insulting, so I’m not going to directly reply to it. It also helps that I’ve only sampled that author’s works (liking what I tried) and haven’t had the time to read more, so I can’t even begin to analyze the author or guess at her methods.

What I will do is share my patented Loopy’s 8-Step Guide to Finishing Fanfic Projects! Follow these steps, and you can’t go wrong!

1. Don’t have any kind of social life. This step is critical. Don’t have friends you hang out with, don’t have romances, don’t have spouses, don’t have kids, don’t go to parties. You are allowed to attend geek conventions and celebrate holidays, and sometimes watch Youtube videos, but only about once a month. I am anti-social and the only family I have relying on me are all at least my age, so I can devote all my free time to planning and writing fanfic, if I desire. No, I’m not joking. I’m just wording this in a humorous fashion so that people don’t feel sorry for me. Yoink!

2. Plan it all out The writing phase is no time to be figuring out what happens next. Writing is hard enough. Do yourself a favor and figure out every major portion of the plot, and the vague connecting tissue, so that when you’re writing you can focus on word choice, scene staging, pacing, etc. I find it helps to outline the whole story first. Then I outline the smaller phases in more detail, focusing on the earlier portions because I’m inevitably going to change my mind about things as I write. I outline each chapter as I’m getting ready to write it, and for important conversations, I outline the points that each character needs to hit in between the banter. Having a plan means you have a guide into dangerous territory. It also means you have a plan that you can throw away in a dash of inspiration, and that’s always fun!

3. Stick to a ruthless update schedule I recommend weekly or biweekly updates, because anything longer and I think there’s a risk of readers forgetting what your story is about. But the best thing about making the schedule paramount is that it’s a great way to force yourself to settle for Good Enough. Sure, maybe the writing could be better, but it’s time to update. Maybe events don’t feel natural enough, but it’s time to update. Maybe you need to sit down and completely rework this part of the plot, but it’s time to update. This works out because the dirty secret of storytelling is that quality doesn’t actually matter- at least, not in the short term, as you should also...

4. Design your story to fail Even when things have been going well -- great, even -- you can stumble right into a scene or a plot point that just isn’t providing what you want from it. If you could get over this hill, the story would flow again, but this one stupid scene is critical and it’s holding everything else up. Gah! So, instead of not updating your story until you can make this part work, just leave whatever you have and make the next part awesome. Readers will forget the mediocre part as soon as they get something good. Just make sure there’s more Good in your story than Mediocre, and definitely don’t end a chapter on Mediocre. This is why the planning portion is critical, so that you can line up a whole bunch of great scenes or plot points, rather than trying to play catch-up during the writing phase when you produce flat results.

5. Hide your failures This isn’t the same kind of failure in the previous step. Even if you plan it all out properly (or more likely because you got impatient and just jumped into writing for the fun of it), sometimes your stories aren’t going to work and don’t feel like they merit more of your attention. Maybe the words just refuse to flow with this idea, no matter which scene or part you try to work on. Maybe the plans that seemed so cool in summary or outline become stupid when written out. I might very well have as many aborted stories as the author mentioned in the original Ask, but the difference is that I didn’t post mine. They’re sitting on my hard-drive. Never to be seen. Even though some of them are pretty cool, if I do say so myself. Thus, as far as you people know, I have a 100% completion rate. Because the key to overcoming the odds is always cooking the books.

6. For longer works, train and plan for a marathon A lot of people think writing a novel is basically the same as writing a bunch of unconnected short stories, aside from a novel requiring a little more planning. This is wrong. It is, emotionally and creatively, the difference between running a marathon and running a bunch of sprints. I had to train my way up to writing long works, starting with short stories for a long time, expanding into novellas, and then a novel, and then a Doorstopper With More Words Than The Lord Of The Rings. And, even after I trained up to that level, I still had to plan out breaks. I had to identify which months of the year would leave me less writing time, and work that into my update schedule. I had to figure out which parts of the story would emotionally exhaust me, so that I would have time to recharge afterwards. I had to figure out a balance with other projects, such as Shipping Weeks, that I wanted to take on. I had to decide if I had enough time to even play that 100-hour video game that would be coming out next year, if I also wanted to keep my story updating. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t. Too bad, as people seemed to really like that game.) Writing long works is an endurance test, even if you only write in short bursts. And the only way to find the motivation for it is to...

7. Love your ending more than the rest of the story put together A lot of people make the mistake of having the ending of their story only being a tying up of plot threads. That is wrong. Yes, endings need to do that, but if that’s all they’re doing, then both you and the reader don’t have any motivation to actually read them. An ending that provides a satisfying resolution to a plot thread is also an ending that can probably be guessed by someone who has thought about that plot thread. That doesn’t mean you should try to make the ending a surprise or twist (unless you also like to do that, which I do), it means you need to give the ending the punch, the impact, the meaning that makes reading the final product so much more than reading a summary of the same events. You definitely shouldn’t have the best part of the story, the part you’ve been most motivated to write, in the middle. What keeps me going through all my stories is the desire to get to that ending and reveal it in proper form to the world, because I make my endings the point of the entire story. A whole novella about stealing trains is just to properly set up the moment when Mai reaches out to touch Zuko’s face for the first time. A world-spanning epic is just to set up the moment when Aang finds the ultimate use for his connections to other people. If the ending is the best part of the story, the part you believe in the most, then that’s the best possible motivation to get through the rest of it. However, there’s one more critical component that ties into this, and that’s to...

8. Love your whole story Yes, love the ending most of all, but if you don’t love all of it, then you still won’t have enough motivation to write the whole thing. While I am always eager to reveal the ending of my stories to the audience for that final, wonderful impact, I’m also always eager to reveal the next plot twist, the next character introduction, the next joke, the next fight scene, the next clue in the mystery, and so on. Whatever you’re writing is always the hardest part, but knowing that if you finish this, you’ll get to that- well, that’s the track that will get your train to the station. Because the key to writing is not to love writing. No one does, except maybe poets, and who cares about poetry? Writing is awful. I love storytelling, but I’ll never be able to draw and can’t do public speaking and can only admire music from afar (or through ignorant imitation), so I write. If we live in an age where an Old Storyteller would hang out in the town tavern and tell tales to the kids and the young at heart, I’d be doing that instead.

Or, at least, that’s how it all works for me. But I might not be right in the head.

[minkillah]

hello everyone!! my name’s lua, my pronouns are she/her and i’m a resident of gmt+1. i’m super excited for this group to get rolling so i can write with you all. i play choi minki (kim taehyung) of lotto fame. if you’re interested in interacting with him just ♡ this post and i’ll give you all of my love.

born and raised in busan’s gamcheon village, south korea, the former underground rapper turned ambitious lotto all-rounder has been under marathon entertainment for nine years. winners  know him as the unspoken protector of the group, and his observant nature allows him to encapsulate ideas in his music with a persuasive edge, but he’s at times criticized for being too eccentric and sardonic. 

OVERVIEW

FULL NAME: choi minki

STAGE NAME: MINKI, minkillah (pre-debut/underground)

NICKNAME(S): min, key

GENDER (PRONOUNS): cismale (he/him)

DATE OF BIRTH (AGE): 1994, march 5th. (25)

HOMETOWN: gamcheon village in busan, south korea

RESIDENCE: seoul, south korea

OCCUPATION: lead rapper, vocalist and visual of lotto. 

SEXUALITY: bisexual.

HEIGHT: 181cm

HAIR COLOR: naturally jet black (often dyed for his job, currently dark brown)

EYE COLOR: dark brown

TATTOOS: upper arm white tiger (sleeve tattoo, is a work in progress), roman numeral wrist tattoos (left wrist: lotto debut date / right wrist: his mother's birthday)

PIERCINGS: several in his ears.

SCAR: small childhood scar along his knee from falling on broken glass at the beach.

NOTABLE FEATURES: intense and piercing eyes / long eyelashes / big hands / deep voice / nose, cheek and lip moles / big boxy smile. 

FACE CLAIM: kim taehyung

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: protective, contemplative, playful, mischievous, ambitious, loyal, soulful, creative, plainspoken, focused, steadfast, sentimental, observant, intuitive, tenacious, passionate, wry.

NEGATIVE: eccentric, sardonic, juvenile, intense, pent-up, stubborn, hard to know, single-minded, competitive, temperamental, moody, untrusting, all-or-nothing.

LIKES: art, music, anything unique, reading long letters from fans, writing, working, poetry, performing, sincerity, intimacy, the sea, candles, mystery, travelling, warm hands, depth, long conversations, feeling connected to someone, driving at night, visiting home, his mother.

DISLIKES: feeling controlled, invasions of privacy, assumptions, loneliness, boredom, shallow conversations, having his trust broken, spinelessness, being lied to, self-victimizing, blowhards, people who don’t keep their word, his father.

HABITS: staying up late to work on music, collecting headbands and baseball caps, chewing gum, bouncing his leg, man-spreading, calling his mom every day, stuffing his hands into his pockets, scribbling lyrics on things he shouldn’t (napkins, his hand), clicking his tongue, quirking his eyebrows, making funny faces to relax, stretching his neck by tilting his head to the side, rolling his shoulders.

FEARS: losing his mom, never being accepted for who he is, resembling his deadbeat dad, the general public finding out his father left their family.

STYLE: streetwear, skatewear, city-ready and modern, comfortable, relaxed fits, a touch of grunge, baseball caps, logo t-shirts, headbands, thick rimmed glasses, black trousers, hoodies, worn buckle-boots, chunky sneakers, retro runners, wide-cut trousers, shirt tuck, pleated pants.

SMOKE? no. 

DRUGS: no.

ALCOHOL: yes.

HEADCANONS

minki’s outer mask of aloofness is a cover for his stormy inner life. he’s always battling between his heart and mind, conscious of how emotions can make him look; sometimes he’s cool and level-headed, and other times he’ll throw his weight around. ultimately he’s emotional and has a great desire for intimacy.  

once he lets his guard down, he’s more than willing to show how much he truly cares for someone. for special someones, he feels a poignant love strong enough to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. when these feelings are hard to verbalize, he expresses them best through action.

the promise of emotional depth and soul-level understanding shines out of his eyes. he’s a good listener, maybe because he’s often listening into the hidden layers of what people are saying. his closest relationships are the equivalent of feeling an overwhelming urge to call someone, only to find they were just about to call you.

in a world of tell-all social media, he’s quite a private person. anyone close to him has to be able to keep secrets. the classified files of his personal history are only ever revealed to those who’ve earned his trust. 

while it can be hard for minki to let others in, he also intensely needs others, and he needs to go deep with them. it’s important for him to have close friends and special someones who are in it with him for the long haul.

he’s got an animal magnetism on stage and knows how to turn it on for the effect of something tender, edgy, soulful or brutal.

prone to jealousy and paranoia and will do anything to hide it. he needs mutual reassurance in relationships, and betrayal of any kind is the death knell for any relationship with him, friendship or otherwise. a true loyalist.

ambitious and will do whatever he needs to attain his goal. he also has a strong competitive characteristic that pushes him to strive for greatness.

drops one-liners and quotables in public that, for good and bad, will follow him until the end of his career. doesn’t seem to get embarrassed even when he misspeaks in interviews and can help dispel tensions at times using poker-faced humor at his own expense.

minki knew next to nothing about fashion or make up prior to joining the company and was shocked to learn stylists saw enough potential in him to appoint him as "visual" of the group. these days he moves with more awareness in regards to how he represents lotto to the public, and sometimes jokes in interviews that his face does all the work.

shockingly good at aegyo despite his image and the intense vibes his face gives off. variety shows used to love asking him to perform cute gestures and whatnot back in the day, but thankfully that doesn't happen as much now that he's older.

sheds not a single tear all year but can be seen full on bawling at the end of annual fanmeetings.

as the third oldest in the group, he’s something of a bridge between the younger members and the oldest members of lotto.

that big goofy rectangle grin makes him look like a different person when he smiles.

one of the members most likely to slip into satoori.

plays the piano; currently learning guitar.

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: choi misun (52), a writer and local artist in gamcheon culture village. 

FATHER: doesn’t know his father. 

SIBLINGS: none. 

OTHER RELATIVES: they’re rarely in touch. 

PETS: none. loves & wants pets of his own, but worries he won’t be able to care for a living thing. dotes on other people’s animals instead.

LOVERS: single.

HISTORY

CHILDHOOD

when minki was born, his mom decided the only thing scarier than being a single mother was not being a mother at all. her ex-boyfriend, minki's dad, denied the child was his and refused to support her decision to keep him. her parents begged her to give the boy for adoption, threatening to disown her, but it was too late: looking into her son’s eyes she felt certain, more than she’d been of anything, that he wasn’t a mistake. he was her miracle. she would raise him alone, an unwanted mother and the black sheep of her family.  

relatives gathering for holidays didn’t want the two of them attending, and neighbors were told made-up stories of a husband passing away, all to protect the family’s reputation. for some time, minki was too young to notice anyone’s absence: it’d always been just him and his mother and he didn’t know of anything different. this changed as he grew up and was confronted with the lack of a father figure in his life - or grandparents, aunts and cousins.

he became painfully aware of his mother’s struggles. her writing and art wasn’t enough to support them, and she worked too hard for most of her life, taking on several labor-intensive jobs to feed and clothe him. theirs was a humble but colorful life in the poor seaside village of gamcheon, located in the coastal city of busan.

at the epicenter of art, beauty and chaos, minki spent his childhood running through steep slopes and tiny alleys nestled between a mishmash of pastel-colored houses, a deep blue sky and ocean in the background. he was often alone, as all throughout school, there were classmates whose mothers instructed them not to play with him, or would tease him for not having a father. 

birds of a feather flock together. minki found friendship in the company of children who either seemed different, outcasts just like him, or those who accepted him and didn’t care about rumors and social status. his best friend was a neighboring child of an eclectic couple of local artists and acquaintances of his mother.

in his early teens, there was anger and hurt simmering beneath minki’s exterior. he was at an emotionally painful passage of his life and wanted to act out, but knew that it would break his mother’s heart if anything ever happened to him. not wanting to hurt her the way his father had hurt her, minki turned to art as an outlet for destructive thoughts, and music became his way of dealing with the sense of chronic loss.

hip-hop was raw, emotional and honest. it was a device in and of itself, a friend to play with.  twotime had a huge influence on minki as a teenager, and inspired him to start writing songs when he was 14 years old. thanks to the democratization of music through the internet, he found a way to pirate software and started producing beats in his bedroom.

CAREER

he was active in busan’s underground hip hop scene during high school, competing in rap battles under the name minkillah. it wasn’t only his rapping that garnered attention; minki eventually began establishing himself as an emerging  producer, composing beats for local talent in his hometown.  

looking for a challenge that would take his music to the next level, minki entered a hip hop competition held by marathon entertainment. when staff met with the young man in person, they insisted he enter a second audition with the potential of joining a new idol group the company planned to debut.

minki passed the second audition and joined marathon entertainment as a trainee at 16. dreaming of one day providing his mother the kind of life where she never had another day, and possibly making music with his role models in twotime, he moved away from home and enrolled into a high school in seoul to complete his formal education while attending daily vocal, rap and dance lessons.

after the grueling trainee period, he joined the final lineup of lotto and debuted as the group’s lead rapper, vocalist and visual.

CONNECTIONS

MASC.

SQUAD GOALS: masc. 20-30. (0/5)  simply put, i’d love for minki to have this big dumb friend group featuring top dog male idols from marathon ent. they’re often seen hugging at award shows, going out for bbq, travelling together, clowning each other and breaking the internet whenever they upload selfies!!

MENTOR: masc. 35+. (0/1) this is an older muse minki looks up to and confides in. whether y/m realizes it or not, they’ve become a father figure to minki. he doesn’t have to be another artist! anyone who works at marathon ent (producer, choreographer, etc) would work, as long as minki feels like he can trust them. they’re equipped with the maturity and experience to give him advice about his life, music or relationships.

SOULMATE: masc. 23-25 (0/1)  soulmate /ˈsəʊlmeɪt / noun “a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.” these two are each other’s, through and through. y/m is minki’s second home; they complement and complete each other. their relationship doesn’t have to be romantic at all, even if it has potential to be, in the case of complicated feelings and the crossing of lines. platonic or not, though, minki is in need of deep and meaningful connections, where he feels known. where he feels understood. he thrives off of them. y/m either knows minki since he lived in his hometown busan (there was a childhood best friend, if you’re interested) or since they were trainees. possibly they both attended the same high school in seoul, too.

RIVAL: masc. 23-27. (0/1) a little bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone. these two boys are seen as evenly matched in many regards (leave it to their fans to debate the validity of that, though) and often pitted against each other, sometimes on purpose to rack up clicks and excitement. whether there’s any truth to the rivalry or genuine animosity can be discussed! a future collab between them would create immense amounts of buzz, though.

FEM.

OLDER SISTER. fem. 35+ (0/1) quite similar to the connection above, but in this case, y/m is more of an older sister to minki, maybe even a mom away from home. seeing right through him, she knows when to put him in his place and when to offer him gentle guidance. she’s one of the people he’s come to respect the most at marathon entertainment and he absolutely loathes to disappoint her.

HEARTBREAK: fem. 21-25. (0/1)  minki’s last love was a lost love. maybe they could’ve been happy together if they weren’t both idols, but it’s too late for that now. foolishly, though, they still keep in touch and spent time with each other as  “friends.” they’ve seen so much and know so much of each other, there seems to be no greater comfort for him than hearing y/m’s voice and feeling their warmth in his arms when life goes to shit. but they’re still just friends… let’s hash the rest out to make sure we’re on the same page! inspiration for this connection comes from the lyric “isn’t that what friends are for, even if we used to be more?” from the song partners in crime. if the world was ending is another inspiration.

KNIGHT. fem. 18-23. (0/2) minki as an older brother to y/m!! growing up an only child, he never knew what it was like to have siblings, let alone a younger sister. i think his inexperience in combination with protectiveness could result in endearing and fun interactions. however, he is prone to projecting his own cynical and hostile views onto men that approach women he’s fond of, which isn’t exactly fair to anyone? having someone like y/m in his life could push him toward character-development, though.

NIGHTINGALE. fem. 22-24. (0/1) a nightingale made a mistake; she sang a few notes out of tune: her heart was ready to break, and she hid away from the moon. a small, sweet-voiced songbird that goes on singing late into the night. she's far too bright to be a nocturnal creature in his eyes, but she breaks the stillness, and she’s taken to asking him for advice. they’re quiet company, willing to sit in silence or talk for hours about who knows what, trying to figure out what they are. not even minki knows. he just enjoys her company, and perhaps they’ve found something to bond over. it's still small and precious and new.  

ALL.

ALWAYS: if you're thinking of a different connection that isn't listed here but pings you, please dm me about it!! i'd love to plot and throw in my own suggestions. as a quick aside, i'm always open to friendship, group members, platonic m/f & mf/m dynamics, mentoring, flings, exes, secret relationships, rivalries, innocent crushes, muses, staff members, co-writers, trainees, unrequited feelings, pining, etc.

[trash-the-tozier]

Sounds Serious

Title: Sounds Serious

Length: 1.7k words

Summary: Richie confesses his love for Stan during a movie night. He tells every member of the Losers Club, except for Stan himself.

Warnings: a lil bit of explicit language, stephen king exists in this fic which is very spooky

Pairings: Stan/Richie, some Ben/Beverly

A/N: Written for the lovely @offputtingoffspring who wanted a stozier drabble out of me! Y’all really like stozier, huh. (that’s ok i do too) also posted on ao3 here

All of the Losers loved Halloween. They did all of the traditions--decorating, carving pumpkins, eating candy apples, and wearing uncomfortable amount of black and orange. While considering themselves much too old to go trick-or-treating, they still dressed up on the actual day, picking someone’s apartment to lay around in and eating a near-horrific amount of candy. The Halloween activities started on October first, and always with a horror movie marathon.

They were well into the marathon now, eight bowls of popcorn deep with five Stephen King movies finished, and it was just a little after two a.m. They’d just finished Misery, all of them still awake except Ben. He’d taken a seat on the couch next to Beverly, Beverly throwing a blanket over both of them, and in his drowsiness, he’d leaned against Beverly’s shoulder. She glanced down at his quiet, peaceful face, unable not to smile. It was impossible not to find Ben Hanscom endearing, all of the Losers agreed, but Beverly was beginning to recognize other things within her feelings for him besides endearment. Comfort, and affection, and maybe, just maybe, the beginnings of love.

All of the soft feelings brought on by looking down at Ben’s sleeping face were interrupted by Richie. He and Stan had crammed themselves into one of the overstuffed armchairs and Richie was stretching, making exaggeratedly loud groaning yawns, throwing his arms and legs out. One of his arms was pressed across Stan’s face, one of his legs thrown completely over Stan’s lap, and once he was fully extended he began to wriggle around under the guise of getting more comfortable. Stan’s expression became more and more deadpan and Beverly was trying hard not to laugh, watching Stan’s annoyance grow as Richie writhed himself against Stan’s body, ending up fully in Stan’s lap.

Stan gave Richie a light rap on the head with his knuckles.

“Are you fucking done?” He asked. Richie tried to tilt his head back to look at Stan, but he was too close, and ended up with his head resting on the crook between Stan’s neck and shoulder, curls splayed across Stan’s neck and the back of the chair.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fuckin��� peachy.” He declared.

“Oh, good. Good for you.” Stan said, his voice still dry with sarcasm, and a second later he began tickling the life out of Richie, Richie squawking and falling to the floor almost instantly. The group all laughed, Beverly shushing them quickly as Ben shifted against her shoulder.

“Why?” Richie asked, highly dramatic, clutching at Stan’s shirt. Mike was still laughing at them, Stan placing his hands on the sides of Richie’s face. He was leaning in, and Richie’s face went completely slack, looking into Stan’s eyes, all of his joking and dramatics suddenly gone. His expression was completely starstruck and smitten.

Stan’s face was only inches from Richie’s when he stopped and spoke.

“You’re obnoxious.” He answered. Then he let Richie go, grabbing up his empty popcorn bowl and going to the kitchen.

Richie had blushed from the tips of his ears down his chest, sitting heavily on the couch and covering his face with his hands. The room quiet for a moment, the sound of popcorn being popped starting up in the kitchen. Then,

“Jesus, Rich.” It was Eddie, one eyebrow raised. “Could you be any more desperate?”

“Shut up.” Richie grumbled back, rubbing his hands over his face as though trying to get rid of the blush, though when he lifted his head, it was still there.

“Wait, what?” Bill asked. Bill was a bit drowsier than the rest of them--excluding Ben, of course--slumped against Mike with his knees drawn up, looking between Eddie and Richie with confusion. “What do you mean?”

It wasn’t really a surprise that Bill was blind to the almost painfully obvious crush Richie had on Stan. Bill was pretty oblivious with things like that. Beverly expected Richie to just wave the question off, or make something up, but this time Richie splayed his body against the chair with a sigh of longing and desperation.

“Bill.” He said. His voice was grave, but Beverly could tell that at least some of it was Richie’s constantly ongoing need to be just a little too theatrical in an attempt to deflect. “Billy boy. I am so in love with him that I almost hate myself for it.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. For like, ever.” Eddie said, while Richie let out a sigh, his head falling back over the arm of the chair so that it was entirely upside down, his hair almost touching the floor.

“Why don’t you say anything?” Beverly asked, and Richie scoffed.

“He’s Stan. He’s not gonna--” He cut himself off to gesture to his body, to his chipped green fingernails, mismatched purple sweatpants, and white t-shirt, the upside down letters on it reading “If You Can Read This, Put Me Back On My Horse”. “Besides, he has some guy in his Intro to Accounting class that he’s been talking to. Which sucks when he tells me about it, but I listen anyway, because I’m a good friend.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like that guy, you know, like that.” Bill’s voice was a bit sympathetic. “He hasn’t told the rest of us about him at all. Maybe he’s just talking to you.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make you jealous.” Eddie proposed. Richie’s face was turning redder the longer he was upside down.

“Well, it’s working. Haven’t you ever heard that quote? About how loving someone that doesn’t love you back is like punching a brick wall? How it doesn’t punch back but it still hurts?”

“You’re reading poetry?” Mike asked, letting out a low whistle. “This is like… Serious, huh?”

“It’s so serious, Mikey. Though the poetry is Ben’s fault.” Richie finally sat back up, the color slowly draining back out of his face. He looked at Beverly with a bit of a grin. “Did you know that he’s kept that scrap of his yearbook? That part that you signed like nine years ago? It’s still in his wallet.”

“Don’t make fun.” Beverly chastised, trying to quiet the flutter the words put in her chest, because she genuinely couldn’t tell if Richie was being serious or not. “Not while he’s not awake to defend himself.”

“I’m so serious!” Richie exclaimed back. “I was shocked when I found out! Like sure, I’m in love with Stan and whatever, but he is so goddamn mushy.”

“So stop being a goddamn coward and tell him!” Beverly said, trying to fight the blush she felt growing on her own face.

“I think he just did.” Mike said, his voice quiet, and Beverly looked over at him in confusion, but Mike wasn’t looking at either of them. He was looking towards the kitchen door, where sure enough, Stan was standing there. He had a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn in his hand, his eyes wide and locked on Richie’s own.

Richie himself looked like he’d just seen a ghost, his face white as a sheet, jumping up from the chair like it was on fire.

“That’s--that’s my cue to fuck off forever, I’ll just--” He started, taking two steps towards the hall when Stan spoke up.

“Wait.”

It was a word, one word, but it worked like a spell; Richie froze in his tracks. He didn’t turn around but he stopped, standing there, Beverly glancing to Stan. His expression was still one of disbelief, but it looked almost pained as well, something in it desperate.

“Richie, look at me. Please.”

Like a man possessed, unable not to, Richie did. He was hunched wincingly, trying not to stand to his full height, like if he tried hard enough he would just disappear.

“Were you serious? About what you said?” Stan asked. His voice had gone quiet.

“I… Yep.” Richie popped the “p”, his eyes on his feet, swinging his hands by his sides. “That’s me. I’m in-fucking-love with you, and if that’s like… Like bad, and weird for you, then that’s fine, I’ll just--”

“Richie.” Stan looked like he was either about to smile, or about to throw up. Beverly couldn’t quite tell which. “Richie, I like you too.”

Richie head snapped up so fast that Beverly wouldn’t have been surprised if he just hurt himself.

“You do?”

“I do. So much, fuck.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Stan, thankfully, had now begun smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“You are?” Richie was smiling too, his posture straightening, and Stan let out a full laugh. Beverly felt very suddenly like neither of them knew that any of the rest of the Losers were in the room at all.

“How many times do I have to say it, you dumbass?”

Richie laughed too, and the two were just standing there, smiling at each other, when Eddie spoke up.

“Well, Richie? Are you going to fucking kiss him or what?”

Richie flipped Eddie off, but kissed Stan anyway, kissed him with such enthusiasm that the bowl of popcorn fell to the floor with a force that flung kernels everywhere. Stan responded in kind, and Beverly couldn’t help herself, letting out a cheer.

Unfortunately, the cheer was a little too loud, Ben beginning to stir. Beverly cursed under her breath but it was too late, Ben blinking sleepily at her.

“Sorry.” She murmured to him, but he was still heavily disoriented, glancing around blearily. He seemed to realize all at once that he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder, beginning to apologize, trying to scoot away to open up some distance between them, his face a bright and blushing pink.

“It’s okay!” She said quickly, smiling when he didn’t seem to believe her. “Really. It’s okay. You’re all cute when you’re asleep.”

That did absolutely nothing to help the blush on Ben’s face, but the blush was cute too, so Beverly didn’t mind.

“Hey!” Mike exclaimed, while Bill lobbed a pillow, which hit Richie in the back. Stan and Richie were still wrapped up in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the room and the show that they were putting on. “Come on, guys.”

Richie just held up another middle finger and Stan, who seemed very unwilling to take his arms from around Richie’s neck, simply dragged Richie backwards until the both of them disappeared into the kitchen.

“We might not be seeing them again tonight.” Bill remarked. Beverly found herself nodding along, while Eddie frowned, looking at the popcorn strewn across the living room rug.

“Damn. I really wanted some of that popcorn.”