#can’t always say the same for general university admin but the libraries are on your side

[absolutely-xantastic]

I work in an academic library and sometimes the university stance (you must buy your textbooks) and the library stance (don’t pay for anything ever) are not in communication with each other, which can be very confusing. If you are in college PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go to your library!

Library staff (reference in particular) are literally there to help you find resources! Academic databases and websites do not function like google - there is not an underlying learning algorithm that can guess what you want. Academic research is not intuitive - it’s a SKILL that you can learn and library reference staff already have those skills and we WANT to help you get the resources and info you need. Many libraries offer some sort of an ask a librarian service - email and/or live chat (with a real person!) that you CAN and SHOULD use if you are having trouble accessing or finding resources. I PROMISE YOU - no one will laugh or shame you for not knowing how to navigate archaic academic resources. Library database and article access is a complicated beast and you’d be amazed at how many FACULTY don’t know how to properly use the library or are fully aware of what the library can get if you just ask. And the faculty often assume that students have a MUCH HIGHER baseline of what students know how to do with regards to research, and that knowledge gap is only getting bigger (looking at you AI) so PLEASE do not feel bad if you are struggling at research and do not be afraid to ASK FOR HELP.

Even if you think you checked the library website and can’t find access, ask someone. Milage will vary depending on the size of your school but there may be multiple ways to access a single article and odds are you aren’t going to know to check all of them but staff will. And if you truly don’t have access, ask about interlibrary loan. You can request articles as well as physical materials and often those request get filled quickly and at no extra cost to you.

Also - if your professor is requesting specific books for class, ask them about putting a copy on course reserve. A lot of folks don’t know about reserves (faculty included) but academic libraries will put copies of course texts on course reserve, meaning that those books are specifically on hold for use by a class at the instructors request. Reserves often cannot be checked out for very long (ie a few hours) but that is by design - so that if folks for whatever reason cannot get access to a book on their own, there is a library copy that should be more available to them. It’s not a perfect system, and there may be a fight to get the one copy but it’s an attempt to make course materials more equitably accessible (rather than having one library copy of a required text that someone checks out and hogs for the whole semester).

TL;DR - I work in an academic library and staff WANT TO HELP YOU FIND RESOURCES. People don’t know the true extent of how libraries (particularly academic ones) will go above and beyond to ensure you have access to things you need. Dont get discouraged if you can’t access things, no one expects you to know how to do it so ALWAYS ALWAYS ask library staff. I promise we want to help you. It’s literally what we’re here for.

(Not to mention that using library services is the most effective way to ensure that the library can keep providing access and services - we rely a lot on usage statistics so the more you ask for help, the better we can be at actually helping)

Beware!

[p-and-p-admin]

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.  (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Ciule and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you for sitting down with us for a chat.

SS/HG readers might be familiar with your stories “Awkward” and “Headmaster’s Wife”. 

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name? Well, I sort of took one of my real names, swirled the letters around in the air with my imaginary wand, and I ended up with this. Can’t begin to imagine where I got the idea from... ;-) Later on, I realized that Ciule is actually a name in Romania. I had no idea, but there are people out there carrying this name for real. I guess I’m #sorrynotsorry?   Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most? To be quite frank: No one, really. This is more about the characters I like, than truly identifying with them. I can relate to parts of some of them, but not the whole package. Primarily, I write about Hermione, Voldemort and Severus, and the one common thread between those three is the search for knowledge. That’s a trait I can identify with, but I’m neither an evil bastard, a grumpy protector nor a fretting, intelligent activist. I am, however, a swot. If you had asked who I’d want to be, the answer is clear. I want to be Albus Dumbledore. Though I can’t agree with the things he did, I feel absolutely certain that he’s the one who has the most fun during the books. I want to have that twinkling fun in face of absolute chaos.   Do you have a favourite genre to read (not in fic, just in general)? Fantasy! Definitely fantasy. While growing up, I read ‘everything’ in every genre, and in my twenties, I decided I’d spend my time reading what I loved the most. So, fantasy it is. Do you have a favourite "classic" novel? You landed me in an existential crisis right there. I mean, there’s so many to choose from! ‘Wuthering Heights’, I think. It hurts so good. Or maybe ‘Rebecca’, at least, I loved that when I was younger. Or the fairly obscure ‘Lorna Doone.’ When I was a kid, I wanted to be a film director, shooting Lorna Doone into an epic film. Oh well, there might be a theme in this selection of books which reflects in my writing… At what age did you start writing? The creative process has gone on since forever. I’ve told myself thousands of stories in my head, but rarely written anything down. At the age of ten, I had a co-writing project with one of my friends. We created this secret room in her basement, and painstakingly wrote a ‘novel’. It was fun, though the writing ended as it became too cold down in the basement during winter. How did you get into writing fanfiction? In 2009, I became completely obsessed with a TV-show in the last episode. I was watching the entire series, casually enjoying the murder mystery, and in the last episode, the villain said: “I can do the math,” and I was literally gone. That obsession sparked writing my first fanfic stories. Those stories are still on FFnet, but they aren’t any good. *shrugs* What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? Compromise. The world isn’t a perfect place, and will never be. You can, however, make it more to your liking. It may not be perfect, but if you play the cards you are dealt, you might improve something. In Robert Jordan’s “the Wheel of Time”-series, one of the characters goes through a test in a parallel universe of sorts, and she thinks: “The world was not what she wanted, not anywhere near it.” I loved that: trying your best to make things as you want them to be in the face of dangers and difficulties.   And then there’s time travel! I love messing with time, and there are so many great Time-travelling fics. Plus, I have to say I have a certain love for the villains...   What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? Currently, I’m not writing for any other fandoms. I read Star Wars, GoT, POTO and LOTR, and in the past I read Smallville. Though it’s more of a type of ship for me, because I only read Reylo, SanSan, Erik/ Christine, Lex/Lana and ….drum roll… the extremely small and quite oddball ship of Eowyn/ Grìma Wormtongue. If you’ve never tried the last one, go search for the fantastic stories by auri_mynonys. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? One change: duh, that’s easy, isn’t it? Severus lives. Or, maybe Dumbledore acting more rational, not keeping so many secrets. Maybe telling McGonagall that Severus is on the Order’s side… (Interviewer is laughing - ”NOT so easy”) I do write Voldemort wins AUs, but I wouldn’t want canon Voldemort to win. I prefer him to be more sane than in canon. My absolute favourite piece of fanon has to be the Black library. I thought it was canon, but it’s not. This is a thing that really, really should exist in canon! Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet? I’m very much inspired by music, and sometimes I listen as I write, but not always. Some fics are heavily inspired by music, such as ‘Absence’ and the last epilogue to ‘The Manipulation of Time and Matter’. What are your favourite fanfictions of all time? Definitely ‘Two Steps from Hell,’ by the amazing Ssserpensssotia, but that’s a Volmione. This was such a wild ride, I felt like I was on the edge of my seat, holding my breath the entire time. Those twists and turns were so unpredictable and … Well, I’m in awe. The SS/HG fandom is so massive, there’s a plethora of great stories out there. The unfinished ‘Self-Slain Gods on Strange Altars’ is a wonderful story by scumblackentropy, and I love Slytherpoufs stories, especially the wip ‘Ghosts’, but also ‘Angels to Fly’. And then there’s the one that got away - it means, I can’t find it. In this story, Severus watches the thestrals, befriending one of them, I think, but they’re unpredictable and maybe even dangerous. He’s heartbroken, and knows how it all will go down, having bitterly accepted his role. It made me cry. And then there’s the works by Aurette, and lena1987, Subversa, Kittenshift… Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process? I need (strike that: want) to draft the entire story before I post, to have some idea on how it goes. That makes it easier to write, but if it’s a long story, I’m happy as long as I know the general direction. This year, I finished a story that was on an unintended hiatus for two years, and I think part of my problem on getting back into writing it up was a too vague idea for the ending.   What is your writing genre of choice? Uh. I don’t know? Basically, you could argue that I’m a porn writer, or at least it’s fuelled by sexual tension and angst. So, romance or drama, bordering on erotica might be correct. To be frank, I haven’t really thought about categories after I started posting on AO3. Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why? Hard to say. I might go with “the Manipulation of Time and Matter,” because I think it’s the best plot I’ve created. Besides, I managed to write Hermione having a relationship with both Severus and Voldemort in the same fic. My favourite “clean” SSHG would be the short story ‘Grimmauld’. Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it? In Grimmauld, the house became a character. That was unexpected, and not something I had planned from the beginning. So the lesson would be “don’t start posting until you know what’s going to happen.” Or else, this story might have turned out very much different. I had to throw in a little made-up lore on how you set blood wards on a house too to make it sentient. That proved to be a quite chilling piece of magic.   How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write? I love old houses. Exploring abandoned houses, going inside to see what remains of furniture, tapestries and everything is so exciting. (It can also be dangerous, but that’s another matter). Such houses makes me feel .. nostalgic, plus I get those nice little shivers down your spine that is a little like a horror story. So, I wanted to use Grimmauld as a setting to explore that in a fic, to really dig into the aching loneliness of a lost house. The story came very quickly to me, so I guess that helped me.   What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing? Big question there. Hmm, I think … it’s hard to say. I’m a reader, really, and I couldn’t easily pick apart any influences. Though I have to say that one of the things I enjoyed when reading ‘Two Steps From Hell’ was the attention to magic. I think it’s important to include spells, rituals and the use of magic in my fics, because that’s what sets it apart from a Muggle AU, for example. That’s an important part of the world-building.   Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction? My significant other knows. I didn’t tell him, but he found out for himself, probably by spying on me. When he told me, I almost couldn’t stop laughing, because he… erm, he said he had thought about reenacting a scene in my PWP ‘Twenty Points to Gryffindor’, where Severus shouts the title as he… well… you get the gist. If he had done that, I’d have had a heart attack. I would literally be dead. Instead, I laughed non stop for an hour.   How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"? Haha, so true. You spend all those hours in front of your laptop - and if I wasn't motivated by doing it for myself, I can’t even see how I’d force myself through all those hours. It’s fun, though. I do this because I love it.   How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media? Very important. I'm on the publishing sites (visible interaction is why I prefer AO3 instead of FFnet) and on Facebook, mainly. I love feedback (as all authors do), and when people form theories or make comments, I get an insight into my own writing. I know how it’s going to pan out, but the audience doesn’t, and how they perceive things might be different from how I think it is. At times, it influences how I go forward, mostly because I need to add things, to explain what’s going on. What is the best advice you've received about writing? Don’t post until you know the ending, and remember: the devil on your left shoulder will be at war with the angel on the right side. Listen to the angel telling you to wait a little longer, and not to the devil chanting: ‘Post, post, post!’ In the end, of course, you’ll give in to the devil, regretting it until you’re done. What do you do when you hit writer's block? Read. Read a lot. And read some more. Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing? Certainly. I’m a foodie. For example, everything that Voldemort eats is stuff I love. His food habits are primarily mine, and I love cooking.   Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser? It’s a short piece, maybe three or four chapters, with the title ‘Transference’. The point of departure from canon is during their time in the tent at DH. Hermione wakes up in a bed, in a room she doesn’t recognize, having no idea where she is, but she spots a large, moving picture on the drawer:  Feeling panic rising, she stared hard at the moving and smiling pictures, and her heart leapt into her throat, pulse hammering as she recognized herself in the largest picture. A slightly older Hermione, in a white wedding dress, kissing and laughing at someone who simply had to be a much younger Severus Snape. It had to be him: Long black hair, hooked nose, sallow skin - but then he looked so young, carefree and happy - expressions she had never seen on her dour Professor's face. Beside the picture, there were numerous cards, greetings and well-wishings for their wedding - the date an impossible 21 August 1982, and amongst the cards, the largest one stood out, the black ink showing an elegant handwriting: “Dear Hermione and Severus! Best wishes for your wedding, Lord Voldemort.” Any words of encouragement to other writers? Read and write, in that order. Don’t worry about trolls, because when you contribute something that you created, it makes you so much more than people spending their time just raining on anyone’s parade. You brought something new to the world, they’re just reacting to things. If someone accuses you of a self-insert, go ahead and lecture them on the intentional fallacy. I promise, you won’t regret looking it up. ;-)   And please, mind the normal physical limits when you’re writing smut. Unless you give the male a stamina potion or put him under the Imperius, it’s unlikely that his refractory period allows him to come five times in one hour. Realistic smut is so much more sexy, lol. Thanks again for speaking with us Ciule.

[funkymysteriies]

adria arjona, 32, cis female, she/her. 🗽 looks like that’s BEATRIZ GARCÍA reporting for duty.  they’re originally from SAN JUAN , PUERTO RICO , so i wonder if working as a DETECTIVE for THE SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT ever gets old. anyway , i heard that they’re EMPATHETIC but also kind of INDECISIVE , which is why i guess they always remind me of THE SMELL OF COFFEE IN THE MORNING , RAMEN NOODLE CUPS , OVERSIZED SWEATSHIRTS.

hello !! it’s your friendly neighborhood dumbass , lara / admin l !! i’m so excited to plot and write with you ALL so i’ll try to keep this short , but informative. like this post or send me a message if and we’ll get to plotting !!

→ 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪.

( tw: very brief & vague mention of attempted sexual assault )

beatriz was born in san juan , puerto rico , the youngest of two siblings. her older brother is riker’s c.o. eddie garcía ( l&o: svu , s15e06 — yes i rewatched the episode today and decided to make some changes based on the fact that eddie and bea have the same last name and are both puerto rican ) , but they weren’t raised together.

the reason for that being that bea was not planned , about 15 years younger than eddie , and their mother , carmen garcía , didn’t have the money to raise two kids.

bea’s father , guillermo sandoval ( not eddie’s father ) , was an old flame of carmen’s she reunited with during a holiday visit to puerto rico. when he learned of her pregnancy , he jumped at the opportunity to raise their child. he loved the idea of having a baby girl ( despite not being exactly ready for one , but more on that later ). so carmen went back to puerto rico , gave birth , and once she recovered enough to travel , went back to new york.

bea stayed with guillermo , who quicklly realized he wasn’t really fit to raise his daughter , so she was passed on to her grandmother , carmen’s mother.

guille didn’t exactly ghost , though. he was around , but he wasn’t so much a father as he was someone who would pick her up once every couple of weeks to take her to the park or get ice cream.

when bea was around ten , her grandmother passed away. bea had two options: she could stay in puerto rico and live with her dad , or she could make the move to the bronx , now that her older brother was out of the house , had his own job , and helping their mom.

her parents let her choose , so she went with the latter.

she didn’t really know her mother and brother , so it took some time getting used to , but it was clear they all loved each other very much.

she and eddie don’t care about the fact that they don’t share a father ; that’s irrelevant to them. they’re siblings , simple as that , and they both use their mother’s last name.

eddie was very protective of his little sister , so bea grew up a bit on the sheltered side. this definitely made her a little naive , but that’s something that changed with time.

she had a lot of interests growing up , none of which really stuck. she would pick up hobbies , only to get bored shortly after. the only one she really maintained ( enough to consider making a career out of it ) was ballet.

all through middle school and high school , beatriz spent all her free time in the dance studio. the garcías didn’t have a lot of money , so bea helped around the studio in exchange for classes. she tutored kids at her school so she could pay for slippers , leotards , tights.

truth be told , she was never more than an okay dancer. she was good , just not great. not outstanding. kind of average. still , she loved it.

and then one day , she didn’t. just like every other hobby and obsession picked up in the past , eventually she lost interest.

she knew she wasn’t talented enough to “ make it ” as a ballerina , so why bother ? she stopped going to classes , donated her pointe shoes , and focused instead on graduating and going to college.

she was smart , always had been. she’d always been bookish ; whenever she wasn’t at the dance studio ( before giving up ballet , that is ) , she was at the library.

when college acceptance letters started rolling around , bea earned herself a full scholarship to hudson university.

she started out as an english major , but of course. she struggled to find something that truly called to her. she then changed her major to journalism. when she wasn’t so sure about that , she audited a few business courses. then she switched over to psychology.

like many of her classmates , she developed a little crush on one of her professors. he was young , he was hip , he rolled his eyes when he talked about freud. it was a completely harmless crush.

and then he asked her out on a date. he didn’t phrase it like that , but they both knew. and while she knew she should’ve said no , bea accepted. but then things took a turn she didn’t agree with , he got a little handsier than she was comfortable with , and before things got out of hand , she got herself out of there.

refusing to see herself as a victim , she didn’t do anything about it. didn’t report it , didn’t press charges , didn’t even tell anyone about what happened ( ‘ nothing even happened ’  , she would rationalize over and over again ).

needless to say , she dropped that course and changed her major once more. this was the last time.

criminal justice was a last-ditch effort to actually earn a degree. surprisingly , it worked out. she wasn’t sure it was her calling at first , but as she got herself through the police academy and her first few years as a cop , she started to feel like maybe this was what she was always meant to do.

once she made detective , she requested to be placed in the special victims unit right away. there wasn’t much thought put into the decision , it was more of a gut feeling. over time , she’s been learning to trust those more and more.

she’s been at svu for about three years now , learning that sometimes a “ calling ” isn’t so much a call , but more like a letter that gets lost in the mail and finally reaches you a few years later.

→ 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪.

some more facts about bea !!

she’s a libra !

she loves dogs , and would like every single dog in the world to know that she would absolutely die for them.

she has a bulldog named bustelo , he’s a rescue.

she can’t live without coffee , but she’ll avoid instant coffee whenever she can. she prefers to make it herself , so she usually brings a thermos into work.

she can make some fantastic coffee , but can’t cook to save her life. lives on takeout and ramen noodles.

loves big , oversized sweatshirts. as soon as she gets home from a long day at work, the first thing she does is strip down and slip into a nice , comfy , familiar sweatshirt.

she's not very good at following advice. but she’s also a libra , so she’s the kind of person who’ll ask for your opinion on something , pretend to actually consider it , go ahead with whatever she was thinking of doing in the first place , and then pretend to be shocked when her actions have consequences.

she can definitely be a little pretentious. definitely romanticizes things a lot.

kind of a hopeless romantic with commitment issues.

despite how dark and grim reality of her work , she’s a generally hopeful person. she still has faith in humanity.

big bisexual disaster.

here’s her pinterest board !!

→ 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤.

let me preface this by saying i am open to absolutely anything. so what i’m listing here aren’t really wanted connections i’d like to fill , but just ideas to get the ball rolling ? and then we can do whatever we want with that. go wild.

friends !

childhood friends ! other kids who grew up in the bronx !

police academy buddies !

coworkers ! obviously , there’s already a few of these , but i’d love to talk dynamics ! maybe they get along great , maybe not so great , maybe they’re always butting heads , have different approaches when it comes to investigating , the possibilities are endless !

flings ! hookups ! one-night stands ! exes ! anything !

come at me !!

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, MINNIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of MIRANDA. Admin Kaitlin: Oh Minnie. God knows that I love Maeve, but you bring something to her that even I don't think I love her enough to ever understand how to put to paper. She is just... god the way you write her makes me want to say that is is made of pure light, that she has a soul that glows so brightly you could see it from the moon--but she is so much more than her goodness, so much more than her heart. You write a Maeve that is fierce in her softness, courageous in her love, and is so brutally herself that it just breaks my heart. I am so glad to have you back writing her. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Minnie

Age | 23… ugh I hate that I’m 23

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’ve been pretty active so far on Paola, and I hope to continue being so :) I usually do replies when I need a mental break from work or in general at home, and it’s been working out very well for me. I would give myself a 7/10.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | I really don’t think that’s necessary at this point hehe

In Character

Character | Miranda.

What drew you to this character? | I’m here for a third try!! I love, adore, Maeve, she’s so sacred to me and I’ve tried to leave her alone but.. I miss her!! It’s still that pure goodness and undeniable strength that calls to me now, just like it did before. She has so much potential and she lives so far off the ground that her head is in the clouds. It’s easier to touch God this way — but it’s also much farther to fall. I just love her you guys know how much I love her idk how not to love her, she’s a part of me at this point.

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

I never did get to write Maeve learning how her mother died, and I’m adamant about making it happen this time. Last time, I made Montagues the source of Maeve’s mother’s death - but I think this time, I’d like to make it the Capulets who intentionally manipulated the situation to recruit Philip into their ranks. I’d like her to try, so damn hard, to be accepted by the Capulets to please her father and to save them all… only to learn that they were the ones to destroy her and her family first, that she owes them nothing but revenge. Oh man, I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

I’d also like to see Maeve intentionally dismantle Montague/Capulet animosity - or rather, try to. She has such! a soft! heart! and it is undeniably hard to not love Maeve, so I have no doubt that this is exactly what will happen. I’d like to see her become a Joan of Arc again, a martyr for the sake of love, willingly throwing herself into the fray to protect one and to protect all. I’d like to see it go to shit, of course - but I’m hoping that first, Maeve will be disillusioned by the Capulets already and considering going rogue, running away from Verona, etc.

With Maeve being so lovable and also fucking stubborn, I imagine she has quite a bit of information under her belt. I’d like to see someone use her for her information, information that she may not even realize is valuable - Juliana’s favorite color, her father’s weapon of choice, etc. I’d like to see her be manipulated because I think it’s incredibly realistic, and she can appear to be an easy target — though of course, they’d be wrong. Maeve has a certain way of getting under someone’s skin, whether it be through her goodness or her kindness or her surprising ferocity.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I KILLED HER ONCE AND IDK IF I CAN DO IT AGAIN but we’ll see. :)

In Depth

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? |

“Oh, there are so many.” Maeve folds her legs against her chest, resting her chin atop her knees and smiling like she has been offered a present. With the light falling in from the window behind her and her curls surrounding her face like a halo, she looks younger than her nineteen years. Far younger - but there is a knowing look in her eye that stands the test of time, makes them question their assumption of her age.

“Okay, I’ll tell you my favorite place, but you can’t tell anyone.” She leans in conspiratorially, nearly falling off her seat as she did, “it’s Verona’s hidden gem, I swear.”

Maeve waits for their promise before continuing. “There is a small local market on the outskirts of Verona, just at the city’s edge. It only sells secondhand goods, but that’s the best part of it - everything sold has already been loved, and buying things there feels like letting another person into your life. You know?”

They shrug their shoulders, not able to understand her fascination with used junk. Maeve’s smile does not dim, actually glows brighter still; she’s used to not being understood, and she knows how to take discouragement in her hands and mold it into something kind and gentle. “It’s like, everything there has such history behind it. And when you take something like that, something that’s kind of old but so precious that the owner can’t bear to throw it away… it’s like you’re keeping that love alive. And the best way to honor love is to keep loving, even when it’s hard. Even when it’s a little rusty or needs to a good thunk before it turns on.”

She shrugs and presses her cheek against her knees, looking up at them sideways through her lashes. “Do you get it now?”

They swallow, and slowly nod. Yes, they do.

What does your typical day look like?

“With a really annoying alarm,” Maeve laughs. “And then I try to stay in bed for a little bit longer, but if I take too long, Papa will leave without breakfast, and we can’t have that.” Well-fed men are alert, she remembers learning, and the hungry die first. “I always start by making breakfast fresh for the both of us, and if I can, I meal prep for the next two meals, too. It’s a nice and slow start to my day, and I’m always grateful for a chance to take my time and enjoy every small moment.”

Her head cants to the side as she ruminates on the rest of her day. Her mornings are the most consistent part of her day, the most cherished hour as the light trickles into the Petre home and Verona waits for Maeve to enter its embrace. “After that, I go to work at the flower shop if I have a shift that day. Sometimes, I go to the library and read everything I can. Or go to the coffee shop and people watch for awhile. It really depends!“ 

They quirk an eyebrow. “What about school?”

Maeve hesitates, eyes shifting from left to right to make sure her Papa is not around. “Someone has to stay home and take care of the house,” she says once she’s confident they are alone. “I could have gone to university, and I was really excited to go for a long time, but…” She sighs, dreamy and sad. “There are more important things, and I am still learning so much now without being in school. The world can wait for me. My Papa, though - he needs me.”

Her lips lift to a small and secret smile. “More than he knows.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

She remembers her Papa coming home, his shadow sinister in the moonlight and the blood staining his hands and his cheek. She remembers swallowing her fear and asking, quietly and plainly, what he was out doing. If she will let herself, Maeve knows she can feel the same drop in her stomach and the sudden, violent urge to vomit at his feet.

She remembers marching up to the Capulets and demanding recruitment. “Enlist me,” she remembers saying, “and I will be the most valuable person in your army.”

She remembers the glint in their eye, an old friend of her father’s and surely a pawn in the Capulets’ game. “You have no experience with violence, weapons or warfare. You’ve been kept in the dark your entire life, and you think you offer value?”

“Yes." 

She remembers their approving hum. She remembers the quick and rapid process of becoming a Capulet as her Papa watched, horror in his eyes. She remembers being proud of herself.

No, joining the Capulets is not the mistake Maeve is thinking of.

“My biggest mistake has been letting the world make decisions without me. My entire life, I’ve loved Verona more than anyone - and never once did I ask the right questions. I thought I knew my Papa, thought I knew Verona.. For so long, I lived… I lived a lie. Because I never tried to see what was right in front of me.”

Her fingers are shaking, Maeve realizes with a start. She folds them together and wills them to stop trembling. “It won’t happen again.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“When I told my Papa I planned to join him in the Capulets, he was furious.” Maeve fiddles with the ring on her right ring finger, a dainty thin gold band with a single diamond in the center. Her mother’s engagement ring, and her most prized possession - and often the first sign of her emotional turmoil. “It was the first real fight we had,” she reminisces out loud, “and he insisted I take it back.”

Her lips twist regretfully as she recalls how ugly their words had gotten. “He asked me to be my mother’s daughter - not his. He told me I was meant to be a flower only, his little girl… and I was.” Her voice cracked. “I am." 

Maeve clears her throat quietly and takes a second to gather her composure. When she speaks again, it’s with undeniable conviction and passion: “I cannot be less than who I am, and I will be the one to decide who exactly that is. And right now,” she smiles, “I am a Capulet.” 

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“Haven’t you heard?” Her eyes are sparkling, as if they are sharing some private joke. “I’m the poster child for anti-war.”

But the joke is short-lived, and before they get the chance to smile along, Maeve’s expression sobers and the atmosphere of the room changes. "It’s a never-ending circle, and it is destroying us. We’re sacrificing everything that truly matters: the people we love, the city we live in, ourselves. And for what? Revenge?”

She bites her lip, unmistakeable distressed. “I won’t fight in this war. I know I’m young, and I know I’m just a soldier — but I will be stronger than my Papa. Where he was weak, I will be strong for the both of us.“ She pauses, and then — "For my Mama, too.”

Maeve smiles kindly, knowing the reaction her speeches usually receive. If she believed any less, then she might even be sorry — but her ideals are too important, and she will be damned if she even considers apologizing for them. “I know that this might be hard to understand. We have lived like this for so long, maybe even without realizing it. But I do believe there is hope. For Verona, for all of us. There is a brighter day coming; I just know it.”

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

I.

“Papà, you must remember. Please, tell me you remember,” Maeve begs, her hands clasped together like a child’s prayer.

Her eyes are just like her mother’s. The thought comes unbidden before Philip can close his heart against it. The memory of his first love, staring up at him with eyes as warm as the earth, with all the feeling in the world — it is crippling and heartbreaking and all too much. His heart falters at the reality of her death as he remembers and relives it, over and over again.

She is just like you, Maria.

He takes another hearty swig from his glass, avoiding his daughter’s gaze like she is the angel of death.

“Papà,” Maeve says again, her voice a low whisper. “Papà, please.”

How can a girl so young move his heart so? His own flesh and blood, and he is too afraid to look at her for fear that he won’t be able to breathe.

Another swig.

“Oh, Papà.” Before he can close his arms and resist a child’s love, his daughter is climbing onto him, curling in his lap and pressing her ear against his chest. “I forget, sometimes.”

She is searching for my heart. The poor creature. She won’t find it. My heart is gone, it is torn into pieces and all that is left is something cold and silver.

“I forget that you must miss her, too.”

The cup falls to the floor, and Maeve flinches in his arms at the crash of it — but still, she holds on tight.

He answers her unspoken question gruffly, his throat raw and blistered: “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I miss her, too. But… Papà?”

“What, stella mia?”

“I miss you, more.”

And this is the final crack in his chest; and the river is opened up to him; and silent, steady tears begin to fall.

“We don’t have to talk about Mamma. It’s okay. It’s just you and me now.” A hand holds his cheek like a ghost used to, in another life.

But that was the past, and this is the present, and the future is in his arms trying to save him from the darkness he carries, the darkness she is too young to understand. He knows it is Maria’s influence; such light could only come from Maeve’s mother, for Maria was the sun that carried the weight of his entire sky.

He will not fail Maria, and he cannot fail Maeve. He will pour his heart and soul and mind unto Maeve until he can hardly recognize himself, and he will hide his burdens from Maeve so she will never look like him.

Maria. Maeve. Maria. Maeve. 

“How I love you, stella mia.” With newfound courage and determination, Philip holds her close. “How I love you.”

“Oh, Papà. I love you, too. 

* Maria: meaning “sea of bitterness” or “sea of sorrow”; “rebellion” “wished-for child” and “mistress or lady of the sea”

II. a diary entry

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night. I can’t tell you how or when it began, but I have carried this childish fear with me for too many years to count. I thought it was a part of me, just another piece of the puzzle that had no origin and no explanation. There was so much that I did not understand: my father, my mother, the world I so longed to see.

But one day, I thought. One day, I might understand it all.

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night, but I loved it, too. When the sun had set and the light had all but faded, the sound of the one you love coming home would ring out like church bells on a spring morning; the smell of cigarettes would hold tightly to the air like an embrace after a long, weary voyage. 

For the night brought many terrors, but it had some comforts, too; didn’t all nightmares end with the whispered comforts of I am here, stella mia, I am here and the day will come and the monsters are only bad thoughts who have overstayed their welcome?

A long time ago.

A long time ago, I only thought of my father returning; I did not know and did not even think to question where he was returning from.

I shall never forget the emptiness of his eyes. I shall never forget the tired droop of his shoulders, the black silhouette of his that seemed so familiar at night. I shall never forget the silver in his hair, which I had not seen before until the moonlight brought its cruel light to every secret I had not considered.

I tried, very hard, to forget the red. I chose to remember the rest, the cold silver and black and blue of it all — but the red, I desperately tried to forget. But I could not let go of the scarlet, as hard as I tried.

I… had a reason for staying up waiting, for running to see him. I can’t remember it now, but — there was a reason.

Ah, I remember. I wanted to read him a poem.

I was a child.

He did not say a single word that night. He shook his head, ever so slightly, and walked away.

Papà. Beloved Papà. 

The burden of knowing and still not fully understanding has haunted me since. For even after seeing him in the silver and black and blue and red, Papà merely patted my cheek and sent me on my flowery way. I felt so small, so strange, as if I could hardly recognize myself.

He told me that when I was older, I would understand. I wanted to tell him that I have been waiting my entire life to understand. Even as a child, I so yearned to know about the mother I didn’t remember, and I never received an answer. It pained Papà to hear talk of her, and it pained me to see him weep. So I stopped, but I always wondered, and I always dreamed of a woman’s soft hands and laughing eyes.

I never told him this… and maybe if his secret had been softer, forgiveness would have come so easily. I can empathize with shielding the one you love from pain.

But not like this. Not like Papà did. It wasn’t just his secrecy that wounded me deep to the bone; it was the secret itself. I would never have imagined Papà, who was my entire sun and sky, to be… like that.

It wasn’t just the fact that I didn’t know everything about him. It was that when he came home in scarlet, I didn’t recognize him at all. It was that I loved him still, even with my shattered heart.

I have made peace with this. It might seem strange to you that I can say with full confidence that I have forgiven Papà and that I still love him as my own sun and sky, after writing all of this. But I have. My love for him is stronger than any betrayal, and even that night cannot steal that from us. 

These thoughts are so much louder these days because tomorrow, I will be a Capulet soldier. I am older now, just like Papà said, and I must know why Papà ran to their shadows all those years ago. For I have come to the conclusion that to love someone is to know them. 

Tomorrow, I will know. Tomorrow, I will begin to understand.

Or so I hope.

III.

Each night, Maeve held her bleeding heart in hand and tucked it under her arm to keep it warm while the wind howled with despair. Be still, my heart; the sun will rise again, and the war will be ours to win.

Because it was a war, though not the one the Capulets enlisted her for. No matter what they told her, Maeve would choose her own battles, and she was determined to fight for peace until it was Verona’s triumph — for she had no other choice, for the only alternative was to lose her father and her home to blood and guns. 

From the shadows, a man appeared: her target. Her mission was to retrieve the full payment for an order placed exactly one month ago. He was a new, and so far unreliable, client, and therefore needed extra… encouragement to pay the Capulets in full.

The job fell to Miranda, who had never run a solo mission before. Though she might be green, she was confident; she had impressed the others with her sheer will, if not her skill with the knife. They might not take her seriously yet, but they would, for Maeve was determined to make her voice heard.

“They tell me you’re called Miranda,” the man said.

“Yes,” was her simple answer, short and straightforward.

The street lights illuminated the cruel crook of his lips, the sharp slant of his brows. “They also tell me that you are here for my money.” He was sneering at her, his lips curled in a resentful snarl.

Maeve stepped forward, the softness of her eyes coming to view. “That’s true.”

At the sight of her pretty face, the man’s expression shifted to one of surprise. “They sent a pretty girl like you,” he moved closer, “alone in the middle of the night?”

“Is that so strange?” She adjusted her grip on the knife hidden in a sheath inside her sleeve.

“Not strange,” the man shook his head, “dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Maeve offered a kind smile as she continued to adjust her fingers on her knife’s grip, wondering — if she needed to bring it forward. If her knife was worth using at all. “I appreciate the concern, but I think you know that we don’t send soldiers into battle unprepared.”

“What battle is there, girl?” His laugh was unexpected and rang false in the night, too jaded to be true. “You think I don’t have the money? You think I won’t pay?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m here on orders, and orders alone, to retrieve the payment in full for the last transaction between you and the Capulets.”

He spat onto the ground and thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants, staring off into the night sky. “It’s all about money with you folks.”

“Not all of us — but you did make a promise, sir, and you must honor it. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

The man fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with the barest hint of vulnerability. “So you think I’m a gentleman, huh?”

“I assume most men are gentlemen until they prove otherwise,” Maeve said gently.

Her compassion seemed to ease the man out of appearances and reveal his true nature; a look of panic came over his features, wild and dangerous. “What if I told you I didn’t have the money?” A tremble shook through every word, and his eyes seemed to widen by the moment. “What would they do to me, then?”

She wanted desperately to reassure him, to tell them that she was only a soldier, new and inexperienced and unknowledgeable. But it was not that Maeve did not know; it was that she did not agree. For how could Maeve threaten (or worse) a man who, in that moment, seemed so human. 

“I… don’t think you want to know,” she finally answered, sympathy passing over her features.

The man groaned and threw his hands in the air. “I had the money, I swear I had it. But then that bastard got me drunk and the women were so pretty…”

The tale of a proud man, who wanted nothing more than to prove himself. Maeve sighed and loosened her grip on her knife. There would be heavy consequences to bear for her next words, but there was nothing else she could do. For her heart was soft and could not bear to harm another. “I will do my best to grant you an extension.”

The man breathed out a long sigh of relief, wrapping his arms about his torso tightly like a congratulatory embrace. “Thank you, thank you. You are kind, Miranda, kinder than I deserve. Tell them that I will have it immediately, I only need a little more time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Please,” Maeve only let a hint of desperation show in her tone, “don’t do this again. The next time, you will not be forgiven so easily.” With a nod and a faint smile, she turned and walked away from the now-incoherent man. 

She would pay for this later — but nothing worth having came without a price.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

I kept a few headcanons from the old app I thought still applied:

Knives. When Philip first handed her a 9mm Glock 17, Maeve’s hands shook as she forced her fingers to wrap around the grip. He put his hands on her shoulders and methodically explained just how to use a weapon, and when he stepped back, she knew it was not in her. She turned to her father with silent tears already staining her cheeks and pushed the weapon back into his hands. Papà, a gun is for killing, she said gently, and I am not a killer.

But to be a Capulet was to wield a weapon like a musical instrument, a paintbrush, a masterpiece; so Maeve chose the knife, for at least it was more than just violence. Just like her, a knife could be both sharp and soft, it could be used for bad and good. It all depended on her choice, and Maeve knew that she would always choose good.

Part-time job. Maeve works at a local flower shop in Verona, making conversation with the regulars and reading a book when the shop is slow. It’s a nice way to pass the hours, and she’s been there for so many years that it’s become a second home.

[denial-island-spn]

[Admin Island]

Well after sundown

Megs steps out of her cabin, having spent most of her day catching up on the administrative / business aspects of the island that Suzy and Krys weren’t able to handle in her absence (mostly because of their moral fortitude and desire not to commit any felonies by forging her signature on various things).  While the night air is usually comfortable, the ocean breeze tends to make her feel chilled, and she’s wrapped herself in a shawl in anticipation that she’ll eventually grow chilly.  

She makes her way down the path around the outer edge of the cabins, not even thinking about where her feet are taking her.  It isn’t until she comes across a figure that she realizes she’s headed toward (human) Gabe’s place.  He’s standing just beyond the path, hands in his pocket staring out in the darkness in the direction of the water.  

He looks up when she reaches that awkward distance where she’s too far to be clearly heard over the waves but still close enough where it would be weird not to greet him.  She gives him a small wave, a smile immediately appearing.  The one he gives in return is automatic, weighted, and she knows tonight is not going to end as simply as she has hoped.  

Megs:  *becomes concerned at how quickly he looks away from her once she approaches* Hey.  Everything alright?

(H) Gabe: *keeping his gaze trained in front of him*  I think it’s time we talked about… the things my counterpart alluded to back in Raphael’s world.

Megs: *stiffens as a snarling mass of memories and emotions have her physically reacting to the reminder that place even exists*  Ok.  Um, if you could just hit me with it, that might be best  I tend to do better when these things aren’t drawn out.  

(H) Gabe: *takes a breath, his rising nerves causing him to just blurt it out* You’re a mate and you’re activated.

Megs: *blinks* I’m… Are you drunk?

(H) Gabe: *turns to give her an irritated look* Do I seem drunk to you?

Megs: I mean… you’re not not speaking English right now… but I also wouldn’t say you’re actually speaking English.

(H) Gabe:  *flatly*  I’m being serious.  You’re meant to be paired with an angel and the process for that has been started.

Megs: Ok - I - what?  Why would I be meant to be paired with an angel? *the term he’s used finally sinks into her mind* Wait, mate as in soulmate?

(H) Gabe: Soulmate is misleading in most people’s understanding of the word.  *frowns*  My explanation is misleading.  You have the capability to be an angel’s mate, you are not necessarily meant to be one.  Just like you’re not pre-destined to be with one specific being or even fated to be with anyone.  *catches the confusion on her features*  I… *sighs* It’s complicated.

Megs: *considers what he’s saying* Well… it’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.  *he glances sideways at her, trying to figure out if she’s taking this seriously at all*  Don’t look at me like that.  I’m not joking.

(H) Gabe: Neither am I.  Do you understand that this means?

Megs: Admittedly? Not a damn clue.

(H) Gabe: The simplest way I can explain it is there are a very small number of people in the universe that can have a special bond with one of us.  You happen to be one of those people.

Megs: *takes a breath as she tries, very hard, not to ask him if he’s accepted any special baked goods from the other Gabriel* Define “special bond”…

(H) Gabe: Kind of like when humans get married.  Although a little more permanent and a lot more fulfilling on every level possible.  

Megs:  … Oh.  

(H) Gabe: *finally turns and faces her fully, his brow arching high*  Oh?  That’s it?

Megs: *exasperation and tiredness bleed through the edge of her look* I trust you, Gabe, I really do, but telling me I’m a super special snowflake meant for one of you is a little far fetched.

(H) Gabe: *completely serious*  My counterpart saw it.  All the angels  in Raphael’s compound saw it.  He saw it.  It’s what made you so special to them.

Megs: *finally all the pieces slide into place as she thinks back to all the oddness she encountered* … Oh.  *the color recedes from her face*  I… think I need to sit down.  

(Human) Gabe sees her grow a little wobbly and quickly takes hold of her arms, guiding her over to the steps where they both take a seat.  They sit in silence for several minutes as she processes the information.  

Megs: *Swallows* I - I don’t understand what any of this means… being activated, rituals *her mind starts racing and the rest tumbles out of her mouth as she becomes anxious*  Does this mean I have to be with one of you?  *her eyes grow wider*  Do I even get to choose who I’m with?  

(H) Gabe: Woah, sweetheart, slow down.  Breathe.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, mate or not.  Like I said.  It’s not pre-destined.  You aren’t locked into one set path.  You’re just… kind of on it, at the moment.  *he tries to give her a reassuring smile*  The ritual and activation thing, I’ll admit, not the nicest sounding things after our experiences.  But it’s nothing more than a process that’s intended for a mate and an angel to show their intentions and open themselves spiritually so that they can be joined.  

Megs: *trying to keep up as all the pieces of information rattle around in her mind* But I don’t understand.  If I never went through a ritual, how can I be activated like you said?

(H) Gabe: *rubbing the back of his head* Sometimes having a level of intimacy with one of us can… sort of trip the circuit breaker, so to speak.   

Megs: *her eyes become the size of quarters and she looks almost terrified* Are you saying - the Gabriel here and I - we.... *everything shifts as it clicks into place, and suddenly she is furious, her voice rising steadily*  You don’t think this was important information for me to know when I was sleeping with an archangel?  

(H) Gabe:  *becomes defensive, throwing his hands up as his own voice grows in volume*  How was I supposed to know you two were bang buddies until after you decided to renovate your place with his dick? *pauses a moment* Wait, it can’t happen after only -- *his eyes darken* Just how much were you two --

Megs: *jabs a finger into him hard, cutting him off, her voice lowering with warning* None of your god damn business … and you *she jabs him again* should have told me the moment you figured it out.

(H) Gabe:  And how was I supposed to do that, exactly?  *sardonically* Hey, Megs, thanks for overlooking all the terrible things I did and giving me a new place to stay.  Let me put that all in jeopardy by telling you not only are you possibly one of Heaven’s oldest urban legends, but you might be the first one to exist in this world in millenia.  Possibly ever.  *points at her* Would you think I’m crazy?  Because that still sounds crazy to me.

Megs: *her brows draw together and her anger begins to give beneath her confusion*  What do you mean I may be the first to exist in millenia?

(H) Gabe: *gives her an incredulous look* Do you really think I just sat on my hands, waiting for your return every moment of every day since I’ve gotten here?  The library you have sitting around is unreal.  I mean, the access you guys have to information is dangerous.  I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about maybe -- *she gives him a sharp that says now is not the time… or possibly I just need one more reason to justify stabbing you so please, go right ahead and give me one*  -- right.  Let’s save that for later.  *clears his throat* Long story short, I did my research.  The history here is vague, really vague, so much so your flyboys probably would never think to connect the dots… not that there were many to connect before you left… or possibly even now.

Megs: *losing her patience* What the hell does that even mean?

(H) Gabe: The magic or whatever it is that makes you what you are… it’s different here.  

Megs: *sarcastically* It’s different between worlds? What a revelation!

(H) Gabe: *glares and the archangel in him flares bright for a moment as he considers reminding her he’s not a being to be mocked.  He pushes aside his pride, however, and simply let’s it go*  I’m trying, kid.  Little limited these days by the human cognitive capacity *quickly adds* And no.  That’s not some underhanded comment.  It’s just a fact without the extra juice, I run a bit slower these days.  

He takes a breath, fingers digging into the corners of his eyes as he tries to gather his thoughts.  It takes him several moments to find the words adequate enough to relay his thoughts, which always tend to become a jumbled mess when it involves her directly.  He drops his hand, his gaze glancing over toward the nearby light source.

(H) Gabe: Ok.  Let’s pretend, for a moment, you are that torch *he gestures to the tiki torch lit at the side of the path*  At night it’s a beacon.  You can see that thing from clear down the beach.  The closer you get to it, the brighter it is, and the more you can appreciate the real beauty inherent in it’s light. *his voice softens slightly as he looks back to her*  You just can’t help but be drawn in by it.

Megs feels the warmth of his gaze as it jumps across the small space between them directly into her cheeks.  

(H) Gabe:  *he shifts, his eyes glancing back up at the flame*  Now you take that same torch and you light it in the day time.  It’s still there.  It burns just the same as it does now, but you hardly notice it in the sun.  *his eyes close for a moment as he slips back beneath the surface of his own memories*  Compared to many other places, it’s daytime in this world.  *his eyes open again, unreadable as they fall back to her*  And what you are becomes lost within the natural light.  Raphael’s world, in comparison, is the night, and you shine so bright against the darkness of that place… it’s a miracle my counterpart let you leave to begin with. 

Megs: What that Gabe said, about all those colors --

(H) Gabe:  Was true.  It’s unclear if it’s actually your soul or your general being, but whatever you want to call it, it’s you.  Kind of like when a male peacock presents its feathers, trying to attract a mate, you’re advertising yourself as available.  

Megs: You mean unclaimed.  

(H) Gabe: *grimaces* Technically yes, but that term is also misleading.  This entire process is about consent.  Your consent.  A bond will never form unless you choose an angel in return. *his features grow sober, gold muted beneath the weight of the seriousness he tries to impart*  That doesn’t mean that others understand the process, or that they wouldn’t necessarily try to claim you by force.  *Without thinking, he places a gentle finger beneath her chin* You don’t understand what you could be for one of us… it’s possible it’s beyond even my understanding.

Megs swallows, feeling drawn to the glow within gold as it sparks with an affection she’s not used to seeing.

(H) Gabe: All I know is it’s dangerous for you right now and that you need to be careful *as if remembering himself, his hand suddenly falls away, his look becoming tightly guarded*  Around any of us.  

Megs:  *uncertainly, as she watches him continue to retreat within himself*  Even you?

(H) Gabe: *smiles, though the hollowness behind it is unsettling as shadows creep across his gaze, though what’s more striking is the sadness that still lingers around the darks of his eyes, one that’s followed him to this world from his own* Especially me, sweet tart.    

Megs watches as he turns and walks back inside his own cabin.  She pulls her shawl tighter around her and for the first time in awhile, she’s uncertain whether or not she should follow him.

Without warning, Balthazar suddenly appears in front of her.  If he’s tried to make himself heard, she’s completely missed it.  The unexpected appearance has her nearly shrieking, though she manages to hold back on that as she leaps back, hand flying to her chest to keep her heart from bursting through it.

Megs: *testily* Jesus Christ, Balthazar, a little warning next time?

Balthazar: My apologies.  There is a situation down at the main island the vampire insisted you be made aware of.  

The angel holds out his hand expectantly.  She hesitates, her eyes flashing back up to (human) Gabe’s cabin as she thinks about the warning he’s imparted, only to find all the lights are out.  Whatever is wrong clearly cannot wait, not if she’s being sent a personal taxi to take over.  Steeling herself, she reaches out, taking Balthazar’s hand and with a flutter of wings they both disappear.  

[officialcolumbiauniversity]

I'm an incoming freshman, and people keep telling me that everyone hates Columbia and that they are always stressed out, so now I'm really nervous and scared. I don't want to have a bad freshman year, and I don't want to transfer. Help!!

Hey there. I just wrote an essay, so there’s a TL;DR at the end, but I recommend you read the whole thing.

———

Okay, I’ve been here for less than a year and I’m already sick and tired of this stress culture bullshit question. I know that you’re a prospie and you’re terrified of drowning at college. I get it. So was I. I came from a public high school in the middle of Suburbia, Suburbs and had never been to New York except every once in a while to visit Times Square real quick. Thankfully, I was very ignorant in many things Columbia and so was not even familiar with the phrase “stress culture” until I got here. But I can imagine that it’s terrifying thinking that you might be going to a place that doesn’t want you to succeed. So I’m not dismissing your question at all.

But the truth? Of course this is a competitive school, we’re a fucking Ivy. Don’t look me in the eye, with our second lowest acceptance rate, and tell me you expected things to be nice and soft just like it was in high school. We’re in New York, we’re a private school, and we’ve got kids who went to Exeter lined up with kids who juggled three jobs in high school lined up with kids who got a 2400 on their SAT (me) lined up with kids who were valedictorian of their class, and we’re all in the same boat now. 90% of Columbia is made up of kids who were in the top 10% of their class, and that’s not including the kids who came from schools like mine where they didn’t tell you your ranking. Every single person who is here was used to being a big shot back home, and now they have to cope with being average at best. And that’s where the stress culture comes from.

It comes from kids thinking they have to live up to what they were in high school. Because no one wants to believe they peaked at 17. But let me get this across very clear: that is wholly a you problem. If you go to a prestigious school and you can’t get it in your head quickly enough that you are no longer the MVP in this game, you’re either going to be hit with a hell of a lot of “stress” or you just won’t make it here. You submitted an application to this school. You were the one dancing and recording videos of you dancing when you opened your acceptance letter. And if you didn’t ED, you were the one who ultimately chose to come here. Even if you did do ED, you still chose to lock in your fate at this school.

And the kicker? The kicker, the fucking kicker, is that I personally believe that you can buy into something you’re not totally satisfied with. That’s not a weakness, that’s not “selling out.” That’s being strong enough to admit that something you associate with is not perfect. I personally believe that you can buy into a flawed institution, with the intention of bettering it. No one’s like, “oh look, America’s got shit healthcare and systematic racism, lemme just leave real quick.” No. We’re still here, fully aware that we’ve got problems but instead of just sitting around noticing it, we’ve got protests. We’ve got activism. We’ve got people working at the state and county levels passing bills to make things better. 

The reason this is the kicker is because so many people at Columbia do nothing more than write shitty Spec articles about their latest brush with stress culture, but when we have walks to raise awareness for suicide on campus (I’m using this as an example because this walk just happened yesterday), no one turns out. A bunch of kids just sit around, resting on their laurels from being top of their class in high school, are stunned to find nothing handed to them on a silver platter, and make up blasphemy to feed to pre-frosh like you, and the general media, about “stress culture” being “prevalent and unremovable” and an “insurmountable problem administration has done nothing to counteract” when admin does do a lot but no one bothers to help.

Other things that people like to say fuel stress culture: the Core. Taking 5 classes a semester. Getting 4 hours of sleep every day. Comparing those hours of sleep, and other aspects of “stress.” Trying to get internships. Trying to get club leadership roles. Et cetera. All of these things are things that you are going to have to learn to deal with on your own (although, pro tip: if your friends constantly compare how much work they have to do, and constantly pressure you into getting little sleep, get new fucking friends). I really don’t have the time or space here to shoot down all of those things in detail, but feel free to message me or send me another ask about them, because clearly I can go on for days.

The point is, the amounts of stress here are only marginally larger than those at other, similarly rigorous universities. As a tour guide, I always try to placate parents and say “oh it’s not too stressful here” but the truth is that at an Ivy, you’ll always have some stress. Columbia’s stress is a little more pronounced just because we’re trying to keep up with the city as well as keep up with ourselves. We feel like if we go home and haven’t done everything there is to do in the city, people back home will think we were lazy and didn’t take full advantage of New York. Again, we’re a high-caliber school in New York City so of course we’ve got a fast pace. And if you get here, and after a year feel like you still can’t keep up, then I’m not going to do much to stop you from leaving.

But in all honesty, because you haven’t yet gotten here, I’m going to tell you that the admissions office is very good at detecting people who can handle what Columbia throws them. Our retention rate is 99%. You’d be hard pressed to find that at other schools. You’re meant to be here, because the admissions office saw that in you. Yes, people like to wax on about all the bad things about Columbia, but at the end of the day, you’re going to be here because you genuinely like most of things here. Remember, you can like something that has flaws, as long as you’re either prepared to deal with them or fix them. And that’s the relationship most people have with their colleges, because no college is perfect.

TL;DR: You won’t have a bad freshman year, and you won’t transfer, because your sheer acceptance is proof enough that 1. you can handle it here and 2. you will most likely like it here. The stress felt here is no more insurmountable than at other colleges, and you will find your own ways to deal with it, because a lot of its sources will actually come from you. Remember what you signed up for, in applying to an Ivy, and really just relax! The hustle for Columbia kids doesn’t end once you’ve been admitted: you still gotta apply into clubs, beat the curve in class, get an internship in the city. But everyone who gets in deserves to be here, and don’t let bullshit rumors about stress culture discourage you from doing what you deserve to be doing. 

~Sincerely, a Columbia student who gets 8 hours of sleep a night.

Pro tip: libraries literally stink of stress, so if you want a tangible way of avoiding stress, go to other places besides libraries to study.